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Chapter Text

First call  a week after the battle of New York. May 2012

“Thank you for your call to the Avengers initiative.    You may leave your message to any or all Avengers of your choice after the tone. It will be forwarded to the appropriate recipient. Responses are not guaranteed. Threats of violence will be treated seriously and forwarded to the Local Police department. Please note that due to the high call volumes you have 90 seconds to complete your message. Your call is important to the Avengers. Have a nice day.”

The Agent was idly trying to beat his latest score at Galaga whilst monitoring incoming calls to the Avengers Hotline. The call volume had hit the stratosphere in the first week, SHIELD did not have enough resources to deal with that as well as the clean up on the ground after the battle of New York.
So Hill had shaken things up, re-structured and now all the  chosen Agents were assigned to an Avenger each and instructed to listen for certain key words or phrases such as “I found this alien doohiccy in my flowerpot, it shrunk the dog, what do I do with it?”.

Perhaps not the exact words used by Agent Hill when she had assigned them to this stupid er very important job but the Agent understood subtext. It was all a variation of either:
a)Alien gadget, Alien corpse, come deal with it because I have no common sense;

b)Avenging A-holes destroyed my house / car/ prize winning (insert type of vegetable/pet/artwork here);

c)compensation / law suit /give me money for saving my ungrateful life;

d)the broad heading of “Are there more of those ugly grey bastards heading our way?”

and his personal favourite:

e)The Lord will smite you all for blasphemy. There is no such thing as Aliens, its a fake just like the moon landings. 

The Agents had set up a daily call Bingo card with all the common phrases and kept a running list of the weirdest calls and actual compliments.  The weirdest call would get the 50-point bonus to add to the daily score but if there was  an actual compliment, it was an automatic 100 points.

At the end of the week the winner would be allowed to change call shifts to the Avenger of their choice and a lucky dip of the most alcoholic beverage available from the Helicarrier commissary.

They still had two days left before the final weekly scoring and that bastard Svenson who was looking after Thor was winning. Galaga guy had argued for a penalty clause for Thor, he was an actual God of Thunder so of course they would get the weirdest comments. Come on, calls from marketing executives of beauty product companies asking about potential endorsements or  modelling contracts for an alien Norse God who flies holding his hammer? How could anyone else compete with weird after that.  People were batshit insane seriously.

It had been decreed that only compliments were forwarded to the Avengers.  Ha compliments! Chance would be a fine thing.  Captain America had the least number of actual jackasses calling in but there were still enough.
Galaga Guy was just thankful that he hadn’t been assigned to the dedicated Ironman or Hulk lines. The plum job every agent wanted was Barton because he was basically ignored except for the Archery school little wannabees which was almost cute.

The less said about the misogynistic bullshit heading the Black Widow’s way the better. Agent Sharon Carter had already received a reprimand in the shape of a possible frown from Agent Hill for threatening to feed the last ten callers their testicles with the aid of a dull spoon to make it hurt more.

He wasn’t sure what Agent Carter had done to get assigned to the “hotlines” but he knew that this was punishment for getting caught playing the game on the bridge of the helicarrier by Stark of all people. Really he was only keeping his hand in at multi-tasking. He should get promoted for his initiative not punished!

His attention was suddenly caught by a rambling teenage voice.

“Um Hi. This is a message for Steve Rogers. I mean  Captain Rogers, you know Captain America."

There was a slight pause as if the kid was considering his words. 

"Hi. If you are the real deal dude, not some strange hoax to cover up a government experiment well shit I mean you were the original government experiment weren't you? Probably shouldn’t have said that right urgh sorry? So first thank you for your service and saving us from the aliens. Guess it was a team effort so thanks to all the Avengers. Anyway , if you are you, well you, the old you, used to be friends with my great grandmother and her family before you got big, really big, like grew muscles on muscles big and the whole Cap America government experiment thing back in the war.
Right sorry, just thought I would let you know Nanna B is still alive and she would love to see you or maybe you could call her or write her a letter or something Dude. It  would mean the world to her.  Oh right, times nearly up for the message guess I should have said her name, Reb……..”

Galaga guy raised one eyebrow and smirked. So maybe he had something to add to the weird list after all.

8 months after the battle of New York

“Thank you for your call to the Avengers initiative.  You may leave your message to any or all Avengers of your choice after the tone which will be forwarded appropriately. Responses are not guaranteed. Threats of violence will be treated seriously and forwarded to the Local Police department. All alleged alien damage claims must be directed in the first instance to the appropriate department at City Hall. Personal injury complaints will be deleted from this messaging service.
Please note that due to the high call volumes you have 90 seconds to complete your message. Your call is important to the Avengers. Have a nice day.”

All the call monitoring Agents had been redeployed after four months. Fury wasn’t going to waste any more of his agents’ time on that PR nonsense. Agent Hill had arranged for a computer program to monitor the lines instead with the usual various phrase triggers which would send out different levels of alert.

“Hi, it’s me again. Not that you know who it is because I didn’t leave my name last time. Oops So anyway this is a message for Captain Steven Grant Rogers, not Captain America. It’s kinda personal so if you guys could forward it to him that would be great. Captain Rogers, I am calling on behalf of my great grandmother Rebecca Duggan, her maiden name was Barnes. Her birthday is coming up soon and it would be really, really special if you could contact her just to say hello, I haven’t mentioned this to her but she’s been kinda talking about the old days a lot lately and how she lost both of her brothers to the war within a week of each other. Her Bucky and Stevie. She still lives in the old Neighbourhood so she wouldn’t be hard to find. So Dude please, pretty please, just reach out to her, it would mean the world to her and Family takes care of family right?”

1 month before the helicarriers fall.

“Thank you for your call to the Avengers.  This service will be discontinued at the end of this month. Please be aware that your message may not be received by the appropriate recipient, and it is unlikely there will be a response.  All emergencies should be directed to 911. Please restrict the length of your message as this call will terminate automatically if the daily allotted memory storage has been met. Have a nice day.”

“Seriously Rogers you utter self-centred selfish self-aggrandising asshole. One call, just one call to an old lady that still loves you, you didn’t even have to make the effort to go see her but nothing, nada, zilch to someone who was supposed to be family back in the day. You utter dick…”

The recording continued whilst there was a brief pause as a different young male voice spluttered with shock in the background “Stiles you can’t call Captain America a dick”

The original male voice responded furiously “Scott, Steve Rogers is a dick. Nanna B didn’t make potato cakes for Captain America, or share her jawbreakers and family with Captain fucking America. She shared it with her bro’s bestie. She considers Stevie her family too. She mourned two brothers when they died.  So fuck you Rogers. Family takes care of Family. I’m going to convince her you aren’t the real Steve Rogers, you are just a fake, a government propaganda tool to mitigate the aliens among us general panic. But hey one last time thank you for your service you gigantic bag of di…..”

The Day the Helicarriers fell.

“Nanna, come on, pick up Nanna, come on, come on, pick up, please pick up, please, please.” Stiles hissed repeatedly at his cell as he put his foot down on the accelerator. His attention was caught by the frustrating continuous dial tone, so he didn’t notice the flashing blue lights speed right up behind him until the startlingly loud sound of the siren nearly made him jump out of his skin. The blue Jeep swerved erratically as he shot a look over his shoulder at the Police Cruiser lit up like a Christmas tree behind his vehicle. 

“Oh thank fuck” he muttered as he slammed on brakes and screeched to a halt at the side of the road.

Chapter Text

Sheriff Noah Stilinski spat out a mouthful of his coffee as he stared in disbelief at the familiar blue jeep that shot passed his speed trap like a bat with its butt on fire, winging its way out of Hell. Damn he had even breathed in the liquid, so not only was it staining his uniform trousers but it was also dripping out of his nose. He automatically took the paper towel being waved in front of his face and quickly mopped up the spillage, trying to suppress the urge to cough and splutter at the same time. What the…?
That vehicle had better be reported as stolen or his idiot child was in so much trouble.

He loftily ignored the snigger snort from his partner for the day’s shift sitting beside him in the front of the cruiser.

“Oh, for the love of God kid. Right in front of the speed trap at 11 am on a school day?” The amused exasperated fondness in Deputy Tara Graeme’s voice made the Sheriff shake his head and half close his eyes for a second, just as he was reaching for the ignition.
But Graeme wasn’t finished with her smart remarks. “Seriously Noah, close your mouth, this is supposed to be a speed trap not a fly trap.” She teased mercilessly.  

