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Letters to a Soldier

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Dear Mister Sergeant Barnes,


My name is Peter Stark and I am six years old.

At school, my teacher told us that we could write to soldiers. She said that some of the soldiers liked to have letters because not a lot of people wrote to them. I said I wanted to try and she gave me your name!

My dad said that it would be a good exercise for my writing and that it would make you happy. Are you really happy I'm writing?

I asked Daddy what I could tell you, and he said I should tell you about my life, so I am going to try to do that.

I am in the second grade class in my school in New York. Most of the others in my class are bigger and older than me, but I have lots of friends, so it is not a problem for me. I like math and science lessons, but my favorite one is drawing lesson! I love to draw like my dad, and I'd like to be an artist like him. My dad draws on people's skin, and sometimes he paints on me, but it is not the same thing, because I'm too little and have to wait a few years before he can really draw on me.

I love to read, and animal stories are my favorites. I like jokes too! 

Do you know what we call a fish without eyes? A fsh!

We only have one dog at home, but it is the best dog in the world. Her name's Cocoa, I was the one who chose it! I love her very much.

When I am not at school, I like to draw with my daddy, or play with Cocoa, she loves it when I throw a ball. I also like to read, especially science and space books. Space is so cool! Do you see lots of stars where you are?

I hope that you answer my letter and tell me about your life too. Do you like animals? Do you have pets? Do you like books? Do you know lots of jokes?

I wish you a nice day, Mister Sergeant Barnes,



P.S. My dad read the letter and corrected the mistakes. Sometimes I don't know how to write some words!




Far away from New York, deep in a desert in Afghanistan, Bucky smiled while reading the letter. He had actually forgotten that he had signed up to get letters, and had been more than a little surprised when Steve had handed him a letter, eyebrows raised.

Peter's letter, though, was a very, very good surprise. He had felt kinda alone and sad in his bunk, reading to try and forget where he was, but the kids' words had put a huge smile on his face – and his joke had made him burst out laughing, even if he'd refuse to admit it to anyone else.


''Uh oh,'' Steve exclaimed, stopping in his tracks when he saw his face. ''I don't like this grin. What exactly are you planning?''

''God, Stevie, so much trust, it's nice to hear. Any other compliments in store for me, or is that it for tonight?''

''Come on, Buck, you know I love you. And you also know that I've known you for so long I can't miss when an idea crosses your mind. Out with it.''

''Actually, you're wrong. No evil plan in my mind. It's the letter though – remember that program I signed up for, to get a letter from a kid? Well, there's one who wrote me. His name's Peter, and he sounds like the cutest kid ever. There, read it.''


Bucky watched as Steve read it too and smiled when he burst out laughing at Peter's joke – apparently, he wasn't the only one who liked stupid kids' jokes. Steve was grinning too when he gave him the letter back.


''Seems like a great kid. You're gonna write back, right? It looks like he's waiting for some answers.''

''Of course I'm gonna answer, who do you think I am? D'you have a pen for me? Mine died and I forgot to steal another one.''




Dear Peter,


I was really happy to get your letter! It is sometimes hard to be a soldier, and it made me smile all day thinking about what you wrote.

You know, as I am still pretty young, you can call me Bucky – my full name's James Buchanan, but all my friends call me Bucky.

You seem to have a really nice life!

Do you think you could send me a picture of your dog? I love animals in general, but dogs are my favorites. I had a dog when I was your age, a black Labrador who also loved when I threw him a ball. He could run after it for hours without getting tired!

I said that I loved animals in general, but that's not totally true, I hate snakes… and, unfortunately for me, there are a lot of snakes around here. Are you afraid of any animals? Or maybe anything else? 

You said that you liked to draw and your dad's an artist. Am I right in thinking that he's a tattoo artist? It's funny if he is, because I love tattoos! Would you like to get some of them when you're older?

I have to say, I loved your joke, and my friend Steve did too. He told me to write one of his favorite jokes, I hope you don't know it already. Here it is:

Do you know what fish only swims at night? A starfish!

I'm not sure if it is a very good joke, but Steve made me promise to write it, so here it is.

I do love books, and I miss having a good library around. I still read, though, books people send us in here. My favorite book when I was your age was Peter Pan – have you ever read the book or seen the movie? I loved Peter Pan and Hook, and I still look for the second star to the right some days. It would be great to live in Neverland and spend time with fairies, don't you think?

We see lots of stars here. There aren't a lot of towns around, so the sky is very clear. I like watching them too.

I read you live in New York, I was born and grew up in Brooklyn, so I know the city well. Is there any part of it you especially like? When I was younger, I loved to go all the way to the top of the Empire State Building and stay there for hours. Sometimes, my friend Steve came too and he drew the city – he's an artist too, he's the one who made the drawing I sent you.

I'm very glad I get to know you, Peter, and I can't wait to read your next letter.

I hope you spend a great day and wish you all the best, to you and your dad,





''Peter! Come on down here, please, I have a surprise for you!''


With a small shout of glee, Peter let go of his toys and got up, running down the stairs to the tattoo studio. He waved at Natasha, who smiled and winked at him from where she was tattooing a comic character into her customer's arm, and rushed to his dad's office.

Tony was waiting for him in his chair, holding an envelope in his hands, big smile on his face.


''Is that Mister Barnes' answer?'' Peter gasped.

''The postman just brought it, Petey. Wanna sit here and read it now?''

''Yes, yes, yes! Can you open it, daddy?''


Tony nodded and opened it quickly, giving him the letter and the folded sheet of paper, before turning back to the letters he had received.

His son had been waiting impatiently for days to get an answer, running to open the letter box when he could, and asking Tony if he had received anything when he couldn't. So he thought it best to let him enjoy the moment and read it alone, even if he was more focused on the gasps and laughter he could hear on his right that on what he was supposed to do.


''Look daddy, he sent a drawing that his friend did, too. Look how cool it is!''


He looked at the drawing that his son was showing him, planets and stars delicately drawn in black and white.


''That's really cool, Peter! Do you want to tell me what he wrote?''

''He said I could call him Bucky, and that he loves pets too. He had a dog when he was younger! And he also wants me to send him a picture of Cocoa, because he misses dogs. And you know what? His favorite book is Peter Pan. It's my favorite movie, Daddy!''

''Awesome! You know what we could do? I still have a client this afternoon, so you can stay here and write an answer, and tonight we'll try to take a nice picture of Cocoa and you, so you can send it to him. Maybe you could send a drawing too, I bet he'd love that.''


Nodding, Peter took a blank sheet and was about to begin writing when he changed his mind, getting up and hugging Tony instead. Tony smiled softly and hugged his son tighter, burying his nose in the soft brown hair and stroking his back gently.


''Thanks, buddy. Whoa, I'm pretty sure your hugs are like magic, I feel so much better now!''

''Don't be silly, Daddy,'' Peter giggled. ''I'm not a magician!''

''Um. Are you sure I didn't discover your biggest secret, sorcerer?'' Tony asked with his eyebrows raised.

''I'm not a sorcerer, I'm just a little boy.''

''Pretty sure you're not just a little boy. At the very least, you're the best little boy.''


Peter grinned and kissed Tony's cheek, unconsciously breathing the smell that comforted him so much: ink, his musky cologne and a bit of sweat after a long day in the studio's heat. He stroked one of the drawings on his dad's left arm, a habit he had picked up when he was very young, and Tony couldn't help a soft smile filled with love.


''I love you, buddy. You know that, right?''

''I love you too. You're the best dad ever! Can you help me with the mistakes when I'm done writing?''

''Of course. And you can ask Nat or Uncle James if you've got a question, they'll be happy to help if you need it. Are you going to draw something too?''

''Maybe a dog, I think Bucky could like that. I'll try to draw Cocoa!''

''You do that, and come look for me if you need to, I'll be right there, okay!''

''Okay, Daddy.''


After ruffling his son's hair one last time, Tony got up and looked at him for a couple of seconds. He was already focused on his letter, little tongue out, exactly like Tony himself looked when he was focused on a tricky drawing.

He had a nice feeling about this Bucky guy. And even if his feeling was wrong, it made Peter happy right now, and that was the most important thing in his life.


Chapter Text

Each of them had his or her own rituals and habits when they came back from the field. No matter if it had been a good day – well, at least as good as it could be when your job was basically being shot at – or a bad one when they had lost someone, Steve found a quiet corner and isolated himself with a drawing pad and some pencils, staying alone for a couple of hours until he got back, smile firmly in place and his usual good-natured self. Clint tended to be the complete opposite: he needed to get the rush of adrenaline out of his body, and spent hours joking around, exercising in their small fitness room, and generally being a dick with his fellow soldiers, playing pranks and flirting with everybody he met.

Bucky's habits had changed since a few weeks. He came back hoping for a letter from Peter, and thinking about what he could write back, whereas before he just lay down and tried to get some sleep. It had been this way ever since he had sent back his first answer; that had been about three weeks back, and ever since he cursed the slowness with which mail traveled, and finally understood the regular complaints of other soldiers.


This time, though, after a particularly rough days with way too many close calls, he was lucky: a letter with his name carefully written was waiting for him on his bunk. He sat down heavily and read, smile already on his lips:


Dear Sergeant Bucky,


I was so happy to get your letter too! I waited for days and days, and my daddy said it would come eventually, but that you were very far away so I had to wait a bit more.

I didn't forget to take a picture of Cocoa, and my dad said I should be in the picture too, so you can see me. It was very funny to take the pictures, because Cocoa doesn't like to stay still, so we had to give her biscuits to make her stop moving! We took a lot of pictures, but I sent you my favorite.


Reading that, Bucky looked inside the envelope, seeing a printed picture. He took it out and his smile broadened. Peter, all fluffy brown hair and crinkled sparkling eyes, was grinning at him, exposing some missing teeth. Even in the picture, small freckles were visible on his nose and cheeks, making him easily one of the cutest kids Bucky had ever seen – and the bright green t-shirt with blue robots proclaiming him to be ''Daddy's Little Geek'' absolutely did not help. The beautiful border collie dog looking at him, seemingly perfectly at ease to be hugged by Peter, only strengthened the general impression

He blinked rather forcefully once or twice – God, he missed kids, he loved babysitting when he was younger – and kept reading.


Did you forget to tell me your dog's name? I love hearing dog's names, we met a dog called Cruella de Vill once, my daddy and me laughed and laughed for hours! Is your dog waiting for you at home?

I don't like sleeping when there's no light in the room, and my dad doesn't like spiders. It's funny, because I like spiders, but when he sees one, he yells and runs and asks me or Aunt Natasha to get it out! I'd love to have a big spider as a pet one day, but dad tells me that he won't accept one in his house, so I have to wait until I'm a grown-up with my own house.

My dad is a tattoo artist, yes, and so are my Aunt Natasha and Uncle Rhodey. They all work in the same place, which is really nice, because I get to see them almost every day. There are lots of people who come to see my dad to get a tattoo, and he was in a newspaper once! The people who came to take pictures let me play with their camera, I had a lot of fun. I know that when I'm older, I want to be like daddy and have lots and lots of drawings on me. Maybe I'll get a spider, or maybe Peter Pan (it's my favorite movie, that's funny!), I don't know yet, but I know that I want my dad to do it.

Your joke was very funny! I told it at school and to my dad, and they all laughed. Can you ask your friend Steve if he knows any other jokes? Here is one joke my friend Gwen told me:

Do you know how you count cows? With a cowculator!

She told me it was her dad (he's a scientist) who told her this, did it make you laugh?

I haven't read Peter Pan yet, but my dad bought it for me the other day, and he'll read it to me before I go to sleep (I love when my daddy reads for me, he does all the silly voices!). My favorite book is Winnie the Pooh! I told you my favorite movie was Peter Pan, do you have any favorite movie too?

I like going to the Empire State Building too, even if that is not my favorite place in New York. I have two favorite places. The first one is Central Park, I love running and playing there in the summer, and we even got to skate during the winter! I'm not very good at staking, but my Aunt Nat helped me and it was really funny, even if it hurts falling down. I also really like the Hall of Science, we go there with my dad when he can, and I love it because we can play with a lot of things, and my daddy can always explain how it works! We even went to the Maker Faire last year, and there were lots of funny inventions and cool robots. Do you like robots? I think it's so cool that we can make them do awesome things, but I wish they could do my homework for me.

I have to leave for school now, but I hope my letter was good.

