#steve is tired

[ghostengarden]

Steve’s not letting him track deer blood across the floors. Part 2 of this

[jonathanbyersphd]

Evil, toxic Jancy who are like no no the reason we keep hooking up every time we're within a 5 mile radius of each other is cause of shared trauma we are not in love we swear 🙂‍↕️

[mikhardwheat]

Modern Setting. Platonic Stancy: the Simple Art of Caring.

Steve left his jacket at Nancy's last week, so he walks to her house. He knows it's her day off. He is surprised to stumble upon Robin playing videogames with a random ginger kid in the living room.

Steve: who's that? Nancy: oh, that's Max Nancy: Robin is tutoring her Steve: doesn't look like tutoring to me Nancy: well, they were studying half an hour ago Steve: Steve: are you jealous Nancy: what Steve: of our friendship with Dustin? Steve: jeez, Nance, you could've just said, if it was bothering you Steve: you didn't have to find yourself a middleschooler Nancy: Steve, are you high? Steve: Steve: maybe. Nancy: should I call Eddie? Steve: I'll be fine Nancy: wanna join us while whatever this is is wearing off? Steve: preferably, yeah Steve: sorry Nancy: don't be Nancy: any particular reason for your lack of soberness? Steve: just tired Nancy: okay Nancy: but if you need anything, you always can- Steve: rely on you, I know Steve: thanks, Nance, means a lot.

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

The Grace in Syn

Chapter One

Summary: (Steve Rogers x OFC Syn Lee)

Steve Rogers is tired. Tired of fighting, tired of fame, tired of being Captain America and all the stress that came along with the title. He was burnt out and running from his problems, riding cross country on his motorcycle, looking for... something.

Himself. A life. A purpose. Something to put a spark back into his life.

As a single mom, Syn knows all about struggling through life. As a mom to a special needs child, she knows sacrifice and heartbreak. As the sister to a soldier who took his own life, she knows pain and can recognize the haunted emptiness of a broken soul when she sees it.

She doesn't know what deity or universal force brought the soldier to her door, but she's not letting another hurting soul walk out of her life without doing all in her minimal power to help him.

A/N:**I do not tag. **To be notified of updates and new works, subscribe to me or the story on AO3 for email notification, or follow the library blog @tilltheendwilliwrite-library  with notifications turned on so you’re not missing out.

The last heat wave of Autumn beat down on Steve's back as he manoeuvred his motorcycle through the quaint town of Firefly.

The town was like something of a long-forgotten fantasy, situated between two large and beautiful lakes, joined by a small river over which an old but well-maintained wooden bridge spanned. Brick-faced storefronts, red and white striped awnings, iron street lamps, and baskets of colourful flowers were like a remembered dream of his youth when pictures of such places appeared, touted as resort towns, appeared in magazines as the perfect place for a family vacation.

A place he could once never afford to visit.

But it was different now. Steve wasn't just some poor, skinny kid from Brooklyn anymore. He was Captain freaking America. He had money. He had recognition. He had fame he never wanted.

His life was different now, and it grated on him.

At times he felt so far removed from the real world, living in a shiny fortress-like some damn fairytale prince. His only duty was to haul ass and take out the big bad when they appeared. It was all train, workout, fight, and repeat to the point the days blurred into each other, and the years went by. Hell, he wouldn't even realize it was happening if the seasons didn't change.

The monotony was getting to him. It made him cynical and hard, prompting Natasha to push him into this road trip.

Steve supposed he'd snapped at their support personnel one too many times if she was putting her foot down. He always apologized, but he was getting tired of needing to.

The truth was, Steve felt old, he felt tired, he felt disillusioned by life, and if he didn't know damn well Stark and Natasha could find him wherever he went, he might just drive off into the sunset and never look back.

But the world needed Captain America.

He just wished someone needed Steve Rogers.

As the town around him shifted from storefronts to quaint cottages and homes with white picket fences, Steve slowly began to accelerate. Firefly would become just another dot on the map, another blip in his rearview mirror in his search to find something.

Himself. A purpose. A life.

The outskirts beckoned, one last home remaining, more rundown than the rest with a sagging gate and in desperate need of a paint job. A beat-up red truck sat out front, more rusty than red, and a woman in a pink sundress argued on the phone in hushed tones.

He saw this all in passing as nothing more than his soldier's mind cataloging his surroundings and pressed for more speed, determined to leave Firefly in his review.

From behind the truck, a ball bounced into the street a split second before the child followed.

Surprise and terror saw him overcorrecting around her, stupidly dropping his foot to shove the bike away from the child, and Steve laid the bike down hard.

Gravel shredded his jeans and much of the skin beneath before he got his heel down and brought everything to a stop.

"Gracie!"

Steve kicked the bike off his legs with unrestrained - and unnecessary - violence to the woman's screams for the girl and stood bloody and filthy from the road. He glared down at his bike, temper flaring. He'd done enough damage to the machine to know he wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

"Oh, God. Gracie! Baby, look at me. Are you okay?"

Steve spun on his heel and marched toward the woman and the kid. "Excuse me, ma'am, but you need to keep a better eye on your kid and teach her the dangers of following a ball into the street like that! You're damn lucky I was able to avoid her!"

She clutched the child to her skirt. "I am so sor-"

Steve slashed a bloody hand through the air. "I don't want to hear it! I wrecked my bike and much of myself to avoid her. Do your job and be a better mom!"

Even as the words left his lips, Steve cringed. They were terrible, and he knew it, and if anyone, especially Bucky or Nat - or All-father help him - Thor heard them come out of his mouth, they would be handing him his ass.

The woman's lip quivered before she burst into tears and sat down on the curb, clinging to the little girl.

Guilt sent bile rolling in his gut, and Steve dropped down beside her. "Shit, I'm sorry. That was really mean. Please don't cry."

