Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Watchtower wasn’t a home. It was a holding cell with better amenities.

Or worse, a zoo—the kind that held rabid, zombie animals. Wait. That sounded like something Yelena would say. John shook his head, a little worried that living with the team was infecting him with a disease called thinking like a moron.

So, for all the sleek design and high-tech gadgets, the former Avengers Tower was a cage, a place where people with dangerous histories were told to sit and play nice. The team was… a work in progress.

He had found his rhythm with the others. Yelena was dry and cynical, but she had a cutting wit that John had come to appreciate.

He liked her. Truly. The first thing he'd noticed when they met—her eyes weren't just bright; they were full of life. That's why when he smelled alcohol on her and her eyes went dull, he'd pester her, pushing her until she'd jump on him trying to rip his hair while calling him an asshole. He'd keep pushing until she was laughing, trying to make him bald.

John and Ava shared a quiet understanding, born from food. John had started cooking for the team when he realized most of them were hopeless in the kitchen, but Ava was a critic at heart. She didn't cook for shit, but she'd talk like one of those fancy judges from MasterChef: "Too much salt," "not spicy enough." And when she had nothing negative to say, she'd tease him, muttering, "It lacks…soul." John, of course, couldn't let her win, so he tried new recipes every week, just to impress the little shit.

Alexei, instead, was easy. A loud, blustering relic of a bygone era, his ridiculous stories and bombastic personality were a weird kind of comfort. John got along with him just fine. They would train together sometimes and then make ridiculous tests of their serum's limits—strength, speed, and of course, alcohol. Unsurprisingly, Alexei was a great drinker. John, well, not even the serum could help him win a drinking contest.

"You are the second coming of Captain America in all but drinking," Alexei would roar, clapping John on the back. "Nothing can beat the motherland in a drinking game!" John would try to ignore the warm feeling in his chest while hiding his blushing. Stupid Alexei.

And Bob was funny, in his Bobby way. John was pretty sure the guy was trying to Pavlov him. Whenever John said something nice, Bob, who was always reading some physiology or wellness book, would give him a congratulatory pat on the back. Bob had tried to pat John on the head once, but the glare he received must have been a killer, because the guy never dared to do it again. But when John was watching sports, Bob would always sit close, asking a constant stream of questions. John would answer as nicely as possible in his own way—at least, until his team started to lose.

In a way, they had all become a strange, dysfunctional, broken family, bound by a shared past of violence and manipulation.  But Bucky Barnes was still Bucky Barnes. At least with John.

John had tried; he really had. He’d made a dozen quiet overtures, each one a different flavor of professional respect and admiration. He'd brought up Bucky’s old mission logs, offering a compliment on his tactical precision. He’d talked about the political turmoil in Washington, trying to connect with Bucky the Congressman. He tried with sports; but Bucky was always a fan of the contrary team from John. He even tried old songs from Bucky's time, the guy looked at John and sighed. Nothing landed. Bucky responded with grunts, apathetic stares, or, on a bad day, a low, simmering resentment that made John’s skin crawl.

Just yesterday, in the communal gym, John had tried to engage him again. "So, we are a team, now." John had said, trying to sound casual, "Maybe we can spar together, Buck." God, why was I so awkward? "Buck." It sounded so dumb. Why did I even call him that?

Bucky had just kept punching the heavy bag, his metal arm a blur of motion. "Don't call me Buck."

John had flinched. "Right. Sorry."

"Forget it." Bucky had grunted, his voice flat. "Go focus on your own training."

The rejection had stung. John was used to, after all, before and after the Captain America thing, "always too much but never enough", had become the motto of his life. But this was different. This was Bucky Barnes, the man who had stood by Captain America, the man who had fought beside Sam Wilson and didn't choose him. John, who wanted Bucky's respect more than he wanted the world's approval.

The rise and fall as Captain America would have been worth it if Bucky had given him just one scrap of validation, a simple nod that John had done his best, that he at least tried to do the right thing.

The lump that formed in his throat was a sharp, bitter reminder of Lamar, his best friend who was d— he choked the thought back. It didn't matter.

But that frustration simmered just below the surface as John sat in the debriefing room. Bob was reading in his corner a wellness book while Yelena was on her tablet, Ava was staring out the window at the New York skyline, and Alexei was telling a story about a mission he’d run with Red Guardian that sounded completely made up. And John was sure it was made up because Yelena was saying "no" with her head every two seconds. And Bucky was at the far end of the table, his posture stiff, his eyes on a screen that showed nothing but code.

Suddenly, a loud hum filled the room, not a hum from the air conditioning, but something deeper, more resonant. A high-pitched whine rose, and every screen in the room flickered. In the middle of the room, something like a portal began to glow with an unnerving, pulsating light.

The team was on their feet in an instant, weapons drawn. This wasn’t a drill.

The light intensified, becoming a blinding, white flash. A wave of energy knocked John back against the wall, his ears ringing. When his vision cleared, the humming stopped, leaving a heavy, unnatural silence.

And standing in the center of the room, looking confused and exhausted, was a man in a slightly battered, white and red suit with a little black "A" in his chest.

John's breath hitched. His heart stopped, then started again with a frantic, stuttering beat. He wasn't looking at a historical photo or a grainy video. He was looking at a living ghost.

Steve Rogers.

John’s mind went completely blank. All the polished training, all the tactical discipline, all the carefully constructed professional facade he had built up since losing the shield… it was gone. He felt his jaw go slack, his body frozen in a state of pure, childlike awe. He felt like when he was a kid who had read the comics, who had watched the movies, and his hero was standing right there in front of him. He wanted to call Lamar and say, "Are you seeing this?” It's Steve Rogers."

Crack.

The sound was clean and sharp, a sickening pop that fractured his skull. One second, Lamar was there and the next, he was flying into a place John couldn’t follow. Not this time.

 His body slammed backward into a stone pillar, the impact of a dull thud that rattled John's teeth. Karli’s fist was a blur of motion, a punch powered by a serum that had promised to make them heroes but only made them monsters.

Then, there was just silence. A ringing, empty space in his mind.

And then… the shield came down .

John shook his head. Focus. Steve Rogers.

He was so caught up in his own disbelief that he didn't even notice the reaction across the table.

Bucky's head had snapped up. For a single, fleeting second, his eyes were wide with hope so profound it was heartbreaking. But the moment passed instantly, replaced by a cold, hard anger that made his face a mask of stone. He looked at Steve, a silent accusation in his eyes, you left me, you left me and made me give the shield to Sam. Just in case you said…just in case. But then his gaze shifted, landing on John.

But John didn't see it. He was staring at his childhood hero like an awestruck kid at a parade. His mind was completely short-circuited. His ears were ringing—from the temporal flash, from the crack of Lamar's head, from the distant echoes of the shield—but all his eyes could see was the impossible fact that Steve Rogers was standing in front of him, looking just as bewildered as he felt.

John's tongue felt like a wad of cotton, and his brain was buffering. He'd prepped for every scenario, but none of them involved standing five feet away from his childhood hero.

Chapter Text

John's mind was still blank, but his body was on autopilot. He took a hesitant step forward, his jaw slack, the words he'd wanted to say his entire life stuck in his throat.

Steve Rogers.

His hero. Not a memory, not a ghost, but a flesh-and-blood man looking just as lost as he felt.

"C-c-captain..." John stammered, his voice a pathetic squeak.

He didn't notice Bucky’s glare from the far end of the room. He didn't see the way Bucky’s jaw tightened. Bucky saw John's desperate hero-worship, and it disgusted him. It was a mirror of something he'd seen a million times before: a soldier falling in line for the man in the flag. Something that even Bucky did once. Until he realized that Steve…Steve was selfish too.

Steve, however, didn't look at John. His eyes, blue and disoriented, scanned the room, ignoring the weapons and the bewildered faces of the Thunderbolts. His gaze found Bucky.

A look of profound relief washed over Steve's face, so pure it was heartbreaking. He started to walk toward him, a small smile forming on his lips. "Buck. I’m home."

The words hit Bucky like a physical blow. Home.  A cold rage settled deep in his chest. Liar.

He didn't want to hear it. He wanted to scream. Steve had chosen this. Like he always got to choose something he takes for granted.  Steve had made a choice to leave, and Bucky had been left to clean up the mess. Again.

When Steve put all the Hydra files into public view he might have saved Bucky's life, but he also threw him back into the public eye and onto the government's hit list. Bucky wasn't just Bucky for the word; he was a notorious killer with a metal arm and a history that everyone was now aware of.

Then, the whole fight with the Avengers. Steve's actions made him a spectacle. He was no longer just Bucky; he was Steve's cause, a symbol of rebellion and a target. He had to hide, constantly look over his shoulder, and then rely on T'Challa's mercy.

 The Wakanda people,e who also pulled the rug from Bucky. They gave him his mind back and even a new arm but when fighting against the flag-smashers, they showed what they thought of Bucky: they made a button to shut down his arm. 

This wasn't a choice he made for himself. It was a life thrust upon him because of Steve. Steve, who chose Bucky over the world, but the second the world has been saved from Thanos, he left him to live in it without him.

"Till the end of the line", where the line ended when Steve decided it did.

"Just in case."  Where Bucky got what it really meant: Steve wasn’t coming back, he was going to Peggy. The memory, sharp as a knife, sliced through Bucky's mind.

He remembered sitting on a bench by a lake, the late afternoon sun warm on his face. Steve sat beside him, the shield on the ground between them. "I'm heading back," Steve had said, his voice quiet. "To put the stones back." Bucky had nodded, his stomach tightening with a familiar sense of dread. "What if something goes wrong?" Bucky had asked. Steve hadn't answered. Instead, he just looked at Bucky, his eyes full of a quiet resolve that Bucky had only ever seen on a battlefield. Steve handed him the shield. "Just in case. Give it to Sam if something happens." he said.

 "Just in case." He repeated.

Just in case. The phrase echoed in Bucky's head. It wasn't a vote of confidence. It was an excuse. A way for Steve to walk away from the mess he had helped create, leaving Bucky to pick up the pieces. He was dragged into a public war, had his brain fixed, and then left to fend for himself with a target on his back and the constant reminder of his past.

Bucky looked from Steve to John, who was still standing there, wide-eyed and pathetic. The anger surged. This puppy, this pathetic soldier, wanted Steve's attention so badly. And Steve, the liar, had come back just long enough to take it.

Bucky’s fists clenched. But the words never came. He just stood there, his face a stone mask, and watched.

The silence was thick and unnatural, heavy with Bucky's rage and Steve's profound confusion. John was too frozen in awe to move, and the rest of the team was too stunned to say a word. It was at this moment that Alexei finally broke the silence, his voice, a loud, booming declaration that echoed through the room.

"Ah! Yelena. Zombies! Just like the man on Tv said" Alexei bellowed, spreading his arms wide with a theatrical flourish. "I was hoping for a death ray, or maybe an alien invasion. But this... this is so much better! Captain America as a zombie!"

His words broke the spell, replacing the suffocating tension with a different kind of bewildered confusion. John flinched, snapping out of his daze, and a few of the Thunderbolts exchanged glances. Yelena, however, just rolled her eyes so hard it looked like a physical effort.

"No, Alexei," she said in a low, flat voice, her eyes still on Steve. "He’s not a zombie. He is not saying give me your brains." Then she murmured but everybody heard, considering Alexei insulted gasp. "Even though you don’t have any brain to eat."

Steve finally tore his gaze from Bucky and looked at the rest of the team, his confusion deepening. He looked from Alexei's ridiculous grin to Yelena's cynical, matter-of-fact expression. His eyes went to Ava; Bob and then they fell onto John.

 Him. Bucky was looking at him while Steve talked to him. Even in his disorientation Steve could see where Bucky's attention lay. He was in a place for stranger than he could have ever imagined. But Bucky was here, and it was all that matter.

"Okay." Yelena clapped. "You are Steve Roger." She pointed at Steve and then herself. "Yelena, Natasha's sister, and well, this is James. Now that the important members are introduced—"

John immediately cut in, "By 'important,' you mean all the members who only wear black?"

"No," Ava countered, her voice dry. "I think she meant the assholes. Your name is missing, though."

John shoved her arm softly. Little shit.

And even Alexei chipped in with, "Yelena, my daughter, loves her little jokes. She is very funny."

Bob just sighed, shaking his head.

Yelena ignored them all, her gaze fixed on Steve. "You will come with me," she said, her voice now low and tight. Steve started to protest, brow furrowed but Yelena just raised her arm. "You need to be checked. Medically. Now."

She then glanced at James. If this guy is not Steve Rogers, then…better to have a super soldier who is not a fanboy. "James will come with us, the rest stay."

Then Steve agreed because this wasn't some random woman yelling at him; this was Natasha's family. And he owed her to at least listen, because Natasha didn’t come back while Steve's world was standing there, safe and seeing him with steel eyes.

"Okay," Steve said, his voice quiet.

Yelena just nodded, her jaw still tight, and gestured with her head toward the door. As she began to lead him away, Steve risked one last glance back at Bucky.

But Bucky's face was a stone mask. He was staring straight ahead, not at Steve, but at Yelena's back while following behind her.

The silence lingered. Bucky being the last to leave the room after Captain America and Yelena. John saw the way Bucky turned on his heel and walked out of the room, his metal arm swinging like a weapon.

But what caught John's attention was the look on Bucky's face. He recognized it. The way Bucky looked at Steve Rogers was the same look he used on John.

He remembers all the times Bucky had looked at him that way: in Washington, the first time he saw John with the shield on his back and the Captain America uniform, in the mud in Latvia, then when Sam and Bucky took the shield from him.

That cold, simmering anger, that look of profound resentment. And John didn’t understand. How could Bucky Barnes look at his best friend that way?

John could never.

John could never look at Lamar that way.

Never.

And if he could get him back just like Bucky just did…It didn’t matter.

________________________________________

The medical bay was pristine, all sterile white surfaces and stainless steel. A transparent partition separated the room's main area from a small observation office where Yelena and Valentina with Mel stood with a doctor.

 She showed up the second she heard the word Steve Rogers and alive in the same sentence. She looked as she struck pure gold. And he was gold from her view.

Their voices were a low, clinical murmur, a buzzing sound that was as unfeeling as the machines blinking around them.

The doctors repeated for the hundred time for Valentina, "This was the real Steve Rogers, with the same DNA, the same Super-Soldier serum."

And the story checked. Steve Rogers was wearing a white and red suit to get back the infinity stones, he was meant to return at that moment of time, but something went wrong, and he appeared here. And if there was a need for more proof, Barnes tested him, and he agreed with the doctor that it was Steve Rogers, and he was telling the truth.

"Mel, prepare me a speech that would make the world cry and then die of a heart attack." Valentina struck gold. This what she needed.

It was meant to be, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, together leading a team to protect the nation. Suck it, Sam Wilson. Who are the real Avengers now?

Valentina won because at long last, she had not just Bucky Barnes on the New Avengers team—she had Steve Rogers.

Meanwhile, Steve ignored the machines, the doctors, everything. His eyes on Bucky. He explained a short version to Steve of all that happened while he was gone. John Walker. Sam. The Flag Smashers. The Thunderbolts. Someone named Bob? And now the New Avengers.

And that Bucky was voted as a congressman. Steve smiled. He wanted to look at photos, he bet that Bucky looked charming in a suit, but he was not one for politics.

But more importantly…

Steve recognized that look in Bucky's eyes. Well, a softer version of that look. One that Bucky used when Steve was frailer and didn’t stop fighting the bullies, that one resigned look he sued when Steve’s mom died and Bucky wanted to help, and Steve just said no.

"Buck," Steve said, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Don’t be angry."

Bucky finally turned, his eyes burning. "Really?" he spat. "There wasn't a single thought of going to Peggy?"

Steve's face fell, the accusation hitting him harder than a punch. Because Steve…Steve wanted to go to Peggy, but she was never it. Bucky was. "I did. But I…I never could leave you. Not like this." The "not without me", was left unsaid stuck in Steve throat. "It was an accident."

Bucky saw Steve's eyes. Clear, as always. Bucky believes him. He was telling the truth but at the same time he was not telling the whole truth.

