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Bucky’s missions have taken him all over the country, off the radar for months, squashing Hydra cells that haven’t petered out yet, haven’t accepted that their organization has long run aground.

He has yet to return back to the compound after a mission and simply find everything as it should be. There might be a hole in the roof, and Steve muttering something about Asgardian gods with bad aim. There might be broken glass everywhere and Bruce muttering something about “who, me, hulk out? Never!”

This time, he returns from a ninety-five-day-long mission to find a scrawny boy poking the lock of a hallway supply closet with a bobby pin. And there is no way a random petty thief would be able to step into the compound for casual robbery, which is the only reason why Bucky doesn’t take the intruder into an immediate head lock.

“I know you’re there,” the intruder says, without turning around. “FRIDAY told me. And you breathe real loud.”

“I’m more interested to know if anyone knows you are here.”

The intruder turns around, lowering the bobby pin. “Probably not. I just got home.”

“I think I’ll go warn them about you, then.”

The intruder lifts his chin and crosses his arms. “Good luck. But for your information, they all really like me.”

“Is that right.”

“Yes,” he says, and he adds, still in that menacing tone: “they think I’m adorable.”

Bucky turns and starts making his way to the living room. The intruder follows him.

And keeps following him, even when Bucky glares his best glare. “I know who you are,” the intruder says. He says it matter-of-factly, but Bucky still chooses to interpret it as a threat. Because he doesn’t know who this stranger is, and knowledge is power. “Did Hydra make that arm? Did you make it yourself? Can I look at it, later? Did you ever meet Malia Sanchov?”

Bucky turns so suddenly that the intruder has to flail his arms to keep himself from faceplanting against Bucky’s chest. “What would you know about Malia Sanchov?”

“She trained me a lot. Did you know her?”

That unsettling tidbit of information is the only incentive Bucky needs to graduate from walking to the living room to sprinting. While still looking like he has the situation completely under control, of course.

The intruder doesn’t bother sprinting after him. He just saunters in the same general direction, as if he has all the time in the world. It feels like a power move.

The moment Bucky steps foot into the living room, something hard and heavy collides with him. Someone. “Buck!” Steve exclaims, patting him roughly on the back. “You’re back! Have tea with us!” And he tugs Bucky towards the table where Bruce and Pepper break off their conversation about knitting patterns to greet him.

“Explain something to me first,” Bucky says as he glances back towards the doorway. The intruder-who-is-suspiciously-knowledgeable-about-Hydra steps into the room, slouching.

“Oh. Hey.” Steve says, and doesn’t say how did you escape from the very secure room we had locked you in. He only says: “how long have you been home? Where is your coat?”

The intruder’s legs snap together, like a soldier standing at attention. He looks a lot less relaxed, suddenly, shoulders stiffening up, as if he's expecting an attack “I. Um. I don’t know exactly. Somewhere in Queens. I— I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Steve says, waving his hand before it settles heavily on the soldier’s shoulder. “Happens. We’ll get you a new one.”

“This,” Bucky emphasizes, because there is clearly some terrible misunderstanding afoot, “is a Hydra soldier. With Hydra training. By Hydra.”

Bruce and Pepper slurp their tea. Steve just looks back at him, somewhat perplexed.

“He knows that,” the Hydra soldier says with a frown, like he is offended on Steve’s behalf. “He’s not stupid.”

Bruce says “I’ve been trying my hand at the basketweave stitch” and Pepper hums and turns back toward him, because apparently the two of them have lost interest in the conversation.

“He was breaking into your supplies closet,” Bucky continues, raising his voice slightly because the gravity of the situation is clearly not sinking in.

Steve quirks an eyebrow, now. The intruder feigns innocence. “I was hungry!”

“If you want food, you know you can just ask. You don't have to pick our locks.”

The Hydra soldier crosses his arms. “Last time I wanted food I asked Nat, and then she said I didn't have to ask, I could just take it. So which is it? Can’t be both!”

A look crosses Steve’s face. A blend of fondness and exasperation; the look of a man who has been in this particular situation a hundred times already, and knows exactly how to deal with it. “What Nat meant was, you can take food from the fridge or cabinets. But when a door is locked, you can ask someone to open it. Different rules.”

The soldier’s arms uncross and flop down. “Oh. Different rules. Okay.”

Pepper sets her teacup down. “Come on, honey. Let’s go see if we can order you a new coat online.”

The Hydra soldier follows, and no one seems concerned about leaving him alone with a woman who doesn’t even know the most minimal basics of hand-to-hand combat. “How long has he been your prisoner?”

Steve gives him a pointed look, but Bucky has never been very good at deciphering those. “He has been here,” Steve says, “for almost three months, now.”

“Why is he allowed to just walk around? What if he runs off while you’re not looking?”

“What if he runs off while Steve is looking?” Bruce says with a grin.

“What?”

“He can usually outrun me,” Steve explains.

Faster than Steve.

“He’s living here, Buck,” Steve says.

“And does what?”

“Mostly play board games,” Bruce says. “And he always wins.”

Faster than Steve. Smarter than Bruce.

“Come on,” Steve says. “Just sit, I’ll tell you everything. What kind of tea do you like?”

Not something Bucky has ever concerned himself with. “Whatever is put in front of me.”

Steve makes tea and talks about bringing a Hydra soldier into the compound, in the same tone of voice you would use to talk about adopting a kitten. Bucky has never been fond of kittens. They pretend to be innocent, but in truth they’re conniving little shits.

The soldier re-enters the room at some point. He has changed into Hulk-themed pajamas in an obvious ruse to get into Bruce Banner’s good graces.