She sobbed brokenly into the little girl's brown hair as the child gently patted her mom.

"Please!" Steve begged desperately. "I swear I didn't mean it. My bike will be fine; I'll be fine. Everyone is okay!"

The woman shook her head. "You're right. I'm a horrible mom!"

Steve wasn't sure he still believed in hell, but if one act could send him there, it would be this one.

"Hey, hey, now." He lightly patted her arm, only to leave a dirty, bloody handprint. "Of course you're not. I'm sure your husband doesn't think that."

"No husband," she sniffed, seeming to find some control. "Just a deadbeat baby daddy."

Internally, he cringed. He'd just berated a single mom, one who was doing her best, just like his mom had always done.

Steve was definitely going to hell.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, the weight of her world appearing to settle heavily on her shoulders as she pulled herself together. "I was on the phone with my asshole ex before all this. His douchebaggery can be distracting."

"Should you say things like that in front of Gracie?" Steve frowned.

The woman allowed the child to sit back. Her eyes appeared like enormous grey orbs being her thick glasses. But it was when the woman tapped the girl's shoulder that Steve understood.

"Gracie, say hello," she spoke, using her hand to sign the words at the same time.

The child smiled and signed, Hello.

"Gracie is deaf and only partially sighted," the woman sighed. "So you're right. I should have been paying better attention because she wouldn't have heard you and likely didn't see you at all."

Steve swallowed thickly. He was a giant, flaming asshole.

He raised his hand and signed as he spoke. "Hello, Gracie. I'm sorry I scared you and your mom. My name is Steve."

The child smiled the most angelic smile Steve had ever seen. She was like a tiny fairy, no more than six and utterly charming.

Hurt? She frowned and pointed at the blood on Steve's hands.

"Oh, god! Gracie's right! How bad are you injured? Do I need to call the doctor? We don't have an ambulance service."

He shook his head as she moved Gracie from her lap and got quickly to her feet.

Steve rose with her and looked down at his shredded jeans. He needed to take care of the road rash before the gravel healed into the flesh. Already the bleeding had stopped, and he could feel the skin starting to pull back together. "I'll be fine. Nothing a shower and time won't heal. My bike, on the other hand…." He sighed. "That will take me a little longer."

"I'm sorry, this is all my fault," she fretted, wringing her hands together.

Steve finally got a good look at her. Average height, dark hair and grey eyes like her daughter; she was softer than most women he knew. She had muscle tone in her arms and what he could see of her legs, but she wasn't a soldier by any means. Her hips were wider with a slight belly he noticed happened to some women after they had kids. It wasn't unappealing - quite the opposite.

Steve had been told he needed to put aside his more 'forties' way of thinking and get with the century, but he didn't think it was necessarily wrong to want a woman who was more homemaker than hellion.

He liked the idea of a family, kids, dinners together, and nights spent in each other's arms. Yes, it was probably old-fashioned, but he wanted a family separate from work. He wanted something outside that life. He wanted to be Steve to the woman he loved, not Captain Rogers. Was that so wrong?

He shook himself from his musings to admire her sweet features. She didn't have Nat's exotic face or Sharon's girl next door charm. She was more classic. There was a quiet realism to her face that bespoke her daily grind and real-world problems, not the unrealistic reality that came with fighting space aliens and living under the thumb of a government-run agency with access to a billionaire's resources.

Sun-kissed and golden, her skin had been soft under his fingers, her feet were bare, and there was the slight tang of soap as if her phone call interrupted her laundry.

She brushed the tears from her face and held out her hand. "Emersyn Lee. People call me Syn."

He shook her hand and waited for the recognition when he said, "Steve Rogers."

It never came.

"I am so sorry about this. I'll pay for the damage-"

Steve shook his head. "That won't be necessary."

"It's the least I can do," she insisted. "I also have a guest house. It's not much, but I rent it out in the summer for the lake crowd. It will give you somewhere to stay until you're up and running again."

"Ma'am, that's not necessary," he attempted to protest, only for her to shoot him a look that said she wouldn't take no for an answer as she hefted Gracie to her hip.

"You'll accept my hospitality, Mr. Rogers. If you won't take my money, you'll stay until you're patched up, fed, and have a chance to fix your ride. Now, grab your bag, and if you can, your bike and I'll show you where you can get cleaned up."

She nodded firmly and started for the side of the house where a gravel drive led around back.

Steve sighed before heading for his bike. He could humour her for one night if it made her feel better. Then he'd have the bike hauled to a garage where he could get it fixed up and get out of her hair.

***

Steve dropped his duffle on the shiny floor of the tiny house.

As advertised, it wasn't huge, but a sofa, television, small kitchenette, bathroom and a queen bed covered in old colourful quilts waited beyond the door.

Oddly enough, it reminded him of the apartment in Brooklyn he'd shared with Bucky. It wasn't much bigger, but it was cleaner and more colourful.

Everything was a little shabby, but he liked it. It wasn't the immaculate and modern that Stark insisted on, but homier. It felt like someone lived here. If felt like some loved here.

"As I said, it isn't much-"

"No, it's great!" Steve grinned, moving further into the room, making sure he signed as he spoke. "I haven't stayed in a place this nice in a while." He'd been sleeping rough, just off the road next to his bike or in dive motels to avoid being recognized.

When he glanced at Emersyn, she was watching him with her head tilted, an odd, almost pained expression on her face. "Miss Lee?"

She jolted out of her head. "It's Syn, please. And you're welcome to stay as long as you like, Steve. The lake season is over; I've no more bookings. The house will just sit empty through the winter."

He nodded though he didn't intend to extend his stay longer than one night.

"There are clean towels under the sink and toiletries in the basket if you need them. The first aid kit is in the upper left-hand cabinet. If you need more gauze or bandages, I have some in the house. Come to the back door when you're finished for fried chicken and biscuits."

