I mean, the movie takes place over the course of 3 or 4 days, right? Nick had injuries to his spinal cord and sternum, a fractured clavicle, a perforated lung, and a terrible headache. But he comes in all:
“Ain’t no thang. Let’s fuck up these HYDRA bastards.”
Okay, here the thing tho. Given he was piloting that helicopter with a great deal of skill at the time… probably not many pain killers were involved.
Which means he was in a SHIT TON of pain here but still got the fucking job done. If that’s not bad ass, I don’t know what is.
I keep thinking how much more powerful the Spiderman origin story would be if Peter Parker was an African American kid, whose Uncle Ben was shot by police while being arrested for a minor parking infraction. There is no formal investigation, and Peter decides to put himself on the line to prevent it happening again. He tackles the white crimes that go unpunished, punishes POC criminals fairly. He is the leveler, always fighting to be without bias, to be just. To protect people like his uncle.
This not only mirrors so much of what’s happening in America, but feeds right into the complex relationship between Spiderman, the authorities and the media.
Peter Parker is a brilliant student, awkward, a nerd, but is branded a thug, a gang member, a criminal, because of his appearance. The media latch on to that and misrepresent him totally.
The police, humilitated by the fact that he refuses to work with them and often punishes cops themselves for brutalizing innocent people, or guilty people who still deserve better treatment than they get, attempt to hunt him down.
……ooh.
I had to.
Ties across between this and ‘Whiterman’, who gains both cis/white/straight/male passing privilege, and the uncanny ability to discern the immediate/local impact of said privilege. The ‘With great privilege comes great responsibility’ line kinda’ writes itself.
pepper’s efficiency is, as always, welcomed by the avengers. it’s nice to have someone responsible in the tower again, since steve and bruce are both away on some kind of mission. it’s bucky’s first time being in the tower without steve and it’s a bit daunting, having all these people that actually like him and care about him (steve doesn’t count because he’s different, he’s always been different), so he mostly just keeps to himself and stays in his room. he forgets to eat sometimes, but he doesn’t really think much of it. he can survive for weeks on a pack of crackers so it’s not a big deal
it only takes about two days for someone to knock politely on his door and enter at his confused “come in.” it’s pepper, and she’s carrying a tray of what looks like homemade meatloaf and mashed potatoes
“look, i’ve had to deal with tony and his inability to take care of himself for almost ten years now, so i would appreciate it if you made this easy on me. eat the food and then come into the living room – we’re having movie night”
bucky just nods his head and pepper smiles, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “good. maybe i’ll even braid your hair if i’m feeling generous”
later that night, after the movie (which took twice as long as it should have since tony kept pausing it and explaining why the science was wrong) bucky wakes up covered in sweat and breathing hard. he thinks about going to the kitchen, getting a cup of coffee and forcing himself to stay awake the rest of the night, but what he really wants is human contact, someone to tell him that everything’s alright. so he throws on a shirt and heads to tony and pepper’s room, knocks on the door quietly and sticks his head in at pepper’s quiet “come in”
“i, uh, i had a nightmare,” bucky says, shifting from foot to foot in the doorway
“come over here and join us, then. we’ve got plenty of room.” pepper motions to their admittedly huge bed, where tony is snoring on his back, limbs sprawled every which way. he lays down in the middle, curled in on himself until pepper touches his back gently. “you don’t have to sleep like that you know. c’mon, turn over on your side so we can spoon. tony kicks in his sleep so i never get anyone to cuddle with, but i think you’ll do just fine”
bucky wakes slowly the next morning, well rested and squished between tony (who apparently decided to cling to his back like a limpet at some point in the night) and pepper. it’s the best sleep he’s had for weeks
“Okay,” Bucky mutters finally, when they’re back in the tower, “This has got to stop.”
Because somehow, in the interval since things stopped exploding in Times Square, Tony and Steve have managed to sustain an argument through hazmat cleanup, debrief, and fucking showering. They are marathon arguers. Bucky hasn’t been this emotionally exhausted by someone else’s problems since Steve tried to join the army. And that’s including his time as a HYDRA asset.
“Good luck with that,” Clint says, shucking off his arm guard and heading off in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll be way, way over there, with the coffeepot. Natasha’s coming with.”
Natasha nods in agreement.
“So’s Bruce, Bruce is in need of tea and possibly some space where yelling isn’t happening,” Bruce says. “Thor?”
“I have a date,” Thor says, a bit apologetically. “It was delayed by our recent skirmish, and so I must make it up to Jane.”
