A/N: This was another request! Thank you for that! I had fun writing this one :) Two years after Sweet Sixteen, so Reader is now 18! Oh and in case anyone forgot reader has pain manipulation and creation abilities.

-Winnie

Words: 2.8K

"Now get the hell out of here before I do something I regret." Steve's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He stood blocking your doorway as the boy he'd walked in on you making out with on the couch scrambled to gather his things and leave.

"I'll, uh, I'll text you..."

"No—you won't." Steve glared at the poor boy with killer blue eyes turned black. "Leave. And don't come back."

That's the confrontation that has you and the super soldier screaming across the compound kitchen at each other for the whole damn world to see.

"I'm eighteen goddamn years old, Steve! I don't need you babysitting me!" Your arms are thrown up in defeat as he steams in front of the fridge.

"You're only eighteen! He was twenty three! And clearly not in your league..."

You interrupt the speech you've heard a dozen times already about a dozen other boys. Your cover your face. "Shut up! Just shut up already!"

"Steve's right, Sassy." Bucky chews lethargically on his apple and adds his stupid two-sense into the fight. His use of your cheesy nickname that everyone on the team has adopted for you only manages to make you madder.

"I'm not a kid anymore! And you two fuck-ups certainly aren't my parents, as much as you like to think so!"

Steve gasps. "I beg your pardon, young lady?"

"THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" you scream. You run your fingers through your hair and groan—loudly. "You're not my father, Steve!" You turn and point at Bucky, who—you guessed it—already has his mouth opened to say something. "And you are DEFINITELY not my mother, Barnes!"

Steve takes a step closer to you. His face has grown softer since the boy ran away twenty minutes before but his voice is still strict. "We might not be your parents, Y/N, but we're your family."

You grit your teeth and look between the two of them. It's not fair. You lost your childhood to this curse of a power, and then you lost your parents to Hydra. Your teenage years were spent saving the world—your 17th birthday ended with the destruction of a purple dick-head alien called Thanos. Your whole life is a hot mess. And at the root of it all? Your stupid fucking powers, that's what.

Why can't you just be normal?

All of your anger is bubbling up inside of you until you can't control it anymore. The pain that's created in the pot at your core is starting to overfill. It boils over and threatens to spill out into the room—into the men closest to you now. And as pissed as you are, you won't let your pain touch them. So you dissolve it all into your own body with a swallowed shriek.

Steve—face no longer angry—lunges towards you. Bucky chokes on his apple when you fall to your knees.

"Y/N!" Your name leaves Steve's mouth in a yelp.

"Leave me alone!" you shriek. You push Steve off of you as he tries to hold you. He staggers back, eyes big and sad, and you stumble to your feet. "Just—just leave me alone!" You storm out of the room before either of them can say anything more: taking all of your pain with you.

In your room you slam and lock the door. For good measure you push your desk against it as a barricade. You need to be alone. Funny, isn't it? Those few weeks following your parents deaths you were constantly alone: having no family or friends to call your own. Now, as the baby of the team, you can't get a single moment to yourself without someone—

"Y/N? Is everything okay? I heard your door slam."

You groan—throwing your pillow over your face.

"Go away, Nat!" Although muffled by the pillow on your head the words you shout are still understandable.

"Fine, fine..." You hear the woman tut softly as she saunters down the hall the rest of the way. You know she'll leave you alone for now, but she's going to tell Steve about your bad mood (which he's clearly already aware of).

The pain in your chest radiates out through your limbs. You push yourself to sit straight against the headboard—looking down at your shaking hands. Little welts and bruises are already starting to form. You've grown a lot stronger in the past two years. Unfortunately for you in this moment it results in your wild, teenage emotion-affected powers becoming nearly uncontrollable. The waves of pain you usually create to take down monsters and bad guys are now being directed inside because of what happened in the kitchen. You didn't mean to yell at Steve—you love him of course. But in your mind you can't imagine that he has any idea how stuck you feel right now: wanting that normal kid life with boys and prom dances and friends. What you have instead is United Nations meetings and apocalypse prevention missions that nearly kill you.

Your hands bundle into weak fists. Gently, because your whole body aches, you lay back onto the bedding. Your head turns slightly to look out the window. There's a cloud floating over the sun. It reminds you of your dad. He used to fly kites with you when the weather was like this: sunny with a slight breeze. And your mom would sit on the hood of the car and watch, occasionally laughing when your kite strings would get tangled together. She'd snap pictures between chapters of the book she'd read while laying out in the sunshine. When the day was done you'd all drive home for bed—never even knowing that someday things would never be the same.