“… so now here we are,” Steve finishes his tale, and he squeezes the soldier’s shoulder with a warm smile.

“Insanity,” Bucky says. “I don’t want to walk into the compound one day to find this… this infiltrator standing over your dead body.”

“That’s stupid,” the Hydra soldier informs him. “If I’d kill Steve, you’d never catch me. I’m stealthy.” And he patters off towards the couch in his Hulk pajamas, head held high.

“That doesn’t concern you?” Bucky hisses.

Steve just gives an unbothered shrug and says something about different frames of reference, at which point Bucky decides that none of this is a reasonable use of his time. Whenever Steve has become irrational, there is always one person Bucky knows he can turn to. “Where about can I find Nat?”

“PT.”

-

He quickly finds Natasha in the gym, which is good. Stark is with her, which is less good. The man is kneeling next to her wheelchair, which is…

“You’re…”

“Fine,” she says. “I can walk. I just choose not to.” A smile plays on her lips.

Stark hasn’t acknowledged Bucky’s presence yet, still fiddling with the buttons on the wheelchair. But he hasn’t looked Bucky in the eye in two hundred and forty four days, so at least some things have stayed the same around here.

“Tony,” Natasha says, “I won’t even be needing this thing anymore in a month or so. I don’t need a supersonic wheelchair that could potentially travel to Mars and back.”

Stark mutters something unintelligible, something, something, propulsion method, something, and still doesn’t look at anyone.

Natasha holds out an arm. Bucky helps her stand. “What happened?”

She stretches and sighs when her lower back pops. “HYDRA.”

“Would this have anything to do with the soldier that is running loose in our building?”

Natasha’s face softens, which is an ominous sign. “You’ve met him? He doesn’t usually make himself known so fast.”

“I caught him standing in the middle of the hallway.”

“If you did, it’s because he wanted you to. He can certainly always sneak past me without me noticing.”

Faster than Steve. Smarter than Bruce. Craftier than Nat. “That soldier is dangerous,” he says.

“Glass houses, Barnes,” Stark mocks.

“I was dangerous, too,” Bucky stiffly informs him. “If you had put me down, it would have been the right call. But here I still am, so I just attempt to use my time left to make up for the damage I caused.”

“Let’s take a walk,” Natasha says. “Doctor’s orders.” And she hooks her arm around his for support. Though it still feels like she’s the one guiding him out of the room.

“Are you in pain?” he asks as they shuffle down the hallway.

“Only when I move,” she says. “Or breathe.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fine then.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “Breathing’s for suckers.” She pauses a moment, bracing herself against the wall. “Tony, he’s… He really is trying.”

“Tell him not to bother. I have enough of a moral compass to own up to my mistakes.” He certainly doesn’t expect Stark’s forgiveness, and he hopes he hasn’t given anyone the impression that he does.

“The greatest atonement happens in your own self, Buck.”

Him and Natasha. Two perfectly designed killing machines who once had all their ties to humanity cut away; both metaphorically and physically. Bucky will never understand where she found the strength to still let herself be so soft around the edges. “What’s the play with the Hydra soldier? Are we waiting for him to escape so we can track him? We have intelligence that there is still an undiscovered Hydra base in New York.”

“Do we?” she says with a smile, and Bucky reminds himself that Natasha is the one who has been drawing the maps, meticulously sorting through all their data to mark suspicious locations.

“What information has he given you about Hydra?”

“Nothing,” she says, with a certain look on her face.

“Nat. Please tell me you've at least interrogated him.”

“We decided on different priorities. He needs to trust us. Not be given the idea that he is here so we can get information from him.”

“How can you be sure he has been fully deprogrammed? What about his control triggers?”

“He doesn’t have any. We found all his files in the same bunker where we found him. We know exactly what they did to him. They didn’t give him control triggers. They didn’t think they needed to, considering he was… impressionable.”

The soldier hadn’t seemed all that impressionable to Bucky. In fact, he had seemed stubborn. Showing far too much spine. And with abysmal impulse control for a supposedly Hydra-trained soldier.

“He’s here now,” she says. “I mean: he’s here. You know?”

“Are you saying he is trustworthy? Committed?”

“I’m saying he’s fifteen, Buck. And they hurt him.”

“I don’t doubt that. But even beaten dogs will still crawl back to their owners. I had expected you of all people to understand…”

“Funny,” she says. “I had expected the same from you. But that’s all right. No rush. Maybe you’ll change your mind a little more with each day.”

-

“Any reason why you are snooping through my bedroom?”

The Hydra soldier sends him an affronted look across an armful of pillows. “I’m not snooping. If I were snooping, you wouldn’t even know I’m here. I’m very good at it.” And then he simply… continues yanking at Bucky’s bedsheets as if he didn’t just get caught red-handed. “Tony and I are building a blanket fort.”

Bucky wonders how on earth the soldier can say that in such a self-important tone. “Uhuh,” he says. “You wanna try telling the truth, this time?”

Brown eyes squint unrepentantly up at him. “You’re a deeply mistrusting person,” the soldier states. “And I respect that.” He gives a final tug at Bucky’s blanket. And then, alarmingly brazen, takes a few steps closer to Bucky, moving right into his personal space.

“You have a metal arm,” the soldier says, entirely redundantly. And yet he still looks up at Bucky as if he somehow expects him to be surprised. To look down and exclaim ‘my god, yes I do!’

Bucky leans forward a little, staring right back. “I will put an end to this charade you have going on, soldat.”

It stays silent for a moment.

“Whatever,” the soldier then says. “I don’t even care what a— what a random guy, random Hydra-guy super soldier with an awesome metal arm who has fought aliens and wizards and— What he thinks of me. Nope.”