"Ma'am, you don't have to-"

"I know that!" she snapped, the pained look back in her eyes. "I want to," she murmured. "Please, Steve. Have dinner with us. Not many people can sign as well as you. It will be good for Gracie to have someone besides me to practice with."

He glanced at the little girl who grinned like a cherub and signed, Hurry. Fix hurt. Mom chicken good.

She patted her stomach, and Steve melted. "Okay, sweetheart. I'll join you for dinner."

Syn chuckled. "No one can resist her." Her smile fell away. "Almost no one."

Steve got a glimpse of how badly Gracie's father had and likely continued to hurt them both and wondered at how anyone could? What kind of chump was this asshole?

"Give me thirty minutes," Steve murmured, returning to grab his duffle and standing to his full height.

He looked down at Syn who's face betrayed her surprise, and he wondered if she only just realized their difference in size.

She swallowed, pink warmed her cheeks, and she stepped backward out the door. "No need to knock when you're ready. The door is announcement enough."

He wasn't sure what that meant but nodded and watched her go—a pretty young mother with too much to handle on her own.

He shook his head and shut the door, tossing his duffle onto the bed as he headed into the bathroom.

The person in the mirror made him jump, then stare in disbelief.

"No wonder she didn't recognize me." He had the look of a wild man to him.

His hair was overly long, beard full, making him wonder just how many days had passed since he left the compound.

Steve returned to his duffle and dug out his seldom-used cell phone only to find it was dead.

He flinched. That wasn't good. The battery could last for seven days in the field without a charge. If it was dead, he'd gone at least a week without charging. How many days had it been since he checked in?

Quickly, he dug out the cord, plugged it into the wall, gave it thirty seconds of charge, and turned it back on—thirty seconds after that, it was lighting up like Christmas.

Fifteen messages. Thirty texts. Over fifty emails.

"Shit, fuck, dammit!"

Steve didn't bother to read the texts, the emails, or listen to his messages; he just called Bucky.

It only rang once.

"You stupid son of a bitch!"

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling it heat with embarrassment. "Hey, Buck. My phone died. I just finally got somewhere with power. Don't send anyone!" he added hurriedly.

There was a long-suffering sigh on the other end. "Look, pal…."

Steve rolled his eyes and mouthed the words along with Bucky.

"I get that you need a break, but you have to check-in, or we'll think someone grabbed you."

"I know, Buck," he sighed, putting the call on speaker so he could head back into the bathroom and strip off his pants. It ended up being more of a peeling effect as he tore skin to get them down and grimaced in pain.

"What do you mean you haven't had power for a while?"

"Just been sleepin' out. You know, roughing it." Steve shrugged even though Bucky couldn't see it.

"Punk, you don't like roughing it on a mission unless you have to. What the fuck is goin' on in your head?"

It was another line Steve could have mimicked with ease. "Christ, Buck, can you not?" he muttered, running the sink full of hot water and soap before digging for a washcloth.

"Steve," he sighed. "We're just worried about you."

"I'm a grown-ass man, Bucky!" he snapped. "Stop treating me like a child!"

There was a moment of silence in which Steve closed his eyes. He was lashing out at someone who didn't deserve it, but he couldn't seem to stop.

"Get your head on straight, Steve. I'll call off the search dogs, but you better keep your fucking phone charged."

Before he could apologize, Bucky hung up on him.

Steve sighed and looked again at the face in the mirror, hardly able to recognize himself.

He was spiralling, had seen it happen to the people around him enough times to know the danger signs, but hell if he knew what to do about it.

Shoving it down under all the rest of his 'not ready to deal with this' mental pile, Steve rang out the wet cloth and began to scrub.

Next Chapter

[stachmousworld]

Barnes Family

 Pairing: Bucky Barnes x POC! female character 

Summary: Bucky has been de-aged by a witch. To help him cope with his new temporary condition they all go to the beach. Of course, Bucky will do as it pleases him and go on an adventure on his own. Steve, who is his babysitter, will need a good week of rest after that.

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

“So, how are you?” Sam asked Steve after throwing a frisbee at Clint.

“Tired. I knew it’d be hard on him, but this much…”

Sam offered a compassionate smile.

“Who’d thought a tiny body could be that loud.”

Steve winced as he remembered Bucky’s breakdown. His face had become so red and his whole body so tensed that he’d though Bucky was having a stroke. It had taken them 8 milk bottles, a warm bath and another 20 hours for him to completely calm down and sleep. Let’s just say that Steve had missed, albeit briefly, his moment spent under the ice.

Hearing his best friend piercing his tampons with his shrill voice had not been a walk in the park. Above all when Steve knew that if Bucky hadn’t protected him, he’d be the toddler.

“Yeah, who’d think,” Steve repeated.

“And about our baby Avengers, where’s he now?”

Steve frowned not understanding the question.

“He is sleeping,” he replied slowly.

The frisbee almost hit Steve who caught it effortlessly. Clint screamed an apology.

“Dude, I don’t want to be that guy, but Bucky is not there.”

Steve turned to the cot next to him and froze, fear running through his veins.

Empty.

The cot was empty.

Steve jumped to his feet and looked around wildly. His eidetic memory couldn’t really help as many people were leaving and arriving. He ignored the weird and suspicious or even recognizing glances from the tourists. Sam screamed at Clint to come and look for Bucky. Ensued a few screams because Clint had lost his hearing aids and couldn’t understand. Or maybe it was the two twin sisters ogling him that perturbated him.

After what felt like an eternity, Steve spotted Bucky’s small body wobbling his way to…Steve narrowed is eyes and spotted one black woman laying on her back. She had a hat on her face.

“Bucky!” Steve yelled.

Bucky froze. He glanced behind and looked straight at Steve with an annoyed expression. Steve gestured him to come. Bucky tilted his head and shook it. He turned around, fell on his hands and started crawling towards the woman.