“Tara” Noah offered calmly “do you want to be first in line for supervising my kid whilst he washes every police vehicle in the lot by hand every Saturday from now until Thanksgiving? I’ll be happy to rearrange your duty shifts.”

His Deputy wisely kept silent as the cruiser moved smoothly onto the road to catch up with the Jeep. But Noah could see her shoulders shaking in his peripheral vision.  

Damn it, that’s what happened when most of your Deputies had changed your kid’s diapers when he was a baby! His kid was so grounded! For the next ten years at least and no more Jeep for the foreseeable future, until he had paid his father back for the speeding fines the Sheriff was going to have to pay on his behalf. Not to mention skipping school on a weekday. What the hell are you up to now Stiles? It had better be worth it kid.

Worry edged out frustrated anger as the blue jeep shot ahead at greater speed, ignoring the police vehicle with the flashing lights behind it. Noah gave one warning burst of the siren and his heart nearly stopped in his chest as the jeep swerved dangerously to the side of the road in reaction, then came to a sudden and juddering halt.

Graeme suddenly lost all amusement at the situation and tensed up as she muttered “Looks like he was heading towards the station and desperate to get there” She had already removed the seatbelt as the cruiser pulled in directly behind the jeep but the Sheriff beat her out of the vehicle as he moved towards the stationery jeep.

Stiles stumbled out of the driving seat and began to run towards the cruiser, clutching his cell phone and still pleading for the call to be picked up.

He needed his dad. There was no way he could have stayed in School all day. It wasn’t as if it would affect his grades and he would have been climbing the damn walls. Scott was still off school because of his last asthma attack. It had put him in hospital overnight and the Dr has only released him on the promise that he rested up for the week. Mama McCall had been adamant that Scott stay home so Stiles didn’t have any back up at school or access to Scott’s cell!

He had tried to get the school to contact his dad while he kept trying to call his great grandmother, but Mrs Lant at Reception was still pissed off about the three outstanding parking tickets issued by his dad's department and wouldn’t listen to him when he told her it was an emergency.  She told him he wasn’t bleeding therefore it wasn’t an emergency and to get back to class.

Stiles didn’t have the time or energy to deal with that nonsense then, but he wasn’t going to forget it and he had the perfect way to make the unfeeling bullying hag pay when things had settled down again. He even had a tried and tested fool proof plan. Frozen prawns inserted into a handy little slit in her office chair seat should do the trick. Scott could play look out but if someone saw him in the area, it would still take a few days for the odour to hit so they wouldn’t connect him to it. No one would know where the smell was coming from, and it would drive her nuts. Ha. Take that Mrs Lant.

Thank god it was his dad on duty at speed trap today. He hadn’t even remembered it whilst he was driving, that’s all he could focus on was calling his Nanna, but his dad was there and he didn’t have to drive all the way to the station. Dad would know what to do. Nothing Stiles had tried had worked and he was desperate. Stiles checked his phone to make sure it was still ringing and suddenly his father was there in front of him.

Noah grabbed his son’s upper arms, as he angrily asked “Mieczyslaw Timothy Buchanan Stilinski what the hell do you think you are doing? You could have got yourself killed driving like that and why are you not in School? Bloody hell kid, you are in so much trouble”.

Distracted by being full named, Stiles scowled up at his father, “And you wonder why I make people call me Stiles Dad. Seriously that name is child abuse. Just cos you and Mom wanted to cover all the grandparents, including the greats! For the love of sane monikers even Grandpa Duggan was called Dum Dum and Nanna B’s brother was…”

“Don’t even start young man, you aren’t talking your way out of this, now answer me.” his father growled with real anger.  
Stiles blinked at him, as he realised that his dad was truly angry with him. Crapitty crap crap he hadn’t taken his medication, his thoughts were scattered and now he was in big trouble, his dad had just full named him.

He realised that he hadn’t been thinking straight since the news had hit him like a brick to the face.  Danny was a blessing from on high (even if he was being punished for being that perfect by having to be the best friend of that douche Jackson) or they wouldn’t have known until school was over. They were already three hours behind New York. Three hours, three hours. it had happened three hours ago. 

Stiles knew that he had just been reacting and not actually thinking at all and now his Dad was mega pissed off. Stiles stared up at his father’s face, his own pale face reflected right back at him from the police issue sunglasses and found he couldn’t say a word. All the unexpected anxiety, fear and worry from that morning tipped him over into a panic attack and he couldn’t get his words out as well as breath. Noah let the silence build until he took one proper look at his son’s face and pulled him closer.

“It’s okay Stiles, it’s okay” he murmured soothingly as his hands lost their grip on Stile’s upper arms and began to run gently up and down the boy’s arms in a familiar repetitive motion.
“You know the drill Sweetheart, breath with me now, in through the nose and out through the mouth, nice and slow, in and out, that’s my boy. It will get better soon. In and out, just focus on your breathing and listen to mine.”  

Graeme had disappeared back to the cruiser and then returned with an unopen bottle of water; Noah nodded at her gratefully. “Call into dispatch Graeme and arrange cover for the speed trap for the rest of the day” He then focused back on Stiles who was becoming noticeably calmer just being close to his father.

“Come on Mischief, give Deputy Graeme your keys and she can drive the jeep to the station whilst you come with me in the cruiser, and you can tell me what’s going on”. Noah slung his arm around his boy’s shoulders, to turn him towards the cruiser.

Stiles planted his feet and stared up at him wide eyed. He had his voice back, but the rushed words almost didn’t make sense.

“Dad, I can’t get hold of her, she’s not answering. I’ve been trying all the way here. She’s not picking up, she always answers Dad, she always answers”. The kid’s voice was back to frantic again.

“Who’s not answering Stiles,” Noah asked in confusion. Stiles lifted his cell to show his father. The word “Calling” was flashing underneath Nanna B’s photo.  

“Stiles”, his father began, confused, “I don’t understand. Why would Nanna Becca not answering your call make you skip school and speed your way to the station?”

Stiles stared wide-eyed up at his dad as if he had two heads “New York Dad, New York and that bloody stupid super not-secret agency SHIELD” he gestured wildly. “Today, this morning, haven’t you seen the news about New York Dad?”

Graeme had pulled out her own phone and whilst looking at it  suddenly gasped “Jesus Christ, what have they done?”

Noah’s head swivelled between his son and his deputy “Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Those maniacs in SHIELD dumped three helicarriers on New York this morning and I can’t get hold of Nanna B” Stiles blurted out, his voice rising. “Official channels, there has to be a way for you to do your stuff as Sheriff and find out if she’s okay. You can do that can’t you Dad.”

Chapter Text

Mrs Rebecca Dugan stared out of her apartment window, her arms folded and one foot tapping in a measured rhythm that had been instinctive since she was a little girl. Her big brother Jamie had convinced her that it was a too obvious sign of her anger, and that she needed to tone it down so that she had the advantage over the idiots that did her wrong.
“Come on Sis, you got to fake it until you get them with the sucker punch, pow straight to the kisser” she could hear his young enthusiastic voice even all these years later.

Well big brother there was no one else in her apartment and the foot tapping at least allowed her to drain some of the irritated tension from her old body. Exercise was supposed to be good for the heart and by God her blood pressure must have been through the roof after SHIELD’s shenanigans this last week.

First, they drop those three monstrosities from the sky like something out of those mad Sci fi comics and novels her Pa and Jamie used to read together, then all communications and flights in and out of the city, went down and stayed down, and then, the icing on the damn cake, they had the damned audacity to set up blockades in the city.

Blockades. Blockades! What the hell was the numpty in charge of SHIELD smoking? Her Tim had been right about that man. He’d left SHIELD as soon as he saw the way the wind was blowing towards Fury after the disaster in Bogota and that smarmy asshole Alexander Pierce.

Tim Dugan might have been a SHIELD agent, and a damn good one, after he had left the Howling Commandos, but he was as principled as they come. A good, solid, dependable man with a wicked sense of humour. Case in point, he had worn that stupid bowler hat for years with that cheeky grin on his face.  He had only agreed to transfer to SHIELD from the Strategic Scientific Reserve team the Howlies in the first place because he respected Peggy Carter and Howard Stark. Much good that had done him!

But he wouldn’t put up with the machinations of Fury and Pierce. He’d gone to work for Howard Stark instead, as Head of Security, at his New York offices, reporting directly to Edwin Jarvis back in California. Her Tim had never really recovered from Howard and Maria’s death bless him.