He leaves, dragging Bucky’s blanket along.

-

There are blankets and pillows stacked up in the middle of the living room and Bucky can’t reach the coffee pot. Which is unacceptable.

“Excuse me,” he says.

“Go away,” Stark’s voice sounds from somewhere underneath it all. “You don’t know the password.”

Bucky can hear the Hydra soldier giggle in a way Hydra soldiers shouldn’t. A hand appears through a gap, tugging a blanket down so a set of brown eyes can peer out. “You can come in. I’ll tell you the password.”

“I don’t want to come in. I want coffee.”

“We have hot chocolate. It’s better.”

Which is such a nonsensical statement that Bucky doesn’t even dignify it with a response.

He moves back to the stairs — there is perfectly good coffee to be found downtown New York — and takes a moment to appreciate the fact that his life has now come to a point where the phrase ‘I don’t want to have hot chocolate in a blanket fort with Stark and the Hydra soldier’ makes any sort of sense.

-

He returns to the compound that evening to find the Hydra soldier moving around the kitchen. Because apparently, they let him cook dinner for them, which is certifiably insane.

“I don’t have to do it,” the soldier says when Bucky attempts to interrogate him about what exactly his intentions are with that evening’s risotto. “I don’t even need to make myself useful. I can just hang around for no reason and everyone is fine with it.” And he continues chopping the onions with terrifying speed and precision, wielding a not-at-all-worryingly giant. sharp. blade.

They have risotto that evening. And no one ends up being poisoned in a nefarious Hydra plot. This does nothing to ease Bucky’s mind.

-

Bruce likes to walk the Hydra soldier through magazine quizzes. The really vulgar sort — Which Starbucks drink are you? Take our test! — that the two of them discusses entirely unironically at the dinner table. “They’re part of Bruce’s social etiquette lessons,” Natasha says, and she grins like that is some sort of inside joke. These are all things Bucky does not approve of.

Steve likes to introduce the Hydra soldier to random television shows. “Do you know ‘Wizards of Waverly place’?” he’ll ask, and then proceed to look far too enthusiastic for a man his age when the soldier shakes his head in response. These are all things Bucky approves of even less.

Natasha likes to sneak up behind the Hydra soldier when he is engrossed in a book and then poke him in the side so hard he’ll roll out of his armchair in a tangle of blankets and flailing limbs. Which is something Bucky would approve of, if it weren’t so obvious that these minor assaults are somehow— somehow a token of affection.

“Stop that!” the soldier complains, pulling his blanket around himself like a protective shell as he glares up at her.

Natasha grins some more and says “ticklish chickpea”, and then strolls back to her wheelchair.

And Stark… Stark apparently likes blanket forts and hot chocolate, and Bucky thinks he hears Stark call the soldier ‘sweetheart’ one evening. Stark’s soft side is a thing Bucky had only ever heard of, but never seen in person. Something he had always assumed wasn’t actually real. Like Bigfoot. Or people slipping on banana peels.

Whenever the soldier is not otherwise occupied, he stalks Bucky around the compound like a particularly sinister second shadow. Never directly in his line of sight, always looming just on the edge of his peripheral vision.

“He keeps following me around,” Bucky complains to Steve when he is sure the soldier is far away in the living room, getting his damn social etiquette lessons from Bruce.

“Yes,” Steve says, and smiles. “He doesn’t usually do that with others. But I think he considers you a kindred spirit.”

The feeling is decidedly not mutual.

“Why don’t you engage with him, next time?” Steve encourages. “See if he has any questions for you.” The whole team has been treating Bucky a bit like a dog who needs to be desensitized to the new baby.

-

The soldier returns from another mysterious field trip with a tear in his brand new coat.

Natasha holds it up in front of her and clucks her tongue. “What happened?”

“Some guys were fighting,” the Hydra soldier says, his voice deceptively casual.

Natasha’s face immediately morphs into something steely. “You were attacked?”

“No. I mean, not on purpose. They were fighting each other. I just… got caught in the middle.” The soldier holds himself oddly still. Eerily still. Like a viper ready to strike, Bucky’s mind supplies.

Natasha lowers the coat and sighs. “Go find Pepper. She’ll buy you a new one.”

“He was lying,” Bucky points out as soon as the soldier has disappeared from the room. “Just like he was when he returned without his coat last time.”

“Maybe,” Natasha allows as she sags back into her wheelchair and tosses the coat aside.

“So?” Bucky demands. “Aren’t you gonna do something about it?”

“Nah,” she says. Which is in character. But not any less frustrating. “Having secrets is normal healthy teenage behavior.”

Sure it is. If only the Avengers had adopted themselves a normal healthy teenager, rather than a ticking time bomb. “Where does he go on these little fieldtrips?”

“He visits his family.”

Does he, though? “We have intelligence that there is still an undiscovered Hydra base in New York.”

“He visits his family, Buck.”

“Hydra trained soldiers don’t visit their families. They’re not harmless. They’re not safe. I’m sorry, Nat, I just don’t see it.”

“I know it’s not easy for you to accept the kid,” Natasha says as she hooks her thumbs around the wheels of her chair. “Because that would mean you’d have to accept yourself, too.”

-

Pepper pours four cups of tea. She seems to be under the impression that Bucky is sitting at the table with them to socialize rather than to surveil.

“Question three,” Bruce says, his finger sliding down the page of the magazine. “You just won your school's costume contest and received a huge cash prize. What are you doing with the money? Going on a shopping spree at the mall, saving it for the future, buying gifts for all your friends, or buying equipment to start a YouTube channel.”