Have a nice day Sergeant Bucky,




Bucky knew his smile was definitely goofy, but he couldn't help himself. God, this kid was so cute. Outside, he could hear the usual noises of dozens of soldiers sharing the same space – cries, laughter, and what definitely sounded like someone insulting Clint – but he couldn't care less, already focusing on what he could write back to Peter.

He was pretty sure that Steve or Clint would come and see him, and tease him mercilessly for his weak spot for the little kid he barely knew… But he was also pretty sure that they would stop their teasing as soon as they saw the freaking cute picture he had received.





Tony Stark knew his usual day seemed weird to whoever didn't work in a tattoo parlor, but every morning he took a couple of seconds just to enjoy the happiness he felt at doing the thing he liked most and being surrounded by the people he loved.

He usually woke up before Peter, enough so that he had time to take a shower – shamelessly singing along to the latest pop tunes and the greatest rock classics – and get breakfast ready, usually pancakes with some fruit if he had enough time, or cereals if not.

Then he got to spend an hour with what, in his very objective mind, was the cutest kid ever born on this planet.


This morning made no exception to the rule. He woke up right before his alarm began to ring and took some clothes out of his closet: skinny and well-worn dark jeans with a V-neck soft shirt. He made a quick detour in the kitchen to fill a mug with coffee, taking a few sips before even entering the shower.

This time, he sang along to some Taylor Swift and ACDC while taking great care to wash a new tattoo that had recently joined the lot of ink he was already sporting – courtesy of one of the guest artists who had stopped at their shop a few days back. The geometric wolf looked to be healing up all nicely, already entering the annoying time when it itched day and night, and peeled like a motherfucker.

When he got out and dressed himself, he could already hear Peter moving around in his room, probably getting his backpack ready for school. He smiled and got out after a cursory look at his beard – he could leave it a day without skimming it – whistling as he made a way to his son's room.


''Hey Peter!'' he called out. ''Already up?''


His son appeared at the door, which was covered in robots stickers, Cocoa on his heels. His hair was adorably sticking up on one side and he was rubbing sleep out of his eyes with one hand, the other raised in greeting. Tony couldn't resist and swept him up on his hip, where Peter settled comfortably, burrowing his head in his dad's neck; Tony smiled and kissed his head tenderly, humming and rocking his son gently.


''Slept good? No nightmares?''

''No, daddy. I had really good dreams, but I can't remember all of them. Can I watch some cartoons?''

''Okay, but no long, you still have to go to school, right? Here, I'll call you when breakfast's ready. Don't fall asleep!''


Peter nodded and Tony turned the TV on, watching his son all curled up on the sofa, a wave of love threatening to overwhelm him, before he whistled for Coca and got some food and water in her bowl, stroking her quickly between the ears.

He made quick work of the pancakes; six years ago, he couldn't even manage an omelette most of the time, but Peter had made him learn to cook, and he loved it now. He often baked cookies on his time off, bringing them to the parlor for customers and artists to enjoy them; every artist and regular costumer had their favorite, and he tried his best to content everyone, writing in a small journal which recipes were good and which were best left forgotten.

In the end, he didn't even have to call Peter; the little boy entered the room as soon as he smelled pancakes baking, TV dutifully turned off, and eyes looking a little bit more awake. Tony smiled at him and set some pancakes and fruit in front of him, adding a glass of chocolate milk when Peter asked for it.


''So, do you know what you're going to do at school today? Science, drawing?''

''We're talking about planets now. And reading a cool book, with a magician nanny in it. D'you know it, daddy?''

''Yeah,'' Tony answered with a small smile. ''I think I know what you're talking about, buddy. Cool day, then, uh?''

''Yes! And you, daddy, what are you doing today?''

''Well, Bruce's coming back to get a new tattoo, so there's that I need to do. After that, I'll need to stay at the parlor for a while, so Aunt Nat will come pick you up for school and have lunch with you, maybe here, or maybe you'll stop somewhere in the city, she hasn't told me yet. But I'll be free all afternoon, so I'll come pick you up at the end of your day, and maybe we can go to the park, what do you think?''

''Yes! Look, even Cocoa likes it,'' Peter giggled, pointing at the border collie, who was looking at them, wagging her tail. ''Will you bring Bucky's letter if it's there?''

''You know I will. And it should get there soon, too, I think.''


Peter smiled around his mouthful of pancakes, and Tony scowled at him gently, reminding him of his manners.

The little boy had received four of Bucky's letters by now, but his enthusiasm hadn't lessened the smallest bit. He still waited impatiently for each one, spent hours thinking about what he could write, and drawing more and more elaborate things to ''decorate his room''. They had sent a small package last time, too, with two books that Peter had carefully chosen for Bucky, a second-hand edition of Peter Pan, and a fantasy book whose cover he had liked. There was also some chocolate, and a pack of pencils for Steve, Bucky's friend. Now Peter was waiting to know if Bucky had liked it or not, and as they knew that it took about five weeks for the letter to come, he was growing more and more impatient by the day. One day, he had even begged to stay at home and miss school, pretending that he could ''feel the letter would come today'', but Tony had put his foot firmly down, reminding him that the letter would still be there when Peter would come back, and that he promised to check the mailbox regularly and not allow anyone to steal anything.


Half an hour later, Peter was ready to leave, and Tony clipped the leash on Cocoa's collar, taking Peter's hand in his own. They walked to the school, since they had the time and the weather was nice, Tony enjoying to hear Peter babble about the day he'd like to have, the discussions he hadn't had time to close with Gwen and his other friends, and how he couldn't wait for Natasha to come pick him up.

Tony left him at the school's gates with a quick kiss and hug, waving at him as he walked away to meet his friends. His green backpack was bouncing on his back with the rhythm of his run, and Tony thought once again of how lucky he was to have the small boy in his life.


When he got back to the apartment right above the parlor, he set to work on Bruce's last request. The man had been a regular customer for years now; he had tattoos from both Nat and Rhodey, but he claimed that Tony's style was still his favorite, and came back often for a new project.

This time, he wanted some strange, futuristic-looking machine, only giving this and rough infos like the size he wanted to Tony and letting him deal with the drawing. Right now, Tony had three different sketches ready and was working on a fourth, adding some details and polishing it. He was pretty sure Bruce would like at least one of them (if not all of them, he tended to like everything Tony proposed), but he always felt a bit of pressure when working with a customer who had become a friend with time; he didn't want to disappoint, even if he knew that Bruce was smart enough to not be rude and cruel, and rather liked to give him advices and precisions on what he wanted.

At nine o'clock, all drawings finally ready, he packed everything he needed – phone, wallet, snacks, sketchpad and pencils – and left the apartment to open the parlor. Rhodey and Natasha would arrive a few minutes later, and as there were no customers around for walk-ins or appointments at this hour, he began to set up his station carefully, setting up his tattoo gun, – a beautiful custom one he got for his birthday, all mat black and grey – taking the bottle of ink he'd need, and wrapping up everything carefully in plastic wrap. After that, he set some water and chocolate next to the chair, just in case Bruce forgot to take some with him, and put some random playlist on. He took a critical look at his flash tattoos' board, hanging up a new drawing of a small monkey he had done the night before, and made a mental note to ask Nat and Rhodey about some possible dates for a flash day.

Speaking of them, the bell rang at the door and he turned to see both of them strolling in. Natasha was looking as sexily deadly as ever, with her usual leather black pants and ripped red top barely showing her lacy bra; the combat boots, lip and ear piercings, and delicate black widow tattoo sometimes showing behind the fabric on her left hip have a nice finale touch. People on the street tended to either gawk at her, to which she'd return a sly smile, or avoid her simply. Once, a mother had told her daughter, who was looking at Nat with admiration in her eyes, that she had to work at school to ''not look like the lady'', to which Natasha had simply enough but very effectively answered that she had a Master in law, but had changed path a few years back to live the life she really wanted – offering a wink to the little girl who smiled brightly. The woman had sputtered and scoffed before walking away, pulling her little girl along.

Rhodey was seen as the model child of their team. He was covered in tattoos too – rare were the tattoo artists with no ink on their skin – but most of them were hidden by his military-style clothes. There was only one who peaked from under his shirt at all time; a drawing from Tony, that Rhodey had asked for a few years back to honor their friendship. As both of them were huge and unashamed nerds, Rhodey's tattoo was of the Rebel Alliance symbol; Tony had a similar one on his left bicep, done by his friend, of course. Most of the new customers tended to look at Rhodey when they entered the shop, avoiding Tony's ink-covered body and Natasha's… Natasha-ness, at least until they realized that Rhodey was as bad, if not worse, than both of them.


All three of them worked as only best friends could work: always talking with each other when they weren't with a customer – and even then, they kept talking, just took care of including the customer in the discussion too – and knowing what the other ones needed before they even had to ask for it. Tony had on very frequent occasions turned around to ask for a bottle of water only to find that there was already one right next to his hand, with a small smiley on a post-it note right next to it.

At first, it had been hard – opening a tattoo parlor when all of them had virtually zero experience in this particular business – but they had kept going stubbornly, motivated by their love of tattooing and by their mutual trust. And it had worked beautifully. A popular website on tattoos had featured them on one article, and suddenly, their shop was invaded by customers and curious people attracted by the very futurist-looking premises.

Seven years later, they were all known as some of New York's best tattoo artists, and had to refuse some customers regularly; international guests came to tattoo for a few weeks or days, and they often put in place flash days that always had a huge success, even attracting customers from other states.

And their relationship didn't stop at the doors of the shop. Natasha and Rhodey had become Aunt and Uncle to Peter, who absolutely loved to spend time with them – and they did too. Unofficially, Tony saw them as a second family to Peter, and he knew that if some day something should happen to him, they would be there for the little boy, even if that wasn't something he particularly liked to dwell on. They spent evenings together, too, leaving Peter to Rhodey's mom's care and spending awesome time in clubs, bars, and shows all around the city.

In short, Tony was living the dream: doing something he loved everyday with the people he loved the most.


''Hey, Tony!'' Nat greeted him. ''All set already?''

''Yeah. Bruce'll be there in a few minutes, so he won't have to wait too long before we get to work. Still picking Peter up from school at lunch? He couldn't stop talking about where he wanted you to take him this morning.''

''Of course I am, I wouldn't even dream of disappointing him. I only have the one customer this morning, so I'll be free pretty early.''

''Hey Tones,'' Rhodey said, clapping him on the back. ''No customer for me this morning. I'll manage the desk and look at some of the bills, too. Maybe make some drawings for flashs, too.''

''Yeah, about that, I'd like to organize a flash day someday soon. Maybe on a specific theme? I don't know yet. Anyway, just write down somewhere dates you could be there and free of any customers, and I'll see what I can do.''


And so the day began.

As always, Bruce arrived early, looking ruffled and almost lost in his too-big shirt and old pants. Looking at him, you could never have guessed that he was covered in tattoos under his clothes. His job in a scientific research company forced him to look serious and traditional, but as soon as he got the shirt or pants off, it was a whole other story.

Tony had been a little bit in love with him since the first time they had met and Bruce had totally pranked him, affirming that he thought the original Star Wars trilogy was worse than the recent one. Tony had been ready to tattoo ''I've got BAD TASTES'' rather than the landscape Bruce had asked for, when the man had suddenly burst out laughing and hadn't been able to stop for a whole five minutes. He still laughed today when they talked about it, widely exaggerating Tony's affronted face, and the occasional customer always loved that story.

They had been friends since, though, and Tony loved to see him come back for more ink. He was one of the best customers, not afraid to talk and joke around even as he was getting tattooed and staying perfectly still. He often stayed for a while after the session too, enjoying some take-out or pizza with the other artists and, once or twice, with Peter, who seemed to be in awe of the man and his job.

This session was great, too. They debated of the plus and cons of the new Star Wars and Ghostbusters movies, Tony arguing relentlessly that the stupid secretary in the new Ghostbusters was the absolute doppelgänger of Thor, a guest artist from Sweden who came back often, except with short hair, and everybody laughing at him.

He was so focused on his tattoo he almost missed Nat slipping out, but still asked her absentmindedly to kiss Peter for him and have a nice lunch. They took a very quick break with Bruce, only snacking on some chocolate before getting back to the tattoo – trying to avoid the skin getting too sensitive.

