As the Avengers scattered to prep for their missions, Harry found himself in a rare and frankly unsettling situation—alone. No explosions, no gunfire, no Tony making snide comments about Steve's "grandpa sensibilities." Just the hum of the quinjet's engines and the distant murmur of his teammates getting ready. It was almost peaceful.
Naturally, Harry found that suspicious.
He took a deep breath, shaking off the nervous energy that always crept in before a fight. It was that weird mix of anticipation and dread, like standing at the top of a rollercoaster, except instead of a safe, regulated ride, you had a one-way ticket to Siberia, and the safety bar was just a vague suggestion.
His life had taken some unexpected turns. One day, he was dodging curses in the Great Hall, the next, he was dodging bullets in a quinjet. And now? Now he was about to infiltrate a HYDRA facility in the middle of a frozen wasteland because apparently, world domination came with a side of frostbite.
He sighed and ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Right. From dueling Dark Lords to kicking Nazi wannabe butt in subzero temperatures. Totally normal career path."
"Talking to yourself again, Potter?"
Harry turned to find Natasha leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, her signature smirk firmly in place. If she was here, that meant she was about to say something equal parts insightful and mildly terrifying.
"Who else am I gonna talk to? The walls?" Harry shot back. "Though, honestly, they'd probably have more personality than half the people I've met in the British Ministry."
Nat chuckled. "You sure you don't need backup?"
Harry placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "Nat, are you suggesting that I, a humble wizard, can't handle a few enhanced goons and a frozen hellscape?"
"I'm suggesting that even wizards can get hypothermia," she said dryly.
"Please," Harry scoffed. "My magic keeps me warm. I'm basically a walking space heater." He paused. "With combat skills. And a tendency to make my enemies question their life choices."
"Fair point," she admitted, pushing off the wall. "Just don't do anything too reckless."
Harry grinned. "Oh, Nat. If I was capable of that, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she just patted his shoulder and walked off, presumably to do something incredibly cool and terrifying.
Harry exhaled and turned back toward the quinjet. Time to get to work.
Siberia wouldn't know what hit it.
And as for HYDRA? Well, let's just say that if they thought a little snow was going to stop him, they were in for a very rude awakening.
—
The Siberian wind howled like a grumpy old wizard who'd just realized he was out of Firewhisky, cutting through their thick gear with all the subtlety of a rampaging troll. Snow whipped around them in chaotic swirls, making visibility about as useful as a blindfold at a magic show.
Harry, leading the charge, flicked his wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm over the team, turning them into ghostly shadows in the blizzard. "There," he muttered. "Now we blend in like ninjas. Frosty, highly dangerous ninjas."
"Are ninjas usually chatty?" Clint's voice crackled in the comms. "Because if so, I think we're breaking the ninja code."
"Please," Harry whispered back. "If there was a ninja code, I'd have hexed it by now."
Steve, ever the professional, ignored them. He adjusted the shield on his arm, his serious Leader Face fully activated. "Stay focused. We go in quiet, shut them down, and get out. No mess-ups."
"Mess-ups? Never heard of them," Natasha murmured, already gliding through the snow like a ghost with knives.
Harry smirked and motioned toward the facility. "Right. Give me five minutes to work my magic—literally." And with that, he disappeared into the snowstorm.
Step One: Disable HYDRA's Fancy Security System (a.k.a. The Tech Equivalent of a Locked Diary That Thinks It's Impenetrable)
Harry reached the perimeter and studied the cameras, which were scanning the area like they expected a poorly disguised spy to waltz up and knock on the door. Unfortunately for HYDRA, they weren't dealing with a poorly disguised spy. They were dealing with a wizard with a flair for the dramatic.
He waved his wand. The security system fizzled out like a dying lightbulb. The alarms? Silenced. The cameras? Useless.
"Security's down," Harry reported through the comms, sounding like he was auditioning for a spy movie. "Welcome to HYDRA's Winter Wonderland. Try not to slip on the ice."
