Bucky may or may not have punched Captain America in the face. To be fair, he was being babied. A bit. It may or may not have been an accident, he muttered to himself, rubbing his knuckles subtly. "Jesus, for the love o' Mary and Joseph, Steve, what did you do to your jaw? You get a prosthetic like this?" Bucky groaned, motioning to the (glorious) metal arm that he was stroking his right hand with. Steve, rubbing where the punch had landed, gave a mirthless smile. "Probably not, because you can't hurt metal," the man responded dryly, blue eyes inexplicably tired as he surveyed Bucky. He felt uncomfortable.

"Steve, buddy, I get if you want to sock me, but do it," Bucky exclaimed, raising his arms so that he was entirely exposed. The man only shook his head with a rueful smile, before brushing past him to get to the coffee (sparing an annoyed glance at Barton, who only frowned in response.) Bucky, carefully sitting down on the wooden chair, only looked to Natasha, as well as Sam. Sam looked around, then brought his hand to his chest.

"You lookin' at me?"

Bucky rolled his eyes with an exasperated scoff, turning to his red-haired companion. "You act like he would have punched you even if you had not punched him," the woman told him, the Russian words automatically switching to English in his mind. The dark haired man opened his mouth, only to close it and turned to glance at Steve as he poured near-black coffee into a white mug. Turning away, Bucky frowned slightly, half-heartedly shoving the scrambled eggs into his mouth.

No one had said anything about the change of plan; Steve's sketch-out was perfect, even Bucky could admit it. Sighing dejectedly, the brunet could only wonder what had brought on Steven Mother Hen Roger's change of heart. The blonde man had, admittedly, been taking Bucky under his wing-protecting him even when the former Winter Soldier didn't need protection.

When he came back, the man made a mental note to ask his larger, blonder friend why exactly he had changed the plan. In private, of course. Steve, the lil' shit he is, would never admit that he was actually being a dickish mom-friend in front of his comrades. But if Bucky pushed enough-he would probably get the truth.

///

Steve's skin was slick with a thin layer of sweat by the time they reached the underground door-they, as Sam said, probably had the shittiest air conditioners known to man-kind. With a snort, Natasha reminded him not everyone working for Hydra was wholly man. The blond man remained quiet, both of them did, as a matter of fact, Clint lagging behind for whatever reason.

"You have the code Bucky gave you?" Steve finally asked, the question directed at the infamous redhead standing a few inches behind and to the left of him. The dark-haired former assassin had adamantly denied speaking to Steve unless it was a life or death situation-Steve didn't care as long as Bucky was alive. The second best to him, was Natasha, who, apparently, Bucky had known from his time working with both Hydra and, as Natasha had called it, the Red Room. Steve had only raised a blond eyebrow in response.

"'Course I do, Cap. Who else is gonna have it?" She responded, pulling out a slip of paper. The redhead smirked at him while he took the paper, and Steve only realized why after he opened the paper.

Under the numbers, was a great big, "Fuck you, Rogers," definitely written by Bucky. Steve set his jaw, before turning away from his crew and towards the inconspicuous keypad on the side of the wall. He quickly pressed them in, each number on the keypad eliciting a quiet beep as he pressed them. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the metal door clicked unlocked.

Steve shook his head, handing the paper back to Romanoff. "Here we go," he muttered.

a/n
short update I love you all for actually having this piece of shit at anything over 50 views