Chapter Text
This is how it starts
“When ducklings or chicks hatch, they form a really strong emotional attachment with the first larger animal they see, and regard themselves as one of them, following them around and learning from what they regard as their parent, acquiring behavioral characteristics and whatnot,” Bruce says, “that’s called filial imprinting. There are different types of imprinting, of course, but-”
“-what Brucey-Bear means to say is,” Tony interrupts, “is that Robocop here thinks you’re his handler.”
“I’m worried about what Hydra’s handlers do,” Clint quips.
They all glance briefly to the Soldier crouched at the corner of the room. Steve shifts uncomfortably on the couch.
“He hasn’t imprinted on me,” Steve insists. He gets to his feet. The Soldier does, too.
“Of course,” Bruce notes, nodding. It’s a rather mocking nod.
Steve narrows his eyes at him, gets up, and leaves. The Soldier walks briskly after Steve, sliding past the shutting elevator doors.
They hear Steve’s sigh. Clint snickers.
--
It starts like this:
The helicarrier falls. What’s left of the scattered Avengers rush to the riverbank and dig through the debris and wreckage of what used to be a giant helicopter-super spy headquarters-apartment-everything in the sky,
Their spoils are:
One: Unconscious Captain America sprawled across the mud in a half shredded uniform minus the shield, drenched in river water and blood, chest slowly rising and falling with each ragged breath.
One: Conscious Winter Soldier, staring coldly at everyone and eyes narrowed as he positioned himself between said Captain America and the rest of the Avengers, metal arm whirring softly.
One: Conscious and adorable family of cats, one ginger and two calico kittens, and their calico mother, in various degree of wetness and watching the proceedings in mild interest.
Natasha snapped something in Russian. The Winter Soldier stiffened, but said something back angrily.
“What’s he saying? Natasha?”
She let a slow, slow grin spread across her face.
The Winter Soldier said something again, angrier.
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Sam said, “what’s he saying?”
Clint snickered.
“Listen, hawkguy, I installed those translators in your hearing aids and I can take them out. What is our dear friend trying to say that got both you and your dangerous assassin ladyfriend here in such giggles?”
Natasha flipped Tony the bird. The Winter Soldier growled.
Natasha: Stand down Soldier, Hydra’s gone.
The Winter Soldier: Black Widow. Your new allies are stupid. This one let me live.
The Winter Soldier: That one looks dumb.
--
Which brings them to:
One: Unconscious Steve Rogers bundled in hospital sheets and drenched in medication, expression troubled as he slept, occasionally shifting and almost entangling the various tubes attached to his self.
One: Conscious Winter Soldier, hanging off the windowsill, staring coldly at nothing in particular, eyes narrowed as his gaze flickers to Steve and Sam and the beeping machines.
One, very uncomfortable and very nervous Sam Wilson, shifting in his seat and attempting to look as small and as nonthreatening as possible, hand hovering between Steve’s arm and the glass of water.
Sam touches Steve’s arm.
The Winter Soldier growls at him.
Sam lets go immediately. He takes the glass of water and hesitantly holds it out to the Soldier.
The Winter Soldier growls at him, again.
Sam sets the glass of water down.
--
“On your left.”
“On your right, you piece of shi-”
The Winter Soldier growls.
“-vering super soldier,” Sam finishes.
The Winter Soldier sits back, slightly mollified.
Steve turns to his right. “Oh. Uh, hi, soldier.”
The Winter Soldier nudges the glass of water towards Steve, eyes narrowed with intent. Steve takes it, and The Winter Soldier gives what could be the smallest nod possible and looks on approvingly as Steve drinks. He looks up and narrows his eyes at Sam.
Sam shifts his seat slightly towards the door, just in case.
--
And a few days later, the situation is thus:
“I’m concerned,” Tony says.
Steve agrees. He grabs the bowl of cereal that Clint has poured for him.
The Winter Soldier growls.
Steve hands the bowl of cereal over to The Winter Soldier, who sniffs, pokes and prods at the cereal before he was satisfied that it was not poisoned or whatever, then hands the cereal back.
“It’s cute,” Natasha says.
“Only you would find a man searching for poison in your cereal cute,” Tony shoots back. Natasha shrugs.
Steve reaches for the carton of milk. The Winter Soldier growls at him, again.
“It hasn’t expired, Pepper bought it yesterday,” Steve insisted, but handed the carton over anyways.