A few hours later, Tony could finally stretch, taking one last critical look at the tattoo. It would need some touch-ups – the skin had been too bloody at the end to see very clearly – but Bruce was already proud of the machine drawn in delicate traits of grey and black on his right forearm. He wrapped it up, explaining how to take care of it to Bruce for about the twentieth time – at this point, Bruce could probably recite it by heart – and taking a long sip of cold water. The other man thanked him profusely and paid, promising to come back as soon as it was healed to see what needed to be perfected, before giving a heartfelt hug to Tony, who returned it happily.


After eating a small sandwich, Tony checked the time and saw that he should already have left to pick Peter up. He winced but still took time to empty the mailbox, smiling when he saw that the letter had arrived, before frowning when he noticed another letter with the same handwriting; except that this one was addressed to him.

He would have to run, but he couldn't resist. He opened it and read:


Dear Mr. Stark,


I'm pretty sure you already know who I am, but just in the case: my name's James Buchanan Barnes, or ''Sergeant Bucky'', as Peter calls me. I'm his soldier correspondent.

Before all, I wanted to tell you what an amazing son you have. He always managed to put a smile on my lips with his letter, and I keep them all preciously and re-read them when I feel down. I hope that doesn't sound too creepy.

There's something I wanted to ask you before telling anything to Peter: I will be on leave in three weeks, and will be staying with my friend Steve in Brooklyn.

As I know you live in New York, I thought it could be nice to try and meet Peter in person. We could spend some time together (with you too, of course!) someplace he likes. I'd be very glad to meet him and thank him properly for the time he takes to write letters. In the way he talks to me, I also sincerely think that he would like to meet me.

The decision is up to you, though. I totally understand if you don't feel comfortable letting your son meet a stranger, and I'll still write to him – and won't tell him anything about my leave.

It'll be too short to send the answer here in Afghanistan, but you can write to the address I wrote at the end of the letter, or phone the number from the 9th of August, I'll be there to answer.

Please don't feel pressured in accepting or anything,

I wish you all the best,



P.S.: Thank you very much for the package you sent. Steve loved the pencils (I guess they're some of the ones you use?) and I've already read Peter Pan once. Probably have read it once at the moment you read this.


Well, that was… unexpected. And he had quite a difficult decision to make. If he didn't accept Bucky's proposition, he knew he would feel guilty, but he was still afraid of all the things that could turn out wrong. Bucky could be a mean and weird guy. Or maybe he didn't like kids who weren't just writing to them. Or maybe this whole thing was a setup. Or…

He sighed and left the building, letter for Peter in hand, the other safely tucked in his pocket. After a few steps, he got his phone out of his other pocket and dialed a number.

One thing was for sure: Peter wouldn't be able to sleep for nights when he told him who he would meet.





Leaving for home, even temporarily, was always weird.

First of all, because it didn't even feel like home to Bucky anymore. It was his home country, sure, but nothing in particular linked him to it now. His parents had died before he left for the army, and his sister was somewhere abroad; he still sporadically received postcards from a city he most of the time didn't even know. Steve had been what linked him to the States, but Steve had left with him. At least, this time, he was on leave too.

Second, because he never knew which fellow soldiers he'd see again when he said goodbye to them. They were all aware that it may well be the last time they saw each other, and each of them pointedly avoided talking about it. They joked around, speaking of which women he should meet, and which he was totally forbidden to talk to, and they hugged each other roughly, but they avoided the fact that, while Bucky would be safe at home, others would be on the field, hurt or killed. It was better not to talk about it if you wanted to leave.


The flight home seemed unusually long and painful – and he guessed it was the case for Steve, too, whom he constantly bothered during the endless hours. People stared at them in their uniform, some with respect – one or two even came to thank them for their service – some with obvious contempt, like they were personally responsible for every disaster the country faced.

Bucky was nervous, too, of what kind of answer would be waiting for him in Steve's Mom's small apartment. Would Peter's dad agree to him meeting his son, or not? Strangely enough, he really wanted to. This kid had charmed him from the very first letter, and he wanted to spend some time with him. Even him could see how strange that could seem, though, so he half-expected Tony to not even answer, and totally forbid Peter from writing to him ever again.

When they finally touched down in New York, both Steve and Bucky sighed in relief. They left the plane as quickly as they could, barely patient enough to wait for their bag on the luggage carrousel – these things always seemed to be as slow as they possibly could, anyway.

Finally, though, they were in the big arrival hall, and Bucky felt kind of overwhelmed by all the people and the noise. Steve nudging him incessantly with his elbow didn't help either.


''What?'' he finally snapped, turning to him.

''Right there, see? Isn't that your cute kid?''


Eyebrows raised, Bucky looked to where Steve was pointing. Right there, five meters from them, a kid was bouncing excitedly up and down, holding a big board that said ''Sergeant Bucky''.

Bucky could feel himself grinning goofily, frozen right there in the middle of the airport. At least, until he saw the man who had taken Peter in his arms so he could see better.

He watched to well-toned arms covered in black and color, the nice thighs in the skinny jeans, the exact same ruffled hair as Peter. He tried to take a step but stumbled.

He… hadn't been expecting that.


''Oh god, we're fucked,'' Steve muttered behind him.

Chapter Text

Tony was… surprised.

Peter had shown him a picture of Sergeant Barnes, a few weeks back. He had had the very bad, terrible idea, of taking it to the parlor to show his so-called friends, and the still worse idea to tell them that he thought the guy was kinda good-looking.

Which, if he had to be honest, was a bit of an euphemism. With his dark hair, beautiful blue-grey eyes that seemed to twinkle even on the picture, incredible jawline and muscles even where Tony didn't know that there was supposed to be muscles, Sergeant Barnes was, honestly, more on the ''beautiful'' side of the spectrum.

But, wisely enough, Tony had restrained from telling that to his friends, naively thinking that they would simply agree with him that the guy seemed nice, and let it drop. That was a big mistake, though. His horrible friends had teased him for weeks, saying again and again how he was exactly Tony's type of men, and how he should ask him out already.

Even the fact that Barnes was living more or less on the other side of the planet hadn't seemed to be a problem for them. Go figure.


Anyway, he had kind of expected to be charmed by the guy, but the young-looking soldier standing a few meters from them and staring right at him was something else.

There was something almost feline in his way of walking, for one, and that wasn't even talking about the fact that Tony was pretty sure these thighs could crush someone to death. Tony wasn't ashamed to admit that he liked how he looked himself, body well-toned – he felt guilty if he didn't get a bit of exercise at the end of a long day spent sitting down – and muscles in the right place, but these thighs were more than a bit of exercise every two days, they were years and years of exercising and hard, physical work.

And if the thighs had been the only problem, he could have managed it, but Bucky had a certain aura around him, a weird mix of danger and extreme niceness that Tony couldn't quite figure out.

The danger was there in the way Bucky's shoulders moved behind his uniform shirt, muscles obvious enough to be menacing, and in the way he looked all around him, tense and obviously ready to fight if it was needed. And the niceness was in the way he had stopped to look at the Peter, and in the smile that had formed on his lips, unashamed and unrestrained.


All in all, Tony was confused. And a tad turned on.


''Daddy! Can we go meet him? Daddy!''

''C'me on, Peter, slow down, let him breathe. We can't go there, that's the rules, he has to come here. Just let him take a few seconds; it's probably weird to see so many people.''


Actually, if Bucky could have heard what the duo was saying, he would have disagreed. It wasn't exactly the people who were the problem; it was more the effect of seeing the total surprise that was Tony, and dealing with the stupidity that was Steve right after.


''Do not even think of making these kinds of comments when the kid can hear you,'' he hissed at his friend. ''And not even when only the dad can hear you.''

''God, Bucky, you know me, I wouldn't do that! That's a good-looking guy, though. Don't you think?'' Steve asked, all innocence and wide eyes.


A groan was his only answer. Behind his back, Bucky flipped him off and took the few steps that still separated him from Peter and his dad. He took a few deep breaths but didn't even need to simulate a smile; the way Peter was waving at him was enough to make him relax again.


''Hey there,'' he called when he was standing juste a meter from them. ''I didn't expect to see you there. I'm really glad to meet you, Peter. How are you?''


A small, squeaky, and slightly squishy warm body ran into his legs as an answer; he stumbled slightly and looked up at Tony, astonished, for a couple of seconds, before his arms went to wrap around Peter and hugged him tight despite the slight awkwardness.


''I waited so long until you came!'' Peter exclaimed, his voice a bit muffled against Bucky's uniform pants' legs.

''Yeah, I know about that,'' the sergeant chuckled. ''I was impatient too. But I'm here now.''


Peter didn't move for a long while; long enough for Steve to join them and greet Tony properly – and Bucky grimaced when he realized that his manners were not the best right now. Tony seemed nice enough, shaking Steve's hand warmly and grinning all the while; he seemed to be unable to stop from moving around, though. His hands were waving madly one second, playing with his hair the next – and, oh God, the little spider web tattooed behind his ear and the shaved hair hidden behind longer dark strands were an amazing detail – and his face was surprisingly expressive, too.

Bucky got a hold on himself right as Peter was finally letting him go. The kid was looking at him with eyes full of wonder, and a smile showing his adorable dimples. He went away for a while without a comment, tugging on his dad's sleeve until Tony turned around and asked what the problem was. Peter whispered something in his ear and his dad nodded, all serious, and reached for a plastic bag; right after, the boy was back at Bucky's side, and holding out a thing wrapped in gift paper to Bucky.


''Here,'' he said, all earnestly. ''We brought this as a gift for coming to see us. Do you want to open it?''


Bucky nodded and took it, taking a few steps forward so he wouldn't be in the way of the people looking for their family. He unwrapped it gently and slowly, feeling Steve's and Tony's eyes on him, while Peter was almost devouring his nails out of anxiousness.

Inside the gift paper was an old, battered-looking copy of Winnie the Pooh, and, when he opened it, he discovered a small message carefully scribbled behind the cover: ''Dear Bucky, I hope you like the book. It's my favorite, but I wanted to give it to you! Peter.''

He cleared his throat softly, looking up shyly to see Tony's small smile and Peter's big grin.


''That's awesome, Peter. Thank you very much, I love it. I'll be sure to take it with me when I go back,'' then he added, finally turning to Tony. ''Hello, Mister Stark, I'm pleased to meet you. Thanks for coming to meet us here, that was a nice surprise!''

''Oh please, call me Tony, Mister Stark just makes me feel old and disgusting. Which I'm not. I hope so, at least. Nice to meet you too, Sergeant Barnes''

''Definitely not. Old and disgusting, I mean,'' he carefully avoided Steve's eyes and changed the topic as fast as he could. ''And you can call me Bucky, if I can call you Tony. I'm not that old either.''

''Older than me, though,'' Steve cut in, before picking his bag up from the floor. ''We should go find a cab before traffic gets too bad, Buck.''

''A cab?'' Tony huffed, looking positively vexed. ''What, did you think I'd let you go back in one of these awful things that make you pay half of your salary and almost kill you? Like I'd do that. My car's parked here, just give me the address and we're off.''


Steve and Bucky looked at each other for a few seconds, then shrugged, following Tony and his little boy to the parking.


''It doesn't look as if they'll try to kidnap us or anything,'' Steve whispered when Peter left Bucky's side for a second. ''But if they still do, promise you'll help me and not refuse to fight because you've got a huge crush on the guy?''

''You're an idiot. A true, pure idiot. Who should walk to Brooklyn.''

''Yeah, yeah, if you say so. Anyway… Hey, Tony?'' he called out, and the artist turned around, raising an eyebrow. ''How did you know when to wait for us?''

''Uh, yeah, good question. Long story short, a client of mine worked in the army. Still does, in a way, he works with veterans at a VA. Anyway, he still has some contact in the army; I asked him if he could get me some info about you, and he did. So there we are.''

''Impressive. Do you have any secret spy in your friends list too?''

''Pretty sure I do, actually. But don't tell Natasha I said that, she'd kill me. In my sleep. Painfully.''

''It sounds like you have some weird friends.''

''Oh god, you have no idea. Wait until you meet her.''


When they finally found Tony's car – the man had apparently forgotten in the space of an hour exactly where he had parked it, remembering only the floor, which was still impressively large – Peter jumped in his seat and begged Bucky to sit next to him, while Tony was carefully buckling him in.


''Is it even possible to resist those eyes?'' Bucky grumbled as he opened the door on the other side.

''Oh, you'll learn, at some point. At least you'll pretend to have learned. Still works on me, and it's been a few years.''