Tears blur your eyes. The saltwater welling up along your lashes sprouts from both the pain inside and outside. The first of the tears streak down your face and a sharp pain slams into your chest. You cry aloud, more of a shriek than a sob, and clutch at your arms that feel like they'd just been burned through the flesh with thousand degree flames.

You can do nothing else but roll onto your side as the pain increases. With every moment that passes the image of your parents at the forefront of your brain gets stronger: there they stand, just at the end of the bed, with all the bloody sores and bruises that they'd suffered through on nights your powers couldn't be contained. Then they drop to their knees on the floor with the bullets through their brains that the Hydra agents shot their way. And you can't do anything about it. All there's to be done is scream. The pain is unbearable. It feels like you're dying. Your stomach's shredded and limbs seizing. The invisible steak in your heart twists and turns back and forth like a child trying to pop a balloon.

The compound where the newly forgiven Avenger's team lives is insanely large. No one hears your screams upstairs in the bedroom where you lay. No one except for the computerized building operator, FRIDAY, that is. She sends for Steve—who drops everything he's working on in his office to race across the building. Bucky's already halfway down the hall to your door when Steve trips out of the elevator. Sam's knocking furiously at your door.

"It's locked," Sam explains. Your screams are gone but FRIDAY was very convincing in her message that you'd been shrieking and writhing in pain.

"Unlock it, FRIDAY," Bucky pants—out of breath from his run. He'd been all the way outside near the pool when he'd heard.

Tony Stark appears over Sam's shoulder. "She can't," he pipes up. "The girl put an old fashioned dead bolt on it. FRIDAY can't break it."

"I can," Steve pushes between the men. He rears up a leg that then comes crashing against the locked door. The barricade on the other side does little to hold it in place—not posing much of a challenge for Captain America's feet.

Bucky shoves the desk, now covered in splinters of broken wood, out of their way. He's the first to lead the pack when they come into the room. Your lights are all on and illuminating the posters and paintings on the baby blue walls. And there, in the four post canopy bed, you lay belly-down writhing in pain. You're clutching your midriff desperately and struggling to breathe.

"Oh my god..." Sam mutters.

Tony turns back towards him. "Get Banner: now, Wilson!"

Sam nods and takes off running down the hall.

Steve goes to grab you by the shoulders but the instant that his hands touch your skin his fingers burn like he's reaching into hot coals. His arms shoot back and he curses lowly.

Bucky, grumbling, rams Steve out of his way. He drops to his knees by the side of the bed and starts lightly stroking your hair with his metal hand.

"Y/N, honey, it's gonna be okay." Bucky's voice cracks as your face turns up to him slightly—revealing the scared wide eyes and tear stained cheeks.  "I know it hurts—I know it won't stop. But you can get through this, okay? I got through my pain and I know that you can get through this, too." His cool metal fingers press into your cheek. Your eyes squeeze closed and Bucky's thumb brushes your jaw lightly. "Look at me, kiddo. Keep your eyes on me—think about something good, okay? Think about... think about..." Bucky struggles to come up with something as this image of you buckled over in immeasurable amounts of pain has him seeing in black and white. Your face is pale and bruises dark blue.

"Think about our trip to Disneyworld," Steve interjects. He drops to his knees next to Bucky—not touching you but sure as hell wishing he could. He wants to hug you and kiss the top of your adorable little head and hold your hand. "Remember how much fun we had? On all those rides? And how Tony got sick after eating too much cotton candy and riding on Space Mountain? That was fun; that was a fun time."

Tony, who is lingering in the doorway, sees Banner coming. Sam and Nat are beside him.

Bucky takes his turn trying to distract you. "Yeah! And then you dragged me onto that stupid teacup ride and made me wear those dumb mouse ears. I hated that ride, by the way, but not as much as Steve hated the roller coaster. God—that was funny watching him scream."

You can't help but close your eyes this time as you try to focus only on the men's voices and nothing else. You reach up with a clammy hand for Bucky's metal arm. Your fingers scrape along his metallic bicep and he grits his teeth. Then, because he can't stand to see you like this, he bites down a pained moan and laces his human fingers over yours. He suffers through that familiar scalding feeling because with the touch of his skin to yours you seem to start to calm down a little bit.

Steve pops up to his feet when Banner comes in.

"Fix her! She needs you to do something," Steve practically begs the scientist.

Banner steps slightly closer. He nods softly. "Okay—okay." He's brought along a little case of tools. Out of them he brings a small vial of pink liquid—meant to drink. "Give her this. It'll relax her enough and numb her thoughts. Then maybe she can get a rein on her emotions and powers."