The soldier’s face scrunches up in concentration, as if he has been posed with a particularly trying math problem. “Are… Is it their birthday?”

“Ah,” Bruce says, and immediately launches into a lecture about the fine art of gift giving while the soldier takes copious notes.

“Those quizzes are pointless,” Bucky says.

“Them being pointless is the point,” Bruce replies, and doesn’t elaborate further.

“Should I buy presents for May and Ben?” the soldier asks.

“Who are they?” Bucky immediately demands, cutting off Bruce’s response. He doesn’t like the idea that he still lacks information about this intruder.

“His family,” Bruce says with a slight frown in his direction.

Right.

“And this weekend will be his first time sleeping over at their house!” Pepper lays both hands on the boy’s shoulders and squeezes. “So exciting!”

“…Yes,” the soldier says in a studiously cheerful tone. “Exciting.”

The Hydra boy is a passable liar. But there is something lurking deep in his eyes as he turns back to listen to Bruce. Whatever his true plans are for this weekend, Bucky resolves to find out.

He focusses his attention back on the conversation in front of him. “No,” Bruce is saying. “You don’t have to write a thank you note.”

“But I read this book in the book-room that said it is imp-imperative to write thank you notes. So which is it? Can’t be both!”

“A thank you note is still a lovely gesture, so you can do it. But sending a text message, or just saying ‘thank you’ is fine, too. That book you read was probably a bit older. Sometimes rules change.”

“Okay,” the boy says. “Rules change. Okay.”

Bucky still writes thank you notes, like his mother drilled into him. No one told him the rule had changed.

-

Bucky asks Steve to explain it to him again. “You’re saying he escaped early in the morning.”

“Yes.”

“And returned to the compound after midnight.”

“Yes.”

“How can you be certain he wasn’t sent back? We know there is a Hydra base in New York, still. Twenty hours missing is more than enough time to report back there, debrief and be sent back in. I don’t understand why you haven’t at least questioned him about his whereabouts that day.”

“Even if you were right,” Steve says, “which I know you are not, but even if you were, it wouldn’t change anything. Even if he were sent here as a spy, the best strategy would still be to welcome him with open arms, show him kindness and do everything we can to turn him away from Hydra’s influence.”

He has a point, damn him.

-

There is a Hydra soldier armed with a can of whipped cream sitting at the kitchen table, eyes wide as he looks back at Bucky as if Bucky is the intruder here. Bucky can think of four ways to kill someone with a can of whipped cream off the top of his head, so he approaches with caution. “What are you doing?”

The soldier puffs up like a balloon. “I can leave my bedroom whenever I want. Natasha said so. Ask her.”

“It’s five AM.”

“I know that. I’m not stupid. The sun rises in one hour and thirty-nine minutes.”

Bucky remembers the exact trajectory of the sun being drilled into him by his superiors. Along with the moon, the north star, Ursa Major. The night sky is a perpetual geometry problem. “What are you doing here at five AM?” he elaborates.

The soldier sets the can of whipped cream down — Bucky just thought of a fifth way, incidentally — and tucks his hands under his legs. “Just dessert.”

Bucky frowns. The soldier returns his gaze with a look of wide-eyed innocence that he has undoubtedly perfected as part of his Hydra training. It is clear that the boy knows exactly what effect he has on the other Avengers with that look. “You really have the whole team wrapped around your finger, huh?”

“Pretty much,” the boy says. There is whipped cream on his nose.

Bucky slowly pulls out a chair across the table from him and sits. The soldier fidgets. He is always fidgety around Bucky, but not as if he’s afraid. More like he is constantly on the verge of spewing our hundreds of questions, but trying to keep them in. Bucky narrows his eyes. “And they are good people, aren’t they?”

“They won’t ever hurt me,” the boy says, with the absolute confidence of someone who has tried everything he could think of to make them hurt him, but failed at every turn. He picks up his spoon and twirls it through what looks like a mashed-banana-chocolate-custard-whipped-cream mixture.

“Been here almost three months, correct?”

“Eighty-one days.”

“Counting the days like a prisoner?”

The boy cocks his head. “Everyone counts the days,” he says, in a tone of voice like he genuinely believes that to be the case, and maybe he does. Bucky certainly counts the days. Ninety-five days was his last mission. Sixty-two days was the one before. Two hundred and forty seven days since Stark last looked him straight in the eye.

“Steve said you escaped capture after roughly three weeks. He said up till that point, your energy had been focused on nothing but escape attempts. He said you left early in the morning, and returned after midnight, leaving many hours unaccounted for. He said since you returned, you suddenly stopped showing interest in any escape attempts whatsoever.”

The boy says nothing, just shovels some chocolate-hodgepodge into his mouth.

“Here is what I believe happened. You escaped and reported to the nearest Hydra base. You told your superiors about the goodwill shown towards you by the Avengers. Your superiors decided your new mission should be to take advantage of that goodwill and infiltrate the Avenger’s headquarters. With that mission in your back pocket, you returned.”

The Hydra boy licks the spoon. “It adds up.”

“So you admit it.”

“No. Just. I see how you might think that.”

“What do you do every time you go into the city on your own?”

“I visit my family.”

“And hop by a Hydra outpost for a quick debrief?”

“I like the Avengers. And they like me.”

“You’re trying to trick them.”

The soldier lets the spoon slide back into the bowl and leans back in his chair. He calmly scrutinizes Bucky for a while, in a way that strangely reminds him of Steve. “Do you want some dessert?” the boy then asks “I make great desserts. Peanut butter is my secret ingredient.”

“Secret.”

“Between you and me.”