Faster.

“Shit,” Steve muttered, before taking off after Bucky. He avoided many people who tried to get his autograph and screamed an apology on his way. He’d have time to be embarrassed after.

Bucky was already near the stranger. He stood up, wobbled a bit and…fell.

Too focus on his target, Steve almost tripped on someone’s towel. He apologized through gritted teeth and sprinted. Bucky was now laying across the woman’s chest. He wasn’t showing no sign of moving away. If not, he was slowly climbing on top of her. Bucky, what the hell, Steve groaned, speeding up.

A few seconds later and he was there.

The woman was still not moving. She seemed unaware of the commotion. Steve made a quick prayer and approached.

“Bucky,” he hissed. “Come back.”

Bucky rolled over and gurgled some words. Steve sighed. And Bucky said he was the reckless one. Fearing both to be sent to the anti-harassment classes and the dent on his reputation if someone were to film them, he acted quickly. He glanced a last time at the woman and leaned forward, trying to grab Bucky’s leg. Bucky whined and kicked him, pretty harshly, before continuing his ascension on the woman’s chest.

“Bucky!” he whisper-yelled. Steve made another move then froze when the woman moved. She readjusted her hat on her face and laid still. Only for a second. Bucky suddenly dropped his smile and his eyes were open wide. The woman patted where Bucky was a few times. Then stopped. She took off her hat and blinked blearily. There was no vestige of her sleep and her face looked as good as new.

“What…” She raised her eyes and stared at Steve who backed off, hands high. A few intelligible apologies tumbled out of his mouth. She, then, looked at Bucky who burped loudly. She stared at him for a couple of seconds or minutes, Steve wouldn’t be able to tell. All he could hear is Fury admonishing them because of the scandal. Bucky Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier, grope a woman while de-aged.

“Bucky,” she sighed before hoisted him on her chest, and hold him close. “Divorce is still on the table, you know?”

Bucky grabbed her face with his tiny hands, giving her a toothless smile.

“What?” Steve exclaimed, shocked.

“Hm?” She replied. Bucky had put one of his hands in her mouth. She pretended to bite it, eliciting a giggle out of him.

“How? Divorce?” Steve managed to say, although reality seemed too surreal. His brain was working way too slow. He tried to piece back the information and was still left with a huge gap. What was happening?

She raised her left hand and held it out. Steve eyes followed the graceful fingers, where a beautiful rock shone.

Steve’s brain short circuited.

“Your daughter is going to kill you, you know that,” she warned Bucky, who giggled. “She is not going to like you under this form, and she’ll take revenge for all the times you woke her up from her naps to play.”

Bucky snorted. She rolled her eyes.

“You won’t say I didn’t warn you.”

At the same time, a sleepy yawn erupted next to a pile of towels. A small head peaked through the towel and the most beautiful baby appeared. A dark skin baby girl with huge brown eyes gazed at her mom happily, unaware of the others. She smiled softly while brushing her coily hair. Her cheeks were round and her little finger chubby. Everything in Steve wanted to give this innocent soul whatever she wished for. And if someone dared harm her, he’d…wait a minute.

Steve, who was now sure he’d been hit by the witch curse and had been sent to another universe, stumbled back. He needed to focus on the important matter. Bucky was…married. Bucky was married and had a baby. With a woman. Steve didn’t know what was the most shocking. Had he been so blind that he didn’t notice? If Bucky had acted differently wouldn’t Steve, his best pal, had not noticed? Steve racked his brain to find some clues.

It’s true that Bucky had been happier. But Steve had thought it was the sessions working. After all, he had started the therapy at the same time he started to go out more. For Steve, Bucky had only been following some advice from the therapist. Like he, himself, did.

Lost in his memories, he didn’t even notice the presence of Clint and Sam by his sides.

“So, you also didn’t know?” Clint asked, strangely calm.

Steve shook slowly his head. “Is that a dream?”

“Clint, no!” Sam exclaimed.

Steve felt a sting behind his head. He didn’t even budge under the strength of the slap. He dazedly pressed a hand behind his head and said “ouch”. Clint laughed and avoided Sam’s fist. But not Steve’s. He punched him straight in the groin. Clint crumbled on the floor. Sam didn’t make a single move to help him. He towered over him, hands on his hips, staring at him with disapproval.

“I told you.”

Clint huffed and puffed. His hands cupped his groin and his face was red as beetroots.

Steve eyes were still on the little family in front of him. He couldn’t believe it. Bucky was married and he hadn’t told him. A spark of pain erupted from the center of his chest to his head. He repressed his tears and bit his lips. Now was not the time.

The little girl crawled toward her mom, eyes now on Bucky. Her soft face morphed into a grimace.

“’aby?” She asked her mom. She then patted her mom’s belly and pointed Bucky. “Aby!” She asked again, this time her eyes wide open with surprise.

“No, baby girl, it’s not the baby. Mommy told you we had to wait a little longer to see him.” Bucky’s head snapped up.

Steve was also shocked. Another baby? The pain was now oppressing. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to stand it. He swallowed with difficulty and clenched his hand hard. The pain from his nails pressing onto the soft skin of his palms relieved the mental wound. It helped him focus on the present.

Bucky gurgle something. His wife sighed.

“Yes, Bucky, I’m pregnant.”

“Daddy!” The little girl screamed. Her eyes travelled quickly from Bucky to her mom.

“Yes, your father,” she confirmed, deadpanned.

The little girl didn’t ask anymore questions and stayed silent. She stared at her dad a few seconds and started pouting. She patted her mom’s breast in quick firm motions.

“Mine,” she announced, with a determined face.

Bucky gave her a lopsided smile before laying his head onto his wife chest. His daughter reacted quickly. She yelped indignant, then pushed him violently of her mom. Bucky’s body rolled onto the floor, where he stayed in shock.