Steve, Natasha, and Clint moved in with the kind of practiced efficiency that made Harry wonder if they had an actual How to Be a Badass 101 class he could sign up for.
Step Two: Sneak Inside Like the World's Coolest Thieves (Minus the Whole Actually Stealing Thing)
Clint took down the first guard with a well-placed arrow. Natasha was next, a silent blur of destruction as she incapacitated two more before they even knew what hit them. Steve deflected a bullet with his shield and threw a perfect knockout punch because of course he did.
Harry, still invisible, slipped past them and headed deeper inside. He reached the command center, where a squad of enhanced soldiers stood guarding the entrance.
"Oh, look," Harry muttered under his breath. "A welcoming committee. How thoughtful."
With a flick of his hand, he whispered, "Stupefy."
A flash of red light hit the first guard, and he crumpled. The others barely had time to react before a nonverbal Levicorpus sent two more flying into the air like marionettes with cut strings. The last one turned, gun raised—only for Harry to wordlessly summon his weapon and smack him over the head with it.
"Command center is secure," Harry said into the comms. "Their security system is now a very expensive paperweight."
Natasha and Clint joined him, both looking entirely unsurprised to find him standing amid a pile of unconscious guards.
"Remind me to never make you mad," Clint muttered, stepping over one of the soldiers.
"No promises," Harry said cheerfully.
He pulled up the facility's schematics and highlighted the most structurally devastating spots for their explosives.
"Place charges here, here, and here," he instructed, tapping the screen like he was planning a weekend getaway.
Steve gave a sharp nod. "Let's split up and get it done. Regroup in ten."
Step Three: Blow Up the Evil Lair and Get Out Before Everything Goes Boom
They moved like a well-rehearsed orchestra of destruction. Clint's arrows found their marks with pinpoint precision. Natasha slipped through the shadows, taking down enemies before they even realized she was there. Steve, meanwhile, charged through groups of HYDRA soldiers like a wrecking ball made of pure patriotism.
Harry, never one to be left out, used a combination of stunning spells, well-placed shields, and the occasional levitation charm to fling enemies into walls, ceilings, and, in one unfortunate case, a vending machine.
"Oops," Harry muttered as the vending machine sputtered and dispensed an entire row of energy bars onto the unconscious soldier. "Well, at least he won't be hungry when he wakes up."
Just as they planted the last charge, the alarms blared. Because of course they did.
"Looks like HYDRA finally noticed us," Natasha remarked, completely unfazed as a wave of reinforcements poured in.
Clint pulled an arrow from his quiver. "Took 'em long enough. I was starting to feel unappreciated."
Steve threw his shield, knocking back two soldiers. "No time for sarcasm. We need to move—now."
They fought their way back toward the exit, weaving through gunfire and dodging HYDRA goons like it was an intense obstacle course. Harry threw up a powerful shield charm, blocking a wave of bullets.
"I swear, this is why I prefer wands to guns," he muttered. "At least with magic, you don't run out of ammo."
"Less talking, more running!" Steve shouted as they finally broke through the last line of defense.
They sprinted toward the extraction point as Clint activated the detonator.
"Detonating in three… two… one—"
The HYDRA facility exploded in a fiery inferno that could've easily won an award for Best Cinematic Explosion. The ground shook, flames roared into the sky, and a massive shockwave blasted outward, sending snow flying in all directions.
They barely made it onto the Quinjet before the blast hit. As they took off, Steve turned to the group, his serious expression softening into a small grin. "Good work, team. That's one less HYDRA base to worry about."
"Yeah, great job," Clint said, slumping into his seat. "Next time, can we do a mission that doesn't involve frostbite and explosions?"
Natasha smirked. "That would require us picking a different career."
Harry leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. "I don't know, I kind of like the explosions. Feels… cinematic."
Clint groaned. "You're spending too much time around Stark."
Harry grinned. "If you think I'm bad now, wait 'til I get my own suit of armor."
Steve sighed, shaking his head fondly. "God help us all."