“That’s… I know what you’re doing soldat.”

The soldier still looks at him, with eyes that feel like they pierce him right through. “Do you want dessert?” he asks again. “We have lots of good stuff.” He pushes his chair back. ”What ice cream flavor do you like?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh,” the soldier says, and his voice turns even more carefully gentle. “That’s okay. No rush. You can think about it.”

“I just meant… It doesn’t  matter, give me anything.”

The soldier looks at him with a slight frown. “I’ll give you a bit of everything,” he decides. “Then you’ll know for next time.”

Which is… sure, whatever. “Hydra must have changed a lot in these last years if you get to decide your favorite ice cream flavors over there.”

“I’m not Hydra,” the soldier says as he scoops ice cream into a bowl. “I’m just me. I like blanket forts and feeding goats. What do you like?”

“What— What do I… I don’t know.”

“Food,” the boy suggests. “What food do you like?”

“I don’t care. I eat whatever is easiest. Or whatever is put in front of me.”

“But if you could choose, you might prefer one thing over another, right?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, inexplicably getting frustrated with himself.

The soldier places a ridiculously full bowl of ice cream in front of him and sits back down. “You know what I really hated? When we got our ration packs, and there was eggplant caviar in there. It was like eating baby diarrhea! What even is eggplant caviar? Eggplants don’t lay eggs! Wait— or is that why they are called eggplants? Gotta ask Bruce...”

Bucky only has a vague memory of the stuff. Dull and greyed out, like most of his memories under Hydra. “It was fine. Just smelled bad.”

“But I liked the powder you could mix into water to make it cherry flavored.”

“Too sweet for me.”

“And the coffee was terrible, like drinking mud.”

“You rookie. You’re supposed to use two sachets per cup. And strain it through some fabric to get the clumps out.”

“You can’t just use two sachets,” the boy says, looking affronted. “That’s… That’s insubordination.”

“I hardly think Hydra would consider it my primary offense.”

“Tony won’t let me drink coffee. Until I’m sixteen. He won’t let me drive until I’m sixteen, either. Even though I’m a better driver than him. He tailgates. And doesn’t use his indicators properly. Sometimes, the Avengers have more rules than Hydra. But it’s okay. They’re weird. But good-weird. Did Hydra… Did they ever hurt you?”

“You know, from a tactical viewpoint it’s not actually practical to injure a—”

“A precious commodity,” the kid says, nodding.

Maybe ‘kindred spirit’ wasn’t that far off, after all. Bucky picks up his spoon and tries some of the green ice cream with brown specks.

The kid is still staring at him, and still fidgeting. “That one’s mint chocolate chip.”

“I know,” Bucky snaps. He didn’t know. But he doesn’t like this kid assuming that he didn’t know.

“Okay.” Fidget, fidget. “So why doesn’t Tony like you?”

“I killed his parents.”

“Oh. Yeah. That’ll… That’ll do it.” The boy nods once. Then goes back to spooning half-molten ice cream into his mouth. “I’ve done bad things, too,” he admits in between bites. “I mean. I thought they were good things when I did them. So. There’s no point in getting angry at yourself that you didn’t know what you know now, before you knew it.”

“But you’re a kid. That’s different, somehow.”

“How old were you when Hydra got you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Right,” the boy says. “That’s really old. That’s ancient.”

“Was that sarcasm?”

“I don’t think so. Tony says I don’t know what that is,” he shrugs. “I was seven.”

Well. That sheds new light on Natasha claiming the boy had been impressionable. What on earth would Hydra want with a seven-year-old?

“So. What’s your name?” Bucky asks.

-

They’re still sitting at the table when early rays of sunlight hit the high ceiling, when Stark shuffles into the room in a night gown, throws one glance at the bowl in front of Peter and comments: “gross.”

“We’ve had midnight desserts,” Peter says.

“Sounds like a whale of a time,” Stark replies, apparently too tired to remember how much he hates Bucky.

…And Bucky realizes he has been glaring. He can’t always help it, it seems to be an expression his face slips into naturally.

-

Peter leaves for the bus stop that morning, a large bag hoisted over his shoulder. Staying with his aunt and uncle for a whole weekend, Steve reminds Bucky, looking proud and happy as if this is Peter’s greatest achievement to date. Maybe it is.

There is still something lurking in the boy’s eyes that Bucky can’t quite place, but he tries not to read too much into it. He even offers to give the kid a lift downtown, but Peter shakes his head and says “Bruce says it’s good for me to take the bus.”

Bucky and Steve end up in a quiet pub in the Bronx that evening. It’s nice to be out, somewhere where Bucky doesn’t feel like an imposition. It’s one of the main reasons why he keeps requesting to go on those long-ass missions: In the only home he has to go back to, his room and board is paid for by the man he orphaned.

“So what the hell did Hydra want with a seven-year-old?” he asks as he attempts to build a house of cards, but with coasters.

“Our best theory is that they somehow knew, or suspected, that Peter was viable for mutation. They went through a shit ton of work to get at him. And as soon as they had him, the experiments started.”

Bucky remembers those. Injection after injection, each one leaving him sick, in pain and delirious for days. Until finally they hit on the one that had the desired effect. He can’t imagine going through that at age seven. “The kid is remarkably well adjusted. Considering.” A lot better than me, certainly.

“He’s young,” Steve says as if he read Bucky’s mind. “They bounce back faster than we can. And he’s still officially dead. So there is no pressure. No rush. No government demands to comply with. He can actually take the time to recover. It’s been good, so far. We haven’t hit many snags, knock on wood.” He raps his knuckles against the table.

His phone starts buzzing.