But Bucky knew him. He knew the look on Steve's face. He seen through all his life.

"Accident." Bucky pronounced the word as if he was testing it. "Then why? Why did you give the shield and told me give it to Sam if something were to happen. If you were so sure of coming back, you wouldn’t have done that. You wanted to go to Peggy, that was your decision and then you changed it."

"Buck." Steve said, his voice cracking, a desperate plea for understanding. "Is true that I wanted to go to her. But I realized when leaving the stones, that she was just a fantasy, she was the past. We got another chance, you and I, now in the present. And I'm glad I'm here Buck, even if something went wrong in the middle."

Bucky just looked at him, his expression unreadable. He could see the truth in Steve's eyes, the desperation. But he could also feel the immense, suffocating weight of all the time that had passed, all the choices Steve made for Bucky, all the trauma he'd been forced to deal with alone.

Steve’s words were a comfort, but they were also a knife twist. He didn't have the words to explain the decades of pain, the feeling of being discarded, of being a means to an end.

Bucky took a single step back, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I need time," he said, his voice a quiet finality.

Steve grasped Bucky’s human hand, his fingers tightening around him. "I'll be here." Steve said.

"Till the end of the line," was left unsaid but it was heard even in the silence of the room.

Chapter Text

John had been in the communal kitchen, making what he liked to call his "grief coffee"—a drink so strong it could raise the dead—when he saw Yelena walked in. She stopped in the middle of the room, looking at John, Ava, Bob and Alexei.

"All right, listen up," she said, her voice cutting through the silence. "Steve Rogers—he's going to be living and working with us."

The words hung in the air for a moment, too monumental to be real. John's mind went completely blank.

Yelena continued, completely unfazed. "He and Barnes went to get him things. And also, they are giving Sam Wilson heads-up before the official announcement goes out to the public." She gave John a pointed stare. "So, don't freak out when you see them later."

Too late.

John's stomach dropped. He felt a familiar cold dread settle deep inside his gut. Because Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes friendship was legendary; there was even a museum exhibition about it.

 He was sure that Bucky was telling Steve everything he missed and all about his new team because John and Lamar had told each other everything. The good, the bad, the ugly.

When Lamar was struggling with PTSD from their time overseas, John was there. And when John was grappling with the weight of the shield, Lamar was his rock. That's what being best friends meant. You didn't hide anything. You were each other's witness and your own worst critic.

And Bucky Barnes hated him. He had seen it in his eyes; in the way he'd pulled back and refused to acknowledge John's existence. He could practically hear Bucky's voice, cold and laced with disgust, recounting the story to Steve.

"He went berserk. He killed a man with your shield, Steve. Publicly. He was a disgrace to what you represent."

John already could feel Captain America’s disappointment as if he were in the room. Steve Rogers wouldn’t even need to see the video; Bucky’s word would be enough. And it was Bucky's word that mattered most.

"Hey."

Yelena's voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. She grabbed his cup of grief coffee, a faint, understanding smirk on her lips and then she started drinking it.

"You look like you're about to throw up," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Just relax. It's not like they're off to have a trial or anything."

John took a shaky breath. He knew she was trying to help, but she couldn't understand. He was a lost cause, not only for Bucky but also for Captain America.

________________________________________

The humid air of New York City was thick with the scent of recent rain. Steve sat in the passenger seat of a nondescript sedan, an empty duffel bag by his feet. Bucky was in the driver's seat, his eyes on the phone in Steve's hand. They were out gathering Steve’s old belongings from a government-issued storage unit, but the most important task was happening right now.

"Sam… it's me," Steve said, his voice quiet and a little hoarse. He heard Sam’s sharp breathing on the other end.

“Steve,” Sam’s voice was a quiet sigh of disbelief and exhaustion. “You’re… really back.”

“I’m really back,” Steve confirmed, a faint smile on his face. He glanced at Bucky, who remained stoic. He told Sam everything: when he was returning the sones something went wrong, and he just appeared in the tower...with the Thunderbolts.

 “Look, I had to call. I didn’t want you to find out from the news. Valentina’s going to make a statement soon… about me. About the team.”

There was a long pause at the other end, the kind of silence that spoke of a thousand unspoken questions. “So, you’re on the team?” Sam asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“I am,” Steve said. “It's not… I know it's a lot. But I'm going to do my best to figure this all out.”

Bucky shifted his weight; his eyes still fixed on the road ahead. He didn't say a word, but his presence was heavy weight. Steve lowered his voice. “I just… I wanted you to hear it from me first. This is all new. And I… I’m here.”

"I still have it, you know," Sam said, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"Have what?" Steve asked.

"The shield. I have it."

The words hung in the air. Steve’s eyes widened in recognition. "Sam..." he began, a lump forming in his throat.

"I'll give it back," Sam said, a quiet finality in his tone. "I'll have it sent to the Tower. It belongs to you."

Steve's grip on the phone tightened. "No," he said, the word a soft, firm command. "Sam, no. It doesn't belong to me anymore. It belongs to you. You're Captain America."

A deep, tired sigh came from the other end of the line. "I appreciate you saying that, Steve. But the world won’t agree."

"The world will come around," Steve insisted, his voice unwavering. "You're the one fighting for them. You're the one who understands them. You're the one who carried it when I couldn't. It's yours, Sam."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "Okay. Okay, Steve. We'll figure it out."

Steve let out a slow breath. This situation was familiar. It was like when he woke on the ice and knew nothing about his new word.

He turned his head and looked at Bucky. At least he had him. It will be alright. They will be alright.

"So… the team," Steve began, his voice hesitant. "Who are they? Besides us and Yelena."

Bucky gave a curt nod. "Valentina fill you in about them."

Steve asked again, trying to read his friend's expression. "Yeah. But I care about what you think. Not just the official information Valentina gave me."

Bucky sighed, a tired, weary sound. He gave a brief, dismissive gesture with his hand. "A bunch of broken people." Like me. Bucky knew they also were people who needed a second chance.

Bucky gave him a little summary of the personality of each member: Ava, Bob, Yelena and Alexei.

Steve listened, absorbing the brief, honest assessment. He then asked the question he'd been holding onto.

"And the other one," Steve said, his voice lowering. "The soldier in the uniform…" The one that you couldn’t take your eyes off even when you saw me there. John Walker.

Steve saw the file. Three medals of honor, the silver star and the navy and marine corps medal. Chosen as Captain America. The serum. The murder of Lamar Hoskins and John Walker murdering that man with the shield.

Steve had mixed feelings about it. Because on one hand, it was terrible but in the other…if it was Bucky…if it was Bucky the one teared apart like that, Steve wouldn’t know how he would have reacted.

Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He was still staring straight ahead, but Steve could see the muscle twitching in his jaw. “John Walker, he—” Bucky said, his voice low and laced with an unspoken feeling. Steve couldn’t figure out if it was anger or what.

But Bucky had a lot to say about John even if he sounded wary when telling Steve about him.

John Walker, he mouthed the name.

________________________________________

The doors to the communal area of the Watchtower slid open with a soft hiss. The room went silent. In walked Steve and Bucky, the new duffel bag now slung over Steve’s shoulder.

Bucky's eyes immediately found John’s. His stare was intense, sharp, and laced with something that John couldn't read. There was no mockery, no outright hostility, just a raw, burning focus that made John’s skin crawl.

John's stomach dropped. He felt the cold dread settle deep in his gut, a mix of old shame and a new, unsettling confusion. He tried to hold Bucky's gaze, to understand it, but he couldn't. John didn’t do anything, he was sure. He and Bucky didn’t have any conversation since Steve Rogers returned.

John was the first to look away, his eyes darting from Bucky to Steve. Maybe…Maybe Bucky was comparing them.  The living embodiment of everything Bucky approved and loved, and the living embodiment of everything Bucky hate, John.

Yelena took control. "So, these are the new roommates," she said flatly. She gestured to the others. "Steve, this is Ava, our resident ghost. Alexei, a relic from the Red Room. Bob… well, he's Bob." She paused, her gaze landing on John with a teasing smirk. "And this is John. The last time we saw him; he was having a very public breakdown about being Captain America."

Steve's eyes scanned the room, landing finally on John. He offered a small, polite nod, his expression neutral, almost polite. "Nice to meet you," he said, his voice quiet. There was no disgust, no anger, just a weary politeness that was the exact opposite of what John was expecting.

That was it.

Then Bucky stalked off and Steve followed, the doors sliding shut behind them. The silence in the room was now heavier than before. The trial John had been expecting never came. Instead, he was left with unsettling politeness and a cold, silent stare.

He had been so ready for a final verdict, but he got nothing.

In a way, it was far worse.

Chapter Text

The Watchtower kitchen was a sterile, unforgiving space. John hated it in the morning since the incident that happened in the first week of all of them living together...This morning was worse. Steve Rogers was here.

John was on high alert, his body a tight wire of anxiety. He just wanted to get his coffee and escape before anyone—especially Steve—came in. He was hyper-aware of every sound, every shadow, and he couldn't stop glancing nervously at the dishwasher.

The doors to the kitchen slid open. John's body went rigid when Steve walked in. His childhood hero, standing in the same room. A confusing mix of awe and shame rushed through him, and he instinctively put his back to the coffee pot, as if it could shield him.

"Morning," Steve said, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. He moved to the counter, grabbing a mug. "Mind if I join you?"

John’s face immediately flushed a deep, mortified crimson. His mind, which had spent weeks crafting scenarios if he one got to meet Captain America, now went completely blank. He gave a sharp, jerky nod and looked down, busying himself with the coffee maker.

Suddenly, a new presence filled the room. Bucky. He walked in, but unlike Steve, he didn’t move toward the coffee. He simply stood by the doorway, his eyes immediately finding John.

John, feeling Bucky's stare, finally broke the silence. "Uh… a-a-almost done," he stammered, his voice cracking. He still couldn't bring himself to look at Steve directly.

Bucky was surprised. It was normal to see John in the kitchen while cooking lunch or dinner, but in the morning…John never lingerer in it, not since the first week. He eyed Steve.

Ah, so that’s why. He clenched his hand. 

Steve felt also the stare from Bucky. He saw the way Bucky’s focus was a laser beam fixed on the other man. It wasn't just anger. It was something more.

Steve didn’t like it. Steve had been fighting for Bucky’s attention for a full day now. He’d tried to apologize, to reconnect, but Bucky remained a wall of stone, a ghost he couldn't reach.

And yet, here was this man, John Walker, whom Bucky had already, in a single day, given more emotional energy to than he had given Steve. The quiet fury, the intense gaze… John had caught Bucky’s attention, effortlessly.  A wave of something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time washed over Steve. It was a cold, bitter feeling, a mix of hurt and a burning curiosity about why Bucky was so fixated on him. He had to know. Why him and not Steve? But if Bucky cares so will Steve.

"Take your time," Steve said, his voice just a little too loud in the quiet room. He walked past John, to the opposite counter, but his eyes never left Bucky's face.

Then, Alexei entered in with Yelena and Ava. His booming voice filled the space. "Ah, John, you are here in the kitchen in the morning! What a surprise!" he bellowed, seeing John's now red face and Steve’s confused look. Why would somebody not be in the kitchen in the morning?

Alexei wiggled his eyebrows. "Good you got over the incident!"

"Incident?" Steve asked. His eyes went to John Walker’s red face to the little smirk that now Bucky sported.

John groaned, his face blazing scarlet. "Alexei, don't," he pleaded, his voice a low, desperate hiss.

Yelena teased him. "We told you not to tell the new guy." She said with her tone as dry as a desert wind. Yelena wanted to wait longer to embarrass John in front of his idol, but the cute idiot is already red.

Ava, who sat quietly on the kitchen counter, grabbed her phone. "No need to tell. We can show the new guy. It's a special occasion. We have a video." she said, her voice a low, taunting murmur.

John let out a choked that sounded like a mix of dying hyena mixed with a chicken. Bucky coughed, trying to hide his laughter.

Steve looked between John’s panicked face and the rest of the team. He tried to piece together the inside joke but couldn't. His gaze, full of questions, landed on Bucky.

Bucky looked like Steve with a smirk, tight and fleeting, at the corner of his lips. It was a strange expression, a mix of amusement, ridicule, and something else entirely—something that Steve didn’t recognize but he came to identify as something Bucky did when it had to do with John Walker.

"Ava, show Steve the video.” Bucky said, his voice a low, flat, rumbling. John let out another chocked noise.

John’s defeat was absolute. He put his face in his hands, completely mortified, but the rest of the team just laughed. He could feel Steve's laugh while watching the video, and the embarrassing memory, sharp and humiliating, flashed in his mind.

The first week of the Thunderbolts living together was eventful but there was an incident that became an inside joke, one that even made John not step into the kitchen during morning for longer than five seconds.

John had been the last one awake. He was in the communal kitchen, tired from a long mission and just wanted a glass of water. The Watchtower was silent and eerie in the early morning light.

He went to the refrigerator, got his bottle of water, and then decided to be helpful and put a dirty glass in the dishwasher. As he opened the door, his fingers brushed against something cold and hard. He pulled it out and the light from the refrigerator was enough to see it: a prosthetic arm, gleaming with titanium and chrome, a perfect, chilling replica of a human limb. He didn’t recognize it at first.

His heart hammered against his ribs. He immediately dropped the arm and turned around, his mind screaming a thousand scenarios at once.

 Then dim kitchen lights cast shadows that danced on the walls. From the shadow, he saw a shape, a tall figure without an arm.

John didn't think. The shadow, the missing arm—it was too much. The sound that came out of his mouth was a sharp, high-pitched scream.

He heard the doors to the kitchen slide open, and two figures rushed in. Ava and Alexei, who were supposed to be asleep.

Alexei, in his booming voice, was yelling. "Little girl, we are coming to save you!"

Ava, as usual, was fast. She phased through a wall to get to the kitchen but couldn’t avoid the screaming idiot, John’s flailing arm caught her right in the head. She gave a little grunt of pain as she was knocked onto the wall.

Alexei and Ava then realized that in fact there was no little girl in need of saving. The one screaming was John. Who then let another shriek when he saw Alexei and Ava.

Alexei then, in his booming voice, was yelling to Bucky, "James! The boy is yelling! You want to take over? I can't take this."

John stopped screaming. The shadow now in the plain light. It was Bucky Barnes.

Oh god. John wanted to die. The scream was so pathetic he knew he would never live it down.

Bucky just sighed, unimpressed, but he had a little smile while he said, "It's just me and my arm, Walker." He then just walked back to his room after passing John and grabbing his with his metal arm from the dishwasher, not even looking at the chaos he'd created.

The memory ended, leaving John a flustered, embarrassed mess. He saw the team looking at him amused and even Captain America smirked at him.

Steve watched the video, it was funny, and kind of adorable. But a strange new kind of confusion settled over him. He saw a complex web of shared history and strange inside jokes, and again he was the outsider. But then he saw Bucky's smirk, and he felt a brief flicker of hope and gratefulness that even if Steve wasn’t there his friend was finally finding a home for himself.

________________________________________

The first week of Steve Rogers return was a chaotic mix of disbelief for the team—and by team, John meant himself…he was maybe a little starstruck—and training exercises, all under the shadow of a public announcement that was yet to come, that Steve Rogers was alive and he was joining the New Avengers

John felt like every little move he made was a public performance for one man, Steve Rogers who was watching them. But Steve, unlike Bucky, didn't seem to be watching for flaws. He was watching with an earnest, focused curiosity.

Steve Rogers was charming. He tried to get to know each member and he truly cared. He really did.

 With Yelena he bonded with her about Natasha and vest with pockets. Because Yelena was obsessed with them for a reason John couldn’t yet figure.  

With Ava it was about Shield injustice acts towards her and some man they both apparently know as Scott Lang. They both have in common that they were honest. Well, Ava was meaner in her honesty, but they bounded…as much as you can bound in a week.

Alexei was all about the serum and drinking contests. Surprisingly, Steve Rogers was a great drinker because, well, he couldn’t get drunk. But those two bonded over that and some old stuff.

But with Bob, Steve was great. When he saw Bob was down, now it was not only Yelena who reached towards Bob but also Steve. He told him softly but at the same time dragged him to do exercise.