So, for over a week, she had been stuck in her apartment with a phone that didn’t work and no internet to skype her boys in California to let them know she was okay. If Noah and her little Mischief weren’t already on their way to New York she would shave off her glorious white hair and knit it into a hat for her calico kitty Cagney, her latest little stray.

She probably didn’t have a lot of time left before her boys were at the door,  at least those damn blockades were being removed now, to jeers, whistles, handclapping, and hoots from the people in the neighbourhood. One week on from the initial set up of these ridiculous so-called measures for public safety and she was still seething with irritation at the absolute goddamn bare faced bollocks of it all. For a moment she was distracted from her annoyance as she heard the voice of her late husband using that exact phrase, one he had learnt from another member of the Howlies, the Englishman Montgomery Falsworth.

She knew she wasn’t going to be able to argue for staying in New York this time, her boys had been trying to get her to move to Beacon Hills for years. Since their sweet Claudia had passed really.

And truthfully, she should have left this disaster-prone nightmare of a city after that appalling, irritating Alien invasion. But there had been too many memories of a life well lived, and family well-loved in her New York to abandon without a struggle. And she had always been a stubborn woman.  

Then, once it became common knowledge that Captain America, Steven Grant Rogers, Stevie, had been recovered alive from the ice that had entombed him, that he had been in the middle of that mad group called the Avengers fighting those unnatural things from space, well it would have broken her heart to leave without speaking to him one last time.
It would have broken her heart not to tell him about  her Tim, about James Steven their son who had been killed in action in Vietnam, about their granddaughter Claudia Sarah Winifred and her husband Noah and her great grandson little Mischief.

Mischief, bless his heart, had tried to convince her that all the information about Captain America was a publicity hoax, that it wasn’t really their Stevie, but she had seen the footage and then the press conferences, of course it was that idiot stubborn ass boy.

Part of her, the part that remembered that lovely, sweet, kind young lad she had grown up with, had wanted to stay to let him know he still had family. He had been heartbroken when he lost his Ma, and then finding out Jamie was going to be shipped off to war was almost too much for him. Good Lord that lad had been stubborn and obsessive about serving, about following his best friend to war because of course he had to protect his back.

When he had finally got his own way and become Captain America, because of some mad scientist and Howard Stark, he had written to them every week whilst he was on that stupid USO money-making tour, and they had written back. He was family. Family looks after Family.

So, she wanted him to know that he still had family who loved him, maybe not in the way he would have wanted when he woke up from the ice to a different world, but he still had family.

Stevie had always been part of the Barnes family and he always would be. Bless his heart, her dearest Tim had acknowledged that too, a long time ago, when they had first met, when Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader Dugan had visited Rebecca Barnes and her mother Winifred at the end of the war to pay his respects about Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers.

But all this time he had been awake from the ice and Stevie hadn’t come home to see her, he had never been a coward that lad, so she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he didn’t know any of his family were still alive. She had no doubt that was Fury’s doing. She wouldn’t trust that Fury as far as she could throw him.

After this debacle, she knew her boys wouldn’t leave her in New York this time. Noah would raise that Sheriffy eyebrow at her, calmly and rationally pointing out all the benefits the move and Mischief would talk a mile a minute to try to persuade her and to be honest she didn’t need much convincing after Fury’s latest cock up.

Rebecca turned away from the window when she heard her tv suddenly blare to live with loud and intrusive news flash about the downfall of SHIELD in the wake of the helicarrier catastrophe.

Damn it her blood pressure was rising again. What the hell Fury. Hydra? Hydra buried in the bowels of SHIELD. Alexander Pierce the head of Hydra?
No way was that slippery pirate dead. He had found himself another bolt hole and left the remaining SHIELD schmucks to clear up his mess.

Her Tim should have shot the pair of them when he had the chance!

What in hell were they thinking releasing all the confidential files onto the internet. Dear God, another reason to get out of New York.
Her Tim had made enough enemies when he was a SHIELD agent and when he went to work security for Howard Stark. Even without those flying fortresses falling from the skies, it wasn’t a good idea to hang around New York any longer, not that she would tell her boys that right away. It was always amusing to watch them tie themselves in knots to try to get her to do what they wanted.

But first she needed to call her boys and reassure them she was still alive and kicking. She found the cell phone and pressed the cute curly haired pic of a smiling seven-year-old Mischief. She adored that pic. It was the last truly happy smile she had seen on his little face. Of course, her great grandson tried to change the profile picture as often as he could get his hands on her cell, but she always foiled him. Poor baby boy didn’t stand a chance of pulling the wool over her eyes, she’s grown up with Jamie and Stevie, the rascals.

The call connected and before she could say a word.

“Nanna B are you okay? where are you? We’ve been worried sick.” Mischief’s voice sounded frantic “Dad is just parking the car. Blockades Nanna, Blockades? Are you okay? Oh God please say you are okay. Why didn’t you answer your phone? We haven’t been able to get hold of you for over ten days. We had to drive for nearly six of those days to get from North Cali because there’s nothing flying in or out of this stupid place. None of that falling shit, er sorry Nanna, I mean debris damaged the neighbourhood, did it? Didn’t look like it. Five days on the I-80 E Nana, five days! Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.”

Chapter Text

“Who the hell is Bucky?” his own words echoed continuously through the Asset’s mind as he lost himself in the chaos that was New York city after the fall of the helicarriers.

He had slipped away from the river, once he had reassured himself that the mission would survive. The Asset was having trouble reconciling that fact because he followed his orders without question. Yet he hadn’t managed to eliminate that punk on the Bridge or on the Helicarrier. Then he had voluntarily followed the little punk amid the falling debris of helicarrier chunks down into the murky toxic water and pulled him out of the water.
Half dead, unconscious, bleeding from a gut wound and irritating as fuck.

The Asset didn’t even know why he had pulled the man from the bridge out of the water. It was an instinctive action he didn’t understand. As instinctive as stripping his field weapon. His body always remembered even when his mind was wiped.  Now though, there was much he didn’t understand so he was operating on the usual failsafe procedures. Blend in with current environment, locate funds and safehouse, contact, await retrieval and recalibration by the handlers.

But this time following his protocols didn’t stop the questions in his mind. Following the protocols didn’t stop him thinking. The Asset was not allowed independent thought. Only mission critical adaption was allowed. Now there was a major distraction.
“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The man on the bridge that he had fought almost to a standstill, the same one who was on the helicarrier, his Hydra prioritised mission, this man with his super strength and shield had allowed the Asset to beat him and nearly kill him because of a name?

The man on the bridge had been strong, very strong, and stubbornly determined to overcome the Asset, even when the Asset had used collateral damage in a deliberate attempt to try to distract him.

More distraction rose to the surface, more words from a young and stubborn voice “I could do this all-day Buck”.
Buck, Bucky, Buck, Buck, Bucky. Who the hell is Bucky? The same voice, younger and adult. 

The phrase nagged at him like an aching tooth.

The man on the bridge had been shocked into a defenceless standstill when the Asset’s face mask had fallen off and then offered those stupid words. The Asset was not weak and did not allow distraction to alter his focus, ever. But the words, the name, had resonated within his being as he stared at the stranger, but not stranger’s face.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” had burst unwillingly from his lips. The Asset knew he was going to be punished as soon as he reported that distraction, the interaction that shouldn’t have happened, but he couldn’t hold back those words.  

Flashbacks to falling from a train in a snowy mountain intermingled and blurred his memories of the recent fall into water from the Helicarrier.  
That unknown, but familiar voice
“You know me”
 “No I don’t”.

More words beginning with Bucky. Who the hell is Bucky?

“Bucky you’ve known me your whole life. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.”
 
Fiery rage forced its way through the Winter Soldier’s ice-cold veins. The reaction was unsettling. The Asset had no reason to be angry. He had no reason to feel. He had no right to emotions. He was the Asset. The Fist of Hydra. Any other name was irrelevant.

“Shut up” the Asset shockingly screamed at the man. Pale face, sweat streaked fair hair, stubborn jaw and yearning blues eyes staring straight at the Asset as more words destroyed the calm of the Asset’s unwavering obedience.

“I’m not going to fight you, you’re my friend” and the mission stood there, dropped that damn annoyingly dangerous and somehow achingly familiar shield, and just stood there looking at him with the hopeful eyes of a puppy. That stubborn little punk and those Irish eyes.

More unnecessary necessary words left the Assets mouth “You are my mission”.

The Asset was not complying with the Winter Soldier protocols, words were unnecessary for this target. Speaking to the target, the mission, was not required. So, he then proceeded to beat the little punk black and blue.

“I can do this all-day Buck”.