—
The South American jungle was doing its best impression of a green, leafy labyrinth, which was cute, but Tony Stark had flown through worse. His Iron Man suit skimmed the treetops, the repulsors barely rustling the vines. Below him, Bruce Banner moved with all the grace of a caffeinated ninja in a sleek, stealthy suit—courtesy of Stark Industries. The man had learned subtlety after years of trying not to turn into a giant rage monster.
"JARVIS, gimme a layout," Tony said, scanning the horizon. His HUD lit up with schematics of the HYDRA compound ahead.
"The facility is approximately 500 meters north, heavily fortified, and—ah—lacking in curb appeal," JARVIS responded in his usual dry British monotone. "Might I suggest an aerial assault? Something tasteful. Explosions, perhaps."
Bruce glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Anything we should be bracing for?"
"Just the usual: automated defenses, armed guards, probable villainous monologues. Oh, and they have a rooftop turret with 'let's shoot Tony Stark out of the sky' energy."
Bruce sighed. "Right. So, the usual, then."
Tony smirked inside his helmet. "Exactly. I'd be offended if they didn't at least try."
As they neared the compound—an ultra-modern hideout doing a bad job of blending into the jungle—Tony fired off a few precise repulsor blasts, taking out external defenses like a gamer casually clearing level one of an FPS. The turret never got a chance to say hi.
"Okay, let's keep this under the radar," Tony announced, activating stealth mode. His suit shimmered and vanished from sight like the world's most expensive magic trick. "I'll take care of the tech. You babysit the rent-a-goons."
Bruce adjusted his gloves. "I really wish you'd stop calling them that."
"Fine. Professional villain enthusiasts. Better?"
Bruce just rolled his eyes and slipped into the facility, moving like a guy who had spent way too much time learning how to avoid fights he could definitely win. He dispatched guards with quick, efficient strikes—pressure points, joint locks, the occasional "go to sleep now" chokehold.
Meanwhile, Tony strolled into the mainframe room and plugged into HYDRA's network, fingers tapping away at his controls.
"JARVIS, start copying everything. And find me something incriminating. The juicier, the better."
"Shall I prioritize 'evil plans to take over the world' or 'mildly embarrassing corporate emails'?" JARVIS inquired.
"Both. I like variety."
Bruce's voice crackled through the comms. "Tony, we've got a problem."
Tony sighed. "You say that like it's surprising. What kind?"
"The 'they're cooking up a superweapon in the basement' kind."
Tony exhaled sharply. "Why is it always the basement?"
"Classic evil lair design."
JARVIS chimed in. "Blueprints indicate a high-energy reactor below. Not ideal for keeping things low-key."
"Fine," Tony muttered. "Let's shut this place down before someone activates 'Destroy the World.exe.'"
With the data fully downloaded, Tony joined Bruce. They moved in sync—Tony blasting key infrastructure, Bruce planting charges with the precision of a guy who absolutely shouldn't be this good at handling explosives.
Then, inevitably, alarms blared. Because of course they did.
"Looks like the party started without us," Tony quipped as HYDRA soldiers stormed in. "Rude."
Bruce, looking mildly exasperated, started dealing with them the old-fashioned way—swift, non-lethal takedowns. His patience, however, had a time limit, and Tony could see the Hulk simmering under the surface.
"Hey, big guy," Tony said. "Maybe keep the green in check? We still need to fly home."
Bruce took a deep breath. "Working on it."
Tony lobbed a micro-missile into a squad of soldiers. "No rush, but, y'know, rush."
"Charges are set," Bruce reported. "Time to go."
They made a break for the exit, dodging gunfire, punching goons, and generally being the worst kind of guests. As they reached the perimeter, Tony hit the detonator, and the lab went up in a dramatic, fiery explosion.
Bruce gave him a look. "You enjoyed that way too much."
Tony grinned. "It's called 'theatrical flair,' Banner. Look it up."
Back on the Quinjet, Bruce handed Tony a hard drive. "We need to get this to Fury. HYDRA's further along than we thought."