Bucky smiled up at Tony and slipped inside the car. It was small but clean and obviously taken good care of; the motor made a strong, satisfying noise when Tony turned it on, and classic rock blasted from the radio.


''Ugh, sorry, we had a bit of a karaoke on the road,'' Tony explained, quickly turning it off.

''At least you have good tastes. You wouldn't believe what some soldiers listen to. I don't think I'll be able to hear Taylor Swift singing without remembering some truly weird nights.''


Tony laughed and turned around to check no car was coming, winking at Bucky at the same time.


''I actually like Taylor Swift,'' he said. ''Good songs to sing under the shower where nobody can see or hear you. I can get the sort of problems it can lead to with soldiers, though.''

''I'll just say that you'd be surprised at how some of them can move their hips. Talk about the American dream.''


Tony burst out laughing – a great laugh, in Bucky's opinion.


''Yeah, okay, I definitely needed this mental picture. Thanks for that.''


The journey was longer than Bucky remembered, but he didn't complain, far from it: the company was good, and it was nice to see the city again after so much time. They talked books and dogs with Peter, while Tony shared tattoo anecdotes with Steve; at some point, they found common ground when Peter mentioned robots and Star Wars. That was apparently a favorite subject of Tony's, and he got all excited about it, even showing them the Star Wars tattoo done by his best friend on his bicep when they stopped at a red light.


''I'm thinking of getting another one,'' he said. ''Natasha made some great drawings of BB-8 and some are still available and staring at me every single day. If that's not torture, I don't know what it is. I know it's terribly cliché of me to ask, but do you guys have any tattoos?''

''Steve does but not me. Not yet, at least.''

''Oh yeah? Thinking of getting one, too?''

''Yeah, just haven't found the right idea yet.''

''We're having a flash night at the parlor in a few days. Cocktails, cookies and good music, I don't want to brag but it's always nice. You could come if you don't have anything planned. All three of us have drawings ready for it, and there are some other guests from all over the city. Maybe you'd find an idea?''

''Sure. We don't have much planned with Steve except sleeping in a real bed and eating hamburgers, so we'll probably make it.''

''Could you give us your phone number?'' Steve asked, and Bucky knew him well enough to hear the touch of laughter in his tone. ''So we can reach you if we need to?''

''Sure. Bucky, you can give your phone to Peter, he knows the number.''


When they finally reach their goal, and after Tony and Peter left – not without a lot of hugs and promises to see each other again very soon – Steve turned to Bucky and raised an eyebrow.


''I hope you noticed that he wrote his number in your phone when I was the one who asked.''

''Oh, shut up and move, your Ma's waiting.''




Tony looked around at the parlor, satisfied with what he saw. They had finally decided on a pop culture theme for the flash night, and the most famous themes from different movies were being broadcasted from a speaker in a corner of the room. Peter had offered some drawings of his own, cute versions of R2D2 and C3PO in a corner, some Pixar characters in another. Each artist who would tattoo this night had put together some sheets of different designs, Harry Potter mixing with Adventure Times and Disney.

The bartender from around the corner had helped too, giving them some recipes for cocktails – non-alcoholic ones, of course – they could serve this night, and Rhodey had bought what looked like tons of cookies.

This kind of nights usually attracted a lot of people, young and less young ones, some who were only curious, others who were determined to get tattooed, no matter how much time they had to wait outside – some had already been waiting for close to two hours, and Tony went out a few times to give them something to eat and drink, and check that everybody was alright.


His phone vibrated in his pocket and he took it out, smiling when he saw Bucky's text announcing that he and Steve had joined the line waiting to get in.


''Okay!'' he called out, and five tattoo artists turned around, instantly stopping their conversation. ''Everybody ready to let the crazy in?''


A chorus of yes answered and he gave them a thumbs-up, checking one last time before finally opening the door to let the people in.

The tattoo parlor – not really a small one – was immediately swarming with people who laughed and talked excitedly, running from one sheet of design to the other.

After a minute, Bucky and Steve went in, too, and Tony winked at them from where he was talking with a customer. He asked her to wait for a second and went to greet them with a quick hug.


''Hey, sorry, it's the busiest time of the night. Go take a look around, see if there's something you like. I'll probably be tattooing most of the time, but you can come talk to me if you've got any question, or ask Rhodey or Nat, they know who you are and they want to meet you.''

''No Peter?''

''He's staying with Rhodey's mom tonight, she asked if he wanted to see the last Cars movie with her and he couldn't resist.''


Someone tapped on his shoulder and he turned around to see a young man clutching a drawing in his hand.


''Found something you like, uh? Any idea where you want it tattooed?''


From there on, he barely saw Bucky and Steve again, spending hours tattooing until his wrist ached, and talking with whoever was on the chair.

Finally, after about four hours, he put the tattoo gun down for the last time and stretched painfully, grimacing when his back cracked loudly.


''Ow,'' he whined, rubbing at his eyes.

''Want a back rub?''


Bucky was behind him, grinning.


''I'd kill for one, actually. Why, is that an offer?''

''Mine are precious, so no. Maybe another time. What's up?''

''Not much. Something like seven tattoos and thirteen appointments, maybe? And you, did you get a tattoo?''

''Nah, you would have seen me if I did. I like what you do best, this Stormtrooper one was awesome. Steve got one from Natasha, though, he's a fan of Captain America and she had a drawing of the shield.''

''Steve, a fan of Captain America? Man, what a surprise. Look at how surprised I am. Surprising amounts of surprised.''

''I know, I know. That's actually one of his nicknames, I swear the guys will laugh at him for hours when they see it.''

''Please write to me when they do, I want to know all about it. Anyway, you met Nat and Rhodey, then?''

''Sure. You were right, Nat's probably a super spy. She's nice, though, and I'm pretty sure Steve's got it bad, but well, I get where he's coming from. Rhodey looks like a giant teddy bear but with more sass.''

''He does give the best cuddles, in case you need one.''

''He wouldn't have been my first choice in this room,'' Bucky admitted with a soft, shy smile. ''But that's good to know.''


Oh no, Tony could feel himself blushing, and that was just… no.


''Do we still have cookies?'' he asked, carefully avoiding Bucky's eyes

''Rhodey even ordered pizzas, I think. But Steve and me should go, the last train'll leave in a few minutes.''

''You know, you could say. I'll take Peter's room, and you and Steve can take mine, or the couch, whichever you like best. Then we can surprise the little guy tomorrow and spend the day together somewhere in the city. No pressure, it's fine if you've got something planned or just want some quiet time, but the offer's there.''

''Let me go talk to him and see what he thinks.''


Steve was still talking with Natasha, smiling goofily and joking around. Bucky rolled his eyes and bumped his shoulder against his friend's.


''Hey big guy, Tony's asking if we wanna stay with him tonight and spend the day with Peter tomorrow. You interested?''


Steve turned to Natasha and raised his eyebrows, to which she answered with a shrug.


''Your choice,'' she simply said, and smiled at Bucky.

''Nat asked if I wanted to go and have a drink with her after the pizzas, and see the city by night. Nothing against you, but I think I'll take her up on the offer.''

''Sure,'' Bucky grumbled, hitting him softly on the head. ''Leave me alone and go have some fun and drink alcohol, I'll be alright. See you, old friend.''


He left them, barely hearing Steve whispering about how he was such a drama queen, smirking to himself. Tony was waiting for him, sitting at his chair with a slice of pizza in his hands.



''Looks like Steve's more interested in Natasha than in Peter, but I'll be there, if you still accept me.''

''Of course I do. What do you think of going to the Empire State tomorrow? We haven't been there in a while, and Peter told me you liked it up there, right?''

''Yeah, you're right. It's been a while for me, too. Think there's any way we could go to FAO after that? I'd like to get Peter something for his birthday, since I couldn't really find something in Afghanistan.''

''Sure. I'm sure he won't stop talking about that for weeks.''




Bucky felt… sad. Upset. Lost.

These two weeks back home had been amazing.

Of course, there were the most obvious sides of being back home: being able to sleep on a comfortable bed without weird noises around, enjoying some home-cooked meals, shopping for whatever you needed whenever you needed it…

And there were the most unexpected things, too.

Before leaving, he had felt that he would get close to Peter, but never this close. They had spent almost every day of these two weeks together, sometimes with Tony, and sometimes just watching movies in the flat when Tony was working. The little boy didn't leave Bucky's side anymore, plastered to him at all times, giving him hugs and cuddling up close whenever he could. The relative shyness of their first meeting had completely gone away, replaced by a little boy who never stopped talking and asking questions.

There was Tony, too. Bucky had learned to know him and his slight crush of the first day had only worsened. Tony was kind, generous, funny, awesome with his kid, ready to give everything to his friends, and beautiful. Day after day, Bucky had discovered things about him, and he was totally charmed.

And absolutely devastated now that he needed to leave.


Coming back from leaves was never easy for a soldier: it meant leaving family and friends behind, without the slightest idea of when or even if you would see them again at some point.

Not only was it hard for them, but it also took a toll on the people they left behind. Steve's ma was crying by the time they left, and Steve had tears in his eyes too, promising that he'd do his best to stay safe and come back soon.

Peter had been silent from the moment both soldiers had greeted him and gotten a quiet answer back, and even Tony's hands were clenched on the steering wheel, his eyes hard and his words few.

When they finally stopped at the airport, it was completely silent in the car for a few seconds, at least until Peter suddenly and unexpectedly burst out crying. He was clutching the big Winnie the Pooh soft toy Bucky had bought him a few days back and sobbing loudly, and Bucky could almost feel his heart breaking at the sight.

Tony hurried to get out of and around the car to open the door and talk to his son, but Bucky had already acted, taking Peter on his lap and hugging him tight.


''Hey buddy,'' he said softly, ''what's wrong?''

''I d-don't want you t-to leave,'' Peter sobbed in his neck, and Bucky stroked his hair gently, thinking cautiously about his answer.

''I know, it's hard, hm? We spent a lot of time together and now I leave and you don't know when you'll see me again. I'm sad, too, because it was really great to play together, and it would've been great to stay here in New York, but I can't. I have to go back to work, and it means that I'll be far away for a while. But you know we'll keep writing, right? I'll send a letter as soon as I'm back there, so you won't have to wait too long to have news and write back. And we've got a phone and even a laptop, so maybe we can try to call each other, or even talk on Skype, if your dad agrees. That'd be cool, right?''


Peter nodded, cautiously and softly, and Bucky placated a smile on his face for his sake.


''Yeah, we'll do that and it'll be really great. And you have Winnie to keep you company, and your dad! I bet you'll find lots of things to do with both of them, and you can tell me everything in your letters, okay? Maybe you can even send some drawings, so I can hang more of them on the walls, and show them to the others. You'll see, it'll be alright.''


Tony's hand joined his on Peter's back, and the little boy turned around, hiding in his father's arms.


''Bucky's right, you know. I'm sure you'll write each other a lot, and of course you can call him on Skype.''

''I'm still sad, Daddy.''

''Yeah, I know, honey, I'm sad too, because it was really great to spend time with Bucky and Steve. It's okay to be sad.''


Their eyes met, and Tony smiled tiredly and sadly above his son's shoulder. Bucky's heart tightened but he took a few deep breaths, swallowing back tears.


''Now Peter, do you think you can still help Bucky and Steve find the plane they have to take? It would be a problem if they missed it, can you imagine? They'd have to walk and swim back.''


Peter giggled, then rubbed at his eyes, promising he'd help so they wouldn't have to swim back.

Each of them had a smile – a wobbly smile, but still a smile – on their face when they got into the airport, and made their way to security. Once there, something caught Peter's eyes and he pulled his dad along, asking the two soldiers to wait for them. When they came back, the boy had a small dog soft toy in each hand, dogs that looked a lot like Cocoa. He gave one to Steve and one to Bucky.


''So you have something to keep you company,'' he explained, eyes wide and full of innocence. ''Because I'll have Cocoa, and Daddy, and Winnie, but you won't.''


They both promised that they would take great care of their new friend, and Steve took Peter in his arms, bouncing him around for a while to make him laugh, then kissed him a few times on his cheek to tell goodbye. He swore he'd send some more drawings for Peter's room if Peter sent drawings too, then shook Tony's hand and thanked him.

It was Bucky's turn to say goodbye, and he stubbornly kept smiling all the while, even if Peter cried a bit once more. He repeated his promise to write as soon as he arrived back at camp and to ask when he could phone Peter. He hugged him tight one last time, closing his eyes for a second and just enjoying the weight of the boy in his arms, then turned to Tony.