And with Bucky…John could tell why they were best friends. The fitted just right…like a two-part puzzle. When Bucky was there, Steve Rogers shined, even more than usual. His eyes were always on his best friend. And Bucky, he…was always nicer—as nice as Bucky can be—to the rest of the team than with John, but now that Steve was here, he was even more sarcastic and even funnier with his dry comments.

And John, well, the few times John had run into Steve during the week, he had either nodded stiffly or made a quick escape, his face hot with embarrassment. He knew Steve had noticed. The Captain's gaze was far too sharp to miss a problem like John.

But what John didn’t know that Steve, was not only watching John's escape attempts to interact with him, but he also noted that Bucky's interest in the team had a strange rhythm: he would stay longer in a room if John was there, but he would lose interest quickly and leave the moment John was gone.

Steve couldn’t put his finger on what was going on there with those two. At least Bucky was acting normally with Steve, but he knew that Bucky wanted to tell him something, but he just didn’t.

But Steve could wait for him, they got the rest of their lives together.

Bucky also had a few realizations in the first week of Steve joining them. John hasn’t bothered Bucky once. Not one approach, nothing. It is as if since Steve was here, Bucky disappeared from John's eyes. But it was worse when Bucky was with Steve, it was like Bucky's presence was even more of a repellant to John. John flees the room as fast as he can in the moments Steve and Bucky where in the same room.  So, it became a regular thing.

One more week passed, and Steve Rogers was as charming as the rumor said. John got to see this in every little interaction between the other team members and Captain America. But he was also firm and a natural leader.

It happened in the training gym. The team, for the first time, was training together under Steve's supervision. Yelena, Alexei, Bob, and Ava were all present, and the mood was a tense mix of professional cynicism and a grudging curiosity about their new leader. Bucky was off doing something that John didn’t dare to ask anybody what.

John was in a secluded corner, pushing himself through a brutal circuit, a familiar way to work off the anxiety that had been clinging to him since Steve's arrival. He was focused, lost in the rhythm of the pain

"I expected more from the Winter Soldier's companion," Yelena's voice, dry as a desert wind, cut through the sounds of grunting and weights.

John looked up to see Steve, already in gym clothes, sparring with Yelena. Steve was a blur of motion, but he was holding back, a graceful dance that was all defense. Yelena, however, was not holding back. Her kicks were sharp, her movements precise. She was testing him, seeing if the myth matched the man.

"You're fast," Steve said, a hint of a smile on his face. "Are you getting your cardio in, or are you just here to complain?"

Yelena's lips twitched. "Both. But you, old man, you're not half bad. I expected a man of your time to be slower. But I should know that you are an exception just like James."

"The serum helps," Steve replied, his gaze meeting hers, a shared, silent respect passing between them.

Then, Alexei bounded in, interrupting Yelena's spar time with Steve, his booming voice filling the gym. "Ah! Captain! You are just on time! You need a real super soldier to train with you! One who has also fought for his motherland!"

Steve laughed, a genuine, joyful sound that made John's heart ache with a strange mix of awe and sorrow. He watched as Steve easily dodged Alexei's exaggerated punches, a man at peace in a way John could only dream of being.

Bob then appeared, a book on "mindful breathing" in his hand. He watched Steve train, his head nodding in quiet approval, before moving on to Ava, who was punching a heavy bag with quiet, furious precision. He looked at John ready to give him a pat in the back…again. John glared at Bobby, and Booby let out a shrug and went to sit into a corner.

After a few more minutes, a small device on Steve's wrist beeped. He looked at it, his smile gone, replaced by a focused, authoritative expression. He grabbed a small tablet that he had left earlier aside. "Alright, team," he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a quiet, hard command. "I have the mission reports from your team for the last three months. Let's go over them."

He looked directly at Alexei. "Alexei," he said, his voice stern and commanding but not cruel. John thought it fitted Steve Rogers. Like when Bucky did it. Effortlessly. "Your last mission report mentioned you went off-book to get a 'good shot' for a photo-op. Don't do that again. Your heroics put others at risk."

Alexei, for the first time, was silent. He just nodded, his usual bluster replaced by a sober respect.

Steve then talked with Yelena, Ava and Bob: with Ava about her disappearing acts in the middle of the mission without warning but how good her decision making was. About Yelena, that she was too impulsive and it would be sad to see her get hurt. To Bob, that he must take seriously the training not he will not be able to get to the field.

He was polite, but his kindness didn't mean he would accept recklessness or that he wasn’t stern.

After this brief, firm exchange, Steve's gaze went to John. It was calm, unwavering, and focused. He walked over, his pace unhurried, his eyes never leaving John's face. The hard look he had given Alexei was gone. This was a different kind of attention, more focused, more personal.

John's anxiety flared again. He flinched, ready to make a run for it. He felt his face turn red as he fumbled with his water bottle. Steve cut his path before Joh had the time to get up.

"Hi," Steve said simply, his voice low and gentle. "We haven't had a chance to talk."

John could only manage a quick, panicked nod.

Steve saw the fear in his eyes. Steve's face softened, quiet, profound empathy washing over him. Steve may not agree with all John's action, but he understood him. He chose his best friend instead of choosing the world, just like John chose his over the mantle of being Captain America.

 Just like Steve did and always would do for Bucky.

"Relax," Steve said, his voice a soft murmur. "I was a soldier, too. I made mistakes. It's okay."

It was the simplest thing in the world, a simple reassurance. But for John, it was everything. He felt a lump form in his throat, and for a moment, he forgot all about his embarrassment, all about Bucky, all about the weight of his past.

He just stood there, speechless, basking in the glow of Steve's easy, effortless charm. The rumors were right; Steve Rogers was exactly who everyone said he was, and more.

________________________________________

The Watchtower had a small library, a quiet sanctuary from the sterile labs and the loud, boisterous hallways. It would be weird for Steve to walk into a tower he already knew and that now was changed but he got used to changes after the ice, they hurt but he was used.

Steve found Bucky there, sitting in a worn armchair, a book in his hand. He wasn't reading it, just staring at the page, a familiar look of far-off sadness in his eyes. He went to therapy while Steve was training with the team.

Steve likes the team. Yelena reminds him of Natasha; they were alike but different at the same time. Alexei was almost like Thor, Bob was nice, but Steve knew a little punk when he saw one. Ava was smart almost like a mix of Natasha and Clint in a body but with a posh accent, and John…well, Steve only got to talk with him a short while, but he was professional, and he seemed eager once Steve told him that everything was okay.

"Hey, Buck," Steve said, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

Bucky's gaze didn't flinch. He just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. He didn't ask what Steve was doing there. He just sat like a solid, silent presence.

"Training was a bit of a mess today," Steve began, a forced casualness in his voice. "I don't think they know what 'teamwork' means yet."

Bucky finally closed the book. He met Steve's eyes, and for a brief moment, Steve saw a flicker of the man he knew—a quiet, kind soul who was always there for him.

"You're not surprised, are you?" Bucky replied, his voice rumbled low. "I warned you. They are little menaces, but they also need a second chance. Besides, you are you and they   listen to you." John especially, the stray thought passed through Bucky's mind. He shut it down. That little—

A comfortable silence fell between them. This silence was a worn-in sweater, a familiar, unspoken language. It was a language of shared history, of triumphs and traumas that only they could understand.

"I missed you," Steve said, a lump forming in his throat.

Bucky's face remained impassive, but Steve could see the ghost of a smile in his eyes. "You don't need to miss me, Punk. You're always there and I’m always here," he replied.

Steve felt a wave of relief. The Bucky he knew was still there. He was just hidden under layers of time and a resentment that was still as sharp as a knife.

Then, a mischievous glint entered Steve's eyes. "So, I saw some of your work online. The whole… 'James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes for Congress' campaign," he said, a faint laugh in his voice. "Looks like you were ready to take over."

Bucky's stone-like expression cracked. A soft, genuine smile appeared on his face. "Hey, a guy's gotta have a plan B, right?" he said, his voice filled with a rare, genuine amusement.

"I loved the memes and that campaign." Steve said getting his cellphone out to show Bucky his favorite one.

Bucky groaned but he also laughed.

For a moment, they were just two kids from Brooklyn, sharing a joke. But Steve knew Bucky, and he knew Bucky wasn't telling him everything. But that was okay. He could wait. He and Bucky had the rest of their lives.

Chapter Text

Another week  passed and the announcement had been made. A live press conference from the Watchtower, led by Valentina, had introduced Steve Rogers as the newest member of the New Avengers. The public, starved for a symbol of hope and unity, had eaten it up. Social media was flooded with photos of a smiling Steve in his new uniform, and Valentina's PR team had carefully curated the narrative: the original Avenger with his brother in arms: Bucky Barnes, to lead the next generation of heroes.

Bucky watched the news reports from a terminal in the common area. The headlines were exactly what Valentina had promised: "The real Captain America is back”, “Captain America Returns," "The New Avengers: A Symbol of a Better Tomorrow." The team was no longer a problem child; with Steve there, they were a polished, marketable brand.

On one side, Bucky was glad but some small part of him, the part he is currently choking the life of it, felt the familiar feeling of fury. Steve had been gone for what felt like a lifetime, and in a single day, he had come back and effortlessly done what Bucky had been fighting for years: legitimacy. The world was already forgetting their old reputation, replacing it with the hopeful image of Steve at the helm.

Bucky’s phone buzzed with a message from Sam. "Steve just called. I'm going to meet with all of you in a few weeks." The text was short, clipped, and full of a quiet, tired resignation that Bucky knew all too well.

Sam, the real Captain America, was being sidelined by the media, by the government, and now by his own friend. The headlines didn't say "Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers lead the New Avengers." They said, "The real Captain America is back." Bucky felt a deep, sickening lurch in his gut.

Later that day, Steve walked into the common area with Bucky behind him, a new set of clothes in his duffel bag and an easy smile on his face. He'd just finished a difficult conversation with Sam, and while it had been tense, Steve felt a quiet hope that they could work it out. He did see the problem in the media's narrative; but he had to be in the team with Bucky, and he was just doing what he always did—trying to do the right thing, trying to help.

Steve began to engage with the team, his easy charm a stark contrast to the simmering tension in the room. He spoke to Yelena, Ava, Alexei, and Bob, his voice a quiet constant in the tense room. He was a magnet, and the others, one by one, were drawn into his orbit.

Alexei, ever the loudmouth, boomed, "Ah, Steve! We were just discussing the efficiency of Soviet-era transportation! Far superior to these American cars."

Steve smiled, a genuine, easy expression that seemed out of place in the sterile room. "I'm not so sure, Alexei. I still can't figure out how to get the Bluetooth to work in my car."

While Steve engaged with the others, his eyes swept over the room, taking in his new team. Yelena was perched on the back of a couch, her face a mask of bored cynicism. Ava was quietly reading a book, her eyes occasionally flicking up to observe the room. Alexei and Bob were engaged in a loud, one-sided debate about the merits of Soviet engineering, while John sat in a far corner, meticulously polishing a combat knife that didn't need it.

His gaze settled on Bucky, who had lingered by the doorway. He wasn't talking or interacting; he was simply there; He also saw the direction of Bucky's stare. John Walker. It was a repeat of his first week staying here, Bucky's presence lingered, it was a little more intense, a little more watchful, when John was in the room.

Then after a few minutes Alexei and Yelena started bickering, and Ava and Bob retreated into their own quiet worlds, John, feeling the weight of Steve and Bucky's combined presence, decided to make a run for it. He stood up, knife in hand, and moved toward the exit.

"Hey, John," Steve said, his voice calm and friendly. "You have a minute?"

John froze. His heart hammered against his ribs. He now knew that Steve didn’t judge him for the whole Captain America thing but Bucky…Bucky was there, and he hated John, and he would hate him even more if he talked to Steve, but if John ignored Steve, it will be worse. Because one is Captain America and John is dying to talk to him, and two, Bucky would gut him if John dared to hurt Steve.

Hence, John is screwed no matter what.

 He turned slowly, his face a careful mask of professional politeness. "Sure, Captain."

Steve moved closer, his eyes focused on the knife in John's hand. "You can call me Steve. And that's a nice blade. I've always been more of a shield guy myself, but a good knife can save your life."

John's brain short-circuited. Steve Rogers was talking to him about knives, and he told him he can call him just Steve.

The world tilted, then righted itself. He managed to force his lips into a semblance of a smile.

"I... yeah," John stammered, his mind racing. The fanboy in him unable to resist talking to Captain America.

He had practiced a hundred different conversations in his head, but none of them started with a compliment on his combat knife. "This one's a, uh... a K-bar. It's standard issue, but it's reliable. Good steel." He hoped his voice didn't sound as shaky as he felt.  

Steve nodded, his gaze sincere. A knife, Steve thought, his mind working quickly. Every little thing about John was now categorized in Steve's mind. He was looking for cracks in the facade, a reason for Bucky's intense focus. "You learn a lot about a soldier from the gear they carry," he said. "I saw your file. Three Medals of Honor. That's... something else. You're a damn good soldier, John."

The compliment hit John like a punch to the gut. No one had ever said that to him. Not since the serum, not since the shield. The lump in his throat was back, thick and painful. He had been so ready for Steve's judgment, for the cold disappointment he had seen in Bucky's eyes, that this genuine praise was disarming.

"I... I just did what I had to," John muttered, his gaze falling to the ground. His face started to feel hot. "It was... a lot." He was so focused on Steve's quiet, powerful presence that he forgot to be afraid…Steve was nice. Really nice.

But Steve’s eyes shifted from John's face to Bucky. He saw the way Bucky’s rigid posture hadn’t shifted, the way his stare hadn't wavered. He was looking at John.

Steve decided to push…to maybe draw a reaction from Bucky or something. He needed to see John and Bucky interact more to figure out what is going on. Bucky’s attention could be rooted in anger, rivalry, or something else entirely. But Steve needed to know.

"I also saw what happened with the shield," Steve said, his voice lowering just a little. "That must have been hard. The public, the media... they can be brutal."

John's composure shattered. His face went pale, and he looked up at Steve with a desperate, wounded look. "I... I lost control," he whispered, the words filled with a profound shame. "I wasn't worthy of it. I'm sorry."

Steve was about to reassure him, to tell him that he, too, had made mistakes, but a low, flat voice cut in.

"We have a briefing in five minutes," Bucky said, his voice a cold rumble. He didn't look at John. His eyes were fixed on Steve, a silent command. "Valentina's been hounding me about it."

Steve's posture shifted. The easy camaraderie vanished, replaced by a quiet professionalism. He knew there was no briefing, Bucky didn’t want John and Steve interacting.

So, he gave John a brief, polite nod. "Duty calls," he said. "We'll talk more later, John."

And just like that, he was gone, following Bucky out of the room. The doors hissed shut behind them, leaving John alone. Maybe, just maybe Steve could come to like John and Bucky will follow.

John let a laughed…as if.

________________________________________

As Bucky led the way down the hall, his posture remained rigid. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. Steve, however, could feel the disapproval radiating from him. Steve knew what this was about, since he returned there was just one person who made Bucky react like that.

"What was that about?" Steve asked, his voice low. "Why are you so angry? I was just talking to him."

Bucky finally turned his head, his eyes a cold, hard blue. "He's a mess, Steve. A disgrace to everything you stand for," he said, the words a dangerous whisper. "You don't need to bother with him."

Steve frowned. "You seemed to bother with him before I got here. What changed?"

"Nothing changed," Bucky snapped. He remembered the scene just now, John blushing, with wide starry eyes, preening over Steve giving him a scrap of attention. "He's the same guy he always was." He wasn't just mad at John for being so easy; he was furious at Steve for being so effortlessly, blindingly Steve.  For charming John with a quiet word and an easy smile, the same way he used to charm everyone.

Before Steve's return, John's attention had been a weird kind of comfort. It was a constant, a strange anchor in Bucky's chaotic life. John had been obsessed with him, had wanted his respect, had followed him around with a puppy-dog desperation that Bucky had found endlessly annoying, and yet, strangely comforting. He'd never had that after the Winter Soldier, not in this new life. John's focus on him was a rare, unwavering thing, and Bucky had felt a sense of ownership over it.