Tony spun the drive between his fingers. "Yeah, yeah. Secret conspiracies, world domination, Nick Fury glaring at us. It's a Tuesday."
Bruce smirked. "You love this, don't you?"
Tony flashed a grin. "Of course. But only because I'm good at it."
As the Quinjet disappeared into the sky, leaving behind a smoking ruin of another HYDRA base, Tony leaned back. "Alright, JARVIS, next mission."
"I assume you mean the one involving saving the world and not your ongoing attempt to win an online chess match against Dr. Banner?"
Tony groaned. "That game is rigged."
Bruce smirked. "You just don't like losing."
And with that, they flew off toward the next disaster, because, really, when did the Avengers ever get a day off?
—
Back at Avengers Tower, the debriefing room looked like a meeting of the world's most exhausted gym teachers. The team sat slumped in their chairs, various bruises, scrapes, and singed edges making them look like a really enthusiastic LARP group that had gone terribly off-script.
Tony Stark, of course, looked perfectly at ease, sipping a scotch like he'd just come back from a casual afternoon of absolutely wrecking a HYDRA base. Bruce was next to him, looking relatively composed—by which I mean he wasn't actively turning green, which was always a plus. Across the table, Steve Rogers sat with his arms crossed, looking like he was two seconds from giving everyone a pep talk about teamwork. Natasha Romanoff had a perfectly unreadable expression, which meant she was either planning their next move or mentally tallying how many ways she could kill Tony with a paperclip. Clint Barton, meanwhile, was leaning back in his chair, looking like he had mastered the fine art of appearing present without actually paying attention.
Harry leaned against the wall, arms crossed, letting the conversation unfold while he prepared his next verbal kill shot.
Nick Fury stood at the head of the table, his one eye scanning the mission reports like they were personally responsible for his blood pressure. "Give me the rundown."
Tony set his drink down and clapped his hands together. "Good news: We turned two HYDRA bases into piles of modern art. Bad news: HYDRA is still out there because, much like Steve's fashion sense, some things refuse to stay buried."
Steve gave Tony a long look. "I'm ignoring that."
Natasha smirked. "He's got a point, though."
"Which one?" Steve asked. "The HYDRA thing or my wardrobe?"
"Yes," she said smoothly.
Clint let out a low whistle. "Man, we are on fire tonight. Hope HYDRA can handle this level of savage."
Bruce rubbed his temples. "As much as I love listening to Tony's stand-up routine, HYDRA's got more going on than we expected. The lab in South America? They weren't just experimenting with standard super-soldier stuff. They were working on something… big."
"Define 'big,'" Fury said.
Bruce hesitated. "Big enough that even the Hulk might not be the biggest guy in the fight."
The room went silent. That was never a good thing to hear from Bruce Banner.
JARVIS, ever the helpful AI butler, decided now was a good time to chime in. "If I may interject, sir, based on the data extracted from the facility, HYDRA appears to be engineering an enhanced combat unit. The details are classified, but from what I gathered, their prototype makes Brock Rumlow look like a mall cop."
Tony sighed. "Great. So they're building a bigger, badder, angrier villain? Because clearly, that's what the world needs."
Harry, who had been listening with a bored expression, finally pushed off the wall and strolled over. "Yeah, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say this isn't a 'wait and see' situation. We need to hit them before they roll out their new and improved goon squad."
Fury nodded. "Agreed. I want a full analysis of everything you pulled from their system. We need to know exactly what we're dealing with before we move."
Harry smirked. "Oh, no worries, Fury. I already ran through the files. Turns out HYDRA's big bad secret is a batch of enhanced supersoldiers with enough firepower to make Doom look underfunded." He tilted his head. "Of course, they made one fatal mistake."
Clint raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"
Harry's smirk widened. "They pissed off the wrong group of people."
Tony grinned. "Damn, kid. That was dramatic. I think I felt that line in my arc reactor."