Steve takes it out and frowns at the display for a moment before answering. “Hey, Ben,” he says, and his eyebrows dip into a frown as he listens, just listens, and then says: “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Bucky topples his coaster tower and rises from the table, patting his pocket for the car keys. “What happened?”

Steve throws some money down on the table. “They don’t know. Ben says everything seemed fine until Peter went to bed. Came back out after half an hour and now he is just sitting on their living room floor and won’t talk.”

-

Peter is still in that exact state when Ben leads them into the house. He is sitting cross-legged on the floor, his fingers buried into the fur of a tail-wagging young dog who doesn’t seem to think there is any problem: the more humans to pet him, the merrier.

May is sat beside Peter, one arm resting lightly on his back. “Look, honey,” she says, her tone cheerful in a forced way. “Steve is here. With, with…”

“Bucky.”

Peter keeps staring down at his own hands, buried in the dog’s fur, and only jerks out of the way a little when the pup attempts to lick his face.

Steve kneels in front of him. “Hey buddy. How are you doing?”

Peter doesn’t answer. He just hunches his shoulders and hugs the dog tighter.

“You want to come home, hm?”

That gets a response: Peter immediately shakes his head, fervently.

Steve looks taken aback. “You… You want to stay here?”

Peter nods firmly, but his gaze skitters away from them.

Steve sits back on his haunches and scrutinizes Peter for a moment. Bucky sees no blend of fondness and exasperation on his face; just a tight concern. Steve has never been in this situation before, and he has no idea how to deal with it.

“He can stay, of course,” May says. “I just… We just… He doesn’t seem all right.”

Steve nods slowly. “Maybe it’s best if you come home with us, hm, Pete?”

“No,” Peter says, voice tight and controlled. “I don’t have to… I can do it.”

Steve works his jaw for a moment. “You’re coming home,” he then decides, his voice now firmer. His team-leader voice. “Let’s go, come on.”

Peter ducks his head lower. “Yes sir,” he mutters.

Steve’s face twists but he says nothing. He just gently extracts the dog from Peter’s grip and then pulls the kid to his feet.

“I’ll go pack his things,” May murmurs, slipping out of the room.

“And remember your chocolates, Pete,” Ben says, pressing a flat box into Peter’s hands.

Peter says nothing. He says nothing as they leave the house. He says nothing as they drive back to the compound. He says nothing as he trudges past the surprised faces of Stark and Nat and disappears up the stairs.

“What.” Stark says.

“I don’t know,” Steve says. He has that distressed face that Bucky never likes seeing on him. “Just… give him a moment to cool down.”

-

Bucky gives the kid precisely twenty minutes to cool down before he slips upstairs, leaving a kitchen full of anxiously discussing Avengers behind. (“What if we’re screwing him up?” Stark says. “What if we think we’re doing the right things for him, but we’re just making it worse?”)

He finds Peter sitting on the floor of his bedroom, leaning his back against his bed. The flat box of chocolates is lying open next to his leg, and Peter has munched his way through half of the contents already.

“Did Ben and May give you those?”

“No,” Peter says, and doesn’t elaborate.

Bucky sits on the floor, too; back resting against Peter’s wardrobe. The room is… it’s nice. Very tidy for a teenager’s room. But there is a picture of Ben and May on the desk, and some postcards taped to the door, and one of Bruce’s sweaters is hanging over the back of a chair. If Bucky were on a mission, raiding a house to search for clues, he would have concluded that this is the bedroom of a child in a loving family.

It stays quiet for a long time, until:

“Mission failed,” Peter murmurs.

“Ah,” Bucky says. “I see. Yes. And what do you usually do when that happens?”

“It never happens,” Peter says. “I’m a good soldier. And I should be able to go on long missions. Whole— Whole weekend missions. And if I don’t want to, I do it anyway. Just push everything else away and keep going. I could have… could have made it to the end.”

“But that’s different now, right?” Bucky says. “Now you can just say it if you don’t want to do something. You don’t have to force yourself. You can even yell, if someone tries to make you do something you don’t want to do. You can throw things. I mean, you might get told off, but you can definitely throw things if you feel like you really need to. And no one would hurt you for it.”

“But I did want to do it.”

“I think maybe you wanted to want to do it. That’s not the same thing.”

“I’m not normal,” Peter says. “Am I? Normal people can… go to school, jump rope, have sleepovers.”

“You want to jump rope?”

“No. I don’t know. I saw some kids doing it the other day and it looked complicated but they looked happy.”

Bucky stretches his legs out in front of him. “Peter, it can’t be news to you that none of us here are normal. You fit right in.”

Peter looks miserable. “I just… Everyone seemed so excited for me to stay over the whole weekend.”

And the kid hadn’t dared to tell them he didn’t want to. That he wanted to want to, but wasn’t ready.

“Sleeping is just hard,” Peter says, “and I can do it, as long as my door is open and I can see Steve across the hallway when I wake up. And… And… I’m gonna tell Tony that you said I could throw stuff.”

“Knock yourself out. He probably can’t hate me more than he already does.”

He watches as the kid absorbs that statement, face twisting into something weirdly sympathetic. “Okay. I won’t tell him.”

It stays quiet for another few seconds.

“I know the location of three Hydra bases,” Peter then says.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know,” the boy says with a nod. “If you give me a map, I can point them out.”

That is… very much not Bucky’s main concern right now. But of course this is the moment Stark appears in the doorway. At the exact right time to hear Peter talk about inconsequential things like Hydra bases, and to probably assume that Bucky is taking advantage of Peter’s vulnerable state to interrogate him—

“Can I come in, buddy?” Stark asks, ignoring Bucky for now. It occurs to Bucky that maybe he should have asked for permission, too. Things like privacy and boundaries are often still a mystery to him. Perhaps he needs a few social etiquette lessons himself.