''Thanks for everything,'' he said, awkwardly extending his hand.


Tony rolled his eyes, though, and drew him in in a hug, keeping him there for a few seconds – and Bucky was not ashamed by the way he breathed in Tony's scent, a mix of cologne and ink.


''Take care of you,'' the man whispered. ''And come back as soon as you can and want, the door'll be open for you. And write.''

''I'll do my best,'' Bucky promised, the best thing he could promise in his situation.


Tears were definitely in his eyes this time, and he didn't wait too long to turn around and get in line for security. Once on the other side, he turned around one last time and waved, looking at the little boy in his dad's arms and wondering despite himself if he would see them again one day.


''Come on, Buck, the longer you stay, the harder it'll be for all of you,'' Steve said, pulling him along gently, and Bucky nodded, looking one last time before he followed his best friend.


They walked for a while in silence, until they were sure to be out of sight. Then Steve stopped in a corner out of the way and took Bucky in his arms, hugging him tight.


''I don't know how parents do it,'' whispered the soldier. ''It's fucking hard.''

''Yeah. Yeah, Buck, I know.''


They stayed that way for a while longer, and, if Bucky cried for a bit, well… he knew Steve wouldn't judge him for it.




''You look like shit, Tones.''

''Oh well, good morning to you too, Rhodey.''


The man snorted and came closer to him, watching Tony get everything ready for his next customer.


''You miss him, right?''


''Oh, come on, don't play dumb with me. You miss Bucky.''


For a few seconds, Tony didn't say anything, just kept doing what he needed to do, until he sighed and sat down.


''It's stupid, I know.''

''I never said it was stupid, Tony.''

''But it is. I've known the guy for, what? Two weeks? Come on, I can't miss someone I've known for two weeks.''

''Of course you can. Especially as it's Bucky and he's awfully nice, and funny, and cute. What? Don't look at me like that, man! I'm straight, not blind.''

''That's not what you say when I ask you what I look like.''

''That's because I don't want you to think I'm flirting with you.''

''We'd be an awesome couple, though.''

''Or not. Anyway, you're trying to distract me, and that hasn't worked in years, Tony.''

''It was worth the try, I regret nothing. It's just…'' Tony sighed and rubbed at his eyes. ''I don't know if he'll ever come back. I'm not stupid, I know he's in danger no matter what he tells Peter, and I never know if his letter is just late or if he's been hurt or killed and I just know nothing about it. I could manage the missing thing if I knew when he'd come back, but I don't know, so I just have the letters he writes me, and some phone calls, and I can't tell anything to Peter, because it's already hard as hell for him to understand why Bucky lives so far away. What will I tell him if Bucky can't ever come back?''

''Wow, slow down there, Tony. You're thinking too much about things that may never happen. Sure, being a soldier is dangerous, but that doesn't mean he'll die tomorrow, and anyway, I'm sure you'd be informed if something happened, he wouldn't just leave you hanging.''

''It's still fucking hard.''

''Maybe you should talk to Sam, I'm sure he could give you some advice, or someone else could.''

''That's… that's a good idea, actually. Maybe I could even bring Peter along, right?''

''You look so surprised when I have a good idea, it's awful. I'm hurt. Anyway, did you say he writes letters to you, now?''

''You know, I really have to get ready for…''


Rhodey stared at his friend, and Tony visibly swallowed.


''You are a terrifying man. But yes, he writes to me now, not just to Peter. Tells me about things he can't tell Peter, the kind of stupid things soldiers do, what he feels like, this kind of stuff. It's nice. He's nice.''

''Your crush is beginning to show, Tony.''

''You know, I have needles in here. Needles I wouldn't be afraid to use if you keep mocking me. Don't tempt me, Rhodey. Don't. Tempt. Me.''


His friend burst out laughing and clapped Tony on the back.


''It's cute. I like it.''




Dear Tony,


I know it must have been weird to see only one letter in your mail box today.

I'm sorry about it, and I hope Peter wasn't there when you saw it, so he doesn't feel disappointed or hurt.

I'll get to the point quickly: I'm writing this from the hospital.

Three days back, we were on the field when we got attacked. We were able to defend ourselves and left without casualty, but some of us got hurt, and I was among them.

I can almost hear you panicking from where I stand – well, where I lie, okay – and please stop. It wasn't anything too bad: a bullet touched me and I had to get stitched up. As the wound is on my right arm, and I'm right-handed, it mostly means a few days of rest for me, and hours of boredom in a bed. Plus, the food is shit.

Steve's writing this for me during a visit, as I can't exactly write myself right now.

I'll say it once more: I'm all right, it's not anything too bad and I'll be back in the field in no time, so don't worry for me, please. I only let you know so you wouldn't worry waiting for a late letter.

Tell Peter if you feel like it, or don't – I'll write anyway as soon as I can, as usual, and I won't mention it, so it's up to you.

I hope everything's all right with both of you.




''The asshole fucking writes it like nothing at all happened! 'Oh, hey, Tony, what's up? By the way, I almost die. Bye!' Seriously, what the fuck?'' Tony almost yelled at Natasha, both of them alone in the closed tattoo parlor.

''Okay, calm down. He told you everything was alright.''

''Yeah, that's what he told, sure, but the guy got attacked and took a bullet! Don't tell me to calm down!''

''That's his job, Tony,'' Natasha reminded him softly. ''It's hard, but it's the truth and you have to deal with it.''


When Tony finally looked at her, he saw his own pain and anxiety reflected in her eyes and he sighed. She didn't talk much about it, but he knew she was still in contact with Steve, and the man had probably told her what happened, too.


''I'm sorry, Nat, I know it's hard for you too. Steve was there too, right?''


She nodded and Tony took her hands in his own, squeezing them.


''Fuck, I thought it'd get easier with some time, but… no. I'm worried sick about him, and it's hard on Peter too. I told him about what happened, and he was full of questions. 'Is it dangerous for him where he is?' 'Will he get hurt again?' 'But he'll come back, daddy, right?' What the hell am I supposed to answer when he asks this kind of things?''

''The truth, Tony. Well, not the entire truth,'' she admitted when he looked at her like she was crazy. ''But he knows what a soldier is, some of the kids in his school have soldiers for parents. Peter's smart, you know that, he'll understand. You told me you took him to the VA center a few weeks back, right?''

''Yeah. He talked with Sam, and Sam asked if we wanted to take part in some group. I told him no, but maybe I'll change my mind, now. It could be good for Peter.''

''And for you, too, Tony. You're not sleeping enough at night, I can see it. And don't try to lie, I've known you for years, I know what you look like when you're tired.''


He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, hiding behind his fingers.


''I know you'll make fun of me for that, but… I'd really like to see him again, you know. He's… he's really nice.''

''You like him,'' Natasha tries to clarify.

''I don't… honestly, Nat, I don't know. We don't know each other this well, and I don't even know if he's straight or bi or gay or whatever. He never told me, even if he did kinda flirt with me back when he was here. I can't tell that I like him, but I can tell that I could like him with a bit more time.''

''Then, Tony, I sincerely hope you'll have more time soon. You deserve to find someone like him.''


Natasha's eyes were soft and filled with love when Tony looked back up, and he smiled at her, before wrapping his arms around her.


''Thanks for that. You deserve it, too. And Steve does seem like a nice guy, too. Maybe not nice enough for you, but I'm not sure guys this nice actually exist.''




That had been a terrible, awful idea. My God, what was he even doing there? He hadn't told Tony, maybe the guy wasn't even in the city. Oh shit, that would suck. He'd just go back to Steve's car and drown in his shame and stupidity, and-

The door opened and Bucky startled, looking up right in Natasha's eyes. Her mouth was hanging open and he smiled, all awkward.


''Hey, um, surprise? Are Tony and Peter there? I, uh, Steve and me, we got leave, we didn't really know about it until the last minute, and-''

''Tony and Peter are in the office, they're doing homework,'' Natasha answered, and the ability she had to deal with any situation would probably always surprise Bucky. ''Steve's there?''

''Yeah, he's in the car, he wasn't sure you'd be there this late.''


He almost didn't get the time to finish his sentence before Natasha pushed him to get out and go see Steve.


''Thanks!'' he called out with a smirk in his voice. ''And have a good night!''


His only answer was a small chuckle, and then he entered the parlor silently. He wasn't really considering staying there for hours, but he was… he didn't quite know what to do and if his surprise would be a good one.

He'd told the truth to Natasha: they hadn't known about the leave almost until they were on the plane, and he didn't really think about the option to call Tony and let him know he was on his way. Instead, he just decided to come straight to the parlor and surprise Peter and his father.

And right now, he was almost regretting this decision.


He braced himself, though, and walked to the door to the small office, where he could hear voices arguing about the colors of lions and tigers.

A smile came on his lips and he lifted his hand to knock.


''You can open the door, Peter, it's probably Nat checking we're still alive,'' came a muffled but oh so familiar voice.


The sound of small bare feet running followed, and then the door opened.


''Surprise!'' Bucky chuckled.

Chapter Text

''Bucky!!'' Peter shrieked, and Tony looked up so suddenly that he heard his neck make a loud and slightly worrying noise.


He winced, but seeing Bucky standing right there, in his office, quickly made him forget about the pain. That was definitely unexpected, he decided after thinking back to the last letters they had received and concluding that he couldn't remember Bucky ever mentioning the fact that he would be back soon.

Questions would have to come later though, because right now, Peter was wrapped up all tight in the soldier's arms – and yeah, wow, the uniform definitely looked good on Bucky –, babbling endlessly about the tons of things he had done while Bucky was away, and what they could do now that he was back, the movies that he had to see, the books they should read and–


''Wow, wow, Peter, calm down, there, let Bucky breathe! Did you even say hello?''

''Hello, Bucky,'' the little boy said obediently.

''Hello, Peter,'' the man answered with a smile. ''Hey Tony. How are you guys doing?''

''Trying to deal with the surprise right now. Good surprise, though. Definitely good. What about you, how are you? How's the arm?''


Tony finally got up to welcome Bucky properly, drawing him in a quick but tight embrace.


''I'm alright, tired but alright. And the arm's great, if it weren't for the scar, you wouldn't even know something happened.''

''A scar?'' Peter exclaimed, eyes wide. ''Can I see it?''

''Peter!'' Tony protested, rolling his eyes. ''What did we say about insensitive questions?''

''Don't ask what you wouldn't like people to ask you,'' Peter recited obediently. ''But Daddy, I like when people ask about my scars.''

''Yeah, okay, but… You know what? Just don't ask that question. You'll understand later.''


Bucky was watching them talk with a small, fond smile, leaning heavily against the wall.


''You look exhausted,'' Tony frowned, and walked right in front of him, close enough to look at the heavy bags under his eyes. ''You are exhausted. Are you sleeping at Steve's house?''

''Nope. He took Nat back there, so, um… yeah, no,'' he explained in as few words as he could, glancing at Peter. ''I saw there was an hotel right next to the parlor, though, so I'll just check in there and get a good night of sleep.''

''Nonsense. We won't let you sleep in an hotel when we have plenty of space up there. Right, buddy?''

''Yeah, Bucky, stay with us! Maybe you can sleep in my room.''

''Definitely not,'' his dad said firmly, rolling his eyes at Bucky. ''I know you, you won't get any sleep if Bucky's there and then you'll be all cranky tomorrow. No, thanks. You'll take my bed, Bucky, and I'll take the couch, I'm smaller than you, I'll fit.''

''Tony, you don't have to-''

''I know I don't have to, but I want to. So come on, let's go up there, I bet you're hungry too. Grilled cheese okay with you?''


Bucky nodded, thankful, and Tony led the way, grabbing the soldier's heavy bag as he went. He was about to protest, but Peter grabbed his hand and, when he looked down, he saw the little boy grinning at him, his eyes shining.


''I'm so happy to see you,'' Peter whispered. ''When Daddy said you were hurt, I was scared. Do you have to go back again?''

''I do, yes. But I promise I'll be careful and try not to get hurt again. And,'' he added when the little boy's smile fell, ''I'll tell you a secret: I'll be back real soon. Don't tell your dad, though, ok? It's just between you and me for now.''

''I won't say anything. I'm really good at secrets!''

''I bet you are,'' the soldier chuckled at the same time Tony called them to see what was taking so long. ''Come on, now, your dad's getting impatient, let's go before he eats everything.''