Steve sighed. "Alright, so we move fast. We can't let them activate whatever they're working on."
Natasha nodded. "I'll get intel on any other hidden bases we might have missed."
Bruce exhaled. "I'll start working on a countermeasure for whatever they're cooking up."
JARVIS chimed in again. "Shall I prepare the 'save the world' playlist, sir?"
Tony grinned. "Absolutely. And put 'Another One Bites the Dust' on repeat."
Fury gave a long-suffering sigh. "Get it done."
As the team stood, Harry stretched, rolling his shoulders. Another mission, another batch of HYDRA to take down. Just another day in the life of Earth's Mightiest Heroes. He looked at Tony. "So, what's the over-under on this turning into a disaster?"
Tony smirked. "Oh, it's gonna be a disaster. But at least we'll look good doing it."
—
Bucky Barnes woke up the way most people do after a long nap—confused, slightly irritated, and wondering if he'd missed something important. Only in his case, the confusion was because his last clear memory involved a lot of pain, a mind wipe, and HYDRA scientists treating him like their favorite science experiment.
His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and tossed in a blender for good measure. The lights were dim, casting the room in soft, golden hues, and for a second, he thought maybe he was still dreaming. Then he saw Steve Rogers leaning over him, blue eyes filled with enough concern to drown an ocean.
"Hey, Buck," Steve said, his voice careful, like he didn't want to spook him. "Welcome back to the land of the living."
Bucky blinked. Processing. Steve's face was the first thing that registered, but there was someone else standing behind him, arms crossed, looking way too amused for someone in a room with a traumatized assassin. Dark hair, green eyes, and an expression that screamed 'I enjoy causing problems on purpose.'
"Who's the kid?" Bucky rasped, voice scratchy from disuse.
"Kid?" Harry scoffed, stepping forward. "I'll have you know I'm legally old enough to drink, drive, and make questionable life choices. Not necessarily in that order."
Steve sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "That's Harry. He helped me get you out."
"Helped?" Harry snorted. "Steve, let's be honest, you throw the punches, I do the magic, and together we make HYDRA's day significantly worse." He turned to Bucky. "I mean, sure, Steve would have done the dramatic 'Bucky, come home' thing, but I was the one who stopped those HYDRA goons from scrambling your brain like an overcooked omelet."
Bucky's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what was happening. His brain still felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, but something about the way Steve was looking at him—like he was still Bucky, not just the Winter Soldier—made him want to believe this was real.
"You remember me?" Steve asked, hope threaded through his voice.
Bucky exhaled, staring at the ceiling as he searched through the haze in his mind. It was like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. But some things were still there, buried deep beneath the layers of programming and pain.
"Yeah," he said, voice rough but sure. "I remember you."
Steve let out a breath, relief washing over his face. "Good. That's good."
Harry clapped his hands together. "Great, now that we've established that, we can move on to the next phase of Bucky's reintegration into society."
Bucky narrowed his eyes. "Which is?"
"Well, step one is getting you to stop looking like you're plotting someone's assassination every five minutes," Harry said cheerfully. "Step two, I'm teaching you about the wonders of modern pop culture because I refuse to let you go another day without knowing what a meme is. Step three, Steve is going to force you to go on long, sentimental walks where he tells you about all the things you missed."
Steve frowned. "That's not—okay, that's accurate."
Bucky just stared at them for a long moment. This was a lot. He wasn't sure if he wanted to punch Harry or thank him, but either way, something about this—about them—felt…safe. Familiar, even.
He sighed. "Fine. But if I don't like this 'meme' thing, I'm going back to brooding in peace."
Harry grinned. "Deal. But just so you know, I'm starting with cat videos. Resistance is futile."
Steve chuckled, shaking his head as Bucky gave him a deadpan look that clearly said 'what fresh hell have you dragged me into?' But for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt something close to hope.
Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the worst place to wake up after all.