And now, with a single, polite word, Steve had taken it. And he didn’t even know a little about John.

"I saw the video," Steve pushed, his voice hardening with his own sense of justice. "He needs a friend. He needs someone who understands what it's like to lose control, what it's like to have a past you can't escape."

Oh, really? Bucky wanted to laugh in this stupid punk face. Steve. Steve, knows what it is like to lose control, and everybody sees all the rotten parts of yourself? The parts that are not acceptable. Steve.

"He's not your little stray, Steve," he hissed, his voice a low, brutal growl. "He's not your problem." He's my problem was left unsaid.

He turned and continued walking, leaving Steve standing in the hallway, more confused than ever.

________________________________________

The doors to the gym hissed open, a low whisper of metal against metal that was the only sound John had heard for the last fifteen minutes. He was sitting in a mat with the combat knife held loosely in his hand.  He felt like he had just won one of his medals all over again. Steve Rogers had talked to him, had called him a good soldier.

He knew he was still blushing; Ava had pointed it out the moment Steve and Bucky had gone to that supposed briefing. John had fled with his knife and sat alone in the gym, trying to regain his composure.

Then, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps on the rubber mat, but before he could look up, a shadow fell over him.

"Give me that," Bucky's voice was a low, dangerous rumble. He didn't ask. It was an order.

John’s head snapped up. Bucky was standing over him, his eyes like chips of ice. Without waiting for a response, Bucky's metal arm reached out, a blur of silver and chrome. His fingers were faster than John's reflexes, and in a single, fluid motion, he snatched the knife from John's grasp. The sudden, cold weight of the metal was gone from John's hand.

Bucky held the knife up, examining the blade with a deliberate, insulting nonchalance. He spun it between his fingers, a silent, taunting display of his superior control. He didn't say a word at first.

"Don't flatter yourself," Bucky's voice was a low, flat rumble. John flinched. Bucky's expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on John. "He's not your friend. He just feels sorry for you."

John's face, which had just begun to cool down, flushed again. "I'm not trying to be his friend," he said, the lie feeling weak and pathetic even to his own ears. "He's part of this team. It's... professional."

"Professional?" Bucky let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "The punk got a bleeding heart. He can't help it. It's who he is. He'll take in any stray he sees." Bucky's presence a physical weight in the silent room. "But I guess you finally got what you wanted."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Bucky let out a bitter, humorless laugh. He walked even closer, standing over John with his metal arm glinting under the harsh gym lights along with the knife. "The great Steve Rogers, talking to you. It's what you wanted all along, isn’t it?"

John's face flushed with a mixture of shame and anger. "That's not fair. I was just—"

"Just what?" Bucky's eyes, sharp and accusatory, met his. "Just waiting for him to show up so you didn't have to bother with me anymore?"

John's jaw tightened. Why was he like this? If it's like he says, shouldn’t he be happy that I leave him alone then? He didn’t say that out loud, because Bucky had a knife in his hand, and John didn’t have a death wish... yet.

Bucky's stare was unwavering. "You were so desperate for a nod from me. And now that the original is here, you've forgotten all about it. He's just a man, Walker. He doesn't need a puppy following him around."

"I'm not a puppy," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

"No?" Bucky's eyes, cold and sharp, raked over him. "You sure about that, Walker? You come running tail wagging every time he calls your name…You're pathetic."

John felt a hot, blinding flash of anger. "What's your problem, man?" he snapped. "He's your friend. Why do you care what I do?"

Steve's kindness and Bucky's cold fury were two sides of the same coin, and John felt the weight of both. But Bucky's words were a knife.

Bucky's gaze hardened, a dark, unsettling glint in his eyes. He didn't answer the question.

"Stay out of his way," Bucky said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that was meant for John and John alone. "You're a disgrace. The last thing he needs is a reminder of how everything went to hell when he was gone."

John said nothing. He just stared at Bucky, his heart hammering against his ribs...he didn't understand him.

Bucky's gaze lingered for a moment longer before he turned and walked out of the gym. The knife still in his hand.

John could only sit there, his mind reeling. The warmth of Steve’s kindness was gone, replaced by the crushing weight of Bucky's disapproval.

And John, for reasons he didn't understand, was the object of his fury.

Chapter Text

Ava stood in the doorway of John's room, her arms crossed, a look of profound boredom on her face.

"Okay, Walker," she said, her voice a low murmur. "The team has spoken. No more takeout. We’re all tired of pizza and bad Chinese."

John fumbled with his cellphone. He was looking at some pictures of Liam that Oliva sent him. "I just wanted a rest. You are all adults, you can cook." He tried to sound commanding.

Is not like John was too nervous because Steve Rogers was there, and what if he accidently poisons Steve Rogers, and the planet will hate him more, but it wouldn’t matter, because he will be death meat after Bucky murder him.

"Just cook," Ava interrupted, her tone final. "We are hungry so that makes us all more snappish, and you don’t want me in a worse mood than I am. Because maybe I have an incriminating photo of you to show to both of your heroes."

John let out a defeated sigh. Little shit. So, he goes to cook.

He went to the kitchen with Ava and moved with a practiced ease, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator and chopping vegetables with a rhythmic precision. It was a familiar, comforting ritual that helped him push down his anxiety. He was just starting to feel a semblance of peace when the door slid open again.

Steve walked in, his presence so bright and overwhelming that John's hands froze over the cutting board. He was in civilian clothes—a simple T-shirt and jeans—but he still radiated a quiet authority.

"Smells good," Steve said, his voice gentle. He glanced at Ava, who gave him a small nod before phasing out.

John could only manage a quick, jerky nod. He busies himself with the cutting board, acutely aware of Steve's gaze. "Just... making dinner."

"Yeah, I can see that," Steve replied, a faint smile in his voice while grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Looks like you know your way around a kitchen. I'm more of a microwave guy myself."

John felt a warmth spread through his chest. "It's... relaxing," he admitted, the words coming out more easily than he expected.

Steve smiled at John and patted his back. "For Bucky." He said while raising the water in his hand, and then he left.

John is starting to understand why Bucky was so angry with him. John took the Captain America job, and that made Bucky feel like John was trying to replace Steve Rogers.

But that was impossible, he knew Steve for so little time, and he is good, almost too good. John was not like that, he was too much and to little, he was half a man, no Oliva and no Lamar. Al least he had Liam…well, more like he could visit him on the weekends and little by little, Oliva and he were getting friendlier.

Shit, the water was boiling already. Focus, John.

Just do your best.

________________________________________

That night, the communal table felt different. The usual chaotic energy was muted, replaced by a strange mix of forced politeness and subtle tension. John, who usually sat in one of the head of the tables, found himself in a central seat across from Bucky, with Steve at the head of the table. So nice of Alexi to give a place that wasn’t his…asshole.

The conversation was stilted at first, but Steve, with his easy charisma, soon got everyone talking. Bucky, however, remained silent, his gaze fixed on John.

Bucky's cold silence was a stark contrast to Steve's warm engagement. John tried to ignore it, focusing on the food he had prepared, but he could feel Bucky's stare like a physical weight.

Suddenly, Bucky spoke, his voice a low, flat rumble. "Still a picky eater."

John's head snapped up. Bucky was staring at John’s plate, and his eyes then met his. John had separated the tomatoes seeds from his salad, a habit he’d had since he was a kid. He was afraid when he was a kid that a tomato plant could grow in his stomach.

 Bucky had noticed, even in the chaos of a dozen shared meals, and sitting so far apart in the past. It was a small, insignificant thing, but it was something that made John's skin crawl and preen at the same time.

Because on one hand, Bucky maybe wanted to interact with John. On the other hand, maybe Bucky was going to turn his tomato seed issues into a mortal weapon.

Or John could think positively. Steve and Bucky were friends, so maybe having again his friend back will give Bucky some manners.

 So, John made a little wave at Bucky, to close the gap that was always between them. Maybe Bucky will return my knife. Bucky just snorted while shaking his head. Okay, John obviously had a tomato delusion. So stupid.

Steve watched Bucky's reaction, a muscle in his jaw tightening. Bucky was leaning over, almost imperceptibly, towards John, like a moth drawn to a flame, even as he feigned disinterest. The clench in Steve's own hand around his fork was a stark contrast to the easy smile he kept plastered on his face. He saw the intensity in Bucky's eyes, an almost desperate focus that wasn't directed at Steve, but at John. He didn't like it. Not one bit.

Ava let a little laugh when she saw John awkward little wave, then she coughed and with a posher voice than usual said, “It lacks… something. Too much salt."

John’s head snapped on her. "Too much salt? I followed the recipe exactly!" he shot back with a whine. "You're just a critic at heart, Ava, because you don’t know how to cook for a shit."

"Maybe you should try a new recipe then," she retorted with a smirk. "Or, you know, just use less salt."

"It's a classic recipe!" John insisted. "A masterpiece!"

"Maybe Bob should be the one to season the meal. We need some…fresh meat!"

John gasped, he looked like a Victorian lady clutching her pearls. "Bob. Bob. The guy whose idea of a good meal is pizza rolls with Cheetos on it."

Bob looked at both with stinky eyes. "Hey. Don’t knock till you try it."

"It lacks soul, John," Ava teased.

John let out another gasp, clutching his chest. "How could you say that? This masterpiece is a symphony of flavors! It’s a culinary masterpiece!"

Steve found himself genuinely chuckling at their antics, a low, easy sound that surprised even him. But his eyes never truly left John. Maybe it was the duality of John that attracted Bucky's attention? Steve saw the video and photos of John murdering that man, but it was almost charming that a man that showed such a violent angry side, was also a shy fanboy soldier, soft around his teammates and also surprisingly passionate about something as mundane as cooking.

Steve's head went to Bucky when he heard that familiar soft chuckle. The one that Bucky only used with Steve. Well, more like when Steve was smaller and sicker, and Bucky used to pat his head while mockingly calling him punk.

Then Bucky looked at Steve like he knew what he was thinking, and mouthed a teasing "punk, eat your vegetables."

But those eyes then went back to John.

After dinner, as everyone dispersed, Steve followed Yelena to the balcony. He had to ask somebody, maybe Steve was the one making it up and it was all in his head.

Yelena was leaning over the rail while spinning a knife with her hand. She of course notices the tension; you must blind to not to…or be John.

"You’re here to ask about James." Yelena teased. She liked Steve, great guy, great fighter, maybe a little uptight but he was also a true fanboy at heart…for James.

"What's his deal?" Steve asked, his voice low. "Bucky. He's so... focused on John."

Yelena stopped stretching and gave him a dry look. "Oh, the little puppy?" she said, a smirk on her face. "It's simple, Steve. You stole his puppy."

Steve frowned. Puppy? Steve would have noticed if Bucky had a pet by now. "What are you talking about?"

"Before you came back," Yelena explained, "John Walker, in his desperate need for approval, was always after James's attention. He was the only person in this whole place who actually stuck around when James gets in one of his moods."

She shrugged. "James didn't have to talk to him. He didn't have to be nice. He knew he had John's attention without any effort. It was a strange kind of comfort for him, I think." Oh, Yelena didn’t think, she was sure. She was sure the sun rises every morning.

 Maybe, if Steve hadn’t arrived, James would have lay claim on John…Well, if James accepted first that he was a little crazy for their resident Junior Varsity Captain America.

Yelena's eyes met Steve's, and her expression was surprisingly serious. "And then you show up, all noble and charming, and you are nice and understanding to John. So, John's not going to chase a cold-shouldered soldier when his childhood hero is here to talk about knives and give him a polite smile." Well, more like John had tried to give Bucky space so that he wouldn’t interrupt the wonder duo friendship reunion.

"So, Bucky is just... jealous of me?" Steve asked the question, feeling strange even as he said it out loud. Bucky was charming, charming when he wanted to be and when he didn’t want, he had this strange allure that speaks to you. And it didn’t hurt he was also very striking with his black hair and those steel eyes.

"No, Steve," Yelena said with a sigh. "James isn't jealous of you. He's jealous that you took his puppy. You are his best friend, his brother, and his comfort. You took his space in this new world and gave him no choice but to rely on you. And you also took the one person that was interested in him. You don't realize what you do. You just... walk into a room and everybody comes running, even the ones who were already taken."

Yelena’s words hit Steve with a force he wasn't prepared for. He had assumed Bucky's anger was a remnant of the past. He hadn't considered that his presence, and the attention it drew, was a source of new resentment.

A cold determined clarity settled over Steve. If Bucky's attention was tied to John, then John was the key to their future. And Steve would do whatever it took to make sure that he and Bucky were okay.

Yelena saw the cold look in Steve. She seen it before... Who would have said that Steve Rogers, the Boy Scout from America, was a predator type just like James?

Well, after all, wolves are not used to being alone, they form packs.

Chapter Text

The night air was cool and still on the balcony, a stark contrast to the stifling tension of dinner. Steve leaned on the railing. Bucky joined him after Yelena left. He was trying to figure out the right words, but Bucky beat him to it, his voice a low, flat rumble.

"Don't," Bucky said, his gaze fixed on the lights of the city below.

"Don't what?" Steve asked, his voice gentle.

Bucky turned to face him, his eyes like steel. "Don't give me the 'are you okay, Buck' talk. I'm fine."

Steve nodded slowly. "Okay. But what was that tonight? With John. You were watching him like a hawk." Not only tonight, but every day. Do you always watch him like that? That’s what Steve wanted to ask. But that would hit too close to home and Buck will get angry.

Bucky scoffed, turning back to the city. "That little puppy? Please. I don't care what he does."

"You looked like you did," Steve pressed, his voice losing its softness. Puppy. So, Yelena was right. He remembered the cold look in Bucky's eyes at the dinner table, the way he leaned toward John like he was a moth drawn to a flame. "He was talking to Ava, and you looked like you were ready to— ."

Bucky’s posture stiffened. "To what?" he growled.

You looked like you wanted to tear him apart, crack him open and then crawl inside him, where his beating heart is supposed to be.  

"I've never seen you so fixated on anyone before. What is it about John that has you so crazy?" Steve challenged, his voice quiet but firm.

Bucky's head snapped around, his face a mask of cold fury. "Don't. Don't say his name." He took a menacing step closer to Steve. "I don't care about that little shit, never have. He's nothing but a pathetic wannabe."

Steve held his ground. "Then give me the knife you took from him."

Bucky froze. The metal arm was still. Bucky said nothing, and Steve took his silence as confirmation.

"I know you have it," Steve said, his eyes never leaving Bucky's. "I recognized it. Give it to me. I'll give it back to him since you don't care about John Walker."

Bucky’s jaw tightened. He reached into his jacket, his movements slow and deliberate, and pulled out the K-bar, holding it between his fingers. He looked at the knife, then at Steve, his face unreadable.

Steve saw where Bucky kept the knife. He carries it in a pocket near his heart. In that pocket, in the past, Bucky used to carry the photo of his family, later, during the war, a photo of Steve and then after being the Winter Soldier and getting his mind back, Bucky kept something precious: his own ID card.

 When Bucky first got it, he would sit for at least an hour watching it. Steve was sure it was because it meant he was Bucky again, not just the Winter Soldier.

 But now, in that pocket, he has John Walker's combat knife.

Steve knew at that moment that he should accept that John was here to stay in Bucky's mind.

"No," Bucky said, his voice a low, deadly rumble. He put the knife back in his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze at a cold, defiant challenge.

A small, understanding sigh escaped Steve. "So, you do care about him," he said, the words not a question but a simple statement of fact. "What do you want from him, Buck?"

The question hung in the night air, heavy and unresolved. Bucky didn’t answer. His face, which moments ago had been a mask of defiance, became cold and unyielding. His eyes were no longer confused, but filled with a deep, private shame. He knew what he wanted. He just couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, not to Steve, and especially not to himself.

________________________________________

The mission was chaos, just like every mission with this team.

The target was a rogue faction in Seoul, who had stolen a prototype EMP generator. They were barricaded in a high-rise office building, and the Thunderbolts were tasked with retrieving the tech and neutralizing the threat without civilian casualties.