Blood streaming down his face the stubborn asshole just smiled at him, affection and sad acceptance in those familiar not familiar eyes and simply said, “then finish it cos I’m with you to the end of the line.”

End of the line. Pain. Falling. “With you til the end of the line.”

The Asset couldn’t move his arm, he couldn’t move. He was used to specific words immobilising him, preparing him for his orders or to be wiped. But he had never heard those specific words from his handlers. Never.

He just continued to stare at that bloodied smiling face as the man from the bridge fell from the destroyed carrier. His pale face still smiling and stubborn gaze fixed on the Asset as he dropped like a stone.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” rang through his mind when he pulled his failed mission from the water. Still breathing. He was still breathing. Why did he care? He didn’t care.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” He had failed his mission.  He had to report his failure and debrief his handlers.  But he couldn’t debrief his handlers because he didn’t understand the distraction. Failure was punished. Not understanding Failure was punished. Therefore, he had to answer the question before he returned to Hydra for punishment and re-set. It was only logical to proceed with answering the question. His new mission. Therefore he could not return or be captured by Hydra until this mission was successful.

. “Who the hell is Bucky?” rang through his mind as he disappeared into the bedlam and confusion of the city.

It was easy to find one of the Hydra’s safe houses, he wrenched open a full clothes locker to change out of his uniform into nondescript clothes. He knew where to find the weapons, funds and a stack of blank ID templates he could easily adapt. Made sure there were no trackers on any physical item, and then burnt the place to the ground.

He went to the first thrift store he could find and changed the clothes. Then did it twice more, getting further away from the fallen helicarriers and the god damn failed stubborn ass mission.

He had wandered the city for over a week “who the hell is Bucky” until he remembered the rest of what the nearly dead Man on the bridge had said. James Buchanan Barnes.  James Buchanan Barnes.

He had a mission objective again. He needed information. He knew how to find that, even without his Handlers supplying mission critical data.

“I need to research someone from the War” at the grand old library. Big was best. More people, less likely to be remembered. He was eyed dubiously but the Asset remembered his undercover training. His accent was pure Brooklyn and he blinked shyly with a small smile for the bespeckled man behind the counter, until the guy blushed and nodded.  

He picked the exhibition flyer up at the Library.

Walking through the exhibit at the Smithsonian. The Asset had watched the old film five times already. Unobtrusive in his grey bland clothes and ball cap pulled low over his eyes, blending in with the other visitors to the museum. A small notebook and pen in hand as props for his research cover.

He had studied the information about James Buchanan Barnes and Steven Grant Rogers.  Then he had watched the films. Listened to retired SHIELD Director Margaret Carter talk about the mission himself and then studied the mission through the old propaganda films. He watched as the Mission interacted with the men of the Howling Commandos. He watched as the Mission interacted with the Asset’s double, less muscle, two flesh arms and a cocky grin. This was James Buchanan Barnes? The Sergeant at the Mission’s side?  

He would find an answer to his question. "Who the hell is Bucky?"

He lost track of time until he noticed there were less people. The Smithsonian would be closing soon. He was alone at the back of the small theatre room, still watching a smiling James Buchanan Barnes. 

An old woman and a teenager entered the dimly lit room and moved to the front. The old woman stared serenely up at the blank screen as she settled onto the padded bench. In comparison the kid was a bundle of nervous energy. He couldn’t stay still and shot concerned glances between the old woman and the screen.

“Nanna B are you sure you want to do this?” The young male asked the old woman anxiously. The old woman pulled him down to sit beside her with a snort.
“Mischief Stilinski when do I do anything I don’t want to” she responded with a smirk.
The kid gave a startled laugh and shrugged his shoulders, but his face was still concerned. “It’s just they’ll be young and alive again Nanna, Grandpa Tim, Uncle Jamie, the  Stevie you knew  and… ” he continued almost in a whisper “and it will hurt, you know it will”. 

The boy sounded like he understood loss.

The white-haired old woman turned to stare at the kid, who hadn’t stopped fidgeting even though he was sitting on the bench next to her. His head had dropped to stare at his fingers until her pale small wrinkled hand covered his.
 
“Of course, it will hurt sweet boy, my brother was taken too young, like so many others. I missed Jamie so much.  And even though my Tim lived to a good age, seeing Tim the same age as when I met him will be both joyous and painful. But that doesn’t mean I want to avoid images of them. There were so many good memories, it seemed like we were always laughing even when times were hard.”
The old woman seemed to have some sort of epiphany. She paused and stared at him
“Oh kid, is that what you’ve been doing with your mom? Have you been avoiding her pictures? I am going to kick your Daddy’s ass all the way from Brooklyn to Beacon Hills”.

The kid seemed to sob and laugh at the same time before he shut up as the film started.

The Asset had found a new source of information in this place. There were three men named James in the Howling Commandos. Morito, Farnsworth  and Barnes. Farnsworth was English and had gone back there after the war. Morito was Japanese American. Both men had survived the War. The only James who was believed to have died at the time was was Barnes.

The old woman said she had lost her brother and the kid had called him Uncle. Family. They were family to James Buchanan Barnes.

The kid and the old woman would assist with his data gathering whether they liked it or not.

“Who the hell is Bucky”.

Chapter Text

Scott McCall raised his head from his chemistry homework abruptly. What was that? He could feel the fine hairs on the nape of his neck stand up, and he shivered slightly. The light from his desk lamp was the only illumination in his bedroom. He had been so engrossed in his homework that he hadn’t noticed that the sun had gone down and his bedroom now had spooky dark corners and shadows creeping across the walls. 

He snorted at himself. Stiles would really make fun of him if he found out Scott had scared himself in his own bedroom. 
He grinned and turned back to the stupid homework, of course there hadn’t been a strange noise outside. Stiles would say it was a subconscious attempt to get out of doing the work.

He had been desperately wishing Stiles was available to talk him through Harris’s latest attempt to torture the youth of Beacon Hill High, but he was on his way back from New York with his great grandmother, when the noise had startled him.

He drew a deep breath and made himself focus on the work in front of him. Maybe he should take a break and restring his lacrosse stick instead. He was going to go to the try outs again tomorrow. Stiles would be home in the next couple of days and even if Scott failed this assignment, Stiles could talk him through where he went wrong. Yeah, he would restring his crosse instead of hurting his brain for a while.

Then he heard the noise again. It sounded like it came from the porch this time. His heart began to speed up and he could feel his breath tighten in his chest. He took a quick hit of his inhaler to try to calm his breathing and his anxiety. He looked desperately around his bedroom, then grabbed his barely used baseball bat. He wasn’t going to damage his crosse. Not with try outs tomorrow.

He was alone in the house because his mom was on shift that night at the hospital. It was a raccoon. Of course, it was a raccoon. The little thing would be more frightened of him if he went out there brandishing his bat and making loud noises. Despite his nerves, he knew Stiles would enjoy his tale of his heroics against a ferocious wild animal like a raccoon. 
The thought of his best friend’s reaction made him smile as he crept quietly towards the location of the noise. 

The Sheriff had come back as soon as they had re-opened the airports, but Stiles had stayed in New York to help her pack up her belongings. He and his Nanna B were supposed to be slowly driving back to California as the old lady had thrown a complete hissy fit about getting on something that could fall out of the sky like a Helicarrier.
Stiles had skyped Scott when they finally had the communications equipment working, and just shrugged his shoulders when he told his friend. “Nanna obviously thinks flying is going to be worse than stuck in a car with me driving unmedicated for 10 days” 

A small age spotted hand had reached across the screen and pinched Stiles’ earlobe until he yelped, battling ineffectually against those fingers.  
“Your prescription will be filled before we leave young man, and we will be having decent stops to rest and recuperate along the way which is why it’s going to take close to two weeks. We are going to have a proper road trip and don’t you forget it!” 

Then Nanna B had turned her smiling face towards Scott and winked “It’s nice to see you again Scott darling, and I look forward to getting to know you better once I arrive in Beacon Hills”.
Scott had blushed and stammered something whilst Stiles had smirked openly at him whispering “the McCall charm hits again” when his great grandmother moved away. Scott used hand signals to convey his thoughts on that to his best friend and Stiles nearly fell off the chair laughing.

Scott would be glad when Stiles was home, he really missed him, and school was shit without him.

So, unless he was wrong, Stiles should be back over the weekend. He thought briefly about calling the cops but didn’t want to look like an idiot if it was just a raccoon or squirrel or something. He conveniently ignored the voice in his head that sounded remarkably like the Sheriff, repeating “Better safe than sorry boys. Always ring 911 if you are worried”.
He swung the baseball bat over his shoulder and stepped out on to the darkened porch. He could feel his heart speed up with nervous excitement as he began to look around.

