Chapter Text
Bucky isn’t entirely sure how he got here.
When he was just shy of eighteen and preparing to enlist in the army, he imagined what his future would look like. They’d win the war, of course, and maybe Bucky would be a little traumatized and war torn, but he’d finally be back home in Brooklyn. He and Steve would settle down in the city for a while, at least until they found women (or men, neither of them had a preference) to live out the rest of their days with. They’d travel across the country to beaches and cities they’d dreamed of seeing since they were kids. They’d get old and decrepit together, just like Bucky promised Steve they would.
But they didn’t and they never would. Steve made his choice. He died just over a year ago at age 105. A little older than a regular human, but Steve was never regular. Bucky placed some blue bell flowers over his casket and left the service before anyone could see his tears fall.
In a messed up series of bad choices and ill-timed coincidences, Bucky found himself working for the government (Steve is rolling in his grave, he knows it) and then immediately breaking hundreds of laws and essentially blackmailing the director of the CIA.
Great.
And now, here he is, mere months after Bob’s breakdown and over seventy years out of time, following in the cavernous footsteps his best friend left behind. There’s no de facto leader of what they’ve internally dubbed The Thunderbolts, not in a group full of hyper independent and asocial antiheroes, but the rest of the team generally turns to him when it’s necessary.
He’s older than all of them, at least mentally. He’s committed the most atrocities of all of them by far (nobody can beat out assassinating the president, as hard as they try). His little stint playing congressman is very much dead, so why not have him lead a group of heavily traumatized, superpowered assassins?
He’s getting flack from all sides. The public wants to see more appearances, but none of the team has been media trained to a point where they can get through an interview without insulting someone important or causing an international incident. Valentina’s been a pain in the ass, her puppet strings still hanging off them, if not as tight. Sam won’t stop calling him about the New Avengers title, which Bucky can’t even begin to deal with at the moment. To top it off, his nightmares have been coming back, the shame rooms having dug up issues Bucky thought he’d already worked through.
Bucky stuffs his face in his pillow, groaning.
It’s not as if he doesn’t like them. He gets along with most of them nicely enough. They’re all about as chummy and talkative as one would expect a group of assassins with isolative tendencies to be. Yelena is the most level-headed, and she knew Natasha like he knew Steve, so he ends up talking to her the most.
Bucky still wants to punch John Walker as hard as he possibly can with his metal arm, but whatever.
They’d been living in the tower together since the incident, walking through it like ghosts (Bucky can hear Ava chuckling from his room). Oddly enough, they do work well together as a group, so Bucky insists on training a few times a week. Small spats and sneering insults are never ending, and Bucky really just doesn’t have the energy to try and stop it.
Is this what Steve went through when the rogues came back to the tower post-accords? Having to work through his own guilt and trauma while keeping together a group of skittish, high-tempered people is incredibly difficult.
They’ve been doing better, though. Dinner’s used to be filled with tense silences, but now, one of them will goad another into a heated debate, prompting the rest of the table to join. Occasionally, they’ll sit together and watch something on the TV during quiet moments. The other day, Bucky even heard Walker laugh at something Yelena said.
They’re not holding hands and singing Kumbaya, but it’s certainly a start.
He peels himself out of bed, pulling his arm off the nightstand and attaching it to his shoulder. Ava’s taken to hiding it sometimes, much to his chagrin, so he keeps it in his locked room (that Ava has wisely chosen not to pick).
The team is spread around the kitchenette and living room by the time Bucky makes his way to the penthouse floor. It’s much too early for anybody to be willing to speak to one another, so they all go about their routines in relative silence.
Walker and Alexei are side by side at the stove, cooking eggs and some oddly textured soup, respectively. Bob’s at the counter, shoving cereal into his mouth, eyes locked on a book as he chews. Ava’s stretching behind the couch, half-asleep as she reaches forward with her legs straddled on the ground. Yelena is curled on the loveseat, remote held loosely in her hand as she switches channels on the TV.