Steve, in his new, crisp New Avengers uniform, was the calm center of the storm. "Yelena, you and Alexei take the rooftop. Bucky, with Ava, come through the lobby. John and Bob, you're our eyes and ears, secure the perimeter and keep me updated." He sounded like he was leading an army, but the team was anything but.

Yelena responded with a dry, "We will try not to set things on fire, Captain."

Bucky just grunted not agreeing nor disagreeing, he just turned to Ava with a look that said, "Let's get this over with."

The plan, as expected, immediately fell apart.

Alexei, in a moment of boisterous impatience, broke away to use a fire escape, his booming voice filling the comms. "Russian hero takes the shortcut! The people will sing my name!" Ava, seeing an opening, phased through a wall without warning.

Steve's voice on the comms was strained. "Alexei, get back to the plan! Ava, where are you?"

From his position on the street, John saw the chaos. He quickly analyzed the building's schematics on his tablet, his mind racing. The fire escape route was a dead end, a classic K.I.A. trap. Alexei was walking into a kill box.

"Steve!" John's voice, usually timid and full of deference, was a sharp, military command. "The fire escape leads to a blocked service corridor! They're funneling him into an ambush on the 10th floor. We need to cut them off on the 9th. Bucky, can you get to the service elevator?"

Bucky, who had been moving with a cold, detached efficiency, paused. He had his own plan, a more subtle one, but John's call could also work.

"I'm on it." Bucky replied, already moving.

John's call cut through the noise, forcing the team to work together, if only for a moment. He directed Ava to a new target, gave Yelena a tactical instruction for backup, and his quick, logical decisions turned the tide. They secured the generator and neutralized the threat with a surprising lack of collateral damage, all thanks to John's quick thinking.

Back at the Watchtower, the debriefing room was a low hum of chatter after a successful mission. John, still buzzing from the adrenaline, was going over his notes.

Steve walked over to him, his expression one of genuine, deep respect. " John. Your decision to split the team and use the flanking maneuver was perfect. It saved us a lot of time and a lot of trouble."

John felt his cheeks heat up, but this time, it was from pride, not shame. "Thank you, Steve. It was just... what seemed logical."

Steve then patted his arm with a smile and went to talk with Yelena.

Bucky, watching from across the room, saw the easy camaraderie, the hand Steve placed on John's shoulder and how it lingered for a second too long. He knew this praise was sincere, but he also saw Steve's subtle look of triumph, the one directed at him, to prove to Bucky something. The message was clear: I'm doing this on purpose. And you can’t stop me.

He hated it. Steve was using John's success as a weapon. Bucky's fists clenched. He wanted to go over there and rip the smile off Steve's face. He was furious. Steve was using an innocent person's adoration as a tool to provoke him.

"A little too logical if you ask me," Ava said, walking past and giving a little nudge to John’s elbow. Her voice was dry, but a quick glance at her revealed a rare, genuine grin. "You went the extra mile." She then looked at John and winked. "Reminds me of one of our first missions."

John's face, already flushed, turned a deeper red. He didn't know what to say, so he just offered a quiet thank you. He knew what mission she meant, but in this one he wasn’t trying to impress Steve, not like that time with…Bucky.

It was a small, high-stakes mission—a simple extraction. John, driven by a desperate need for approval, had gone against his instincts to try and show Bucky he was a good soldier. Bucky, as usual, was a wall of cold indifference.

John had gone the "extra mile," taking an unnecessary risk to neutralize various threats to clear the path for Bucky, something he didn't need to do, but he was hoping Bucky would finally see him.

To John's ears, Bucky's voice on the comms was flat. "Good teamwork everybody." It was the most Bucky had said to him in a week. John felt a small, triumphant thrill.

But when they were back at the Watchtower, Bucky had cornered him in the hall, his eyes cold and hard. "Don't be such a show-off," Bucky had hissed, his voice a low, brutal growl. "That was unnecessary."

John had felt a crushing disappointment. He had tried to get approval, but all he got was another rebuke.

But Bucky, seeing the wink, felt a fresh wave of fury. This was all a desperate attempt to gain Steve's attention, and John was willing to use the team to get it. Bucky felt a deep disgust, a mix of contempt for John— how can you be so easy? So desperate?  — and a profound anger at Steve. Punk, I don’t even want to know what you are trying to prove.

He needed to get out. Before, he ripped the smile off Steve's face and told John exactly how transparent and desperate he was. He clenched his fists, spun on his heel, and walked out of the room, his silence a loud, furious roar. Steve following him.

Bucky’s furious exit left a palpable silence in the debriefing room. John, oblivious to the deeper currents, just looked confused.

"Was it something I said?" he mumbled to himself, his brow furrowed, but a wide smile was still plastered on his face. He felt like he had just won one of his medals all over again.

He then, still in a daze, walked out of the room, heading to his own quarters. He was in cloud nine.

After John was gone, Ava and Yelena exchanged a knowing glance.

"Look at him," Ava murmured, nodding in the direction John had gone. "The little puppy is in heaven."

"He doesn't even notice," Yelena said, a small, calculating smile playing on her lips. "He's so desperate for Steve's approval, he can't see James is furious."

Ava let out a low laugh. "Oh, he sees it. He's just choosing to ignore it. He's a veteran of ignoring things he doesn't want to deal with." She then looked at Yelena, a spark of mischief in her eyes. "So, what are we going to do about it?"

Yelena leaned in, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "We're going to give John a little nudge. A little encouragement. We will make him feel a little more secure in his place here."

"And James will get even more annoyed," Ava finished, a predatory look on her face. "He is so easy to rile up. He will try to get John's attention back, just to prove to Steve he can. And John, poor, sweet, little John, will just think he is finally being a good teammate."

"Let the games begin," Yelena said, her expression full of quiet amusement.

________________________________________

John was humming to himself as he walked down the hall, still in a daze from Steve's praise. He was on his way to his room when Ava and Yelena appeared beside him, their steps quiet and synchronized.

"Just the man we were looking for," Ava said, her voice dry.

Yelena nudged him with her elbow. "Steve Rogers is in the gym. He’s looking at a new training regimen for the team, and he needs a soldier's opinion. A good soldier's opinion."

John’s heart gave a nervous jump, but his chest feels warm. Yelena and Ava think he is good. "Oh. Me? I don't know."

"Who better?" Ava said, her tone full of sincerity. Eve if they were leading John on, the guy was a asshole but a  good one. "You're the tactical expert. The mission today was proof of that."

John’s chest swelled with pride. He felt a familiar blush creeping up his neck, but this time it was from flattery. "Well... if he needs me."

The two women led him to the gym, and as they pushed the door open, John saw him. Steve was standing by a holographic screen, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was just so… Captain America.

John took a deep breath and walked forward, his posture straight, his head held high. Ava and Yelena watched from the doorway, smirks on their faces.

Bucky, who had been lifting weights in the corner, saw the whole thing. He saw Ava and Yelena lead John to Steve. He saw the look on John's face, a mix of earnestness and wide-eyed hero worship. He saw John walked up to Steve, and his heart gave a familiar, angry thump. This was no accident. They were doing this on purpose. He kept his gaze locked on the two men.

"Captain...I mean Steve," John started, his voice a little too loud.

Steve turned, a warm, easy smile spreading across his face. "John. Ava and Yelena told me you had something for me?"

"Oh. Uh. Yes." John's mind went blank. The plan, which had been so clear in his head just a moment ago, dissolved into a flustered mess. "I just... I wanted to say, I think the new training regimen is a great idea. It's... very tactical. I'm excited to see it. It's an honor to work with you, sir."

Steve's smile widened. He placed a hand on John’s shoulder, a gesture that was both reassuring and completely disarming. "The honor is all mine, John. I'm glad to have a soldier like you on the team. You're a true leader."

John's face, already flushed, went a furious red. He stammered, his eyes wide and panicked, utterly unprepared for such direct praise. "I... I... uh..."

Steve let out a soft, amused laugh, his hand still on John's shoulder. "Go on, soldier. Get to your room before you blow a fuse." He gently pushed him toward the door.

John stumbled out, his head spinning. He had been so nervous, so awkward. He felt a mix of exhilaration and deep, mortifying embarrassment.

Just then, a presence appeared behind John. Bucky's hand reached out, brushing lightly against the small of John's back as he leaned in close. His voice, a low and intimate murmur, was so quiet only John could hear it.

"That's enough sucking up, puppy," Bucky whispered against his ear, his words a cold, teasing gust of air. "You'll make the new boy captain angry."

John's breath hitched. His body, which had been rigid with flustered adoration for Steve, immediately turned to jelly. His eyes, now wide and panicked, darted from Steve to Bucky, and then, as if drawn by an invisible current, they locked onto Bucky's, unable to look away. Steve's hand, still on his shoulder, felt like a lead weight

"Hey, Buck," Steve said, his smile still in place, but a new, cold edge to his voice. He wanted Bucky to tell him what he wanted, so Steve could get it for him. "Glad you join us. You don’t mind right?"

Bucky's smirk widened, slow and dangerous. He didn't answer Steve directly. Instead, he stepped forward, his metal hand coming to rest on John's other shoulder, mirroring Steve's touch. John was now perfectly framed between them, a deer caught in two sets of headlights.

"Not at all, punk," Bucky said, his voice a low, intimate rumble. "I just wanted to make sure our boy here isn't getting a big head," he said the last two words with a tone full of sarcastic venom, "He’s just a good boy who just had a good day. It's not a habit."

John's mind went completely blank. He couldn't speak, couldn't even stammer. He was completely trapped between the two men, his head spinning. He felt a deep, mortifying blush creep from his neck all the way to his ears, and he felt a flutter of something in his stomach, a strange, dizzying mix of embarrassment and... something else. Something warm and dangerous.

What does that mean? Are they angry? They sound angry.

He wanted to look at Steve's face, but his eyes stayed in Bucky's. He couldn't understand why he was doing that, but there was something in Bucky’s eyes, a strange, intensity, that held him captive as if it told him, “Don’t you dare to look away from me or I will tear you apart."

Steve watched John's face go crimson, the terror in his wide eyes. He felt Bucky's possessive presence next to him and understood completely. The game was on.

With a final, gentle pat on John’s shoulder, Steve broke the silence. "Alright, soldier. Go on."

Bucky let out a low, humorless huff. He stepped back, a final, victorious smirk on his face.

John stumbled out, his head spinning. He had been so nervous, so awkward. He felt a mix of exhilaration and deep, mortifying embarrassment.

Chapter Text

The common room was filled with the low hum of conversation. Ava, Alexei, and Bob were lounging on the couches while Yelena perched on the back of one, her legs tucked under her. John walked in, a thermos of tea in his hand, and sat down at the table. He was still in a pleasant daze from the mission ignoring that interaction that Bucky made weird. Because it was normal until Bucky did his Bucky thing where he mocks and betitles John in a way that John never understands. But never mind, that was a fluke.

"You look like you're in a good mood," Ava said, her voice dry.

"The mission went well," John replied with a wide, genuine smile.

"It did," Alexei boomed. "A good fight and a good victory! I've been telling everyone you have a heart of a true warrior!"

In the TV was running a show that was talking about them, their team.

"Ah, look, they are talking about the 'bad boys' of the team." Yelena interjected, her eyes glinting with mischief.

John perked up. The tv must have been talking about him and he had seen the way the others looked at him, the quiet awe and respect in their eyes. "Well, I guess I am the bad boy of the team."

Ava and Yelena let out a synchronized snort of laughter. Even Bob let out a little snort.

"You?" Ava said, a disbelieving smirk on her face. "You mean Bucky and maybe Bob."

Yelena murmured to herself. "And Steve Rogers may be a secret bad boy; he is no boy scout that one."

"Wait, Bobby?" John said, genuinely confused. He accepted Bucky but Bob? He turned to look at Bob. "He's a bad boy? How?"

Bob just gave a small, wry smile. "What? I took drugs, I have a shitty past that makes me the 'I can fix him type', and also I’m the Void and Sentry at the same time."

John's brow furrowed. "What? No! I'm a bad boy type! The strong, silent type with a dark past and a brooding demeanor." He was trying to sound intimidating, but he only sounded like a nervous boy in a too-big uniform.

Bob let out a full-bellied laugh. Fucking Bob, maybe he is getting too comfortable with John. "Did you marry your high school sweetheart?" he asked, a teasing tone in his voice.

"Yes," John said, completely missing the subtext.

"Did you ever go to church when you were in high school?" Asked Ava

"Yes, every Sunday."

"Did you ever do drugs or smoke?" Alexei asked with an annoying smile.

John looked horrified. "No! My mom always said those were for delinquents." He remembered his mom's warning, her face a mask of concern when John used to go to school.

Yelena and Ava exchanged a look, their smirks widening. "Oh, honey," Yelena said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You're a sweet Georgia peach. But it's okay," she added, her eyes twinkling. "Bad boys love a good boy."

John’s face turned a deep, furious red. "I'm not a good boy! I’m a bad one, a really bad one like-like Bucky." he insisted, but he knew he was losing this argument.

Ava, seeing his mortified reaction, decided to go for the kill. Her voice was pure saccharine poison. "Well," she said, her eyes fixed on John's horrified face. "Maybe Bucky isn't just the bad boy, he's the daddy type, his fans say so, and we definitely know you are not that type."

John’s face got an insulted look. "I could also be the daddy type. I actually have a son."

Bob, Alexei, Ava and Yelena looked at John.

John insisted. “I could be."

Yelena's smile got wider. Maybe this will help our dense dear John to realize he is attracted to Bucky. "Walker, you are a good boy. But don’t worry, good boys also need their daddies."

John’s face went even redder. "He is not my daddy! and I’m not the good boy type."

Ava murmured. "But nobody said he was."

John heard her. He was about to stammer more protests, more denials, when the door to the common room hissed open.

Oh shit.

Bucky walked in, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. Behind him, Steve followed, a friendly smile on his face, oblivious to the emotional minefield he was about to step into.

Bucky stopped; his eyes fixed on John. A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face.

Oh, he heard something, and if Bucky did, then Steve also heard.

"Shut up, Walker," Bucky said, his voice a low, teasing rumble. "You are a good boy."

John froze. The blood drained from his face, and his mind, so quickly on the battlefield, went completely blank. He stammered, his cheeks a furious red. He stammered, his cheeks a furious red. "I-I-I... what?

"But" Bucky started stopping for a second, the corner of his mouth moving upwards, he looked like a shark looking for blood. " Who is your daddy?"

Steve stood behind Bucky, his friendly smile in place. The room was silent for a whole minute.

The silence was broken by the quiet, clinical voice of Yelena. She didn't look at John, or Steve, or Bucky. She just watched the television, as if this was all a simple, mundane conversation.

"The TV was talking about us," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "About the 'bad boys' of the team." She then looked at Bucky, her eyes glinting with a mischievous fire. "John insisted he was one. We were just telling him that he is clearly the good boy type, and that bad boys love a good boy."

The words hung in the air, clarifying everything and making the unspoken subtext brutally clear. Steve's eyes widened in realization. They all know that Bucky was into John, but John and Bucky himself.

But Steve quickly regained his composure. Seeing the sheer mortification on John’s face—the furious blush, the wide, panicked eyes, the flustered hand gesture—something shifted inside Steve. It wasn't a calculated thought, but a flash of something soft and protective.

"So," he said, his voice calm, as if they were in a briefing room. "What did they say about the rest of us? What types are we?" he asked, pointing a thumb at the television and then gesturing to the whole team.

Suddenly, Alexei shouted. "Shh, shh, the TV is talking about John!"

Every eye went to the TV.

On the screen, a charismatic host was smiling brightly. "And now, we're talking about the most talked-about, John Walker! One of the more controversial members of the team. Is he a good boy or a bad boy?"

The screen then showed a montage of John's time as Captain America: his earnest speeches, his brave but often clumsy attempts to lead, and his more heroic moments from their recent missions. The host then brought up some of John's old interviews from his time in the military, highlighting his traditional values and his deep respect for authority.