He screamed and swung the bat at the grinning face of the figure hanging upside down from the porch roof, the fear and nervous adrenaline ensuring that he missed his target by a mile, then he watched in disbelief as Stiles fell to the porch with a painful thud.

“Ouch” Stiles spluttered in the stunned silence before looking up with a scowl at his gobsmacked best friend who seemed to be stuck in a pose with his baseball bat pointing at him.
“What the hell Dude?” came out of both their mouths in a yelp at the same time. “You don’t even play baseball!” Stiles continued in an aggrieved tone. They stared at each other for about a minute until they both started to laugh.

Scott gave a frustrated huff as he finally lowered the bat. “Stiles, what the hell are you doing?! You didn’t tell me you were home. I thought you were still on your road trip with Nanna B”.
Stiles eyed the bat in his best friend’s hands and raised an eyebrow in exasperation. He ignored the comment about the road trip to focus on what was really bothering him “Really Dude? Why do you have a bat?”
Scott rolled his eyes at him in annoyance “I thought you were a predator!” He nearly shouted. 
Stiles blinked at him “A pre... Wha?” and spread his hands up and down his prone body, clearly appalled at the implication, before he scoffed, leapt to his feet, and changed the subject.

 “Look, I know it's late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called-- they're bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department, and even state police.” He grinned manically at his best friend. He was doing the Stiles patented “bounce of excitement” that he had copied off Tigger when they were both five years of age and never stopped.
 
It was Scott’s turn to look bewildered “For what?” Stiles had difficulty concealing his glee when he answered, “Two joggers found a body in the woods.”
He could barely contain himself as he waited for Scott’s response. This was going to be so great. “What, a dead body?”
Stiles came to a full stop and tilted his head. He blinked, drew a deep breath, and stared straight into Scott’s eyes as he responded calmly “No, a body of water Scott,” he drew another deep breath and burst out as he started bouncing again. “Yes, dumbass, a dead body!”

Scott pulled a disgusted face and hunched in on himself, looking unnerved at he almost whispered the words “You mean, like, murdered?”
Stiles did that weird combined shoulder shrug and head nod, as he responded with enthusiasm. “Nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties.”
Scott frowned at him as another thought broke through his instinctive anxiety. 
“Hold on, if they already found the body, then what are they looking for now?”
He watched the glee grow on his friends face at the drama of the end part of his story. “That's the best part-- they only found half.”
Stiles' tone of voice changed, making it clear that Scott didn’t have a say in what happened next. “We're going.”

By the time Scott had changed into his jeans and grabbed his inhaler, house keys and wallet, Stiles was nearly vibrating in place by the front door.  “Come on Dude, we’ve still got a bit of time before my Dad and his deputies lock the place down as a crime scene but we’ve got to move”. He pulled Scott out of the front door and kept talking about the best route into the Preserve to avoid his father as he watched Scott lock up behind him.

They both turned towards the jeep at the same time, then came to a dead stop. Scott’s jaw dropped and Stiles made an aborted flailing movement.

Nanna B smiled pityingly at the pair of them, her arms folded, the slow tap of one foot ominous when combined with the one eyebrow raised as if daring them to say a word. 
“Come on then boys, I’ve already spoken to your parents, who I might remind you, are working their socks off tonight, and informed them that you are both taking me to the lovely 24-hour diner for milkshakes and that I will personally make sure you are both safely home and tucked up in bed ready for school tomorrow like good boys when we finish our little treat”. She drawled with gentle mockery but the look on her face did not invite discussion.

Scott thought he had lost the use of his voice when the only sound that came out of his mouth was a strangled meep. Stiles cleared his throat twice but finally managed “Nanna, I thought you were sleeping, why aren’t you sleeping, you need your sleep at your…” before he could continue, her smile became sharper and a little wicked with that hint of danger that made the pair of boys back up a step.

Her smile grew wider “Were you going to say at my age sweet boy?” she enquired genially. The boys knew better than to answer that pointed question. She continued “It’s no problem, I don’t need that much sleep these days Mischief darling, so instead of bringing the wrath of your father, you know, the elected Sheriff of Beacon Hills down on your heads after you boys mess up the no doubt fascinating crime scene, I thought I would save both your little butts from eternal grounding and we can go out to enjoy a little chat with my favourite great grandson and his best friend.”

The sweet smile left her face as she continued sternly “Get in the jeep boys and remember the speed limit Mischief.”


Noah Stilinski stared up at the SIG-Sauer P226R pointed directly at his forehead. The shadowy figure all in black holding the weapon wasn’t even breathing hard whilst Noah could still feel the adrenaline surging through his body after the unbelievable violence of the last five minutes. Had it only been five minutes? He didn’t dare to check his watch right now. But he knew how time pulled tricks on someone in the middle of a violent incident.

He cleared his throat as he moved his gaze up from the unmoving pistol to the half-masked face of his erstwhile rescuer and potential executioner. Grateful that his voice didn’t tremble unlike the fine tremor he could feel in his hands, hands that he made sure were kept well away from his holstered weapon and in an open pacifying position, he spoke calmly. 
“Waste of time, energy and ammo saving me from that thing, if you blow my brains out now Son. Your cost benefit analysis skills kinda letting you down there” he snarked gently, resisting the urge to face palm. 
He was definitely channelling his kid. He refused to admit that it was more likely Stiles took after him, and that he had tempered his own behaviour as a professional LEO.

Fog swirled around them muffling any other sound. The unmoving but utterly menacing figure continued to stare with blank dark eyes for interminable seconds down at the Sheriff, as he lay sprawled on the ground. Then the guy gave a disbelieving but amused snort as the weapon disappeared into that leather armour somewhere, and a gloved hand reached out to  haul the Sheriff unceremoniously and with little effort to his feet.

Good God the guy was strong. He had moved like an Olympic level gymnast on speed. Acrobatic and utterly dangerous, which was given, the way the guy had fought that monstrous red eyed, fanged, and clawed animal thing off and sent it on its way wounded by both knife and gun.

Noah had never seen another human being move that fast in his life. He had run rings around that that creature. How the damn thing wasn’t dead at this guy’s feet he didn’t know. How the guy wasn’t dead after that thing attacked, he didn’t know. 

The only other time Sheriff Noah Stilinski had ever felt that powerless was when he found out his darling Claudia was dying and there was nothing, he could do about it. It was the same god awful, nauseous utter helplessness as he watched two of the scariest living breathing beings, he had ever seen, fight over him like he was some juicy piece of meat.
  
Noah was not sure he could believe anything that happened that night, except for the fact he had this incredibly menacing strange, masked man standing in front of him who had just both saved him from something out of his worst nightmares and then proceeded to threaten his life.
What the hell was that thing that had attacked him? He didn’t realise that he had spoken aloud, but he was answered matter-of-factly by a deep gruff voice “A werewolf pal”.

Noah’s mouth dropped open. He wasn’t sure if he was more shocked by the words or the damn Brooklyn accent that came out of the guy’s mouth. No-one was going to believe this shit. 
The guy couldn’t seriously believe what he was saying. How the hell did he tell his deputies about this?

He had chased after his K9 unit when Johnson lost control of the frantic dog. Something had really spooked the well-trained obedient pooch in the dark and smothering fog of the Preserve. He and his deputies were at the cordoned off crime scene trying to find the rest of the body of that poor young woman found earlier in the day.

He had asked Deputy Pete Johnson, his K9 Officer to use Sabre, the fawn shorthaired Belgian Malinois to try to pick up any scents from the original crime scene whilst his people set up the lights and began to work the scene forensically and the dog had completely lost it, taking off into the preserve like a bat out of hell.

Noah had yelled to his guys that he was going to back up Pete and to continue setting up the crime scene before taking off after them.

Only Noah seemed to get turned around in the dark and fog, his flashlight not providing much indication where his dog handler and dog had disappeared, and the fog was muffling any noises, so there were weird areas where the preserve was totally silent then he would move past a fog patch, and he could hear the birds and the rustling of the trees.

It raised the hair on the back of his neck but he shrugged off the almost atavistic fear, until another dead zone was broken by the sound of thundering hooves, and the Sheriff literally had moments to get up close and personal with the nearest tree trunk to avoid being bowled over and crushed beneath a deer stampede. What the actual fuck? He didn’t know there were that many deer in the Preserve!