“Mine!” She screamed, before climbing totally on her mom. She leaned forward and embraced her boobs with her tiny, chubby arms, effectively protecting them from anyone.

Bucky looked at his wife, lips wobbling, tears trickling in his grey eyes. He raised his arms toward her and made grabby hands. She raised an eyebrow.

“Huh Huh, don’t cry. I told you so. It’s on you. And you laughed at me. Next time, when you wake your daughter, you’d think twice.” She patted her daughter’s back and kissed the crown of her head.

Bucky spun around and made grabby hands at Steve, who finally fainted.

“Come here you little donkey head,” Bucky’s wife sighed. “But don’t touch my boobs.” Bucky whined but complied. His eyes were a little teary, but his pout was still glued on his face. He crawled to her and sat down, eyes on his daughter.

“Baby girl, your dad doesn’t want to steal them from you, you know?”

The baby raised her head and glared at her dad.

“Mine,” she stated. “An’ ‘aby ‘rozer”

Her mom cooed at her words and nuzzled against her neck. She pressed loud kisses onto her small face.

“Yes, yours and your baby brother or sister,” her mom corrected.

The baby girl raised her eyes to her mom and pressed a hand on her mouth to shut her up.

“No! ‘rozer not sis’er,” she replied louder.

Her mom nodded slowly, letting her daughter affirm whatever she wanted. She hoisted Bucky and embraced them both. She looked sadly at Steve’s body.

“I told you he didn’t remember our wedding nor his goddaughter’s birth,” she complained, nose brushing his dark curls. Bucky muffled response came as unintelligible, exept for his wife, who sighed for the umpteenth time.

“Yeah, I’m right again. Thor’s mead was too much, and you know it.”

Bucky grumbled. His looked at his daughter patted her back as soft as a toddler who didn’t have any motor control could, which resulted in a mild slap. His daughter opened her eyes and clenched her fingers into tight fist. Bucky barely had the time to brace for the impact that her fist hit him square in the shoulder. If it wasn’t for the support his wife was providing, he’d be rolling, again on the floor.

He frowned and automatically raised his fists. Baby or not, he was not getting down without a fight.

“Ok, that’s not happening,” his wife took them both off her chest and sat them face to face. They glared at each other.

“This is your dad. I know he can be annoying, but he loves you.” The baby girl growled. “And…I promise he’s going to let you sleep your naps.”

The woman turned to Bucky.

“And you. Once you are an adult, you’ll apologize.” Bucky started to babble angrily. “Or else, James Buchanan Barnes,” She raised her voice. “Or else God help me, because you won’t see a lot of me.”

Bucky dropped his gaze, pouting. He babbled softly some apologies to his daughter, who considered him seriously. It took a few seconds before she smiled softly. He thought he heard his wife say something about being the only decent parent. He wouldn’t disagree on that.

“’ady,” she said with a tiny voice. She raised her arms and hugged him.

Feeling so little in his daughter’s arms and feeling her love for him made him cry. His tiny body didn’t have the control it should have. He was supposed to stay impassible or coo. But not cry. But the more he stayed in her embrace the more he felt weak. She was so…

“’Ady’ sad?” she asked worried as she detached herself from him.

More tears fell down his cheeks.

“Nope,” his wife shot him a knowing look. “He is impressed by your strength.” She grabbed their daughter’s arms and squeezed them gently. “You have a mean throw, princess.”

Fin.

Mother masterrliiiisssstt ✨✨✨🐱‍🏍

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

The Grace in Syn

Chapter Two

Master List  |  Steve Rogers Master List  |  Series Master List

Previous Chapter on Tumblr (SFW version)

Keep Reading on AO3

I do not tag. For notifications on the story, please follow it on AO3. An account is required to access my work. For more information about how to obtain a FREE AO3 account, see this post. Please note, the Tumblr Version will be SFW while the full smut version will be available only on AO3 to avoid interaction with minors. Thanks.

Warnings: ptsd, Steve is a bit of an ass, disabled child, angst

Syn’s house was quaint, though it was easy for Steve to see the rental unit received more care than her own home. 

As he made his way across the back lawn (that needed both mowing and the leaves raked) and up the stairs, which creaked, groaned, and protested his weight to the screened-in porch, he admired the one and a half story home. It could really be something with a bit of elbow grease and TLC.

The screen door screeched loudly when Steve pulled it open, announcing him just like Syn said it would. It caused a wry smile to pull at his lips. 

There would be no sneaking up on anyone here.

One would think a porch would have a swing, but this held two wooden kitchen chairs. One was blue, and the other a light shade of purple. He eyed the oddly matched chairs and scattering of toys before approaching the interior door that stood open.

"Come in, Steve!" Syn called from inside, though Gracie met him at the door.

He smiled at her and signed Hello.

She waved and grinned and reached for his hand, far too trusting of a stranger. 

His mind instantly went to all the ways someone could kidnap a child like her. Did she know nothing of Stranger Danger? 

Still, Steve let her have his hand. 

Better? she asked, touching the knuckles that had healed in the last thirty minutes.

He'd scrubbed a pound of gravel out of his leg and ankle, but sure. "Yes, all better."

She pulled him inside. 

Steve glanced around. There was an awful lot of wood panelling, but he supposed it was a cottage. On his left, a big stone fireplace sat in the centre of the wall, flanked by windows. Hardwood that had seen better days stretched out in front of him, showing wear patterns in the high traffic areas. But a colourful rug anchored the comfortable-looking gray sofa where pillows of blue and purple continued the theme from the porch. 

The small TV sitting on a stand next to the fireplace caused him to frown. He hadn't seen one so thick in a long time. The one in the guest house was newer than Syn's.