Bucky goes about his own routine, grabbing the creamer from the cupboard before moving to the coffee machine. It’s a peaceful quiet as they all move around, almost domestic. The TV blares loudly, causing Bob to startle and spill milk down his front. Alexei yelps, bumping hard into Walker, who hisses as his hand bumps into the hot pan.
“Jesus!” John yells, shaking out his burnt hand, sending a dirty look to Alexei, who only shrugs.
Bucky turns to the source of the noise, grabbing his cup of coffee and moving to the living room. Ava has also gotten up, bracing her hands on the back of the couch as they watch the news.
“It’s the spider-person.” Ava comments when Bucky arrives.
Sure enough, when he looks at the TV, Spider-man’s iconic red and blue is swinging rapidly around an apartment complex on fire. He watches Spider-man land, speak to a few firemen, then enter the building.
It’s dark outside on screen, so this must have happened last night. There’s no sign of Spider-man for several minutes, only the occasional web holding people as they’re flung out of the building. The reporter on sight looks extremely distressed as the wooden support beams of the complex begin to splinter and crumble.
Eventually, Spider-man flies out of a lower level window, child in tow, mere seconds before the entire building collapses. The news anchor smiles at the camera, reporting only minor injuries, no deaths.
Bucky… knows Spider-man. Not personally or anything, but he knows he’s met the guy once or twice. He and Sam got the beat down of their lives in the middle of that airport, and Spider-man had even caught his metal arm, a feat even Steve struggled with. He remembers seeing flashes of blue and red in both battles with Thanos.
He thinks Spider-man was around the tower, occasionally. Bucky knows Steve talked about him sometimes, telling him about Tony’s protégé. He’d seen the guy at a few small scale battles in New York, but never really spoke to him.
Every time he tries to remember if he’d seen Spider-man outside of the mask, his brain fogs up and he loses his train of thought.
“Risky.” Walker comments. The rest of the team had made their way over to the living room as the newscaster reported.
Yelena rolls her eyes, “He saved all of them.”
“The firemen were already handling it. He could’ve made it worse.” Walker says.
Far too experienced with John Walker’s infuriating opinions, Yelena just turns back to the TV silently.
“You knew him, right?” Ava asks, turning to Bucky, “Y’know, before everything.”
Everything meaning half the universe disappearing and then subsequently losing about 85% of Earth’s greatest heroes in the ensuing battle.
“I- yeah, kind of. Not, like, personally or anything, but I know he and Tony were close.” Bucky says.
There’s a brief flash of a memory of a tawny haired boy kneeling by Tony’s burnt body, crying and apologizing, but it’s gone before he can even register it.
“He operates mostly in Queens.” Bucky informs them.
Walker scoffs, “Could’a used him during Bob’s breakdown, eh? Wonder where he was then.”
“Probably locked in a shame room, like everybody else in New York.” Ava says, hands on her hips.
That comment sets off an argument, which isn’t surprisingly in the slightest. Ignoring it, Bucky keeps his gaze on the screen, watching Spider-man give a small nod to a fireman before swinging away. There’s something different about the guy, Bucky notices. He remembers watching Spider-man interact happily with the people on the streets, posing for pictures and signing hats and pieces of paper.
Now, though, the most Spider-man gives is a half-hearted wave. He rarely ever stops to talk to people. Bucky’s seen a few videos of Spider-man sitting on top of a skyscraper, legs swinging over the edge. He looks comfortable, like he’s completely at peace.
It might be because he knows he could catch himself if he falls, but there’s something about the guy’s body language that puts a bad taste in Bucky’s mouth. He and Sam hadn’t really thought twice about the guy, but he’s starting to think that he should’ve.
There’s a distinct sense of wrongness in Bucky’s chest when he thinks about Spider-man. His brain knows what it is, but the neurons are lost as they try to make the connection. Maybe he should talk to Sam.
Bucky sighs as he tunes back into the argument, which by now has escalated into seething remarks and dirty looks all around. He pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering why in the world Valentina thought this was a good idea.