Steve takes the medicine. He comes back to your bed and readies himself for the pain as he brushes some of the hair out of your face. "Come 'ere, sunshine. It's all gonna be okay." He guides the sipper between your tight lips. Your grip on Bucky remains rock-solid until the warm liquid pools at the bottom of your stomach. Immediately it starts to spread its properties throughout your body—effectively numbing you like the doctor said it would. You feel like you're half-asleep as you try to keep your eyes open long enough to see Steve's face. He smiles at you softly.

"See? All better now," he whispers. You're no longer whimpering or screaming like you'd been before. He touches your arm and gives it a squeeze. There's no pain to be felt this time around, Steve notices with relief.

"Yeah," you croak—voice hoarse from all the noise you'd made before.

Bucky's standing up and heading into the bathroom for a cup of water. When he comes back he helps you sit up enough to enjoy it. The coolness down your burning throat is enough to make you sigh.

"Let's give her a minute," Tony guides Banner, Nat, and Sam out of the room. The woman with the red hair comes over to kiss your forehead before leaving. Sam sends a little wave your way.

Once everyone is gone, besides Bucky and Steve, you clear your throat to speak. "Guys, I'm really sorry about what I said..."

"Don't be." Steve shakes his head. "You were right. Bucky and I... we need to take a step back."

"We're smothering you," Bucky agrees—making it apparent that the two have talked it over since you three last spoke. "We'll let up on you: let you do your own thing."

"I want that," you start slowly, "to some extent." You look between them with tired eyes. They follow your every word so faithfully. "I don't want to push you guys away. You might not be my parents, but you may as well be." You smile at Steve's grin and Bucky's wide eyes. "The weirdest parents ever, but you guys are the closest thing I have to 'em. And I'm glad I have you."

"Aww kiddo..." Steve wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest.

"Ow—still hurting, Steve."

"Oh! Oh I'm sorry—so sorry." Hurriedly he pulls away. A sheepish smile spreads on his face. "Sorry."

You laugh lightly. "Okay, now can I get a minute to sleep? I know it's only three but..."

"You need a nap. I'll wake you before dinner." Bucky stands up and drags Steve with him. "And for the record, if one of us has to be the mother, it's definitely Steve: not me."

"What? I wanna be the dad," Steve whines—knowing it'll make you laugh.

"Guys, they have this thing now where there can be two dads, ya know?" you chuckle.

Bucky raises a brow. "Hmm. Well, gives us something to think about, doesn't it Stevie honey?" He grins over at his best friend.

"No. Nope, nope. Sorry, man." Steve shakes his head. "I love you, but not like that."

"Never say never," is your reply. Bucky cackles while Steve only blushes at the thought.

"Alright, you two are crazy. I'm going back to my office. Bucky—let her sleep." Steve stoops down to kiss your cheek. "Love you, Sassy. Sleep good."

Bucky ruffles your hair. "Night, dork. Feel better."

You watch the two of them walk out of your broken down door with a soft smile on your lips. Then, almost immediately, you fall into a deep sleep.

It's two weeks later when Steve's promise of stepping back is truly tested. A boy, one with sandy brown hair and an adorable smile, wanders into the compound behind Stark like a lost puppy. You recognize him from the last apocalypse alien war—he's a good little fighter, you have to admit. His eyes follow you around the room while everyone talks and watches TV. Steve notices, choosing to bite his tongue and try to enjoy how happy this scoundrel boy's attention is making you. Bucky chuckles when the boy timidly touches your hand and blushes at your blatant flirting.

"Relax, Cap. She's 18—he's 19—it's totally legal." Stark smacks Steve on the shoulder as they watch Peter Parker struggle with how to kiss you goodbye on the front porch.

Steve glares at Stark who only cackles. Then he looks back down at the scene of you trying to subtly convince the spider-boy to make a move.

"Come on, Steve."

Steve looks around. Stark's gone. Bucky's replaced him a few paces to the left.

"Give her some privacy," Bucky says with a grin. "Remember what you said?"

"I know, I know." Steve lets out a long breath. He takes one more glance at you under the moonlight and how small you appear—especially from so far up. He can vividly remember that night, one very similar to this one in the rain, when he'd knocked on your bedroom door to take you home.

"I really love that kid," Steve mutters. He forces himself to back away from the window and start to follow Bucky down the hall.

"Me too, Stevie dear. Me too." Bucky smiles. "She's part of the family."

"She is the family," Steve replies—knowing just as well as Bucky that you mean more than anything in the whole wide world combined: always have, always would. Nothing will change over the years. You'll forever be their sassy, sweet soul-sister.