He had dropped his torch and just dipped down to get it when he felt the air move in the space where his head had been moments before and saw monstrous claws dig into the tree which had sheltered him. Instinct had him swing the torch upwards and it seemed to smack into something with a heavy thud, something which fucking growled at him and made a dent in his god damn industrial grade torch. 

The Sheriff scrambled to his feet because he couldn’t see a thing, at the same time he followed through by pulling his service pistol out of its holster and firing at point blank range into the swirling fog as he continued to hear that terrifying growl. A blow to his chest flung him away from the safety of the tree into a clearing that was miraculously free of the fog. He struggled to draw in a breath, it felt like he had been hit by a sledgehammer.

His gun had flown out of his hand, and as he scrambled onto all fours to search desperately for it, he heard the low ominous growl again. He swung his head around and there standing not ten feet away was the most god awful furry monstrous thing with protruding fangs and claws and burning red eyes glaring at him as if he was its next meal. 

Christ if he had seen that in a horror movie, he would have complained that it was too cliché, but the damn thing was right there in front of him. Living, breathing, growling nightmare fodder for the rest of his life. He focused desperately on finding his gun as what looked like a monstrous deformed wolf on steroids stalked closer and closer. He wasn’t going to let this fucker turn Stiles into an orphan.
 
Noah’s fingers had finally got a grip on his gun when he could feel the looming presence of the monster above him. He tried to roll and bring up the gun, when the beast flew away from him, tackled from the side with a kick to the head and chest which sent him tumbling away. The roar of rage out of that beast’s mouth was terrifying and for one interminable second Noah stared at the interloper in total shock. Good god almighty was he losing his mind, it was as if he was stuck in one of Stiles’s ridiculous video games. He’d never seen anything like it, and he never wanted to see anything like it again.

The guy in black leather picked himself up from the body roll and pulled two weapons from the holsters on his hips, then proceeded to calmly walk forward shooting at the raging animal. Noah came to his senses and scrambled backwards, taking his weapon with him when the beast seemed to shake off the multitude of bullets and leapt for the man in black, claws extended. The man took a standing leap of his own, right over the top of the lunging animal and came down behind it, then proceed to punch the shit out of it with an arm that glinted silver in what was left of the moonlight. 

Something tugged at the back of Noah's mind, there was something familiar about that, he had seen that before but he couldn’t spare the energy to think about it now. He began slowly edging backwards away from them when suddenly the furry monstrosity broke away with a strangled yelp and took off into the dark of the Preserve.

For a moment, Noah wondered if the other guy was going to take off after the thing, he was actually really hoping he would because he had no idea what to do in this situation. 
Instead the guy turned and stalked back towards Noah.  Before Noah could even attempt to speak one of the guy’s weapons was in his face. Right.

After the Brooklyn badass in black had pulled him to his feet and then told him that the animal monster was a werewolf, Noah had fallen back on his Sheriff persona and protocols. He’d carefully holstered his own weapon in a show of trust.  The guy just smirked at him.

“My name is Sheriff Noah Stilinski and I need you to come to the station with me to make a statement about this and what we both saw” he spoke with a determined calm, every inch the professional.
The guy blinked at him, then simply grunted one word “No”

That one small word was the last straw for Noah Stilinski, rage flooded through him and dispersed any lingering fear of this armed and dangerous mad man. Who the fuck believes in Werewolves, let alone picks a fight with one?
“What the hell is the matter with you? You just saved my life and I am more than grateful but this situation is insane and you will be giving me a goddamn statement so I can figure out what to do about that monster to protect Beacon Hills. Now fucking tell me what will get you to talk to me?” Noah glared at the guy.

The guy’s hand twitched towards his holsters. But he made no further move to get them as he tilted his head slightly and stared intensely at the Sheriff.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” the stranger finally demanded.

Chapter Text

Noah stared at the blank form on his office computer screen without seeing it. All god damn night his brain had been focused on that unbelievable fight in the Preserve but how the hell was he supposed to write it up. He had managed to come up with a cover story for his guys when they found him, but he was the Sheriff of the County, he should be reporting truthfully on the events of the evening.

The Brooklyn black leather clad badass had disappeared like that strange mist within moments of his odd question when they both heard his deputies heading their way calling out for the Sheriff. He was left in that damn clearing without either of the protagonists, but with his discharged service weapon, blood on the ground and a dented torch.

It was his K9 team who reached him first. The Sheriff threw an unimpressed glare at Sabre, who seemed to shrink back sheepishly and avoid his eyes. Where the hell had the hound been when he needed him? Then the image of that monstrous fanged and clawed creature popped up behind his eyes and he found that he couldn’t blame the animal for running the other way if he had picked up any inkling of that thing in the Preserve. The poor little guy was probably traumatised. He would authorise some raw steak in the K9 budget for the next 3 months. He just wished he could get Stiles to authorise the same from their family food budget!

He had passed the whole event off as a deer stampede, there were enough hoof prints in the ground to back him up, and when he was questioned about the shots fired, he played it off as needing to redirect the herd and the blood on the ground must have been caused when he inadvertently hit one of the maddened things.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the look directed his way from the Station’s Range Officer Deputy Irwin when he uttered the word “inadvertently” and internally winced.  Damn it, Ira was going to have him in the Range for extra weapons training faster than he could say Sheriff Stilinski. He was going to have to avoid the man for a few days.
  
Thankfully the Sheriff had had enough time to police the cartridges from the terrifying weapons used by Mr “Who the hell is Bucky?” and they were snugly wrapped in his gloves and hidden away in the internal chest pocket of his Sheriff’s jacket.
The Sheriff slowly swivelled in his chair to face said jacket  which was hanging on the hook behind his office door and sighed in defeat.
 
God damn it he already knew that he wasn’t going to write up the real events of the night, so why the hell was he still obsessing about it. He would make some discreet enquiries about his mysterious monosyllabic anti-hero and the frankly unbelievable werewolf situation before he chose a way forward and chose who amongst his officers to inform.
Graeme was already watching him with that frown on her face which meant she knew something was bothering him and she was waiting him out.

It was nearly time for the shift change, he was going home to get some god damn sleep and see if that cleared his mind enough to come up with a plan of action. He wasn’t going to hold his breath in anticipation though.

Nanna B had already seen Stiles off to school with a healthy breakfast and a filled lunch bag. She knew Noah was due off shift about an hour after Stiles had left to collect his partner in crime for their daily learning experience. Honestly, she was still enjoying the appalled expressions on the boys faces when they had seen her standing next to the Jeep last night.

She hadn’t had that much fun for a very long time. And the fact that her Mischief had been almost speechless as he stared at her whilst they ate, his eyes wide, opening his mouth as if to say something then closing it without uttering a word, like a cute little guppy, just enhanced her enjoyment. She barely restrained herself from laughing at him.

Ha as if she didn’t have enough experience dealing with reckless young men from a very young age. Stiles might be able to slide past some of his dad’s rules because that ridiculous man was working himself to death and to the detriment of his relationship with his son, but Rebecca Buchanan Duggan nee Barnes was a different kettle of fish entirely.

But she had also seen the gleam in his eye towards the end of breakfast, as if he was re-evaluating her and her threat level which had rung alarm bells. What the hell was happening in her Mischief’s life that he had learned that sort of behaviour? He was a cop’s child so of course he was taught to be more aware of his environment and other people’s motives than most kids his age, but that look had sent a shiver down her spine. It was the same look she had seen in her Timothy’s eyes when he was focused on his work.

For a few seconds she indulged in bitter regret that she hadn’t come to Beacon Hills sooner after her Claudia’s death, but she shrugged her shoulders. They were where they were. No point in useless pining over what was past and gone, when she was here now, and she was going to damn well find out what was going on with her great grandson, and then deal with it and her grandson-in-law. Family looked after family. Even when they didn’t like it.

She had sorted through the refrigerator, pantry, and the almost forgotten freezer in the junk filled garage, so she had a pretty good idea of what her boys were subsisting on, and that was another thing that was going to change. Home cooked food and family meals were going to replace takeaways and solitary dining.

She had her shopping list ready for when Noah had finished his nap. He could take her to get the provisions. Having the Sheriff driving her around would get the attention of the most useful sources of information in this town, the retired oldies who lived for gossip, intrigue and were sharp enough to notice everything that slid past the gaze of those with full time jobs and young families.
 
Noah was going to be her introduction to those fine citizens in his fair district and then she only had to identify the power players to start getting the low down on what really was happening in Beacon Hills.   