To the left of the sofa was a desk area overrun with papers and bills, while to the right, beneath the front window, was a bevy of toys. From the miniature kitchen to the dolls to the large-piece puzzle, Steve could tell what money she had Syn spent on Gracie. 

Yours? He asked her.

She nodded. 

Dinner make here? Steve pointed to her fake stove.

Gracie giggled and shook her head. 

"Are you sure? I think you must have helped. It sure smells good," he spoke and signed when Syn appeared from the room beyond the dining table. 

Gracie giggled again and pointed.

"Oh, your mom made dinner? I bet it's not as good as yours."

"Imaginary food always tastes amazing," Syn smiled.

Steve chuckled. "Thanks for this. You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," she insisted, setting a serving bowl onto a hot pad. "Ice tea or milk?"

"Milk would be great." 

And a pleasant surprise. Most people offered him alcohol which he declined and then sent them scrambling for something else, but Steve couldn't see the point in drinking when it didn't do anything for him. It felt like a waste, and truthfully, he didn't care much for beer.

He glanced again at the back door, noted what must be Syn's bedroom through the open one down a bit of hallway and did a double-take. It wasn't the iron rail footboard or the white lace bedding that gave him pause. It was the glimpse through a third door at what had to be the most god-awful bathroom he had ever laid eyes on. 

He only caught a glimpse, but the reflection off the mirror was that of a sea of pea green. 

Steve wondered if it was possible for eyes to melt having to look at something so horrendous. Then he approached the dining room and got a glimpse into her kitchen.

He wouldn't say he recoiled in horror, but he sure took a step back. 

"Holy Thor!" burst from Steve's lips before he could bite it back and caused Syn to wince and shoot him an embarrassed smile.

"I know. It's like the seventies threw up in there," she sighed and shook her head. "But it functions even in its ugliness."

"Doll, ugly is too tame a word," Steve muttered.

The wood cabinetry had a distinctly orange hue, but he couldn't tell if it was actually that colour or if it was reflecting the tone of the hideous wallpaper. 

Vines stretched up the wall and - good lord - over the ceiling on a cream background that had darkened with age to a not-so-nice yellow. Large circles, he thought were meant to depict oranges, lemons, and limes, grew on the vines in varying sizes like a child had stamped them on with a cut sponge. 

He'd seen such artwork when visiting elementary schools but didn't relay such to Syn. 

The kitchen rounded out with a stainless steel sink and backsplash (all one piece), yellow gold countertops and matching fridge, and a linoleum floor - cream with parkay work in golden green. 

"I think my eyes are bleeding," he muttered.

"Well, soldier, if I ever win the lottery, I'll make sure and call you for design tips!" she snapped, dropping a bowl with the green beans firmly on the table.

Steve flinched and tucked his hands in his pockets. "I didn't mean to insult you. I've just never seen anything like that before."

"Well, I assure you it was the height of fashion in the seventies when my great aunt built this place."

"I'm sure it was," he murmured, glancing down when a small hand tugged at his wrist. 

He pulled his hand from his pocket and gave it to Gracie, who led him to the chair at the head of the table and bid him sit. The metal and vinyl seat appeared flimsy but didn't even protest his weight as he settled gingerly into it. 

Gracie immediately climbed up on his knee and reached for the bowl of cut pickles. 

"Ah!" Syn tapped her fingers on the table to catch Gracie's attention. "Did you wash your hands?"

The girl ducked and shook her head. 

"Off you go," Syn instructed, her hands flying.

Gracie gave a long-suffering sigh and stared at him with pleading eyes. 

"Best do what mom says," he encouraged. 

You?

Steve smiled and set her on her feet. "I washed mine before coming over."

Gracie pouted but ran off to the bathroom.

"She's never this way with strangers," Syn murmured, watching her go and relieving Steve's fear about child predators. 

Her attention darted back to him. "You're very good with your ASL."

"One of the guys I work with is deaf without his hearing aids. I learned because he often turns them off to ignore us." 

"You learned for a coworker? He must be some kind of guy. Most people wouldn't bother." 

She swept back into the kitchen, and Steve admired the way her dress swirled around her legs and hips. It tied in the back with a thin string, while small buttons ran from her neckline to hem in the front. The floral pattern was small, carnations in a darker pink and leaves in muted greens Steve found pleasing to look at and focused there instead of on the disastrous wallpaper. 

"I guess you could say he's a friend."

"Would you say he's a friend?"

Steve glanced up and frowned. "Yeah, he's a friend."

She scraped carrots from a cutting board into a wooden bowl. "Support staff for your unit?" 

"How do you know I'm a soldier?"

She glanced at him, then looked pointedly at the fireplace behind him. 

Steve turned around and froze. A folded American flag sat beside the picture of a young man in full army dress. 

How the hell had he missed that?

"Syn, I'm so sorry," Steve said.

"My brother, Sawyer. It's been five years, and I still-" She turned away to grip the countertop. "You asked how I knew? You have the same look as him. The walk, the way you talk, even the duffel you carry."

"Observant," Steve murmured.

She busied herself with tossing the salad. "Afghanistan?"

"Among other places."

"How long have you been back?"

Steve found the fact she didn't seem to know who he was refreshing, but he still told her the truth. "I've been out for a couple of months, but they want me back. I'm… just not sure I can go back."

He looked down at his hands and rubbed his thumb over his palm. So much blood. So much pain. So much death followed him. Steve wasn't sure he could do it anymore. 

The weight of her hand startled him when it landed on his shoulder. He looked up into eyes like liquid smoke. "Don't let them pressure you into anything. If you need time to figure out what you want, then take it."

Steve laid his hand on hers and felt the contact zip like a shock up his arm. "I'm certainly gonna try."

She smiled and patted his shoulder, heading to the stove where she dished the chicken into a pan. "And Steve?"

"Yeah?" he muttered, eyeing the butter biscuits not far from his plate. 