The montage shifted, highlighting John’s cute moments with the rest of the team. The screen showed John carrying a stack of books to a lab for Bob, only to trip over a loose floor tile, sending the books scattering. Bob, who was walking by, simply looked at the mess, his expression blank. Then, with a flicker of his eyes, all the books floated perfectly into the air and stacked themselves neatly, much to John's befuddled relief. Then it showed him trying to speak a few Russian phrases to Alexei, his accent hilariously off, but his smile genuine as Alexei clapped him on the back. It showed Yelena teasing him with a deadpan expression, and John making jokes while his eyes were soft. Then with Ava doing the groceries, John obediently checked the things on the list while Ava gave him orders.

And then, it showed moments with Bucky. The camera captured a fleeting look on Bucky’s face as John tripped on a wire, the ghost of a smile appearing and vanishing just as quickly. A moment where Bucky, with surprising gentleness, had moved a stray piece of rubble from John’s path during a mission with his feet.

As the segment concluded, the host smiled. "So, there you have it, folks. He may look like a bad boy, but we think he is a good boy with a dark side."

The TV went to a commercial break, but the damage was done.

John will never recover from this and these menaces will never let this go. Never.

________________________________________

John was right.

The team never let it go.

It started with Yelena. The moment John walked into the common room the next morning, she gave him a sweet, fake smile. "Good morning, my sweet Georgia peach. Did you sleep well?"

John groaned, his shoulders slumping. "Don't start."

"Why not?" she said, getting up from the couch and circling him. "It's a very fitting nickname. It encapsulates your wholesome charm, your simple, good boy values, and your blushing habit. It is perfect."

Alexei, never one to be left out, chimed in. "Yes, very good nickname! Sweet like Georgia peach! Not like vodka." He punctuated the statement with a booming laugh that made John's cheeks burn.

Bob, in the corner, just gave him a gentle, sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, John. There's nothing wrong with being a good boy."

This little shit. John's face just turned a deeper shade of red. It was a no-win situation. The "good boy" label was an inescapable brand. He just wanted to go somewhere quiet, somewhere he could forget the last twenty-four hours.

He fled the common room, muttering a quick goodbye, and found a quiet, abandoned training room. The scent of old leather and sweat was a familiar comfort. He leaned against a wall, running a hand over his face, his mind replaying every cringeworthy moment.

"You never answer me." Bucky appeared from the shadows. He was leaning against a wall.

"What?" John stammered out.

"Who is your daddy? Who were you calling that? " Bucky appeared from the shadows. He was leaning against a wall.

John's mind raced. He had known since Bucky's public taunt that they must have heard something. His blood ran cold at the thought that both Steve and Bucky had been standing there, listening to the whole humiliating conversation. Now Bucky was here, alone, demanding an answer. If he told the truth, Bucky might kill him. If he lied, Bucky would know.

He had to lie. He had to. "N-nobody," he stammered, his eyes darting around the room, desperately avoiding Bucky's intense gaze. "It was... it was nothing. Ava just said nonsense."

Bucky's cold, unreadable expression didn't change. He let a long, heavy silence fill the room, letting John's lie hang in the air, pathetic and flimsy. Then, a slow, dry smile spread across his face, full of pure, terrifying malice.

"You really didn't read the fine print, did you, Walker?" Bucky said, his voice a low, chilling rumble. He took another step forward, closing the distance between them. "The serum gives us a few... enhancements." He gestured between the two of them. "Enhanced senses. Perfect hearing." Bucky leaned in, his whisper a cold, teasing gust of air on John's ear. "I heard everything, Walker. Every single word."

John had to man up.

"It was Ava. I didn’t call you that, you heard us. You-well-not you. I mean, she-she has daddy issues look on how she grew up, and let’s not forget your fans they put that weird nickname to you not me—Well, if you think about it is kind of your fault, your publicity team should know what they were doing with those campaign photos, like why a congressman was doing various thirst photos? — Not that I’m blaming you of course, just a comment to take as precedent —and coming back to the topic this has nothing to do with me. I’m innocent—innocent. You should call me a— wait, I’m the victim here. A victim of circumstances that are beyond my control. And do you know what is out of control, the universe and—"

Yeah, not John's proudest moment to throw Ava under the bus. And his blabbering. He never stops blabbering.

"And they are even calling me Georgia peach. Do I look like a peach? Because even I know I don’t match pink, it washes me up. And Bobby—even Bobby mocked me. Bob, BOB-And also, you should—"

John's rambling was a cascade of nervous energy, his hands gesticulating wildly, his words tumbling over each other in a desperate attempt to create a verbal shield. He was an unspooling mess of a man, and Bucky's gaze followed every flustered twitch, every absurd deflection.

The corner of Bucky's mouth twitched. Not a smile, but a hint of amusement—a dangerous one. He raised a hand.

"That's enough, Walker." His voice was low, and the single, simple line cut through John's tirade like a knife.

John instantly fell silent, his mouth open, his eyes wide and panicked. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the flood of words that had just poured out of him.

Bucky took another step, his gaze fixed on John's face, a predator stalking its prey. He stepped closer, crowding John against the wall.

Bucky leaned in, his whisper a cold, serious gust of air on John's ear. "Focus on what's important, Walker."

John's mind went blank, trying to process the command. He had been so focused on his mortification and his team's teasing, he hadn't even considered the larger picture. What's important?” he thought, his eyes darting to a dusty pull-up bar on the wall. Was Bucky talking about their upcoming mission? The new tactical review? The need for better team cohesion? Wait, that John should prove himself more to Steve? That must be it.

 John nodded, a look of renewed determination on his face.

Bucky, seeing John’s sudden change in expression, let out a slow, quiet laugh.

Without another word, Bucky reached out and gave John a slow, deliberate pat on the head, as one would to a very sweet puppy.

"That's a good boy," Bucky said, his voice a low, teasing rumble.

His eyes, cold and dark a moment ago, were now full of a calculating heat. He watched John's pupils dilate and his mouth, without him realizing, part slightly. A stray blush dusted his cheeks and neck. Bucky’s gaze dropped for a split second, observing how John’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips before disappearing again.

He turned and walked away, disappearing back into the shadows from which he came. Before leaving he turned a last time, his smile wicked.

"Keep behaving for daddy."

John stood there, frozen, his heart hammering in his chest, his skin flushed. This was a hallucination.

He didn't understand. Why was his heart beating so hard? Why was his face so hot? It was just Bucky. And, God, the team were all going to torment him for the rest of his life with the good boy label. And Bucky just called himself his… his…his daddy.

John was…He just needed to figure out how to stop it. He needed to get his head straight. He needed…he doesn’t know what he needed.

Chapter Text

The common room was filled with a low, steady hum of the Watchtower's machinery. John, dressed in a fresh set of tactical clothes, stood in the kitchen, meticulously cleaning his coffee mug. He had a new resolve today. No more blabbering, no more nervous energy. He was going to be the silent professional, the man of action who let his work speak for itself. He felt a quiet sense of control. "Focus on what's important, Walker."

"Good morning, Belova," John said, his voice curt and formal, as Yelena walked in. He didn't look up, focusing on the mug.

"Oh, a new man," Yelena said, her voice a dry, theatrical purr. "Did you stay up all night reading military pamphlets on effective communication?" She leaned on the counter next to him, her eyes glinting with mischief.

John’s resolve wavered. "I'm just trying to be a better teammate."

"A better teammate," she repeated, a slow smirk spreading across her lips. "By being the strong, silent type? My dear sweet Georgia peach, that is not you."

John felt a familiar flush creep up his neck. He scowled, but he couldn't hide the embarrassment. He sighed, a low, defeated sound, and gave up his professional act with her, returning to their usual banter.

A few minutes later, Alexei burst into the kitchen, his voice a booming force of nature. "Ah, little Captain! Come, we were just discussing the merits of a well-placed grenade."

"I'm trying to be tactical, not destructive," John said, trying to regain his composure.

"Destructive is tactical!" Alexei roared, slapping him on the back. "What is wrong, little one? You look like a man who has lost his purpose."

John let out an exasperated breath. "I'm not 'little one' and my purpose is to do my job, which I am doing, you just so happen to be very annoying." He was back to his usual, sarcastic self—an asshole but a good boy at heart.

Then, he saw Ava sitting on a couch, staring into space. The air around her shimmered faintly, and a book on a nearby table was slowly, imperceptibly, rotating on its spine. It was a clear sign of a Sentry day for Bob. John approached her, trying to be helpful but also professional.

"Are you okay, Ava?" he asked quietly.

She turned to him, her expression flat. "I'm fine, John. Just waiting for the universe to decide if my coffee is going to exist today or not."

John winced, and his professional facade fully collapsed. He was just the same old John—clumsy, flustered, and always, always in over his head.

Finally, he went to check on Bob who was sitting on the couch a cup of tea at a table next to him, his face a mask of profound exhaustion. John approached him, trying to be helpful and professional.

"Are you okay, Bobby?" he asked quietly.

Bob didn't respond, but Sentry, the golden-eyed man who was always just below the surface, did. His gaze met John's, calm and otherworldly.

"You have been good to us even if you are an asshole," Sentry's voice rumbled, so quietly only John could hear it. "Just keep being good."

John froze. The blood drained from his face, and his carefully constructed professional facade completely collapsed. He was just the same old John—clumsy, flustered, and in over his head.

Just then, the door hissed open. Bucky and Steve walked in, their arrival perfectly timed to see John's complete emotional collapse.

Bucky walked in, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. His eyes swept the room, not lingering on anyone, until they landed on John. There was no taunt, no word, just a simple, unblinking look. But it was a look that saw through John’s flimsy armor, seeing every bit of his humiliating blabbering from the day before, every single pathetic, blushing moment.

John’s breath hitched. His professional shield shattered. His hand shot out, knocking over Bob's cup of tea. It clattered loudly, the hot liquid spreading across the table. He fumbled for a napkin, but his hands were shaking. In a single, fluid motion, Bucky was there his metal arm shot out, catching the teacup before it hit the floor, and placed it back on the table with a quiet thud. John froze, his eyes wide and panicked. The cup still had some liquid inside it.

"Problem, Walker?" Bucky said, his voice a low, flat rumble.

John let a little "uh” and then Steve struck.

"John, do you mind coming with me? I would like to talk about something with you."

________________________________________

The private briefing room was a quiet sanctuary from the tension that had been crackling in the common room. Steve closed the door behind them, and John, still flustered and humiliated, followed without question, grateful for the escape.

"Captain Rogers," John said, his voice a little too loud, a little too strained.

"Steve."  His childhood hero interrupted.

 "Steve, I— Anything you need. I was just—I can get you a new mission brief, I can go over the tactical schematics for the Seoul op, I can—”

"Hey," Steve said, his voice gentle. He gestured to a chair at the long table. "Just sit down, John. I just wanted to talk."

John sat, his movements jerky and uncertain. He was a different man without the chaos of the team to hide in.

Steve leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his posture open and relaxed. "I’ve been gone for a while. It’s… I’m still catching up on everything. On everyone." He paused, and his gaze turned sincere. "But I really want to know more about you, John. You’ve had a hell of a time these past few years, with everything that happened. How have you been? Really.”

John’s defenses, which had been so rigid a moment ago, crumbled. He had never been asked that question, not by a hero. One of his heroes. He spoke haltingly at first, then more freely, telling Steve about his career, the weight of the shield, and the crushing loneliness after everything fell apart. Then he talked about Liam.

Steve looked surprised that John had a son and was divorced.

Once John was comfortable, Steve subtly pivoted. "I'm still trying to catch up on the details of everyone on the team. I was hoping you could tell me about Bucky. You two... you seemed to spend a lot of time together before I came back. What was he like?”

John froze. Him and Bucky spend time together? Does this man have eyes? Bucky hates him. John shoved the thought to the back of his head. He can’t insult Steve like that. Steve was just being the good guy who doesn’t see any bad intention. Yeah, that was it.

But the eager energy drained out of him in that instant. His eyes darted around the room, his hands clasping and unclasping in his lap. "Oh, uh. Bucky. Yeah. He’s… he’s a good teammate. Very professional. Good fighter but a— "

John tried to erase the word asshole from his vocabulary to describe Bucky. He thought for a minute and then he continued.

"Quiet. Steady. You know, like he is now." John’s words tumbled out, fast and flimsy. "He’s, uh, he’s a good guy. Great guy. Really. I mean, he’s your best friend, of course he’s a good guy. He’s the best. And so funny, his comment is not mean at all”

John let out a weird laugh. This was hell. That’s the only explanation. Why was John so weird? Why can he be normal? Okay, John was a great soldier and smart with tactical stuff but when it came to the social part of life… and there was no speech or rules to guide him, he sucks.

Steve's posture remained open and relaxed, but his gaze was sharp as he watched John's awkward attempt to praise Bucky. The weird laugh hung in the air, a pathetic, flimsy shield. The way John could see him in the eyes, or the way he makes weird hand gestures, and he is not even realizing he is doing it.  Steve smiled, he knew exactly what this was: a nervous tic from a man who had no idea how to lie.

"John," Steve said, his voice gentle, interrupting the silence. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his posture open and relaxed. He reached across the table and placed a hand on John’s forearm, his touch firm and reassuring. “I know Bucky can be an asshole,” he said, his voice low and honest. "You don't have to protect him from me."

The words were a key turning in a lock, and John’s frantic ramblings came to an abrupt halt. His shoulders slumped, the weight of his secret finally too heavy to bear. He looked down at the table, a familiar blush creeping up his neck.

"You said it not me" John said, the words barely a whisper almost in suspicion this was not a weird test and then Bucky will get out and look accusing at John.

Steve watched John. Maybe this is why Bucky bullies John? It is easy to make him blush, to make him babbler and to make him look at you with wide blue eyes. John had a way of looking at people like they were the only thing that was there, kind of endearing but intense and unnerving at the same time.

John eyed Steve. No, Steve was nice. “He’s not… he’s not always a good teammate,” John admitted, the words barely a whisper. “He’s quiet, yeah, but… he’s always watching me. He never says anything. He just… watches. Like he’s waiting for me to screw up. He gave me a lot of shit for that mission I went on alone to impress him, and he still brings it up. It’s like he can’t stand me but also... can't stop watching me to see if I mess up again.”

Bucky was mad that John put himself in danger.

 "I guess it’s just… he really likes his alone time. Once I touched one of his mugs by accident, and he literally hissed at me like a cat! Sorto.  And another time, I sat next to him to watch a game, and he just… glared at me for two hours straight, but he didn’t get up.”

As John spoke, Steve simply nodded, his gaze unwavering. He watched the way John’s hands clenched into fists in his lap, the way his eyes darted to the door, the small, almost imperceptible shake of his knees.

He didn’t glare at you because he wanted you to leave. He glared at you because he was interested in why you were there, and he didn’t stand up, that means he liked being next to you.

"And at dinner, he saw me taking the tomato seeds out of my tomato. He commented on it. He always notices weird little things."

Bucky only notices those things if he is interested in your preferences. He was paying attention. He knows your habits. Steve’s eyes hardened as he connected the dots. John wasn’t a random annoyance to Bucky; he was a project. He was something Bucky had studied, learned, and then, in his own strange way, claimed.

His eyes lingered on John's trembling hands. Strong hands, Steve thought. A soldier's hands, but they tremble when he's nervous. It wasn't weakness; it was an echo of a vulnerability John couldn't hide. He saw the way John kept averting his eyes, the subtle flush on his cheeks. Good, honest eyes, Steve thought. He was so transparently good, so earnest in his desire to be normal, to be liked. It was this goodness that made him so easy to read, so achingly vulnerable. And Steve understood completely. John looked at you like you will make the right decision, like even after all your mistakes, you will choose the right path… trusting.

And at that moment, Steve knew why Bucky wanted John.

John should be more guarded towards Bucky and Steve, but he is so quick to show his soft belly.

Steve interrupted John.

"So, I have another question for you, are you a good boy who just wants to be a bad boy?" Steve said, his voice now playful, a stark contrast to the serious moment. He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Just making sure I have it right."

John's face went crimson. "What? No! I'm not a—I mean I’m—I!"

"It's just so confusing," Steve said, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. "Yelena and Ava called you a good boy, but you said you wanted to be a bad one. Who am I supposed to believe? I also remember you hearing you wanted to be 'the daddy type' like Bucky."