“Alright, alright,” he says, “enough. Let's go downstairs. Maybe you can all get your anger out by sparring with each other.”
Luckily, the promise of beating the shit out of each other soothes the group enough to act civilly as they make their way to the gym. Bucky knows tensions will only rise again later, when they have to do a group press conference with Valentina.
He sighs again, glancing back at the scrappy group making their way to the sparring mats. Just another day, he supposes.
—--
Bucky really meant to do something about Spider-man, he did.
He just… completely forgot because another one of their team’s transgressions had arisen during an interview- Ava apparently murdered some important congressman from Spain- and the internet blew up again.
He was honestly getting tired of it. What did they expect from an entire group of lethal assassins, to miss? It’s not even like they chose this, they were never meant to be a group. Nobody really wants a team of vicious antiheroes to be the world's saviors, but there is, quite literally, nobody else to take the job.
They want the original Avengers? Three of them are dead, one rarely comes back to Earth, one is retired and grieving, and the other is the Hulk, who most people barely trust anyway.
They want better, non-corrupt Avengers? They never asked for this. They’re trying to be better, to be heroes.
They want new superhumans? Bob. Enough said.
And now, they have to put up a united front like they’re not arguing every other day. They have to stand tall and proud in front of cameras like they’re not pretending to be heroes, pretending like their efforts are even an eighth of the original Avengers.
Pretending like they’re non-lethal. Pretending like they should be inspirations for kids. Pretending to be good and righteous. Pretending like they have any right to call themselves heroes.
It’s late at night when Bucky decides he can’t take it anymore. They’ve been holed up in the tower for nearly a week while their PR team soothes the masses. Everyone is cranky and annoyed and completely unable to get away from one another. There’ve been more fights in this one week than the entire time they’ve lived together. Tensions are high, tempers are volatile, and Bucky is so done.
After a particularly brutal fight that led to more than one bloody nose, Bucky decides to go for a walk. He needs to get out of the tower, if only for a few hours. With a hood over his head and gloves on his hands, he makes his way down the Manhattan streets.
He thinks for a moment about going to Brooklyn, but his stomach twists at the thought and he decides against it. Instead, he takes the train to Queens. His chest still tightens at the thought of Spider-man, in the same kind of way like when he’s out of the house and pats his pockets only to realize his phone isn’t in any of them.
Something’s off. He’s missing something vital, but he can’t quite grasp what.
When he emerges onto the streets of Queens, he keeps his eyes on the stars, looking out for the telltale red and blue. Bucky doesn’t know Spider-man’s schedule, he has no idea how often the guy patrols, but he’s hoping he picked a lucky day.
So lost in thought, he nearly misses the lithe figure on top of a dilapidated apartment building. It’s not as tall as some of the other buildings in this borough, but it’s definitely high enough to cause some fall damage. Bucky watches from the ground as Spider-man’s legs swing back and forth, his white lenses locked on the city in front of him.
Bucky circles the building, finding a wobbly ladder to heave himself up to the roof from. As quietly as he can- he thinks he remembers something about Spider-man having enhanced senses- he makes his way up and over the ledge of the roof, the vigilante’s back facing him.
Spider-man looks… calm. Really calm. The guy was so talkative and quippy during his fight at the airport, much to his and Sam’s annoyance. To see him so quiet is a little unnerving. Spider-man leans over a little, jolting Bucky forward a bit.
Spider-man gazes down at the ground, body lax and breathing slow.
He gets the feeling that he was right. That if Spider-man were to fall from this skyscraper, there’s not much the guy would do to catch himself.
“I know you’re there.” Spider-man says.
Bucky doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. He makes his way over to Spider-man’s side, looking out at the horizon in front of them. It’s beautiful, really, with all the lights and the wind whipping at their faces.
Bucky clears his throat, “Pretty good hearing then, huh?”
Spider-man snorts softly, turning to look up at him. The whites of his lenses widen in shock and the guy nearly falls off the roof from the way he scrambles back. Bucky catches him by the arm, pulling him back from the edge.