She set the chicken down beside him. "Thank you for your service. I doubt you hear that enough."

He swallowed the choked feeling in his throat and nodded. 

***

Syn watched the man across the table sign with her daughter. She'd never seen Gracie quite so enamoured before. 

Her daughter was shy, standoffish even when it came to new people, but there was something about Steve, something in the air around him that made Syn feel safe. Even when he'd been angry and harsh, she hadn't been afraid of him. 

She'd recognized that he was a soldier almost instantly, even scruffy and unkempt. He had the same look Sawyer did when he came home. A little hollow, a little lost, his eyes haunted by things no one should have to see.

In the end, Sawyer wasn't able to handle it. He'd left shortly before Syn found out she was pregnant, and the phone call that they found his body came two weeks before Gracie was born. 

So intense was her despair over it; if she hadn't been pregnant if her great aunt hadn't left them this house, Syn knew she might have done the same as Sawyer. 

That was how Gracie got her name. She was Syn's saving grace in a world gone mad. In this world where her fiance wanted nothing to do with their child and left her as suddenly and as devastatingly as her brother, she had Gracie.

Even when they told her Gracie would never hear and likely never see with any clarity, Syn hadn't cared. She felt like Gracie was Sawyer's way of looking in on her because every smile, every giggle, every cheeky grin was like looking at her brother when he was a boy.

Looking at Steve, all she could see was Sawyer before he walked out of her life and took his own. 

She hated how poorly her country treated veterans. There was so little support for those who desperately needed it. So little care. So little understanding. 

Steve needed all three. 

Syn didn't know what God, angel, or deity placed him in her path, but she'd be damned if she let another soldier walk out of her life and lose his. She wasn't having it. Never again. 

After Sawyer left, she'd spent hours pouring over books on PTSD and mental health; she'd taken online classes, determined when he came home to help him and was hoping to work her way to a Ph.D., but after Gracie, all her school funds went to medical bills, and she put those dreams out of her mind.  

Steve was her chance to help a soldier like she couldn't help Sawyer. 

Thor help her if she failed a second time. 

A slight smirk twitched her lips. Steve had used Thor instead of God earlier. It made her wonder if - like so many soldiers - he, too, had a resurgence of Norse faith since the God of Thunder fell out of the sky or if it was just for amusement. 

She hoped it gave him a little peace or a little joy, whatever the reason.

Syn rose to gather the dishes and the empty chicken platter. Steve didn't look like someone who'd missed many meals - yet - but he ate like it. 

It was nice that someone appreciated her cooking. When he cleaned his plate the first time, then eyeballed the chicken, she slid the platter in front of him with a smile and a nod. Her leftovers disappeared down his throat, but she didn't complain. 

As his praise was mostly grunts of appreciation mixed with murmurs of how good it all was, how it reminded him of his ma's cooking, Syn was plenty happy to watch him eat.

"Let me help."

She avoided jumping but just barely, amazed by how quiet he was when he moved. "It's fine. You're my guest."

"No, ma'am." He gave a firm shake of his head, sending shaggy hair flying. "My ma always said the cook doesn't need to clean, even when you're a guest. I've washed dishes before. I don't mind doing so again."

He took the pile of plates from her and walked into the kitchen, where he began to fill the sink with hot water. He crouched to get the dish soap from under the cabinet like he knew it would be there.

Syn couldn't help the flair of feminine appreciation his broad back, lean waist, and incredible ass gave her. The man was stacked, but she kept those thoughts to herself.

Instead, she busied her hands collecting and carting the rest of their dinner dishes to the sink. Then she picked up the dish towel and began to dry. 

She bobbled the first cup and almost dropped it. The dishes were so hot they practically steamed.

"Steve! You'll burn yourself!" 

Syn grabbed his wrist to pull his hand out of the water, but there was no redness at all when it appeared.

"It's fine," he murmured. "I'm tougher than I look."

She frowned but released him and added cold water to the sink. "You don't have anything to prove here."

He chuckled and shot her a look she couldn't read. "That would be a first."

Syn found the sarcasm interesting. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shrugged. "Not much to say."

The next few cups weren't nearly so hot, and Syn dried them carefully before putting them away, letting the silence stretch. She had no right to push him into speaking, but she wished he would. 

Silence was Sawyer's answer to everything too. 

She returned to his side and picked up a plate. "You don't owe me anything, and you're welcome to tell me to butt out, but… sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger."

"Is that what you do?" he snapped. "Talk to strangers?"

Syn didn't allow herself to flinch. She looked him in the eyes. "My fiance decided Gracie and I were too much trouble before she was ever born. He left me destitute and alone after cleaning out our bank accounts. I moved here because my great aunt was gracious enough to leave me this house after she died. Unfortunately, small towns aren't forgiving to unwed mothers. Having a disabled child just fans the flames of gossip."

Guilt coloured his cheeks and caused Steve to look away. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

She shrugged. "It's fine. We don't know each other, and I was pushing."

"Maybe." He sighed and handed her a plate. "A lot of people want me to talk. I'm feeling talked out."

"I understand." 

And she did. After Sawyer, she'd talked to a therapist but never felt like it resolved anything. She still lived with the guilt over his death every day. Even though she knew there was nothing she could have done to stop him from walking out of her life, she still knew something was wrong. She just didn't know how to help him.

"It's just…." Steve trailed off and sighed.

Syn waited, drying and putting away dishes while he leaned over soapy water. 

"What's the point? What's the point of fighting when it never ends? When it's like it doesn't matter? Nothing I do changes anything."

He stared down at the water, his eyes once more haunted.

Carefully, Syn reached out and touched his arm. "Can I hug you?"

He blinked, shock registering on his face. 

"Why?" Steve sputtered.