John looked horrified. "No! I didn't say that!" The realization came into John. This is why those two are best friends. Steve Rogers has the same sense of humor as Bucky and worse, the same as the rest of the team.

Steve's smile widened. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a teasing, conspiratorial whisper. "And what do you think? Am I the daddy type like Bucky?"

John’s mind went blank, his face a furious red. He couldn't speak, couldn't even stammer. He could only stare at Steve, who looked so much like the Captain America he had idealized, but whose eyes now held the same mischief as Bucky's.

________________________________________

Steve finds Bucky in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, meticulously cleaning his knives. The air is still, but it's charged with an unspoken tension. Steve closes the door behind him with a soft click, and Bucky's gaze snaps up, a silent challenge in his eyes. He knows. He knows why Steve is here.

"We need to talk," Steve says, his voice low and even.

Bucky lets out a humorless laugh. He keeps his gaze on his knives, the razor-sharp blade reflecting the light. "I don't think we do. You've made your position on my friendships perfectly clear."

Steve's jaw clenches. "This isn't about John being your friend. It's about you, and the way you treat him."

"And you're the expert on that now, huh?" Bucky says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're back for a day and you're already telling me how to live my life. It's just like old times, isn't it?" He finally looks up, and his eyes are a mix of defiance and deep, simmering hurt.

Steve takes a step closer, his own anger rising to meet Bucky's. He won't back down this time. He needed to know where he stands with Bucky.

"I just spent an hour with John, Bucky," Steve says, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "He told me everything. The glares, the comments, the way you just watch him." He pauses, letting the words sink in. He's going for a reaction, and he gets one. Bucky's knuckles turn white on the knife hilt.

Steve looks Bucky in the eye, and he delivers the line that will cut deeper than any blade to himself.

"But I get why you like John even more than you like me."

The air goes out of the room in a sharp, ragged breath. Bucky's face goes slack, all the anger and defiance replaced with a raw, gaping wound.

Bucky sets the knife down with a deliberate, soft clink. He finally meets Steve’s eyes, and the look he gives him is not of hatred, but of a profound, disappointed hurt.

"I don't like him more than I like you," Bucky says, his voice so quiet it's barely a whisper. "But it's different." He pauses, the silence hanging heavy between them. "And I'm kind of angry with you."

Steve's jaw clenches. "Why? Because I called you out? Because I see what you're doing to him?"

"Because you left," Bucky says, his voice now rising, a low, guttural rumble. "You left, and I was finally starting to build something. I was getting my own life back. And now you come back, and you just... you just take over. You show up and everything shifts. Everything revolves around you again."

Bucky gestures vaguely with his metal hand. " But he's...he tries so hard to be tough... he's so achingly honest even when he is an asshole." Bucky shakes his head, a genuine look of desperation in his eyes. "You're so good at being Captain America, at being the hero, that you don't even see the other people in the room. You don't see how every time you come back, you unravel everything. You don't even see the other people who might need you, or... or who you might need or what they need."

A slow understanding dawns on Steve's face. He doesn't respond with anger, but with a quiet, devastating realization. He sees it now. Bucky's fear of losing his newfound purpose and identity, about the pain of being left behind. And at that moment, Steve understands what John means to Bucky. An anchor, like what Steve feels for Bucky.

Steve looks Bucky in the eye, and for the first time since he came back, he's just Steve.

"I see it," Steve says, his voice barely audible filled with shame. "I... I got it. I see it now. I’m sorry, I should use John like that…I was jealous."

Bucky’s gaze softens. The fight, the simmering rage, the desperate need to make Steve understand… it all just melts away. He sees the shame on Steve's face, the honesty in his eyes, and his own heart aches because his heart aches when Steve's does. Always.

He takes a step forward and places a hand on Steve's shoulder.

"Nobody can replace you, punk," Bucky says, his voice a low, steady rumble, filled with a love that has endured everything.

After a beat, a small, teasing smirk touches his lips. "So, he charmed you too, huh? Because you said you get why I like him more."

Steve lets out a small, tired sigh that turns into a faint smile. "He's endearing in his way."

Bucky's smirk widens. "He's a very stubborn, headstrong puppy. Kinda reminds me of someone, in some ways."

The tension in the room, which had been so tight and explosive, begins to deflate. It doesn't disappear, but it changes.

It becomes something else: a shared understanding.

Chapter Text

A few weeks had passed, and the common room had found a new kind of rhythm. The initial shock of Steve’s return had faded, replaced by a subtle, simmering tension. The "good boy" nickname had stuck to John like a second skin, whispered by Yelena in the mornings and shouted by Alexei in the evenings. John had tried to fight it, but it was a losing battle. He was just their sweet Georgia peach now.

John was in the kitchen, carefully arranging a new bag of groceries on the counter he got with Ava. He didn't hear Bucky enter the room, and he jumped when a low voice spoke right beside his ear.

"You're a real homemaker, Walker. What's next?"

John flinched, nearly dropping a can of diced tomatoes. He let out a soft groan and turned to face Bucky, who was leaning against the counter, a faint, unreadable smirk on his face.

After that fatidic day that John was named Georgia Peach, Bucky was calmer, steadier, less angry. Steve and Bucky were like two peas in a pod. He looked happier, and John…John was avoiding being alone with them. He couldn’t handle their teasing; it was too much.

"Don't start," John mumbled, placing the can back in the bag. He was trying, really trying, not to blush. It was his new daily challenge. He failed. Every time he meets the eyes of Bucky or Steve, he goes red.

Bucky's smirk widened. "I'm not starting anything. I'm just observing." His eyes dropped to the can in John's hand. "Are those the seeds-out-type tomatoes?"

The blush came anyway, a furious red that crept up his neck and across his cheeks. "They're just... tomatoes, Barnes."

"Right. Tomatoes for the Georgia peach," Bucky said, his voice a low, teasing purr. He straightened up and pushed off the counter. John thought he was leaving, and a small wave of relief washed over him. But Bucky's metal arm shot out, not to touch him, but to grab the bag of groceries.

Bucky picked up the bag and, with surprising gentleness, set it on the table. "I will help." he said, his voice softening just a fraction.

John stared at him, bewildered by the unexpected act of kindness. "I... uh... thanks."

Bucky then walked past John to the common room without another word, leaving John standing alone in the kitchen, a mix of embarrassment and genuine confusion swirling inside him. He had no idea what to make of Bucky. The man was a walking contradiction: a quiet menace one minute and a surprisingly gentle helper the next.

Bucky paused at the doorway, his head turning just enough to look back at John. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face, and his voice dropped to a low, intimate rumble.

"Don't worry," he said. "Your daddy's got you."

John’s mind went completely blank. He let out a small, strangled sound, a mix of a dying cat and a squeak, as Bucky disappeared from the room, leaving him standing in the middle of the kitchen, his face scorching red.

Then came Steve, that maybe like Bucky, who decided no longer to be avoided by John.

Steve found John later that day in a quiet hallway, staring at a mission board. John was meticulously checking off a list of tactical procedures, a small, focused frown on his face. He was clearly trying to maintain his composure after his earlier encounter with Bucky. Steve approached him with a casual, easygoing smile.

"Hey, John," Steve said, his voice calm and friendly. "How's the new mission brief coming along?"

John jumped, startled, his shoulders tensed. He quickly stuffed the list into his pocket. "Oh, Captain... Steve. It's fine. Just, uh, preparing."

"Always prepared," Steve said, the smile on his face widening just a fraction. He stood next to John, his gaze flickering from the mission board to John's face. "That's a good quality in a soldier."

John nodded, trying to appear professional and collected. "Thank you, sir."

There was a moment of comfortable silence. He just stood there, shoulder to shoulder with John, looking at the mission board. The normalcy of the situation was a relief. John felt himself relax, a quiet sense of safety settling over him. He felt like he was just talking to Steve Rogers, his hero, and not a member of the teasing Thunderbolts.

"Well," Steve said finally, his tone shifting back to business as he turned to leave. "I'll let you get back to it."

John let out a quiet, internal sigh of relief. "Thanks, Steve."

Steve took a few steps, then paused. Without turning back, his voice dropped to a low, casual murmur, as if it were a simple afterthought.

"Oh, and keep up the good work, Georgia peach."

John froze. His mind, which had just started to feel calm, went completely blank. He couldn't speak, couldn't even stammer. He could only stare at Steve’s back.

________________________________________

"So," Bucky said, his voice a low, casual rumble. "I saw you two and I heard you called him 'Georgia peach.' You like to bully him, too?"

Steve leaned against the doorframe, a faint, tired smile on his face. "I'm not bullying him," he said, his voice soft. "I'm just… trying to be a good teammate."

Bucky let out a humorless huff. He finally looked up, his gaze sharp and direct. "Don't lie to me, Rogers. You did it just to see the look on his face."

A flash of genuine mischief crossed Steve's eyes, and he didn't try to hide it. "Maybe," he admitted, his smile widening a fraction. "He's... endearing, isn't he? A little too easy to fluster."

Bucky's gaze softened, a hint of a real smile touching his lips. "He's so easy to rile up. He doesn't hold anything against me. It's... simple, natural. I was afraid of losing that."

He looked directly at Steve, and his voice dropped to a low, intimate rumble. "But I get it now. There's enough to go around."

Steve felt the last bit of tension drain from his body. It was an unspoken, quiet admission that they were in this together. The old rivalry had been replaced by a shared project.

The few weeks that John spent actively avoiding Steve and Bucky had, ironically, done more to mend their friendship than anything else. Without John as a point of contention, the two men had fallen back into old habits, sharing late-night talks and a quiet, easy camaraderie. It was like they had never been apart. But as they settled into this old rhythm, they both realized something was missing. The playful banter, the unexpected moments of genuine laughter, and the shared, exasperated sighs that came with watching John stumble—all of it had disappeared. The old comfort was there, but it was a quiet, almost sad comfort. They were back to being themselves, but they were no longer satisfied with just that.

Bucky’s gaze softened. He saw Steve's shoulders relax, the look of shame in his eyes, the understanding that he was seen, that he wasn’t alone. For a moment, it was just Steve and Bucky again, two old friends in a world that had moved on.

Bucky’s smirk widened. "So," he said, the old, easy camaraderie back with a mischievous look in his eyes. "The plan?"

Steve pushed off the doorframe, walking closer. "We don't need a plan, Buck. Let's see who can get the good boy flustered the best."

Bucky met his gaze, and for the first time in a long time, the old, easy camaraderie was back. "Game on, Rogers."

________________________________________

The team gathered in the common room for a quiet evening. It was a rare occurrence, a truce in the constant battle of personalities. Yelena and Ava were playing a fierce game of chess, Alexei was loudly narrating a documentary about Russian history, and John was sitting on the couch, meticulously cleaning his guns. He felt a quiet sense of peace. He had successfully avoided both Steve and Bucky for the past few hours, and he was basking in the rare moment of normalcy.

Then, he felt a presence beside him. Bucky sat down on the couch, the worn leather groaning in protest. He didn't say anything, didn't offer a jab or a comment. He just sat there, quiet and still, his metal arm resting on his knee. John tensed, his hand tightening around the barrel of his rifle. He could feel the familiar blush creeping up his neck.

Then, a moment later, Steve sat down on John’s other side. He leaned back, his posture open and relaxed, a stark contrast to Bucky’s tense stillness. The two men were flanking him, a human shield on one side and a metal arm on the other. John felt the familiar, suffocating feeling of being trapped.

"So," Steve said, his voice a low, casual murmur. "Are those the seeds-out-type guns?"

John’s breath hitched, and he let out a strangled, pathetic gasp. Bucky let out a low, humorless huff. Steve and Bucky shared a quick glance, a flash of silence, shared amusement in their eyes. John felt a flicker of something in his stomach, a strange, dizzying mix of embarrassment and... something else. Something warm and dangerous.

Bucky leaned in, his voice a low whisper. "Don't worry. I'll make sure they're properly lubricated."

Steve leaned into, his voice just as low. "He's right. It's a team effort. Two heads are better than one, after all."

John's mind went completely blank. He felt like he was a toy being fought over by two children. He couldn't speak, couldn't even stammer. He could only stare at the two men, their eyes full of mischief and a strange something that John couldn’t name

And then realization dawned.

Oh, John thought, the immense relief almost made him light-headed. They want to be friends with me. He saw their teasing as a form of bonding, just like Yelena's dry wit and Alexei's booming jokes. They were just trying to include him, to make him a part of their group. He had won. He had won Bucky's friendship and all it took was time travelling, Steve Rogers returning to life and being called Georgia Peach. Worth it.

A triumphant, albeit shaky, smile touched his lips. He stood up abruptly, pointing a finger at Bucky. "Did you hear that, Ava? What he just said?" John shouted. And he won the bet with Ava; Bucky is accepting him. He makes a friendly joke to John. Friendly, not mean, friendly.

Ava let out a bark of laughter. John froze for a moment, realizing how utterly ridiculous he sounded. He looked at Bucky, then at Steve, then back at Bucky, his face a furious red.

"The... the water!" he stammered, pointing a clumsy finger at the kitchen. "The cooking water is... it's in the freezer!"

Without another word, John turned and fled the room, a desperate, clumsy run that bordered on a sprint mixed with skipping with happiness.

And at that moment, Steve looked at Bucky, then back at the empty space where John had been, and he understood. He wanted them both. He wanted Bucky's quiet, intensity, and he wanted John’s sweet, honest vulnerability. He wanted the two of them together, and he wanted to be a part of it. He saw the future, and it was a future with both of them.

And Bucky, in his own strange way, understood too. He saw the look on Steve's face, the mix of shame and desire, and he knew he felt the same way.

"I make him blush more than you," Bucky said, a slow, genuine smirk spreading across his face as he watched John disappear around the corner.

"I won," Steve countered, his voice a low, mischievous rumble. "Did you hear my double head comment? He looked like he was about to combust."

A small, quiet laugh broke from Bucky's chest, a sound Steve hadn't heard in years. "Yeah," he said, "He did."

He looked at Steve, his smirk softening into a tired, grateful smile while his hand went to Steve's. They will be fine.

Chapter Text

The suburban house was a quiet oasis. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The familiar smell of coffee and old books filled the space, a stark contrast to the sterile, high-tech corridors of the Watchtower. John stood on the porch, a nervous but genuine smile on his face.

When Olivia opened the door, her smile was instant and genuine. "You're early again. He's been asking for you all morning."

"Couldn't wait," he said, the words coming out a little too fast. He stepped inside, his boots seeming to fill the quiet space.

"Liam, honey, your dad is here!" she called out.

A moment later, Liam ran into the room, his eyes wide with excitement. He was getting taller, John noticed, his little boy face slowly but surely giving way to the features of a young man.

"Dad!" Liam shouted, running into his arms.

John knelt, wrapping his arms around his son. He held him tight, breathing in the familiar scent of Liam's hair—a mixture of sunshine and kid shampoo. "Hey, bud. What do you want to do today?"

"Can we go to the park? And get ice cream? And then watch the movie with the guy who flies and is my friend's dad?" Liam asked, his words tumbling out in a rush of pure excitement.

John looked at Olivia, his gaze a silent question. "Is that okay?"

Olivia's smile didn't falter, but a gentle, knowing look entered her eyes. "He just had ice cream last night, John. But it's your weekend."

John’s mind raced. Ice cream would ruin Liam’s appetite for dinner, and the park was probably muddy from the morning rain. It wasn't the most responsible choice. But Liam’s eyes were so big and hopeful, and a familiar fear, a quiet, cold dread, settled in John's stomach.

 He remembered Bob's memory of his father, the distant look in his eyes. John didn’t want to make his son feel like that…ever. He already did once, not paying attention to him. John wouldn't be that man. He would be there.

He gave a genuine, easy smile that finally touched his eyes. "We're going to the park and we're getting all the ice cream you want," he said.

Liam let out a triumphant shout, and John stood up, his arm still around his son's shoulders.

Olivia looked at him, her gaze gentle and discerning. "I'm so glad you're still doing so well, John."