“I want a hug,” Peter demands.

“What a coincidence,” Stark says, stepping inside. “Me too.” He sits down on the ground and immediately finds himself with his arms full of teenager. Stark breathes out as his arms settle around the boy. “Anything you wanna talk about?” he asks.

Peter buries his head against Stark’s shoulder and haltingly explains how utterly impossible it is for him to sleep in a strange bed.

“Sweetheart,” Stark says. “I’m so proud of you for telling me.”

“That doesn’t count!” Peter complains. “You’re always proud of me for stupid things. Like when I make movie references, or say rude things, or beat Steve at arm wrestling.”

“Yes,” Stark says, and smiles, and buries a hand in Peter’s hair. “I love when you do stupid things, you chocolate monster.”

-

Peter wants to visit May and Ben again the next day. “I just want them to see I’m okay,” he says. “I don’t want them to worry all week.” And maybe the other Avengers don’t realize the full significance of this boy’s ability, in spite of everything, to worry about other people’s happiness before his own. But Bucky knows.

He offers to drive the kid. “If that’s okay,” he says, his eyes drifting towards Stark.

Stark is clearly deeply uncomfortable with the idea, but he still says: “It’s up to Pete.” Because he lets the kid make his own choices. And Peter clearly notices Stark’s discomfort, but he still says: “I’ll go with Bucky, then.” Because he trusts the Avengers to respect his decision.

They are all so functional as a family; a notion Bucky somehow finds unbalancing and reassuring at the same time.

-

“So,” Peter says as he fiddles with his seat belt. “So what would you do if you won your school's costume contest and received a huge cash prize?”

“It’s a stupid question.”

“Bruce thinks it’s an important question,” Peter says. “And Bruce is smart.”

“Book smart.”

“Funny. That’s what he says about me. He says the quizzes help you get street smart. You’ve been away from Hydra for three years now, right? Tony told me before you arrived.”

Bucky almost jerks at the steering wheel at the thought that Stark has been discussing him with Peter. In order to… what? Warn him? “What else did he say about me?”

“He said you were taken by Hydra, and they made you do things, and that you had a metal arm, and if I was nice to you maybe you’d let me look at it.”

“He didn’t tell you I killed his parents?”

“No,” Peter says. “I guess he didn’t want to make things weird.”

Bucky gives a huffed laugh that is very far from humor.

“If I won a cash prize, I’d buy people gifts,” Peter says. “Because life is about helping people to be happy. That’s another thing Tony told me, right before I escaped.”

Bucky’s mouth tastes bitter. “How about if half your life has been wasted on destroying people’s lives. Do you think buying gifts is my road to atonement?”

“Guilt can be healthy,” Peter says. “But healthy guilt is directed at your behavior, not at yourself. Behavior that you can change. If it was out of your control, your guilt doesn’t serve a purpose.”

“Which Avenger told you that, right before you escaped?”

“Uncle Ben told me that. I want to get them a present, all right?”

“All right.”

“I want to get them a bath bomb.” Peter says. “Don’t worry, it’s not really a bomb. It’s for fun.”

“That’s a load off.”

Peter is oddly specific about which store he wants to visit to get his precious bath bomb, pointing out where Bucky can park and leading the way down the street until he halts in front of an unassuming shop. He lingers outside for a while, peering in through the shop window.

“What are you doing?”

“Reconnaissance.”

Bucky crosses his arms, waits for the kid to finish his damn reconnaissance, and then follows him inside. The shop much resembles the contents of his trash can, with no discernable system. The socks are next to the ink cartridges, the shampoo next to the dog biscuits. Nevertheless, Peter makes a beeline for the far back of the shop and returns within half a minute, a bath bomb in his hands.

“Do you have super-smell too,” Bucky asks, “or do you just come here a lot?”

There is a middle-aged lady behind the counter, with gold-framed glasses and greying hair, who answers that questions for him. Because she exclaims: “Oh sweety, it’s you!” as soon as she lays eyes on Peter, and she claps her hands. “And your parents bought you a new coat!”

Peter fiddles with the zipper, smiles broadly. “Yes.”

“They didn’t get angry that you went and got it almost ripped in half?”

“No. They never get angry. It’s weird. But good-weird.”

The lady chuckles. “Take good care of this one, sweety, don’t go putting yourself in danger with it!”

“Sorry,” Bucky says. “What.”

“Two guys were having a fight in here,” Peter says. “So I just told them— You know, I said they shouldn’t be doing that in the middle of this lady’s shop, that’s not a nice thing.”

The lady pulls a face like Peter definitely did more than just politely ask two grown men to stop fighting. But she says nothing, and simply tucks the bath bomb into a paper bag and slides it back across the counter. “This is on the house, of course.”

“On – the – house,” Peter repeats slowly, his eyes flitting up to the ceiling for a moment.

“She means it’s free,” Bucky explains.

Peter’s nose scrunches up. “No, it’s not. I saw a price tag.”

“She means it’s a gift,” Bucky attempts.

“Oh,” Peter’s whole face lights up and he hugs the paper bag to his chest. “Oh. Thank you! That’s nice!”

His wide smile disappears as they step out onto the sidewalk, though. “Bucky,” he murmurs, fiddling with the bag, “Bruce says if I receive a gift from someone, I can’t then give it as a gift to someone else. So should I go back in and buy another bath bomb for Ben and May?”

“You’re fine,” Bucky says. “You can regift this one.”