--
It’s not until Natasha witnesses what she cautiously dubs as The Incident, that she says, “I’m concerned, too,” to which Tony says, “hah!”
--
The Incident was such:
One: Blushing and nervous Steve Rogers with a towel hung loosely around his waist, dripping wet and legs crossed, obviously hiding a Problem with a capital P between his legs.
One: Pouting Winter Soldier looking rather inconvenienced by the towel hanging loosely around Steve’s waist, nursing an already fading red slap mark on his cheek.
One: Laughing Clint Barton on the dining table, who had fallen out of somewhere in the ceiling and was clutching his belly in peals of hysterical laughter.
One: Terrified Sam Wilson who had darted behind Natasha and was currently crouching between her legs as The Winter Soldier glared at him.
“I screamed in the shower,” Steve explained.
“His pitch was higher than the kicks from his showgirls back in the 1940s,” Clint adds.
“Ah, The… Soldier, and I heard him,” Sam says, and winces at the force of the glare, “he, uh, broke the toilet door down and ran in. And, uh, apparently I’m not allowed to be in the toilet when Steve is in the toilet, but he is.”
“I just slipped,” Steve sighed into his hand.
“Is that a hickey on your neck?” Natasha asks. At that, The Winter Soldier looks up, expression smug.
“It’s… really not,” Steve says. It is.
--
“I’m concerned,” Sam says.
“We know,” Bruce replies. He chews on a celery stick.
Sam reaches over for the chicken, and his arm brushes Steve’s.
The Winter Soldier growls.
“No,” Steve chides. He passes some chicken to Sam. The Winter Soldier growls again, but softer.
“Is he going to kill me?” Sam asks. He moves his seat slightly further from Steve’s, just in case.
“He’s not,” Steve sighs, then turns to The Soldier, “please don’t.”
Clint snickers. “Can I try something?”
“No,” Steve chides.
“I’m doing it anyways,” he says. Clint reaches over, and flicks a fork. It whizzes past Steve’s head.
The Winter Soldier flips the dinner table.
--
What Clint dubs as The Other Incident was such:
One: Terrified Clint Barton, nursing a sprained ankle and a bruised collarbone and three broken ribs, seated on the couch as far away as possible from The Winter Soldier.
One: Furious Winter Soldier, glaring at Clint with a ferocity that impressed Natasha, side pressed into Steve, somehow growling and purring at the same time.
One: Exasperated Steve Rogers with his hands entangled in The Winter Soldier’s hair, scratching said Soldier’s scalp which seemed to be the only thing capable of keeping him seated, while staring at Clint with the Captain America Is Disappointed In You face.
Four: Avengers seated around the common area, chewing on what they could save from the upturned dinner table, and from Tony’s supply of instant food.
“You deserved it,” Natasha grins.
“I know,” Clint says miserably.
The Winter Soldier growls, then purrs.
“No murder,” Steve chides, then, “you deserved it, Clint.”
--
But eventually the situation brings them to this:
“Steve, is that your sweater?”
Steve looks up from his newspaper. He brings a hand over to the steaming mug of coffee that Bruce had sat in front of him.
Expectedly, The Winter Soldier growls.
Steve hands over the coffee mug.
“It is,” Steve nods tiredly. He takes back the coffee mug.
Natasha looks up, amused. The sweater is slightly too big but the Soldier looks content in it.
Steve takes a sip of the coffee.
“That’s really domestic, Cap,” Tony remarks. Pepper is curled up on the loveseat next to him in his hoodie, flicking through her phone.
The Soldier looks smug at that.
--
In Sam’s opinion, it is very unusual that a prisoner of war of over 70 years would suffer from little to no PTSD effects, so he’s, honestly, rather relieved when The WInter Soldier started to show signs of normal PTSD effects and coping mechanisms. Steve, however, is not.
“He’s terrified,” Steve says, rubbing circles on The Soldier’s back, who’s curled up in a ball and shaking uncontrollably in Steve’s arms.
“It’s normal,” Sam reassures, “to have nightmares after traumatic experiences.”
“I know,” Steve looks miserable. “He crawled into the covers with me at 3am and hasn’t stopped crying since.”
“It’s 3pm,” Bruce notes worriedly.
The Soldier murmurs something in Russian between choked sobs. Natasha says something back. The Soldier bawls harder, sputtering broken russian, and digs his nails into Steve’s back.