The shopping trip was also her a chance to start to get into Claudia’s beloved idiot’s head and find out what the hell he thought he was doing.   

She was going to feed her Grandson in law before he went to sleep, he’d sleep better that way, do some tidying, catch up on the news and make her plans.

Noah woke up feeling surprisingly rested, normally he had a quick sandwich and some water before he tried to sleep after a night shift, but he had walked into his house with the delicious smell of a cooked breakfast hitting his nose and his stomach rumbled like it hadn’t been fed in days the traitor.
Nanna B had grinned, “I love being appreciated” she had laughed at him. He had given a snort of amusement, which had surprised the hell out of him. He had not been in a good mood after the night he had endured and the emotional roller coaster over his reports. But he knew he had always been a sucker for the women in the Duggan family.

He showered, shaved, and slung on a pair of comfortable jeans and casual top. He had no doubt Nanna B had some chores lined up for him, which would hopefully distract him from that clusterfuck in the Preserve that he didn’t know what to do about, and he still wanted to hear about the reaction of the trouble twins when she stopped them in their tracks last night. He damn well needed a laugh. He should have asked her to take pictures.

He followed the noise of the television into the living room and before he could respond to Nanna B’s cheerful greeting his gaze was involuntarily drawn to the screen.

The News channel was playing rapid images of exploding bits of Helicarrier, and the news reel at the bottom of the screen were asking “Who is the Winter Soldier, where is he now? No response from the Authorities or the Avengers. Why haven’t the Avengers addressed this issue?  Are we safe from the Winter Soldier and Hydra? Where are the Avengers?”

Noah stared open-mouthed as front and centre on the screen his pain in the ass murderous masked Rescuer was beating the crap out of Captain America. Well shit.

Chapter Text

Tony took a slow sip from his heavy cut crystal glass barely noticing the smooth burn when he swallowed as he unobtrusively studied the rest of the Avengers in the room.

Captain Tight Pants and the Red Menace had finally made their way back to the Tower after the utter shitshow starring the amazing falling  hydra helicarriers of death and destruction and the gloriously stupid climax, the deliberate destruction of SHIELD debacle.

Of course, the twitterpated twosome had not mentioned a damn thing to their teammates.  Seriously Steven Grant, Hydra doomsday machines? The words Team Mates and Fobbed off came to mind when they were offered such delightful platitudes as “don’t worry  it’s not a world ending event, Guys we can handle it”.

Maybe that should be the new team motto emblazoned on the side of Avengers Tower or flying from a flag at the Compound. “Guys, We Can Handle It”. He’d get SI Marketing right on that, and they could have team tee-shirts with the those inspirational words. He would make another fortune!

Tony considered the glass in his hand, maybe he needed to lay off the alcohol, because he hadn’t realised exactly how pissed he was about the whole mess.
Yeah, “handle it” his fine philanthropic, handsome, billionaire, superhero ass. They had really handled it alright. Never mind bull in a China shop, these two needed professional babysitters and not that idiot pretty ex airman with the pretty toy wings that Tony was so confiscating as soon as the guy came within snatching reach.

The Winter Soldier had ripped one of those wings straight off the guy’s back and left him to plummet towards the ground.  Of course, Tony was going to improve the damn things and make sure it didn’t happen again. Whether he gave the pretty wings back to the pretty idiot was another matter.
 
So what if he had been in Japan with Pep, or Legolas had been with his family on that Disney rug rat rampage.  Rogers and Romanoff could have called for backup. Should have called for back up.

He had taken his fastest suit with him in case of emergencies; he could have been back in New York well in time to stop or at least mitigate that clusterfuck. The temptation to roll his eyes was huge, but he seriously worried for the structure of his eye sockets if he started.

For the love of all things red and gold, Brucie Boo was in town even if the electrifying alien blonde bombshell was still on Asgard. Bruce’s jolly green alter ego Hulk would have shown more sense in the situation than those two and his wise Science Bro would have given them sensible and pragmatic advice.

If the idiots had just talked to even one of the other members of this so called “Team” maybe the “Team” wouldn’t now all be in the lounge morosely drinking and waiting for the next biting commentary to hit the R Squared squad upside their heads.

Tony honestly though Mr Merida was going to shoot them both in the ass with his patented exploding arrows at the point that Natasha had casually mentioned Tony funding the search for the Winter Soldier with Steve’s earnest bleating about brainwashing, decades of torture and being under orders by Hydra.
Tony couldn’t find it in his heart to blame Barton, especially after Bruce had nearly greened up with outrage on Tony’s behalf as well.
They all knew who had assassinated his parents. Peggy Carter had made sure that the whole goddamned world knew that Tony’s parents had been murdered. Especially after some of her colleagues in SHIELD had tried to cover it up by blaming the “accident” on Howard’s drinking.

Howard Stark had been her friend since the second world war. She had never denied that he could be a pain in the arse, but there was no way that she was going to allow that lie to be his epitaph, or let her favourite godson believe that about his parents. She had already persuaded Tony into therapy and then she had made sure that the truth was splashed across the world’s newspapers even if it had caused almost a diplomatic incident with the Russia because  the super assassin ghost “The Winter Soldier” was known to be Russian. They just hadn’t known who he was or that he was Hydra’s assimilated asset.

JARVIS had a longstanding Winter Soldier protocol that ensured he collected, collated and analysed all potential “incidents” and damn did that ghost materialise all over the planet. JARVIS had a theory that all the Winter Soldier’s work was for a single organisation, but they hadn’t worked out which one until the falling helicarriers of Hydra doom. Now Tony knew that the assassin that had executed his parents was the Cap’s supposedly long dead heroic BFF. It was fucking obvious that this was not a position the guy had voluntarily applied for, but the implications of that kind of conditioning were horrible.
Even if Tony felt inclined to forgive the poor bastard, he wasn’t sure that he would easily forgive the apparent indifference of  at least one of his so called Team Mates.

The ironic reality was that Tony had spent years and a great deal of resources already trying to find the damn assassin, he could understand that the defrosted Man with a Plan didn’t know that, but he would bet Pepper’s Jimmy Choo collection that the Black Widow did.  Since Pepper would make sure his body was never found if he did something to her precious collection, he was certain that Romanoff knew. He just didn’t know what her play was yet. But he would find out.

He tuned back into the conversation between the irate Archer and the self-righteous Super Soldier. 

“Clint it wasn’t supposed to be like that” Steve spoke so earnestly that Tony’s fist longed to connect with the Captain’s all American sculptured jaw. “Really? Then what was it supposed to be like Captain Morality, there were support staff, supply and logistics, administration not just field agents with weapons. The pair of you put 4000 people out of work. Did you even think about that?"

“We had to expose the corruption Clint, to make sure Hydra couldn’t hide anymore, and some of those 4000 were god damn Hydra!” Steve barked angrily.
Clint stared at him as if he was shit beneath his shoe. “You can’t even say how many, just some? You condemned a whole organisation for the word “Some”” Clint retorted fiercely. “If you had God damned asked Stark and the rest of us to help we could have dealt with it but you had to throw the baby out with the bathwater like a toddler in a tantrum. All because “some” of them were Hydra. So, all of us got tarred with the same brush and lost wages and employment benefits besides everything else. It’s not like most of us have families to support, or need money to stay in our homes”

Steve flinched, his eyes going wide "What?" he asked slowly
“Oh did you think we worked for the honour of it Steven, how did you think we pay our bills or feed our kids?” Barton mocked viciously. “Then again there’s probably not many SHIELD agents left alive because you burned them online. All their safe houses, aliases, escape routes published like the people who worked there didn’t matter”

The Widow turned her frosty glare on her partner, “That’s enough Clint, what’s done is done and we need to make the best of it”

Surprisingly it was Bruce who responded “Easy for you to say when you dumped everyone in this mess”

There was a stunned awkward pause as they all managed to not look at each other.

Tony sighed internally and allowed himself a miniscule eye roll. Maybe it was time to deflect the acrimony and remind all of them of what they could accomplish when they all worked together. Worked together, what a concept, anyone would think they were supposed to be a team!

Before Grand Popsicle could open his mouth, clack his dentures and start to utter his stubborn unjustifiable utterly stupid reasoning for his and Widow’s actions once again and Clinton Francis Barton finally lost his patience and clocked him one right in the kisser, Tony loudly interrupted.

“JARVIS, light of my life, play the messages from that Avengers helpline SHIELD set up after the first battle. Just as a reminder to us all of what happens when we work as a team, instead of anonymous cells like freaking terrorists.”