That was really nice, Bucky thought as he licked his chocolate ice cream. Really nice, and he could get used to it really quick, too.

He'd been back in the city for two days, and had spent the weekend with Peter and Tony, playing with the little boy on Saturday and helping him with his homework when his dad had to go back to work for a few hours. On Sunday, they'd spent a lazy day all together, watching cartoons and playing with Legos – Tony had made a ridiculously high tower, that he'd so modestly called the Stark Tower, and Bucky had sticked with little houses that looked almost ridiculous in comparison – until it was Peter's bedtime. They'd read a story together and the little boy had fallen asleep with a big smile on his lips.

This morning, Peter had had to go back to school, which had led to a big tantrum, as he absolutely refused to leave Bucky's side for more than ten minutes when he was awake. He'd only calmed down when his dad had reminded him that it was his own free day, and that they would spend the afternoon together in the city if Peter stopped crying and tried to understand that life still had to go on even when a guest was home. Peter was still frowning when they left him at his school's doors, but at least he wasn't crying anymore, and he'd kissed his dad goodbye like he always did. Bucky had wanted to apologize or possibly disappear for the whole ordeal, but Tony had quickly reassured him as soon as Peter was out of earshot, telling him that it still happened when only Tony was home. It looked like the little boy had a hard time understanding that he couldn't take part in everything his father was doing.


So now he was alone with Tony, in the park close to the parlor, licking his ice cream, joking around and talking. And he was enjoying that so much that he didn't really want it to stop any time soon. It was so easy to be with Tony, as if they'd known each others for years rather than a few months writing letters to each other. Bucky, who hadn't really had anyone to talk to apart from his fellow soldiers for years, had been afraid at first, that he wouldn't really remember how to do this sort of things, how to talk without using strategic acronyms and private jokes. He'd been afraid that Tony would refuse to hear about his experience as a soldier, but it was the complete opposite: the man listened to him no matter what he said. He listened when Bucky was sharing frustrations with the way the army was organized; he listened when Bucky complained about their current president and told him about what the other soldiers thought of him; he listened when Bucky needed to get a weight off of his chest and told him about how scared he'd been the day he was hit.

And more than simply listening, he seemed to know what to say to Bucky. He didn't tell him he knew what it was to get shot – Bucky hated when other non-soldiers people said that they knew what it was like to risk your like on the field every day –, or that he didn't have the right to get afraid since he'd chosen this life. He just found the right, comforting words.


''I like to be with you,'' Bucky blurted suddenly in a moment of silence, blushing furiously when Tony turned to look at him in surprise. ''It's… refreshing, you know? I mean, I knew before I met him that I would love Peter, but you- you're great, Tony, you're something else. I hope…''


He stopped, hesitated, but Tony's warm hand on his shoulder and his encouraging eyes made him finish.


''I hope we'll have more time together,'' he confessed, avoiding Tony's stare. ''I feel like, like maybe there could be something more there, you know? Maybe it's stupid – hell, it's probably stupid, but…''

''It's not stupid,'' Tony stopped him, and when Bucky finally looked up, he was smiling, something shy and vulnerable on his face. ''It's really not. I… My God, Natasha will laugh so hard when I'll tell her what you said, but I, yeah. Feel the same way about, about more time. I'd like that, I'd really like that, to see where we could go. Pretty sure Peter would like that too,'' he added with a small grin, and Bucky smiled back.


They stayed silent for a couple of seconds, looking at each other, and then Bucky sighed.


''It's gonna be my last tour,'' he confessed. ''When I come back in a couple of months, I'll come back for good.''


''Yeah. It's… I realized I wanted something else, now. It's terrifying, honestly, to know that I'll come back with no idea of what to do and no education to speak of behind me, but it doesn't feel right anymore to me, to be over there. It's harder every day, and I don't feel up to doing it for much longer. Steve feels the same way; we talked it out a few weeks back. At least we'll still be together when I come back, y'know? I won't be all by myself struggling to find what to do with my life,'' he chuckled darkly.

''You wouldn't have been, even if Steve had decided to stay,'' Tony said quietly. ''If you wanted me there, I'd be there and help in any way I could, gladly.''


Bucky swallowed, and when he looked up at Tony, the artist was already watching him, these beautiful brown eyes focused on him. A warm hand gripped and squeezed his left hand and he looked down for a second, noting the way their fingers linked so beautifully, before his eyes went back to Tony's face. Almost unconsciously, he inched closer to him, feeling his warmth even through their clothes, until their shoulders were touching.

He waited for what seemed to him a long time, waiting to see if Tony would protest or get away, but he didn't. And so, slowly, carefully, Bucky wrapped his hand around the back of his neck and kissed him, softly, like a promise. Tony's lips – so nice, so warm – opened under his and he exhaled softly, the air hot on Bucky's skin, making him shiver.

The kiss was short and soft but still, Bucky was panting when he found the courage to let go of Tony.


''I can't, Bucky,'' Tony whispered, almost sadly. ''Can't do much more than that right now, not before you come back. It wouldn't be fair to Peter, or to you, and–''

''I know,'' Bucky answered as quietly. ''I know you can't. It's just – just so I know this isn't all a dream, that it's real. So I know that there's something, someone waiting for me when I'll come back.''

''I will. I will wait for you, I promise. I'll wait in the airport, and you'll run and kiss me, and we'll put it on YouTube with one of these awfully sad songs, so people will cry looking at us,'' Tony smiled, and Bucky chuckled softly.


He put his forehead down on Tony's shoulder, the artist's arm wrapping around his waist almost instinctively, and sighed.


''Thank you,'' he whispered, and smiled when Tony's arm tightened around him.


They stayed that way for a few minutes in a comfortable silence, watching the people play, run and talk around them, most of them ignoring the two men in an embrace, some smiling fondly at them. It was one of those perfect moments that Bucky'd relive a hundred times over when he was alone in the desert.


''We should go, Peter'll have a fit if we're not there at his school when he gets out.''

''Sure,'' Bucky groaned but didn't move an inch.


Tony laughed, a clear, pure sound, and shook him gently. With a last groan, Bucky sat up reluctantly, smiling when he felt Tony's fingers playing with his hair.


''You should maybe stop doing that, or we'll spend the whole afternoon on this bench. And I distinctly remember that we promised Peter an afternoon together.''

''Yeah, yeah, you're right. C'me on, up, let's go!''




Last night. It was his last time in New York for a couple of months, and, once more, Bucky was not ready to leave.

He sighed and his shoulders slumped, tears prickling in his eyes. Tony and Peter were both waiting for him in the living room, and here he was, having an existential crisis in their bathroom.

A sound, half-sob, half-chuckle, escaped from his throat, and he closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and swallowed back his panic.

It's going to be okay, he thought, hands gripping the sink. You're going to go back there for a few weeks, and then come back to Tony and Peter, and it's going to be–

There was a soft knock on the door, and Tony's worried voice:


''Everything alright in there?''

''Yeah,'' Bucky answered, but even to his ears, his voice sounded wrecked and weak. '' 'm alright.''

''Can I come in?'' Tony asked after a second.


Silently, Bucky opened the door and listened to Tony coming in and closing the door behind him.

A hand wrapped around his waist and, a second later, his face was buried against Tony's warm chest. He chuckled, but his hands gripped Tony's soft shirt almost desperately anyway. Talented hands were playing with his hair delicately, and he sighed, burrowing closer to the shorter man.


''I know that it's not the same at all for you, Bucky, but it's hard for me, too. I can promise you one thing, though, if that can help. Peter and me will be waiting for you when you come back. No matter when it is, or what you decide to do next, if you want us by your side, we'll be there. Damn, Bucky, I'm pretty sure you'll get tired of us before we get tired of you, but–''

''Not gonna happen,'' Bucky mumbled, and Tony's arms tightened around him for a little while.

''Okay, then. Well, then you know we'll be there, and help you when you come back. We'll get to spend a lot of time together, and Peter might finally show you every book and movie he likes. It's nice, I won't be the only one watching The Lion King about three times a day, that'll make for some nice change. And when you're over there, we'll write often, so you won't even have time to miss us, or maybe just a tiny bit. If you do, you can complain about it with Steve, because I'm pretty sure he's having the same sort of moment right now, am I right?''


Bucky nodded and Tony smiled against his skin.


''Right. So the both of you will wax poetic about the people you miss, and the other soldiers will terribly regret the period when you hadn't met Peter yet. Is that a deal?''

''Yeah. Yeah, that's a deal.''

''Great! Now, I think Peter's waiting for us, but I told him he could draw something while waiting for us. He wanted us to watch Up, can you imagine? I cry watching it even on the happiest of days,'' he admitted, and his voice wavered the slightest bit. ''Asked him to watch Winnie the Pooh or Paddington instead. I'm in the mood for some silly bear. Anyway, there was a question I wanted to ask you here somewhere. Uh. Yeah. Do you need some more time in here?''

''Just a minute, and then I'll be alright.''

''Sure,'' Tony agreed easily enough, and he hummed when Bucky thanked him. ''Up, I swear, this kid's got no pity for his old dad. We're lucky he didn't ask to watch Inside Out, because this movie makes me sob, and not the pretty kind of sobbing, oh no.''

''I've never seen it,'' Bucky mumbled.

''No? Well, we'll watch it when you come back. I hope you'll support me in my sobbing party.''


That was so nice to hear, Tony's easy way to say he'd come back and be with them again for a movie as if there wasn't a few months in a desert with gun fights between both points.


''Well, I tend to be a heavy crier when I watch sad movies, too,'' he smiled. ''So I guess that'll make two of us.''

''Finally! Rhodey and Nat just stare at me with so much judgement, I swear they have no heart. How can you watch Up and not cry? Damn.''

''Uh, yeah, that's a sad one if there's ever been one.''

''Right? Ugh, now I really need some silly bear to make me forget this movie.''




Tony was about two seconds away from having his own breakdown into one of the airport's bathrooms, but for Bucky and Peter's sake, he took one deep, deep breath and soldiered – ah! – on, never stopping his silly comments about how some people shouldn't be allowed to drive suitcases without a license. Bucky and Peter's smiles were small, and tired, but still, they smiled, and even Steve and Natasha, following them a few steps back, occasionally laughed.

They reached security and, after a quick look at his friend, Steve ruffled Peter's hair fondly.


''Hey buddy, do you think you can help me choose something to read on the flight?'' he asked innocently, pointing at the little bookshop right next to security. ''Bucky told me you loved to read. We'll come back right after so you can say goodbye, promise!''

''Okay, Steve,'' Peter nodded with a grin, and Tony made a mental note to thank Steve as soon as he could.


Natasha followed them, and now he was alone with Bucky – or, at least, as alone as you could be in a crowded airport.

They both sighed at exactly the same time, and Tony snorted.


''What a depressing pair we are, really. C'me here.''


He opened his arms and Bucky came closer eagerly, his cheeks rough with stubble tickling Tony's neck. He was shaking slightly, and Tony put a comforting hand on his back, above the uniform.


''You'll be alright,'' he whispered encouragingly. ''A bit less than three months, and then we're back together. I did promise you a nice welcome back, too, so there's that to think about, work on your surprised expression so our YouTube video can really be successful. Seriously, Bucky,'' he said, taking a step back to look the soldier in his eyes, ''we'll be there, and it'll be really nice. So stay strong over there, okay? And don't–''


His voice wavered and he closed his eyes, counting to three to calm down.


''Don't do anything stupid. I need you to come back, I really do. And Peter really does, too. We need more cuddles and movie nights, and I need you to cry with me and make me feel less alone. Okay?''

''I promise I'll do my best, Tony. I want more of that too.''


Absentmindedly, Bucky traced one of Tony's tattoos – Peter's name in large, looped black letters – with one finger, staring into his beautiful brown eyes. Tony smiled a watery smile and put a strand of hair back behind his ear after a quick look around them to check nobody was paying too much attention.


''I can't wait,'' he said, all soft and sincere, and drew Bucky back in his arms.


They couldn't stay together very long, though; their friends came back and Peter jumped into Bucky's arms. He hadn't cried this time – and it broke his father's heart a little, to see how fast he'd gotten used to the fact that Bucky had to leave – but he was still sad and grumpy, and had asked Bucky about a hundred of times when he'd come back.