“Mr.- Mr. Barnes sir, um, oh god- what are- can I help you?” Spider-man stutters out. God, he sounds young, Bucky thinks. No older than twenty-five.
Bucky opens his palms in a placating gesture, “Didn’t mean to scare you, and no, I don’t need anything.”
Spider-man relaxes minutely, nodding. The lenses- which are a little creepy if Bucky’s being honest- remain locked on him, like the kid is afraid he’ll disappear.
“You just finish patrol?” Bucky asks after an awkward beat.
Spider-man nods, looking back out towards the city, “Yeah, yeah, not a lot of crime tonight.”
Bucky huffs a laugh, “That might be our fault.”
Spider-man looks confused for a moment, tilting his head towards Bucky, before he nods understandingly, “Ah, right, with the- the whole New Avengers thing.”
Bucky hums, “Not many people want to commit crimes with people like us running around.”
Spider-man shrugs, “I mean, it’s not like you guys are dealing with the small stuff. The Avengers deal with big time issues. I take care of the little guy.”
True enough, Bucky supposes. It’s not like they’re out every night dealing with petty crimes. They don’t really have the time- or the public status- for that kind of heroism. It’s also a territory issue, Bucky knows a lot of the vigilantes in New York don’t appreciate outsiders trying to help. He knows for a fact that the original Avengers didn’t take care of the small stuff either.
“You do, it’s good work,” Bucky says, “but you’ve also done big stuff too.”
Spider-man sighs, leaning back on his hands, “Only because I forced my way in.”
“Right, right,” Bucky chuckles, “bet Tony wasn’t a fan of that, huh?”
Spider-man freezes and Bucky curses himself internally. Who just casually mentions someone’s dead mentor only a few years after they’ve died? Bucky, apparently, because he’s got shit for brains.
Bucky’s about to start apologizing profusely when Spider-man scoffs, nodding slightly.
“Yeah, and look at where it got him.” He mutters.
That’s not really what he was expecting. He was expecting tears, maybe some anger. Not…that. Bucky knows all about guilt, he feels it every single day. That one little sentence sets off blaring alarms in his brain. He doesn’t know the true extent of Tony’s and Spider-man’s relationship, but he can tell that the kid feels guilty about his mentor’s death regardless.
“It wasn’t your fault, Spider-man.” Bucky says.
He hears Spider-man scoff lightly, taking a breath like he’s about to deny it. The kid turns to Bucky, a retort on his tongue, when he stops dead, almost like he’s just now noticing who he’s speaking to.
A few seconds pass where Bucky expects Spider-man is rebooting his brain to come up with a response when the kid finally shakes his head.
“Right,” Spider-man mumbles not at all convincingly, “Yeah, sometimes I just- I don’t know.”
He won’t be getting anything out of the kid tonight, Bucky knows that. Spider-man barely knows him, it’s not like he’s going to spill all of his secrets right after they just met.
“I get it.” Bucky says instead, “I feel guilty too.”
Immediately, Spider-man stands up on the ledge, looking out at the city. He decidedly does not look at Bucky as he prepares to launch away.
“Right, yeah- um y’know, it’s getting kind of late, and I have school- I mean work - tomorrow, so I’m- um, I’m gonna head out.” Spider-man rambles.
Bucky pretends he missed the slip up, but it only confirms that Spider-man is young, especially if he’s in college. He nods, stepping away from the edge, watching the kid get tenser by the second.
“Yeah, of course, sorry I kept you,” Bucky says, backing away, “and hey, if you need anything, come by the tower. I know it’s not what it used to be, but I’m here if you need help.”
Spider-man looks at him for a long moment before nodding. He sends a quick salute to Bucky and shoots off on a web, swinging away from the building. Bucky watches until the kid is a speck in the distance, the pit in his stomach growing the longer he sits in silence.
Something is wrong. Bucky doesn’t know what or how, but he knows Spider-man is at the center of it and he’s going to find out why.
For now though, get the team to stop trying to kill each other.