“Natasha,” Steve chides.
The redhead frowns sadly. “Oh Steve,” she sighs. Clint looks at them, a sober expression on his face.
“Yeah?” Steve looks at her, brows furrowed.
She smiles sadly. The Soldier blinks at her, and buries his face in Steve’s neck.
The Winter Soldier: I didn’t complete my mission. Hydra will be mad.
Natasha: Hydra’s gone. You’re safe.
The Winter Soldier: They’ll get me. They’ll get him.
--
It’s inevitable that Thor pays a visit.
“Greetings, Soldier of Winter,” he booms, “I am Thor of Asgard. I am pleased to make your acquaintance!”
The Winter Soldier growls at him. It seems to be his only mode of communication, other than Russian.
Thor is not deterred. He laughs, “I have heard that you have chosen the Captain to be your Shield Mate! A fine choice. May the nights be long and pleasurable!”
Steve blushes. Tony snickers. The Winter Soldier looks smug.
“It’s not like that,” Steve starts. The Soldier shoots him an offended look.
“We’re just friends,” he finishes weakly, still red. The Soldier looks from Steve, to Thor, then to Steve again. He shifts his position and abruptly kicks Steve off the couch.
Steve crashes through the coffee table. Pepper yelps.
“Hey!” Steve says. He spins around to see the Soldier pouting on the couch, looking betrayed.
“I’m… sorry,” Steve tries. The Soldier huffs, and reaches over to kick Steve again, before vaulting over the couch and disappearing from the room.
There was a pause.
“Ouch,” Sam says, dryly.
“Guess you’re sleeping on the couch tonight, huh honey,” Tony grins. Pepper smacks him.
Thor looks slightly disappointed in Steve. “You should apologize, for putting down your Shield Mate like that, Captain. It’s not right.”
“I will, Thor,” Steve reassures.
--
Unfortunately, Steve doesn’t see the Soldier again, until he pads into Steve’s room in one of his sweaters and socks too big for his feet.
Steve sits up. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” he says softly, “but we’re really not… like that, are we?”
The Soldier says nothing.
“Did you have another nightmare?” Steve asks again. He thinks he sees a nod.
“You want a hug?”
A head shake.
Steve frowns, then spreads his arms open, a soft smile on his face, “come on, Soldier, you’re home from the war. Give your best guy a hug, yeah?”
The Soldier looks at him for a long moment, before sliding onto the bed. Steve pulls him into his embrace, and the Soldier starts to sniffle.
This is how Natasha finds them in the morning, asleep. She closes the door behind her.
--
“It’s nice to see you two have reunited,” Thor congratulates, “A lovers’ quarrel cannot last longer than a night in bed, yes?”
The Soldier pauses in his lasagna, and watches Steve for a reaction.
“Yeah,” Steve says, and smiles, “Thor, you’re right.
Thor beams. The Soldier slides off his seat and onto Steve’s lap, hugging the pot of food to his chest. Steve reaches around him to get a spoon of lasagna.
“That’s so domestic,” Tony sighs. “My heart is full. Pepper?”
Pepper stares at him, before rolling her eyes. She slides off her chair and sits herself on Tony’s lap, typing on her tablet.
Natasha says something in Russian. The Soldier says something back.
There is a strange expression on her face, and she replies. The Soldier stares at her, and he says something else, almost content.
Clint looks from Natasha, to Steve, to The Soldier, “Oh Steve.”
“Yeah?” Steve looks at him.
Clint smiles sadly. Natasha does, too.
Natasha: How are you, Soldier?
The Winter Soldier: Remember I told you that love was for children?
Natasha: I was young then.
The Winter Soldier: I think I was wrong.
--
It starts like this:
The Soldier curled up in a ball against Steve’s chest, Steve’s large hand stroking his hair, as they watch a movie with the rest of the Avengers with the lights dimmed.
“How’s soldier-boy?” Tony asks.
“His name is James,” Steve says, “he told me yesterday.”
“Huh,” Clint says. “Cool.”
“How are you and James, then,” Pepper asks.
James says something in russian.
Natasha blinks, surprised, then smiles. Clint looks content.
“What did he say?” Steve asks. He has been learning russian, but he’s not fluent enough to catch the words.
“He says that he’s wrong,” Natasha tells him. James looks up, blinks sleepily at Pepper and Natasha, then rests his head on Steve’s chest.
--
It starts like this: this is how they fall in love.