“Excellent, great,” Bucky says, pinching his nose. “Get out of here, all of you.”
Steve and Tony, of course, continued to snipe back and forth, oblivious.
“I was giving you intel in real time, Steven, I literally could not have given it to you any faster—”
“You base your judgments on predictions all the time, Tony, I need to know what your thinking, not just what’s happening at that one moment—”
“I think faster than I speak, okay, it’s a common problem, though generally not as severe as mine given just how fast I’m capable of thinking—”
“I just need you to listen—”
“I do listen, but that’s just one factor in—”
Bucky marches over and bodily shoves himself between them, and—wow, there is not a lot of space here, actually. Apparently Steve and Tony are both not only marathon arguers, but also close talking arguers.
“Shut the fuck up,” he says, trying to ignore how he’s basically chest-to-chest with Tony, and chest-to-back with Steve. “Shut up, both of you, you’ve had this exact same argument at least three times since I’ve been with the team, which means that this has been going on for months. You,” he shoves a finger in Tony’s bemused face, “Need to be clearer. We’ll take you at your word, you don’t need to explain your entire rationale, but you need to at least give us one good reason to change a plan, none of this dramatic unpredictable labyrinthine martyrdom crap.
“And you,” he hissed, twisting around to crane his neck up and glare at Steve, “Need to get your head out of your ass and accept that you are the eyes on the ground, and not the ones in the air. You trusted me when I was your sniper, didn’t you? Exactly,” he says himself, not giving Steve a chance to answer, “That’s what Stark’s doing, that’s his view. You gotta trust what he sees in the air. And both of you,” he prods them both in their respective chests, “Need to stop worrying so goddamn much about each other. I realise that’s difficult with the whole mutual infatuation society you’ve got goin’ on here, but enough’s e-goddamn-nough. You’re gonna get both of your asses dead trying to save each other at some point, and then where the fuck am I gonna be? Christ.”
He takes a breath, huffs, and then crosses his arms in preparation for whatever defensive flailing these dumbasses will no doubt default to. He might have gotten off track a bit there at the end, but he’s pretty satisfied his point has been made.
There’s a pause, and then Tony cocks his head.
“Wow, Barnes,” he says. “Hidden depths, there.”
Oh no. “Stark, I am warning you—”
“I haven’t heard you lecture anyone like that, ‘sides me,” Steve comments. “You got a soft spot for Tony, or something?”
“And ‘labyrinthine’, where the fuck did you pick that up?” Tony asks.
“Like you said, hidden depths,” Steve replies over Bucky’s head, which, goddamnit, Bucky’s beginning to really miss being taller than this asshole. “I think you missed your calling, Buck. Conflict resolution, it’s the new thing.”
“Well, who wouldn’t want to stop fighting, a pretty face like his making big eyes at you,” Tony observes.
Bucky looks at the ceiling, and wishes for death. “You idiots are missing my point,” he says.
“We argue because it’s a good way of working off the adrenaline,” Steve offers.
“And because it’s great foreplay,” Tony adds. He frowns. “Which reminds me, Steve, we haven’t actually followed through with that, yet.”
Steve has the gall to look a little affronted. “I was waiting for you to make a move.”
“I was waiting on you!”
“I cannot believe either of you,” Bucky states, because it bears saying.
“What?” Tony asks, resting his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. “You want in on this, Barnes? Because I, for one, would not say no.”
Bucky chokes.
Steve raises an eyebrow. “I’d argue, but I think Buck might strangle us if I do, and ‘sides, I’m finding that we’re in agreement on this one.”
“I don’t like where this conversation is going!” Clint suddenly shouts from the kitchen, startling all three of them. Tony steadies himself with a hand on Bucky’s hip, which is sort of distracting. “For the sake of my virgin ears, please take it elsewhere!”
“There’s nothing about you that’s virgin, Barton,” they hear Natasha retort, followed by what sounds like a slap fight.
“We could do that,” Tony says lowly, his thumb going back and forth on the skin beneath Bucky’s t-shirt. “Get a room, that is. If you’re interested.”
Bucky swallows. “I, uh.”
“We probably need a mediator,” Steve points out. “In this, as much as anything else.”
“You’re such a little shit,” Bucky says—croaks, more like.
He can feel his blood rushing in his ears, Steve’s chest is warm against his back, and Tony’s giving him expectant doe eyes. It’s entirely possibly that he will regret this.
“Yeah, fine, lead the way,” he says anyway, and can’t help but be pleased by Steve’s delighted grin, and the way Tony’s grip goes hot and tight, pulling him along.
Kimchi and Justice 