This time, as Tony was saying goodbye to Steve and wishing him a good flight, he overheard Peter's whispers, a plea for Bucky to come back fast and spend more time with him, and keep away from the bad guys. The soldier's eyes distinctly watered, but he swallowed his tears back and hugged the little boy tight. He didn't make any promise to him, and it was painful to think about why he refused to make promises, but still tried to reassure him as best as he could.


''And you'll write, right, Peter?''

''Yeah! Me and Dad will write every day, so you never spend a day without having a letter. And we'll send chocolate and stuff, so you can eat what you like. We'll send some to Steve, too!''

''That's great, buddy, thank you very much,'' Steve said with an earnest smile.


He kissed Natasha goodbye with whispered words that Tony didn't hear – and didn't really want to hear either – and gave Peter one last hug. The little boy thankfully didn't make too much of a fuss when he had to leave Bucky, which was a good thing because Tony was pretty sure that he would have begun to cry if Peter had, and, after a few last waves and words of encouragement to the soldiers, they watched them turn their back and pass security. They refused to leave as long as they could still see them on the other side. Even after they's disappeared around a corner, they stayed standing in the middle of the hall,  staring at where they had last seen them, people passing around them, living their own life and giving their own goodbyes.




Dear Bucky,


I tattooed a veteran today. Damn, I can't even tell you how powerful and emotional that was.

He wanted something to remember the ones who fell. He spent the three hours it took telling me anecdotes about them and about his life overseas. He was crying by the end, when he saw the result – and to be honest, I was too. You know, I think that it's for this kind of moments that I like my job so much. I get to put important memories into people's skin, so they'll never forget, and I get to see their reaction when they look at it. What else could I ask for?

He told me to tell you to stay strong and never give up.

So I'm telling you: Bucky, stay strong, and don't ever give up.


In happier news, Peter discovered he loved Brooklyn. Wanted me to buy him history books and guides. I wonder who he got that from, uh?

By the way, I know you worry for him, so I'm telling you, don't, he's really alright. He misses you like crazy – of course he does, even Cocoa misses you like crazy – and can't stop talking of you and of everything you didn't have time to do, but he's alright. He told me yesterday he thinks of you every night, and that he hopes you can feel it where you are. I do too, now. I really hope you can feel it.

Damn, that turned nostalgic and sad really fast, didn't it? I'm telling you, I suck at these letters. I should ask Peter some tips. I've seriously never seen him as focused as he is when he's writing you. He said he has a list he keeps to know what he told you about, and what he still needs to tell you. His friends help, too; it was Wade's idea – he's one of his friends from school, kinda weird, but nice – to ask you about Harry Potter. And what an idea: now he can't stop talking about Harry Potter and wants me to read them to him. How do I explain he's still a bit too young? Ugh, this boy hates hearing me say you'll understand when you're older.

Just so you know, I'm a Ravenclaw too. Glad to hear you're not one of these Gryffindor snobs; these people are crazy.


Natasha is brooding. I've known her for ten years, and I don't think I've ever seen her brooding until now. Let me tell you, it's terrifying. She eats cookies all day long and I think I've heard Chasing Cars about two thousand times these last ten days. I feel like someone's going to die really soon – side effect of Grey's Anatomy, this show's ruined me for some songs.

Anyway, tell Steve to send her some sexy letters so she stops brooding for a couple of days. We all live in fear of forgetting cookies right now.


What else can I say? I miss you, Bucky. We had a movie night yesterday with Rhodey and Natasha, to try and get her spirits back up. We watched Titanic – yeah, I know, way to go to make someone happier. Needless to say, they both laughed at me as I sobbed my heart out, and no one was there to get me ice cream when Jack let go. I missed you then, and I still miss you today. I need someone to sob with me, and that's your official role now. You can't escape from it!

I saw a Paddington soft toy yesterday in a toy shop. So now it's waiting for you in my room, because it was too cute and it made me think of you and this adorable movie. I'm telling you, the bear alone is a good enough reason to come back. It's cute and so soft, I could cuddle with it for hours.

Even though I'd rather cuddle with you.


Um, that was maybe a bit too much. But still, I miss your hugs, I won't lie.

We're all thinking about you here.


Stay strong, Bucky.






''It's been ten days, Natasha,'' Tony mumbles from where his head is resting on the redhead's lap.

''I know.''


She sounds as stressed out as Tony feels, and that definitely isn't a good sign. He sits up, looks at her, at the dark circles under her eyes and the tense way she's sitting.


''You don't have any news from Steve either, do you?''


With a sigh, she shakes her head, and Tony groans.


''We shouldn't worry, though. Maybe they had to leave for a mission, or something like that. Maybe there's a problem with mail, and that's it.''

''You're right,'' Natasha agrees. ''We shouldn't worry.''

''You're worried too, right?'' he asks after a beat of silence.


She nods, and Tony groans again.

Usually, he gets one of Bucky's letter every week at least, sometimes every three days – they don't even wait for the other's letters to arrive first before sending one, they just write whenever they want or need to. It's costing him a small fortune in stamps, but whatever, it's for Bucky, it's not a problem.

Now, though, it's been ten days since his last letter, and there wasn't any mention of a long mission in the last one. Just mundanities about how the other soldiers pissed him off with their bad jokes, and how Steve was, apparently, also brooding.

He has a bad feeling about this, to be honest.


''I have a ba–'', he begins, but Natasha cuts him with a hand in front of his mouth before he can finish.

''Don't say it. It's bad luck.''


He shrugs and lies back down on her lap, eyes closed. Her fingers are playing with his hair, and he relaxes slightly, wondering how exactly he'd feel if Nat wasn't there to at least support him.


''Peter doesn't really get it,'' he said softly. ''I told him maybe Bucky had to leave in a hurry and that he couldn't write where he was, but he's still worried.''

''I know, I've seen him check the mail every hour.''

''Yeah,'' he sighed sadly. ''I tried to explain that it wouldn't really change anything, but looks like it helps him, so whatever, right?''

''He'll be alright,'' Natasha soothed him. ''Don't worry, whatever happens, we'll all be alright.''






He froze as he heard Nat's tight voice calling him from the shop and took a deep breath. Bad feeling. He'd know there was something wrong.


''Coming!'' he called back and rushed downstairs.


Natasha was pacing in the office, clutching her phone to her ear and face so pale that it was worrying. Without thinking about it, Tony led her to one of the chairs and made her sit down gently. She looked up at him, and he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, when he saw the tears in her eyes. Without a word, she held the phone out to him, and he took it, hands shaking.


''Hello?'' he cleared his throat when his voice came out all shaky.

''Tony,'' Steve sighed at the other end of the phone. ''It's me, it's Steve.''


His voice was hoarse, rough, like he'd been shouting or– or crying.


''Steve. Steve, what's happening?''


A sob answered, and he closed his eyes, fingers tightening painfully around the small phone. Suddenly, Natasha's hands were there, on his shoulders, helping him keep calm at least for a little while.


''Breathe, Steve, come on. Can you… can you tell me what's wrong?''

''It's Bucky. Tony, it's Bucky.''

Chapter Text

''We were in the truck,'' Steve explained in an exhausted monotone. ''Going back to camp. Just– just talking. Bucky was half-asleep, right next to the window. They were waiting for us, they knew when we were going to be there. We're… lucky. They weren't that well organized. I…''


There was a pained sound on the other end of the line, and Tony wiped at his still dry eyes, blood pounding in his temples.


''Bucky… Bucky was the unlucky one. The door on his side of the truck got blown up. We were able to get him under cover fast, but- but there was a huge chunk of metal from the door in his arm. His left arm. He lost a lot of blood as we were waiting for rescue.'' He swallowed thickly. ''A lot of blood.''


He fell silent, ragged breathing the only sound left. Tony had to swallow back tears hard before finding the courage to ask:


''Is he alive? Steve, please, tell me. Is Bucky alive?''

''Yes. Jesus, Tony, yes, he's alive. Sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have– shouldn't have told you like that, I'm, I'm exhausted.''

''Alright,'' Tony said, and let himself slide down to the floor, Natasha following him silently. ''Alright, it's okay, Steve. Just– how is he then? Is he–?''

''He's in the hospital,'' the soldier answered, and he was slightly calmer now, his words less breathless. ''He… they tried everything. They managed to close down the wound at first, but… Then it got infected, from the dirt and the sand and all of that.''


Tony heard him gulp, and he knew what would follow, even before Steve said it.


''They had to amputate. Yesterday.''


Knowing it didn't mean that it didn't hurt, apparently. Natasha, sitting next to him and listening to what Steve was saying, put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, silently supporting him.


''He was barely conscious when they took the decision to… you know. And he hasn't woken up yet.''

''Shit,'' Tony croaked, feeling the beginnings of an headache. ''Are you staying with him?''

''Yeah. Just left him for a few minutes to call you – Clint's with him though, another soldier from our group. He won't be alone when he wakes up, Tony, I can promise you that.''

''Great. That's… okay, great. Are you still in the desert, then?''

''Yeah,'' Steve chuckled tiredly. ''Military hospital. They'll transfer him to the States as soon as he's stable enough. I'll let you know when we'll be back as soon as I know it, okay?''

''Thank you Steve. For letting me know and everything. But what about you? How are you?''

''I wasn't badly hurt. A few scratches here and there, but nothing too bad. I'll come back with Bucky, probably, at least if they let me – and I really hope they do. So… yeah.''

''Steve,'' Natasha finally spoke up, ''that's not what Tony was asking.''


There was a long beat of silence, and then a long, pained sigh.


 ''I don't know. And I'm not just saying this so I don't have to answer, honestly. It's just… everything's going really fast over here. I didn't have much time to sit down and think – and I'm not really complaining about it. I guess it's going to sink in at some point, and that's not going to be pretty. But for now, Bucky needs me to be here for me, so I am.''


Tony gave her phone back to Natasha after that, leaving her to talk with Steve for a few minutes more. Stumbling, he took the few steps to the little bathroom adjacent to the office, and splashed his face with the coldest water possible. It helped a bit; made him find his bearings and realize what he'd heard and what had happened.

Bucky had been hurt, badly hurt. He was alive, not alone, but hurt, and not in a way that could easily be overlooked. Losing a limb, that was something that traumatized people. Of course, most of them lived very well with it; that didn't mean that they couldn't be happy and have a normal life. But there were some who…


''He's strong,'' a soft voice said, stopping his thoughts. ''You know he is.''

''I know he is,'' he agreed, his own voice shaking. ''But…''

''No but.''


Natasha came closer and made Tony turn around with soft touches. There was deep love on her face, and unfailing support in the way her finger stroked his cheek.


''It's not gonna be easy, on either of you. Of us,'' she corrected after a second. ''It's probably even going to be really difficult on some days. But Tony, from what I know of Bucky, and of you, I'm pretty sure that Bucky's stronger than even he knows. And you too: you'll be able to help him more than you think, with Peter. Bucky's going to survive this, and will probably come out of this stronger than ever.''


He opened his mouth to answer, struggling to find the right words to thank her… and gave up quickly, hugging her to his chest instead.


''It's so unfair,'' he whispered, closing his eyes against the tears. ''They were going to come back.''

''Oh, I know, honey, I know. But it's going to be okay, I promise. You're not alone in this.''




While Rhodey was out to go get Peter from school, Tony took the time to sit down, process the information, and think about how he should tell Peter.

He couldn't not say anything; the little boy was smart enough to notice when his father wasn't feeling good and, anyway, he would notice that letters had stopped coming. More than that, Tony didn't want to lie to his son. He'd had enough of that when he was a kid himself, he absolutely did not want to do the same mistake with his own child.

So he had to tell him. But Peter was only seven, for God's sake, how was he supposed to find the right words? Luckily, Natasha helped him some, brainstorming with him and telling him what was too harsh and what was probably not clear enough and too elusive.


When Peter finally came back in the shop, babbling happily with a Rhodey who looked slightly anxious and scared to say the wrong thing, Tony felt at least somewhat ready.


''Hey Pete,'' he greeted his son with a tired but warm smile. ''Everything all right?''

''Yes dad, but I'm hungry!'' the boy answered with round eyes, making his dad chuckle.

''Really? Well, you know what, I was about to ask you if you wanted to come upstairs and eat something with me. I've got something I need to talk to you about, okay?''


Peter nodded and followed him up the stairs silently. He seemed to have picked on the weird atmosphere in the shop already – the kid was impressively perceptive when it came to other people's moods, and despite Natasha and Rhodey's best efforts, they couldn't hide that something was wrong. And Tony couldn't, either.