“But… So… Which is it? Can’t be both.”

“You can regift this one,” Bucky tries, “because it’s on the house. That’s a different type of gift. Different rules apply.”

That seems to settle Peter’s moral quandary, judging by the relaxing shoulders. “Okay. On the house. Different rules.” It stays quiet for a moment. Only a moment. “Bucky. How many different types of gift are there?”

Bucky just shakes his head. “You’ve been breaking up fights, huh?”

“Don’t tell the others.”

“Because?”

“Because Tony already gets riled up when I save a cat from a tree.”

That… sounds simultaneously exactly and nothing like something Stark would do.

“I won’t tell him.”

“Do you pinky-swear?” Peter asks, his expression stern.

-

They make it two blocks before weird encounter number two occurs.

“Hey Peter,” a man says. He is sitting on a low, stone wall; back leaning against the fence behind it. Next to him stands a sad, bent shopping trolley that appears to contain all his meager possessions.

“Hi, Lewis,” Peter says, halting in his steps. “How are you?”

The man lifts the paper cup in his hands for a moment and grins a toothless grin. “Someone bought me coffee.”

“That’s nice.”

Bucky clears his throat. “You know each other?”

“He gave me his coat,” Lewis says, proudly demonstrating by spreading his arms wide.

Peter ducks his head. “I mean, I didn’t lie,” he says as he eyes Bucky warily. “I told Steve it was somewhere in Queens. I didn’t—I didn’t break any rules.”

“You’re fine, kid.”

-

Weird encounter number three happens right around the corner from May and Ben’s house. A car slows down next to them. The window rolls down and a young woman leans out. “Look!” she exclaims, pointing at the steering wheel. “Still driving, thanks to you! Did you like my chocolates?”

“I always like chocolate,” Peter says, and waves when she drives on.

“You know each other?” Bucky asks.

“She’s nice,” is all Peter says.

-

May and Ben’s neighbor is just stepping outside when they arrive. “Ah, hello, Peter!” the elderly man calls out as he pushes his walker down the front lawn. “Nice to see you again, my dear boy. And it’s not even a Saturday!”

Bucky doesn’t even ask anymore. But one thing is plain as day:

This kid is finding his way through life just fine.

“You people,” Bucky says when he arrives back home to a living room full of anxious Avengers, “have nothing to worry about.”

“Was he okay?” Natasha asks, a tight concern in her face that Bucky rarely sees from her. “Were May and Ben all right? Any tension, awkwardness? Did Peter seem relaxed?”

May had been the one greeting them both at the door. “Peter, honey!” she had said, going straight in for a hug. “I’m so happy to see you.”

And Peter had leaned his head on her shoulder. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For knowing what to do.” He hadn’t apologized. Because he knew he didn’t do anything wrong.

May had dropped a kiss into his hair and invited them both in, and Bucky had ended up sitting at the table with Ben and May while Peter greeted the dog exactly as enthusiastically as the dog greeted him.

“He’s a good kid,” Bucky had said. “And Hydra – none of that was his fault. There wasn’t a choice. Now that he has a choice, he is choosing all the right things. That’s all that matters.”

And if he believes that about Peter, maybe he can start to believe it about himself, too.

“You have nothing to worry about,” he repeats. “That kid is more well-adjusted than most of you. Most of us.”

“Hardly a feat,” Natasha admits, but she does smile and eases back in her chair.

-

Afternoon turns into a warm evening. The Avengers trickle into the living area one by one and settle on the couches, as if something pulls them here, as if they had all agreed without words that this was a night for… for what? Family time?

Bucky sits at the kitchen table and observes.

Peter arrived back home an hour or two ago. His coat was still in good condition for once – something he himself proudly remarked on — and he seemed relaxed, happy. Normal. Now he’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, next to Steve who tries to teach the boy some basic chords on the guitar. Bruce put an apple pie in the oven a while back. Rhodey and Natasha play chess. Pepper and Tony are deep in conversation.

It reminds Bucky of when he was young. Of languid Sunday afternoons. Of those rare days when his younger siblings were just playing quietly and Bucky could manage to keep them out of trouble by himself, so his mother could go into the kitchen to bake oatmeal cookies.

These are not the sort of memories that usually pop into his head when he is at the compound. Perhaps having a child around has somehow shifted the atmosphere in here.

He keeps his distance, though. This doesn’t feel like something he’ll ever actually be a part of. Just something he can observe from a distance.

Stark moves back to the kitchen to boil more water, then turns to face Bucky. “You should bring that arm down to the workshop, later,” he says. “I can check whether it needs maintenance.”

An olive branch, Bucky recognizes. His right fist curls around the armrest of his chair. “I don’t expect your forgiveness,” he says. It comes out a lot more aggressive than he had intended.

“Forgiveness is not the point,” Tony says. “We both know you didn’t…” He looks away again. “I know it isn’t easy for you to come here. And I wish things were different. That’s all. That’s all I can say about it. Bring the arm down if it needs maintenance.”

He moves back to the couch.

After a few moments of hesitation, Bucky follows.

Pepper immediately sets out another cup for him. “What kind of tea do you like?”

“Mint,” Bucky says. “I like mint.”

“Coming right up.”

They have drinks. And play a game of charades. And put on music. “Ooh, I love Led Zeppelin!” Peter says when AC/DC’s Back in Black blares over the speakers. Tony drops something. Steve masks a snort with a cough.

Bucky’s next mission starts soon. It won’t be as long as usual, but he suddenly doesn’t mind so much. Twenty-three days in Albania. Nine days until he has to leave. Zero days since Tony last looked him straight in the eye.

It is weird. But good-weird.