—
The days that followed were a tightrope walk between therapy, support, and a vigilant eye on Bucky's progress. It was like trying to tame a rabid raccoon—except the raccoon was a former assassin with a metal arm and trust issues. And Harry Potter, ever the overachiever, had taken it upon himself to be the raccoon whisperer.
Bucky, for his part, tolerated it because Steve vouched for Harry, and, well, the kid had a weird way of making people believe in the impossible. Also, Bucky was too tired to argue. He'd been through enough mind control to know that if someone said they could help untangle his brain spaghetti, it was worth at least one attempt.
One afternoon, Harry flopped into the chair next to Bucky's bed, legs sprawled, wand twirling between his fingers. He had the look of a man about to do something either very impressive or very stupid.
"Alright, Tin Man," Harry announced, ignoring Bucky's immediate scowl. "We're going diving into your memories today. Think of it as therapy, but instead of talking about your feelings, I rummage around in your brain like a toddler in a Lego bin."
Bucky folded his arms, metal fingers tapping against his bicep. "And what happens if I don't like what I find?"
Harry shrugged. "Then we burn it, bury it, or throw it in the mental equivalent of the 'do not open ever' box. Your call."
Steve, standing by the window with his patented concerned face, shot Bucky an encouraging nod. "You don't have to do this, Buck. But… I think it might help."
Bucky exhaled through his nose. He had enough ghosts in his head to start a horror franchise. If Harry's magic could clear some of the cobwebs, maybe it was worth a shot. He gave a tight nod. "Fine. But if you poke at anything embarrassing, I'm punching you."
Harry grinned. "Noted. Let's get started."
He lifted his hand and rested it lightly on Bucky's temple. "Legilimens."
The world dissolved.
Suddenly, Harry was knee-deep in the chaotic junk drawer of Bucky's subconscious. It was a mess—flashes of redacted mission reports, the sharp snap of orders barked in Russian, and the cold, unfeeling void of the Winter Soldier's mind. It was like flipping through a horror movie where the protagonist was also the monster.
Bucky flinched as memories surged forward. Harry braced himself, steering them past the worst of it with the finesse of someone dodging a Howler explosion at breakfast.
"You're tougher than you realize, Bucky," Harry's voice echoed through the haze. "HYDRA tried to turn you into a weapon, but jokes on them—you're more of an entire artillery unit."
Bucky let out a short, humorless laugh. "That supposed to be comforting?"
"Absolutely," Harry replied. "Also, side note? Your arm is wicked cool. You should see if Stark can upgrade it to shoot lasers."
That earned him an actual smirk from Bucky, small but real. "Noted."
Harry pressed forward, filtering through the pain and finding something softer. The laughter of two Brooklyn kids running through the streets, the warmth of a friendship that had survived wars, ice, and mind control.
"There you are," Harry murmured, latching onto the image of Bucky Barnes—the real Bucky, not the weapon HYDRA had tried to forge.
Bucky blinked rapidly, eyes damp, but this time he wasn't drowning in the past. He was swimming toward the surface.
Harry pulled back, exhaling as he let the connection fade. He leaned back in his chair, wiping his forehead like he'd just run a marathon. "Whew. That was intense. Your brain has a lot of real estate, Barnes."
Bucky stared at him, expression unreadable. Then, with the kind of deadpan delivery that made even Steve blink, he said, "Did you just break into my mind to give me a pep talk and tell me my arm is cool?"
Harry grinned. "Yep. And I'd do it again."
Steve let out a relieved chuckle, stepping closer. "How do you feel, Buck?"
Bucky flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders as if testing how much lighter he felt. "Better."
Harry clapped his hands. "Fantastic. Now, I think I deserve a drink. Or a nap. Maybe both."
Bucky huffed a quiet laugh. Maybe, just maybe, this whole healing thing wouldn't be so bad after all.
—
Bucky Barnes was getting real tired of people looking at him like he was going to snap and start launching knives at their heads. To be fair, that had happened exactly once (okay, maybe twice), but in his defense, Tony Stark had been insufferable. And moving a little too fast in his personal space. And had called him "Tin Man."