John’s shoulders slumped, a small, weary sigh escaping him. He didn’t bother to deny it. "I guess. The team… it's a lot. But they're a good team. They have my back."

"I'm glad," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I was worried about you, about everything that happened." She gestured vaguely. "I'm so glad you're not on social media anymore."

John looked relieved. "Oh. It was... it was making me crazy." You know, you were there.

Olivia looked around the quiet, sun-filled room, at Liam's excited face, and then back at John's sincere eyes. She saw the relief and gratitude in his face, and she knew he was in a better place.

"I'm glad," she repeated, a note of finality in her voice. "I'm glad you're happy, John."

He looked around the quiet, sun-filled room, at Liam's excited face, and then back at Olivia's soft, sincere eyes.

"Me too," John said, a genuine, easy smile finally touching his lips. "Me too."

________________________________________

The week passed fast, and John returned to the Watchtower. The memory of Liam's laughter and Olivia's quiet relief still warm in his mind. He felt light, unburdened. The emotional weight of the past few years had lifted, and he felt a quiet sense of control.

The moment he walked into the common room, the quiet, low hum of conversation stopped. He saw Ava and Yelena perched on the back of the couch, Bob reading in a corner, and Alexei loudly polishing his suit. They all turned to look at him, and John felt a familiar blush trying to creep up his neck. But this time, he was ready.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns!" Yelena said, her voice dripping with mock-sympathy. "Did you have a good time with your family, my sweet Georgia peach?"

John, instead of flushing furiously, simply offered a small, knowing smirk. "You know, Yelena," he said, his voice a low, dry murmur. "I did. Turns out, being a little boring has its perks."

Ava let out a snort of laughter. "Don't get cocky, Walker. We haven't even started yet."

"Enough of the teasing!" Alexei boomed, grumbling as he set down his polishing rag. "He was gone all weekend. We have missed his food!" Alexei’s face had a pout. “John makes very good food. We had to eat Bob’s food all weekend.” Alexei glared at Bob. “It was... it was not good!”

Bob looked up from his book, a small, wry smile on his face. “I believe I warned you about the existential dread in my spaghetti.”

Yelena let out a sharp laugh. "Yes, Alexei, you were told that you were entering a void. What did you expect?"

John, listening to the playful banter, felt his chest swell with quiet happiness.

"I can cook something tonight if you want," John said, his voice genuinely warm.

"Yes! Please, little Captain!" Alexei roared, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"Don't worry," Yelena murmured, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "We didn’t save you any of Bob’s food. You are our sweet Georgia peach wouldn’t want to make you bitter."

John rolled his eyes, but a genuine smile touched his lips. He was used to teasing now. He was comfortable with it. Oh, but he will get back to all of them.

________________________________________

Hours later, the team gathered around the large common room table for dinner. The air was thick with the savory scent of a slow-cooked meal—John had, true to his word, cooked for the entire team. He was seated with Alexei and Ava, feeling a quiet sense of pride as he watched everyone eat.

Across the table, Bucky and Steve were seated close together, a silent, coordinated unit. Bucky had his phone out, scrolling through something, while Steve was engaged in a quiet conversation with Bob. But John knew they were watching him. He could feel their gazes flicker over to him every few seconds.

The moment came when John reached for a serving spoon, his fingers brushing against Bucky’s metal arm, which was resting on the table. In a smooth, almost imperceptible motion, Bucky’s hand closed over John's, his grip firm and warm. John froze.

"I see you’re going for a second helping, Walker," Bucky said, his voice a low, intimate rumble. "Good. You need to put some more meat on those bones."

John's face went a furious red. He snatched his hand back, stammering, "I was just grabbing the spoon."

Steve, who had been listening from his seat, leaned forward with a casual smile. "It's all right, John," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "He's just keeping a close eye on your nutritional intake. Bucky's very particular about his teammates' health."

Bucky? John blinked. Wow, Steve is blind, like okay, John had his fanboy moments. But Bucky worried? Once Bucky ate all the cereal of Alexei to do a power move. He broke down Alexei and when he saw him crying, he didn’t even blink.

Ava leaned over, her voice a low murmur. "What was that? A flustered gasp?" she teased.

John leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "He just grabbed my hand, Ava." he said, a wide, triumphant smile on his face. "This is great. I told you I'd win our bet. I'm charming him. We're on our way there."

In the first month living together in the tower, after lots of John failed moments with Bucky the bet was born.

The common room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the Watchtower's machinery. John was sitting alone, staring at the ceiling, a heavy silence hanging over him. Ava walked in, a cup of tea in her hand, and sat across from him.

"What's wrong, John?" she asked, her voice a dry, theatrical purr.

"Nothing," he said, his voice a low, defeated sound. "I just... I'm trying to be a good teammate. To him." He gestured vaguely toward the empty hallway.

"To mister grumpy pants?" she said, a small, knowing smirk touching her lips.

"No. Bucky," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I just... I want to be friends with him. But he hates me."

Ava was quiet for a long moment, with a serious look on her face. "He doesn't hate you, John. He's just... a little complicated."

"I'm gonna win him over," John said, a sudden, desperate resolve in his voice. "I'm going to be his friend. I'm going to charm him with my... charm."

Ava’s smirk widened. She took a slow sip of her tea. "I'll bet you a bottle of your favorite whiskey that you won't. You won't charm the Winter Soldier, and he won’t consider you, his friend. You’ll bore him to death with your attempts."

John's eyes hardened. "You're on."

Ava’s eyes went wide. She looked at John's earnest, happy face, and then her gaze flickered over to Steve and Bucky. A choked, strangled sound escaped her throat, a half-cough, half-laugh that she quickly tried to cover with her hand.

This idiot doesn't even realize he's on his way to their bed, she thought, her shoulders shaking with silent, hysterical laughter.

John, utterly oblivious, just beamed. He was winning. He looked at Steve and Bucky, and with a heartfelt smile, he said, "This is great. It's great we're becoming... friendlier."

Bucky's smirk faltered for a second, a flash of genuine surprise in his eyes. Steve's smile became strained, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

"Yeah," Bucky said, his voice softer than before, "we're becoming... friendlier."

Chapter Text

The doors to the communal area of the Watchtower hissed open, but this time, there was no dramatic entrance.

Sam Wilson walked in, his expression a quiet mix of exhaustion and resolve. He wasn't in uniform; he was dressed in a worn leather jacket and jeans. The Falcon wings were nowhere in sight. Tucked under his arm, wrapped in a black duffel bag, was the most recognizable symbol of Captain America in the world.

Steve and Bucky were waiting for him in a private briefing room. The moment the door slid shut, Sam unzipped the bag, the star-spangled shield glinting in the sterile light. He set it on the table between them. The weight of it felt immense, even just sitting there.

Sam looked at the two men, a weary but genuine smile on his face. "Hey," he said, his voice easy and familiar, a quiet note of relief in the sound. "You guys got a mission now? I can join you. You know, for old times' sake."

Steve's shoulders visibly relaxed. "Sam..." he started, his voice a soft sigh of disbelief.

"I tried," Sam said, his voice quiet but firm. "I tried to call the press. To clarify. But they're not listening. The government isn't listening." He gestured to the shield. "They're still calling you the real one, Steve. The one the world wants."

Steve's posture stiffened. "They're wrong, Sam. The shield is yours. The name is yours. We talked about this."

"We did," Sam agreed, a tired sigh escaping him. He looked at Bucky, who was watching the exchange with a quiet fury in his eyes. "But Steve… that's what you don't get. It was a title for me, a name I tried to live up to. But … it's you." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "It's always been you. They want the man who defied gravity, not the man who flew with wings."

Bucky's fist clenched on the table. "They don't see what they put you through." He looked at Sam, his eyes filled with a simmering anger. "And they don't see what they're doing to you."

"They don't care about what we went through, Buck," Sam said, his voice flat. "They just want a symbol. And as long as Steve is here, I'm just a guy with a replica." He slid the shield across the table to Steve.

Steve pushed the shield back to Sam, his hand firm. "No, Sam. It's a symbol of what you did. It's a symbol that anyone can be a hero, not just a soldier from a different time."

"Steve, please," Sam said, his voice pleading. "You're making this harder."

"I am the one making this hard?" Steve said, his voice rising, a flash of his old frustration showing. " You're the one giving up on the world because they’re stupid."

"It's not giving up, Steve!" Sam shot back. "It's being practical. I can't do my job when half the world thinks I'm an imposter. And I can't be Captain America when the man who is Captain America is standing right next to me."

The room fell silent. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"They want you." Sam said, his voice a quiet, weary whisper. He paused; his eyes filled with a sad, final understanding. "I'm not mad at you. I just... I wish they saw what I see. A man who deserves his rest."

With that, he stepped forward, pulling Steve into a tight, fierce hug. Steve's own arms wrapped around him, holding on just as tight. Bucky, a silent witness to their reunion, watched them, a complicated mix of relief and jealousy in his eyes.

"We'll figure it out," Steve murmured into Sam's shoulder.

"Yeah," Sam said, his voice muffled. "We always do."

________________________________________

The mission was underway. A dilapidated warehouse district in the dead of night, the air thick with the scent of damp concrete and rust. Steve led the way, his movements fluid and efficient. Bucky was a quiet shadow at his side. John and Sam were on their flanks, their comms filled with the low hiss of static and the occasional tactical command.

John watched Steve. He wasn't wearing the shield. Neither was Sam. The fact felt like a physical weight in the air. The most powerful symbol of heroism in the world was sitting on a table back at the Watchtower, gathering dust.

A team of mercenaries burst from the main hangar, their weapons raised. The fight was swift and brutal. Steve was a whirlwind of motion, Bucky's metal arm was a blur of steel, and John's movements were a brutal display of pure force. Sam, from a perch on a rooftop, provided cover fire and commentary.

From his vantage point, Sam watched the three men below. He'd seen Steve and Bucky fight together countless times, but this was different. Their movements were a coordinated dance. Bucky would anticipate Steve's every move, his metal arm an extension of Steve's instincts. But the surprising part was John. Bucky and Steve weren't just protecting him; they were subtly competing for him. Sam watched as Bucky used his body to shield John from a stray bullet, only for Steve to move in and clear the path ahead, giving John a better shot. It was a bizarre, intricate ballet of protection and something that Sam had never seen before. He just couldn't make sense of it.

"Yelena, what's our status?" Sam asked over the comms, his voice calm amidst the chaos.

"We have them pinned," Yelena’s voice replied, a note of amusement in her tone. "Be careful, though. That guy in the red shirt coming your way looks like he might sue you, Sam."

Sam let out a quiet sigh. "I already said I was sorry for that."

After neutralizing a few of the mercenaries, John stepped back, adjusting his comms. "I got that, but thanks," he said, his voice a low, dry murmur. He noticed that in this mission Steve and Bucky were being too helpful.

 It was a little annoying, John could handle himself and he didn’t get why they were acting differently from other missions. Well, maybe it was their way of showing that they liked John.

He then spoke into his comm. A private channel with Ava entire team. "Bucky's really coming around." A beat of silence, then, he added, "Ava. I'm winning the bet."

A soft, deadpan voice came through the comms. "Oh, and Steve?"

John paused. "Steve?" he said. Steve was a nice guy, and it had nothing to do with their bet. "He's so professional."

Once the area was secure, with Ava, Yelena and Alexei joining them to survey the damage, John walked over to Sam’s position.  He hesitated for a second. "Hey," he said, his voice quiet. "You're not using the shield. Why?"

Sam sighed, the weariness from their earlier conversation returning to his face. "It belongs to Steve. He's just too stubborn to admit it."

"Yeah, I know a little something about that," John said, a small, weary smirk on his face. "But look, you should've taken a page from my book and used it anyway. At least you'd be getting something out of it. It can't be worse than what happened to me."

The words were full of a hard-won truth that only John could understand. Sam looked at him, his face softening with empathy. He had never heard John speak with such brutal honesty about his past.

"You're right," Sam said, his voice low and sincere. "And I'm sorry for all of it. For what happened, for not being there. I was waiting for your phone call. To say I'm sorry. To say that I shouldn't have taken my grief out on you. That I'm sorry for how things went down. That I'm sorry about Lamar."

Sam’s words hung in the air, a raw, unexpected apology that hit John with the force of a punch. John’s mind reeled, his eyes wide. He didn't know how to react. A wave of emotions, relief, and confusion, washed over him.

He swallowed hard and found his voice, a faint, disbelieving whisper. "Sorry, too... but I don't have your phone number."

The silence that followed was deafening. John’s eyes, full of a heartbreaking confusion, darted from Sam to Steve, who had been watching the entire exchange, and finally landed on Bucky. Sam’s gaze, meanwhile, had found Bucky as well, a single eyebrow raised in silent question.

"Didn't I ask you months ago to give him my number, Buck?" Sam said, his voice a low, teasing whisper, as if scolding a child.

Bucky suddenly became fascinated by a crack in the pavement. He whistled a high, tuneless song, his eyes fixed on the ground as if a lost treasure was buried there. Alexei just grumbled in confusion, but Yelena, watching Bucky's pathetic display, let out a loud, mocking snort of laughter. The personal betrayal was far more crushing than any physical fight.

________________________________________

The Quinjet hummed to life, a low, steady vibration filling the cabin. The mission was over, the mercenaries were in custody, and the prototype was secured. The victory, however, felt hollow. Steve and Bucky were on one side of the cabin, exchanging low words. John was on the other, pointedly staring out the panoramic window at the passing city lights. Ava and Alexei were minding their own business, but Yelena, ever the observer, was watching the trio with a smug smile.

Sam took a seat near the back, a silent observer to the most bizarre team dynamic he had ever seen. And considering he met the Avengers.

John eyed Bucky and Steve. He liked Bucky was closer to him, so he and Steve were including them into their protection friendship thing, but it was a little too protection and inefficient.

"Hey, about the mission." he said, trying to sound neutral to not hurt any sensibilities and, by sensibilities, John clearly meant Bucky. "I think we could've handled the perimeter sweep more efficiently. The cross-cover was a little too tight, almost got in each other's way."

Bucky immediately looked up. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "The spacing was perfect. I was right where you needed me."

"Yeah," Steve chimed in. "And I was right where I needed to be."

John shot them a look that was a perfect mix of bewilderment and annoyance. You two are a little too in sync, honestly. I don't know how anyone else gets a word in. Maybe John was annoyed he was a professional and he also was experienced, he knew that Bucky and Steve where THE team, but they were breaching John participation on the mission. "Right."

Maybe John, in the next mission, won’t be anywhere near them.

Yelena, bored with the quiet tension, decided to stir the pot. She walked over to John and sat next to Sam, her legs crossed.

She turned her head and looked over at Sam, who was watching the whole exchange from his seat in the back. A wicked smile spread across her face.

"What's the matter, Sam Wilson? Want help figuring it out?" she said her voice barely a whisper, watching the way Steve was telling John that their way was okay, with Bucky as backup.

Sam looked at Yelena. Troublemaker. She reminds him of Natasha Romanoff, the few times he met her.

Yelena just smirked, unfazed. "This whole thing is hilarious, by the way. My money is on Bucky snapping but maybe our fake Boy Scout Steve might surprise me."

Sam looked in panic at Steve, Bucky and John. No way in hell.

Steve was nodding, his eyes fixed on John with an intense look in his eyes. "That's exactly right. A good partner gives you all the openings you need."

"Exactly," Bucky said, a half-smile on his face that was more of a smirk with a leer as he looked at John. "You should be thanking me."

Yelena turned her head on Sam and looked at John, a wicked smile still on her face.

"After all," she said, her voice at the start a low purr only for Sam, but then she said a loud interrupting every conversation. "He is our sweet Georgia peach. And everybody wants a bite."

The room went completely silent. The joke hung in the air, revealing the truth of the situation to the entire team. Sam just shook his head, a wry smile on his face, but a tired understanding in his eyes. Oh hell no.

John immediately shot Yelena a flat look. "Stop telling people that nickname and stop with your weird comments that nobody gets."

Alexei let out a booming laugh.  "The only one that does not get it is you, John Walker. I will tell Bob about this."

John groaned. They will never let him forget it. C'mon, it was weeks ago.