Syn smiled. "There's nothing I can say to make you see what you've done is valid. You've likely saved more lives than you can ever know, but I don't want you to think you're just some nameless, faceless soldier. You're a person. You matter. A hug portrays that sentiment better than words because it's tangible. The contact is just for you. It shows that you mean something to someone else, even if we don't know each other that well."

He stared at her for a long time, emotions flashing across his face. 

It took so long for him to decide; she thought he would say no. Then, he pulled his hands from the soapy water, used her offered towel to dry them, then tentatively held out his arms. 

Syn stepped into them and hugged him around the waist. His arms closed loosely around her back. 

It took a moment of her just holding on, her ear against his chest, listening to his heart beat slowly before he relaxed and his arms settled more comfortably around her. That was when she realized her mistake. 

He was solid, warm, and smelled so good it caused her belly to twist and tingle in a most pleasant reaction. She fought the instant arousal, ignoring her body’s instinctive reaction and held on a few moments longer.

“I yelled at my best friend. I know he’s just trying to help, but… I can’t… of all people, he should understand, but it’s like… I can’t speak-” 

He cut himself off and turned away from her. “I don’t know why I said that.”

She watched Steve thrust his hand through his hair, the other clenched against his hip. Syn wanted to reach out and lay her hand on his back, but she didn’t know him, not really. Still, she didn’t like leaving him so conflicted. 

“Just because you don’t feel like he understands doesn’t mean he isn’t trying. Give it time. Maybe the reason you can speak the words is that you haven’t found them for yourself yet.”

Steve froze for a moment, then turned back to the sink and went back to washing dishes. 

Disappointed, Syn went back to drying and put them away, occasionally checking on Gracie. It wasn’t until Steve pulled the plug on the sink that he spoke again.

“Thank you for dinner.” 

She nodded, setting the last dish in the cupboard. When he lightly touched her shoulder, Syn looked up and found eyes of brilliant blue, sadness and confusion, making them brighter than before. 

“It was my pleasure. Steve… I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she apologized, but he shook his head. 

“No, what you said, it’s made more sense than anything anyone else has said so far. Given me something to think about anyway.”

“I’m glad,” she smiled. “And thank you for spending time with Gracie. She’s happier than I’ve seen in some time.”

“She’s a cute kid. It was nothing to spend time with her.” 

Syn looked at Gracie playing with her dolls in the living room. “It means everything to her.”

Steve’s smile was full of softness when she looked back and found him watching Gracie. His attention shifted to her, and Syn fought the desire to blush. 

He was a very handsome man. 

Steve nodded. “Thanks again,” he murmured before heading toward the back door. 

He signed his farewell to Gracie and headed outside. 

The screen door slammed, but Syn watched until he closed the door to the rental house before she gave all her attention to Gracie, tugging on her hand. She smiled and picked Gracie up. 

“Yes, I liked him too,” she murmured, glancing at Sawyer’s photo on the mantle. 

She hoped Steve really would think about what she’d said.

Next Chapter 

[stranges-cape]

Incorrect Avengers Quotes 1

Tony: I’m 48, I’m an adult! I make the rules around here!

Steve Rogers, a tired 100 year old man: i’M 48, I’m aN AdULt!!1! I mAke tHe RulEs aROuNd hEre!!1!1!1!

[princesssteve]

Just realized I've never told ya'll about the time I meet the single most obxious dickhole ever on the bus. STORY TIME. So, one lovely October evening I'm on the bus back home from work and it's quite late. I like to send a very clear 'Please leave me alone' signal, so I'm listening to music and reading a book. This dude sits next to me (despite the fact that there are plenty of open seats no where near me or anyone else for that matter)and, I kid you not, pulls my earbuds out by the chord. Then he has the gall to ask what I'm listening to. You can imagine my joy as I responded with 'You, now.' Apparently he didn't pick up on it though, cuse he pushes on forward, instructing me on how I should totally listen to his mix tape. People still make those things? Holy hell. I'm super annoyed with this dude, but I try not to be outwardly rude to people so I'm just like sure, whatever and ask for a copy. He hands me a hand written list of rap songs scrawled on the back of a 'lost dog' flyer. This dude was kiddin' right? Right? No. He expected a complete stranger he meet on the 2 am Colfax bus to hunt down and listen to his shitty 90s themed midlife crisis. No way in hell I was gonna do that. Still, didn't wanna be rude to his face so I was gonna at least play it off as if I intended to do just that. So I go to put the list in my purse, when the dude grabs my wrist with one hand and closes my purse back up with the other. 'Nahhhhhh baby, that's my only copy.' Now, I'm a pacifist. I don't believe violence is the appropriate course of action for fixing interpersonal problems. That being said, I have never wanted to punch someone so much in my life. I didn't. But god damn, I thought about it. Instead I decided to play along with the dude. So I made a little humming noise, as if this were the most reasonable thing I'd ever heard and looked over the list. 'Maybe I can text it to ya?' ...this was seriously not an elaborate set up to get my number right? Judging by the fact that he was still holding my wrist at this point, I figured it probably was. 'Nah, I've got a wicked memory.' I told the dude, lying right through my ass like a boss. The dude finally let go of me and gave a weird look. Like I was the one socially misstepping here. He decided to give me his number instead, and I repeated it to prove I was listening. He spent the subseqent 20 minutes chatting happily about how cute I was and himself while I tried to ignore him. I'm super uncomfortable and making no secret about it. Every chance I get I shift and blatantly look away while he's talking. I don't want to out right say anything and cause a scene - but again, I made it obvious I was very unhappy. Finally my stop was up and I swear, once he moved to let me up, I was the fuckin' Flash I moved so quickly. But. Just before I got off the dude grabs me again and asks me what his number is. Are you motherfuckin kidding me? So I tell him I really couldn't care less, get off the the bus and watch to make sure he doesn't get off on the next stop, then proceed to take the best lit and most public route home.