Still, progress was progress.
Steve Rogers, ever the relentless optimist, had made it his personal mission to bridge the gap between Bucky's fractured past and his confusing present. And that meant a lot of forced bonding activities.
"You know, Buck, I was thinking we could go through some old photos," Steve said one evening, strolling into Bucky's room with the kind of enthusiasm that made Bucky immediately suspicious. "Might help jog some good memories."
"Or," Bucky drawled, "we could not."
Steve, undeterred, dropped a worn photo album onto the table with the reverence of a man presenting the Declaration of Independence. "Too late."
Before Bucky could escape, the door swung open, and in walked Harry Potter, who, somehow, had become an unofficial member of Team Help Bucky Cope With Life.
"Oh, this is going to be good," Harry said, plopping into the chair across from Bucky. "Steve being wholesome? You know, Barnes, it's a rare sight. Like spotting a unicorn, or Tony willingly sharing a snack."
"I share!" Tony's voice rang out from the hallway. "I just have standards about who gets my food."
"Uh-huh," Harry said, flipping open the album. "Anyway. Let's see what we've got. Ah, yes. Captain America: The Brooklyn Years."
The first photo Steve showed was of him and Bucky at Coney Island, frozen in time mid-laugh. Bucky frowned, his fingers hovering over the image as if it might dissolve under his touch. "I remember this," he murmured. "It feels like a different life."
Steve nodded. "It kind of was. But it's still part of you. We can't change what happened, but we can build something new."
Harry tapped the page. "And if that new thing includes Steve realizing funnel cake exists, I'd call it a win."
Before Bucky could respond with something suitably sarcastic, Natasha Romanoff slipped in like the ninja assassin she was, leaned against the wall, and smirked. "Did I hear bonding time?"
"I told you this would be worth crashing," Clint Barton said, appearing from seemingly nowhere and making himself comfortable on Bucky's bed like he lived there.
Tony sauntered in last, carrying a whiskey glass and looking unimpressed. "Okay, but can we talk about the real crime here? How has no one mentioned Bucky's tragic lack of hair product? Steve, you let your best friend walk around looking like that?"
Bucky scowled. "I have a metal arm and government agencies hunting me. Forgive me if mousse isn't a priority."
"Tragic," Tony deadpanned. "JARVIS, remind me to send Barnes a care package of decent conditioner."
"Certainly, sir. Shall I also include a tutorial on modern hygiene?"
Harry choked on his laughter. "JARVIS, I think I love you."
"Many do, Mr. Potter. Few are worthy."
Bruce Banner wandered in next, looking as exhausted as a man who'd spent the last two hours keeping Tony from dismantling his own lab equipment. "Is this what we're doing now? Nostalgia night? You know I could be doing something productive, like not being here?"
"Yeah, but you're here anyway, so shut up and enjoy the trip down memory lane," Clint said, flipping through the album like it was his own family scrapbook. "Wow, Steve. Look at you. Just a little guy."
"I was a little guy," Steve said dryly. "Thanks for pointing that out."
Bucky, who had spent the last several minutes pretending not to be moved, finally cracked a small smile. "You were scrappy, though. Got beat up constantly."
"And from what Steve told us, you got into trouble constantly defending him," Natasha added. "Nothing's changed."
"Except now I have an indestructible shield and moral authority," Steve said, grinning.
"Ugh," Tony groaned. "I knew this night would end with Steve flexing about being a moral compass. Someone hand me a drink before I gag."
Harry stretched out, looking entirely too comfortable. "This is my favorite soap opera. The drama. The emotional growth. The absurdity of Tony's need to comment on everything."
"It's a gift," Tony said smugly.
Bucky shook his head, flipping another page in the album. The faces of the past stared back at him, but for the first time, they weren't just ghosts. They were reminders of who he had been, who he still was, and—maybe—who he could be again.
And if that future involved Steve, Harry, and the rest of these weirdos, well...
He supposed it wouldn't be so bad.
---
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