Steve began to shake his head and as Natasha frowned and open her mouth, Bruce’s unusually stern voice distracted them all. “That’s an excellent idea Tony; why don’t we do that. Seems like some people need to be reminded that we are in fact a team.” His Science Bro’s skin was still reassuringly pale, but the tone of his voice had dangerous shades of green.

Tony rubbed his hands in a parody of villainous glee. He wasn’t above the need to rub their stupid faces in their mistakes by being a little shit. He usually left the moral high ground to his Brucie bear and shockingly this time the Archer was riding his own high horse too. He nearly laughed at his own internal mixed metaphors. 
 
Steve pinched his nose and sighed tiredly, “Tony, there’s no need…” he began but this time the Captain was interrupted by the pissed off Archer,

“Oh both Banner and I think Tony’s right with this so you two sit your stubborn asses down and listen, learn and try to retain it in your thick skulls. ” the guy’s voice was unrelenting and dangerous.

As the Widow turned to glare at her partner, he turned his attention to her and growled “Laura is completely pissed at you Natasha, so if you want to see the kids sometime within the next 10 years, you’ll put up and shut up.”

Surprisingly she obediently sat down and both Tony and Banner sent him impressed looks, that he seemingly ignored but they all knew Clint never missed a trick with his surroundings or the people there.
 
As Captain Dumbass started a new complaint, or continued with his previous whining, to be honest Tony wasn’t sure anymore and he honestly couldn’t care less, Clint took charge, hooked one leg around Steve’s and with an acrobatic flip pushed the man of muscles backwards until the big guy landed on the seat next to Natasha.

Then Barton dad wagged his finger into the surprised super soldier’s face and uttered in a stern paternal voice “Don’t give me any trouble Steven. You won’t like the consequences.”

Tony coughed to hide the involuntary snort of laughter at the gobsmacked expression on Steve’s face and retreated to the opposite sofa to sit next to a very obviously amused Banner. There hadn’t been much to laugh about lately, especially when the captain had opened their meeting by mentioning that his old buddy, his old pal James Buchanan Barnes was not actually dead but the notorious ghost assassin the Winter Soldier.

Steve’s spiel about “brain washing and they needed to find him and it wasn’t Barnes fault” had started this joyous reunion off, and when Natasha had so casually prompted Tony to help look for the guy with Steven’s enthusiastic and pleading agreement, that’s when  first Bruce and then Barton  had lost their shit and they had both in no uncertain terms been told that no way was Tony being dragged into the hunt for his parents murderer, either paying for it or using his technology.
Barton especially was furious, once his point had been made on that topic, it had then led to the very loud discussion about the fall of SHIELD. Happy days!

“Play away Jarvis” Clint’s demanded as he refused to take his sharp focused gaze away from either Rogers or Romanov.

“Indeed Agent Barton”, the smooth calm voice of Stark’s AI agreed. “There are many varied interesting calls but perhaps we should start with something that may both intrigue the Captain and ease his mind about being alone in the future. It is in three parts; the first message was a week after the battle itself. The second message was 8 months after the battle, and then the last message was one week before the Helicarrier Hydra Event when SHIELD had all but closed the helpline.”

The team listened to the generic answerphone message and then the  oddly both nervous yet hopeful and excited voice of a teenage boy ramble his way through his own message

 “Um Hi. This is a message for Steve Rogers. I mean Captain Rogers, you know Captain America. Hi. If you are the real deal dude, not some strange hoax to cover up a government experiment well shit I mean you were the original government experiment, probably shouldn’t have said that right urgh sorry?”
 
Caught by surprise Bruce laughed out loud, Tony smirked, Barton snorted and there was a quirk to Steve’s lips that showed he was entertained. Natasha rolled her eyes  refusing to show her own amusement and looked away as the young voice continued,

“So first thank you for your service and saving us from the Aliens. Guess it was a team effort so thanks to all the Avengers. Anyway, if you are you, well you used to be friends with my great grandmother and her family before you got big, really big, like grew muscles on muscles big and the whole Cap America government experiment thing back in the war. Right sorry, just thought I would let you know Nanna B is still alive and she would love to see you or maybe you could call her or write her a letter or something Dude. It would mean the world to her.  Oh right, times nearly up for the message guess I should have said her name, Reb……..”

“Enterprising kid, saw an opportunity and went for it.” Tony remarked approvingly, just about managing to hold back the laughter.

“Shame he didn’t leave a name or contact details” Bruce murmured, and Steve gave a small nod in agreement.

JARVIS interjected “No need to worry Dr Banner, please listen to the other messages. They give us more information.”

Even Natasha was looking interested now. “Come on Jay baby, play the next one” Tony instructed.

“Of course Sir, this message is 8 months after the battle”.

The same excitable chirpy teenage voice began “Hi, it’s me again. Not that you know who it is because I didn’t leave my name last time. Oops So anyway this is a message for Captain Steven Grant Rogers, not Captain America. It’s kinda personal so if you guys could forward it to him that would be great. Captain Rogers, I am calling on behalf of my great grandmother Rebecca Duggan, her maiden name was Barnes. Her birthday is coming up soon and it would be really, really special if you could contact her just to say hello, I haven’t mentioned this to her, but she’s been kinda talking about the old days a lot lately and how she lost both of her brothers to the war within a week of each other. Her Bucky and Stevie. She still lives in the old Neighbourhood so she wouldn’t be hard to find. So Dude please, pretty please, just reach out to her, it would mean the world to her and Family takes care of Family right?” 

Steve sat there frozen. “Becca, Rebecca Barnes is alive” he whispered in a lost voice. “Becca Barnes”

“Duggan,” Tony interrupted sharply. “She married Dum Dum Duggan. They met when he was home on leave paying his respects to the Barnes family after you ditched in the plane in the ocean.”

Before either of them could continue, Jarvis played the third message, offering blandly “this is the most recent and last message”. The kid’s tone of voice was no longer nervous or excited. He was growling down the phone instead.

“Seriously Rogers you utter self-centred selfish self-aggrandising asshole. One call, just one call to an old lady that still loves you, you didn’t even have to make the effort to go see her but nothing, nada, zilch to someone who was supposed to be family back in the day. You utter dick…”

Barton coughed into his fist and turned away from the shocked expression on Captain America’s face.

The recording continued whilst there was a brief pause as a different young male voice spluttered with shock in the background “Stiles you can’t call Captain America a dick”
The original male voice responded furiously “Scott, Steve Rogers is a dick. Nanna B didn’t make potato cakes for Captain America or share her jawbreakers and family with Captain fucking America. She shared it with her bro’s bestie. She considers Stevie her brother too. She mourned two brothers when they died.  So, fuck you, Rogers. Family takes care of Family. I’m going to convince her you aren’t the real Steve Rogers, you are just a fake, a government propaganda tool to mitigate the aliens among us general panic. But hey one last time thank you for your service you gigantic bag of di…..”

The answerphone cut out before the angry young voice finished his tirade.

Steve paled and then flushed as the rest of the team including Natasha turned to stare at him “What?” he almost stuttered.  “I never got any of these messages. I didn’t know that Becs was still alive. Is she still alive?” He asked shakily.

Tony once again rolled his eyes, “Did SHIELD actually tell you anything about the people you knew?”
Steve shook his head slowly, “Fury told me I was alone in the future”.  He frowned and stared down at his hands. “I trusted him” he muttered to himself.

Natasha glared at Tony, and patted Steve’s arm but before she could utter a word, Clint growled
“ You have no say in this Nat, just shut up. No Tony SHIELD decided to focus on the present with our defrosted delight. They were going to tell him if he asked but they didn’t offer the information.”
Clint stated bluntly.

At the Widow’s outraged hiss, he mockingly lifted on brow “ What Tash, I thought you exposed all SHIELD’s secrets already, why are you getting upset about that? It’s not like we work for SHIELD anymore.”  

Steve  was worryingly silent for a long time and ignored the heated discussion between Barton and Natasha. When he finally raised his head and saw both Stark and Banner carefully watching him, he winced. Then he straightened his shoulders and thrust out his chin stubbornly in that classic Captain America righteous pose. He ignored the byplay between the two former agents and looked directly at Stark. “ Stark, Tony I’ve guess the kid’s right. I have been a gigantic bag of dicks, to everyone but especially to you and I’m sorry”. He stated bluntly and almost smiled at the gob smacked expressions of the rest of the team.  
Then he offered the kind of grin that always used to get him out of trouble when he was a  feisty skinny little kid .

“I learnt my lesson about Bucky I swear, but will you help me find Becca please?