They sat down in the living room, munching on cereals and drinking juice. The TV stayed off, no cartoons like Peter was used to. He didn't protest, though, only kept watching his father and waiting. With a sigh, Tony relented.


''There's something I have to tell you. I got a call from Steve a couple of hours ago.''

''Did Bucky talk to you, too?''

''Well, that- that's just it. Remember a few months back, when we went to see Sam? The man who talked to us about the army, and what sometimes happened there?''

''Yes. He told us… he told us that it was dangerous sometimes, like being a firefighter, or a policeman. He said sometimes people got hurt, even though they tried to stay safe. Dad?''

''Yeah, honey?''

''Did Bucky get hurt?''


Tony swallowed painfully under his son's worried gaze, and wiped at his eyes, sighing.


''Yes, he did. Can you come here next to me, please?''


Peter didn't need to be told twice; he put his head down on Tony's chest, his little body shaking against his father's skin.


''Hey, hey, Pete, shhh, it's alright. It's okay, buddy, I promise they're taking good care of him right now, alright? Steve's with him in the hospital, and he said he'd tell us as much as he can what happens over there. And he'll say when they'll come back here, so we can go and see Bucky. Okay?''

''I'm scared,'' Peter whimpered, and Tony gulped, tracing circles on his son's back with the tip of his fingers.

''Yeah,'' he answered truthfully, ''I am too, a little. It's okay to be scared, remember we talked about that too? Sometimes you'll get scared, and that's normal. Everyone gets scared at some point, it's healthy. And I'm scared too, because I don't know much about what's wrong with Bucky, and I guess I'd like to be with him and be able to help in some way. But we're stuck here, hm, and that's scary. Right?''


The little boy nodded and sniffled loudly, his breath shaky and fast.


''I wanna talk to him. Maybe that could help, daddy?''

''I think he'd like that, but… Listen, Peter, Bucky got hurt on his left arm. He… they had to operate on him in the hospital. You know the man we saw at the veterans center last time? You asked me about his leg.''

''Yeah, because he had a robot leg, right?''

''Yes,'' Tony smiled. ''I told you sometimes people got hurt, or sick. Like with this man. He got hurt and doctors had to… to take the part of his leg that was hurt off, so it wouldn't get worse.''


When Peter looked up this time, there were tears in his eyes, and Tony's heart clenched painfully.


''Will Bucky have a robot arm too, now?'' he asked in a very small voice.

''Maybe he will, baby, yes. They had to operate and take it off, too, because it was hurt too badly. That's why we can't talk with him now: because he's still sleeping. But I swear that as soon as Steve calls and tells us Bucky is awake and can talk, we'll find the best time to have a little chat with him, okay?''


''Yes, Peter, I promise you I'll tell you. I know he's your friend too.''


Peter nodded, all serious, and sneaked his little arms around his father's waist, hugging him.


''I know it's scary, and maybe you don't understand everything, because it's complicated, and it's a lot to take in when you're seven years old. So, Peter, and that's really important, if you've got any question, if something is scaring you, or that you need to talk about something, you can always, always ask me, okay? And if I'm not here, or that you'd rather talk to somebody who's not your dad, you can ask Natasha or Rhodes, too, they'll always answer as best as they can. Okay?''

''Yes. Daddy?''

''Hm-hm, honey?''

''Maybe you can talk to me too, if you're scared.''


With a strangled chuckle, Tony put a light kiss on his son's forehead, a wave of love overwhelming him for a minute.


''Thank you, Peter, that's very sweet. I love you.''

''Love you too, daddy,'' Peter answered in a whisper, and burrowed closer to his dad, his soft breath tickling him gently. ''You're the best dad in the world.''




The following day, Tony, Natasha and Rhodes were all in the empty office, after Tony had called a meeting during their small afternoon coffee break. Customers would start coming in again in twenty minutes, so he spoke plainly and frankly:


‘’I guess it won’t be much of a surprise when I tell you that I’ll do the most I can to help Bucky – and Steve, too – when they come back,’’ he said, and watched as both of his friends nodded as if it was the most logical thing in the world. ‘’I thought about it hard all night. They’ll need somewhere to sleep first; I guess that living with Steve’s mom isn't the best situation. So…’’ he sighed.

‘’So you want to ask Bucky to live with you and Peter, right?’’ Rhodey completed with his eyebrows raised and the shadow of a smirk on his lips.

‘’Yeah. I’ve got the room; just need to move a few things up there and he can have his own room. If he wants, I mean. In the meantime, I’ll look around and see if anyone’s renting his apartment or something. Maybe they won’t even need this particular help, maybe the Army will find something for them, I don’t know much about that. But anyway, should they need it, I’ll do my best to help. Alright?’’

‘’Sure. But Tony, you know that’s not something we’d have refused. So come on, what’s the real reason of this little meeting?’’

‘’Well… Actually, I was wondering if the two of you were interested in teaching someone how to tattoo?’’


There were confused expressions on their face now, until Natasha’s eyes lit up and she sat up straight.


‘’Steve?’’ she asked simply enough.

‘’Yeah. He’s a real good artist, I’m sure you know that. Got his own style and everything. And I’m pretty sure that’s something he’d like. Haven’t asked him yes, I’ll do it as soon as we can see each other but… well, he likes tattoos, he likes drawing, and he was real interested in the technical side of things last time he was here. I just figured…’’ he shrugged, and Rhodey nodded slowly.

‘’We’ve already talked about having an apprentice. I’m all for it, if you two are, and if Steve is.’’


Natasha agreed quickly, and Tony suddenly felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He’d spent hours reading about what it was like for a soldier to come back from the war and to get back to the everyday life, trying to figure out how he could help his two new friends. He didn't want to intrude too much on their life, but if Steve was interested in learning their art, well… Finding a job would be a great start for him; after all, that was one of the most difficult steps of the return to ‘’normal’’ life. Especially as neither Steve nor Bucky had years of study behind them.


‘’Great,’’ he smiled, but his smile froze when he saw the way his two friends looked at each other, then at him. ‘’What’s wrong?’’

‘’Nothing’s wrong, Tony. We were just wondering about you. Worried. Are you… how are you dealing with all this?’’


He snorted nervously and shook his head.


''How do you think I'm dealing with it? I know I won't have much news until they're back here, so Bucky could already be dead and I wouldn't even know it. And there's nothing I can do about it, except sitting back and waiting for some hopefully good news. But I can't complain, or even look stressed, because Peter is freaking out too, and looking up to me. So if I do look stressed, he'll completely lose it along with me. But yeah, apart from that, I'm dealing just fine!''


Great, now he'd done it; snapped at his friends who were only trying to help and worried about him. He really was an amazing person.


''Stop being too hard on yourself, Tones,'' came Rhodey's soft voice, and Tony jumped slightly when two hands landed on his shoulders. ''We won't get pissed at you for being stressed out and angry. A lot of people would react like this, it's normal. We can't do much about the waiting and the lack of news but… if we can help with Peter in any way, you just have to ask, okay? If you need some time for yourself, or if you want to go talk with this Sam Wilson guy alone, we can spend time with Peter. And you can talk to us too. We'll be glad to listen, you know that, right?''

''Yeah. Yeah, I know, and thank you about that. And I am sorry I snapped at you, too. I just- I just feel so angry. They were about to come back! In two months, they would've been here, in New York, safe, and then this happened. I know they knew about the risks, and everything, but it's just…''

''Really unfair,'' Natasha finished with a sad smile. ''Steve told me the same thing. That it was really painful to see Bucky the way he is now, when just two days before he was smiling about coming back to live here. But I'll tell you the same thing I told you yesterday: he's strong. He'll have a good life here, even if it won't be the same one he'd planned.''

''I can't wait until they're back here,'' Tony admitted in a whisper, wiping at his eyes. ''I want to see them and make sure they're really safe.''

''Soon. I promise Tony, they'll be back here soon.''


Natasha and Rhodey both put their arms around him, drawing him in a hug that lasted until the bell of the shop rang, announcing the arrival of their next customer. Even if that didn't resolve all of Tony's problems, it at least managed to put a smile back on his lips. The following days would be hard, but there was one thing on his side: he wasn't alone, never.




The phone rang right as Tony was about to turn the lights off and try to go to sleep. He straightened up immediately, and scrambled for the small device, almost making it fall in the process. The unknown number on the screen wasn't that big of a surprise – especially at this hour – but still, Tony had to take a deep breath in before he could answer.


''Hello?''  he asked, and promptly cleared his throat to stop the squeaky noises his voice was making.

''Hey, Tony. It's Steve. Sorry, I know it's really late.''

''No, no, it's alright, don't worry about it. How are you, Steve? Everything alright?''

''I'm tired,'' the other man chuckled. ''Exhausted, even. We're back in the States. In New York.''


''Yeah. Came back today. We weren't expecting it at all, but there was some room left on a plane, apparently, so they were able to take us back too. I'm sorry, I called as soon as I could, but this has been a hell of a day.''

''You were able to come back with Bucky, then?''

''God, yes, thankfully. They probably thought it wasn't worth it to get me back on the field for two months. I don't know. I'm just glad I could come back.''

''Is- Bucky, how is he?''


There was a long hesitation on the other end of the line, and Tony's heart clenched in fear of what was to come.


''It's… it's complicated, Tony. He's on a lot of pain medication right now; most of the time, he's sleeping, or barely conscious.''

''Does he know about, about his…?''

''His arm? Yeah. They told him when he first woke up. It was…'' there were noises of Steve walking, and then sitting down heavily somewhere. ''It was awful, Tony.'' His voice wavered and broke on the words, and he had to take a big intake of air before he could continue in a weaker tone. ''He screamed and cried, and they had to sedate him at some point to calm him down.''


Tony threw his free arm over his eyes, closing them firmly. Steve wasn't the kind of guy to lie, and he didn't know if he was thankful of that or no. Of course, he'd figured that Bucky wouldn't just wake up and accept that a part of him was missing; but still, hearing that… It hurt, deeply, more than Tony would have guessed.


''And now?''

''Well,'' Steve sighed, ''some days he tries to pretend everything's fine. Talks and watches TV and looks everywhere but not on his left side. Other days he doesn't eat, doesn't talk, doesn't even look at us. He refused to talk to the shrinks back there. He won't really have a choice here, they told him he had to talk about what happened before they could release him. It's hard, you know? I can't really help him. I'm with him most of the time, I talk with him and I try to get him to talk with me, but I can't force him. I can't even imagine what he's going through. I just have to watch him suffer and try to find some words, and fail most of the time.''

''I know it's not worth much from where I'm standing, but I'm sure you just being there by his side helps, Steve. Don't start thinking it doesn't, okay?''

''I'll try, at least. He asked about you while we were on the plane. About you and Peter. Wanted to know if I'd told you what had happened, if you knew. And then he was worried about how Peter was coping.''

''Well, you can tell him that Peter is mostly alright. He's worried and afraid, but he's alright; spends most of his free time drawing, so Bucky can have something to make his room happier.''

''You could tell him yourself, you know. Not right now; he's sleeping, and he probably won't wake up until tomorrow. But maybe tomorrow afternoon? They don't want him to have people visit right now, say he needs to get a few days of rest, but we can call. I can't promise anything, maybe he won't feel up to it, but if he does, I can call you?''

''Oh. That- that'd be great, actually. Peter's here tomorrow afternoon too, so they could talk. Don't do it if Bucky doesn't want to, though, but… yeah. I'm sure Peter would love that. And I would, too, it'd be great to hear his voice.''

''I'll see how he's feeling tomorrow. Promise I'll at least write to you to let you know how it's going; they gave me a phone and everything, so I can actually give news to people,'' he explained, following it with a big, loud yawn. ''Shit, I'm sorry. I'm just-''

''Exhausted. Yeah, go to sleep, Steve. I'm really glad you called me, but you need to rest, too. D'you have somewhere to sleep?''

''They gave me a room at the hospital for a few days. Then I'll probably go live with my mom until I find something else.''

''Great. Thank you for the news, really. And for staying with Bucky. Take care of yourself too, okay?''

''Promise. Thanks Tony. Have a good night.''


Right. Like he was going to be able to sleep after what he'd heard.

Still, he would maybe hear Bucky's voice tomorrow. Despite everything else that was going on, this was a huge relief.

Tomorrow. He couldn't wait.