"Do you know where Steve Rogers is?"

"No, we haven't heard from Steve in the past eight weeks," Nick answered as calmly as possible in front of the sea of faces eagerly looking to him for explanations that he didn't want to give. "As you know, because you're all a bunch of nosy bastards, his family has been through a recent personal tragedy, and I'm not exactly inclined to push the guy into getting back to work until he's ready, and I don't care how long that takes him."

"Okay, then what about the Avengers?" a different reporter stepped forward to ask. "We haven't heard a single word about any missions since he went off the grid."

"I've put the Avengers on an indefinite stay of duty until I feel damn good and ready to let them get back in. I told you, this is a family tragedy."

"We've heard that Tony Stark has gone recluse and that you're hiding him away in the compound for his own safety. Some have said that he's finally lost his mind. Do you have any comment on that?"

"No."

"So you are hiding him then?"

"Does anyone have any questions that I might actually answer, or are you all out here fishing for gossip?" Nick huffed with a thick groan, looking out over the group of eager eyes and cellphones held out to record his every word. "Yeah, I didn't think that you did. Tell you what, you all think that the Avengers belong to you, like they owe the world something and that you can just keep on taking without giving them something in return. Hey, you," he stopped and pointed into the crowd, "no, you put that phone back up and listen to me."

One of the now terrified reporters slowly raised his hand back up, smiling in embarrassment as his peers chided him under their breath.

"The Avengers are people, just like you all, with lives of their own, and feelings that they have every right to keep to themselves. You've never seen the looks on their faces when they come home from a bad mission, have you? Hmm? They take each loss to heart, and they take on blame that isn't even theirs, all because they think that they failed you. If even one life is lost under their guard, they never fully recover. So I want you to go back to your pitiful desks at your boring ass jobs and think long and hard about what you write today. You imagine the world without this group, and the horrors that they've stopped from touching your tiny little lives while risking their own, and then tell me that they don't deserve every fucking ounce of your respect in the words that you choose."

~~~

Bucky stood silent along the long glass wall next to the kitchen that looked out over the front lawn of the compound, watching with great satisfaction as the reporters that Fury was fielding walked back to their cars with a little less confidence in their steps. A small group of them had broken away and were standing together not far from the building when Nick came into view, pointing angrily and waving them away with what Bucky could only imagine were very colorful expletives chosen with a great deal of care.

"He's really a badass son of a bitch when he wants to be, isn't he?"

"Hey, language," you whispered as you passed by him on the way to lunch with your kids. "Just because Steve isn't here to keep the manners up in this place, it doesn't mean that I won't step up."

"Sorry, doll. I'm just really glad that he's on our side."

"Believe me, we all are," you smiled readily, continuing on your way to get the meal ready. With Steve gone for so long, Bucky had taken it upon himself to step into much of the role that was left behind, sharing in responsibilities with the trio, somehow always being there when you needed a minute to break down, and even going so far as to spend hours following Tony around just to be sure that he was staying safe from his own demons; it was something that Bucky knew of all too well and could easily relate to. "Hey, do you want me to fix up something for you?"

"No, thanks, I'm good."

"Really? Tell me what you've eaten today so far."

"(Y/N), come on, I'm not one of the kids."

"Tell me," you repeated. You turned from the line of sandwiches that you were starting to make, looking at him with hands pressed on your hips and a shockingly large knife balanced between your fingers aimed in his direction.

"Isn't that one of yours?" he asked cautiously, his eyes now fixed on the shine from your blade. "I swear that I saw that handle sticking out of a guy's chest not that long ago."

"It's my favorite knife," you shrugged nonchalantly, "now answer the question, Barnes."

"I had some coffee a few hours ago..."

"And?"

"And...it really woke me up."

"You know, having you instead of Steve really isn't that big of a difference. Either way, I'm still babysitting a grown man. When he gets back-"

"You still think that he's coming back, Mom?" Grant interrupted, scraping his chair along the floor as he pulled it back from the table. "I'm starting to think that Dad lied to you and saw his chance to make a run for it. Uncle James, you were right. He is a chickenshit."

"Grant James! You watch your mouth!" you scolded, inadvertently turning to him with the knife still precariously resting in your hand. "Don't ever talk about your father that way, are we clear?"

"Whatever. What's for lunch?"

Bucky stomped across the room with urgent steps that echoed well into the adjoining rooms, shaking the table and everything on it from the force of his footfall. His eyes were alight with anger as he looked at the boy, finding it more and more difficult to contain the urge to lift him from the chair by his shirt and take him over his knee for a good old fashioned spanking like he used to get. "I don't know what's gotten into you, young man, but you need to mind your tone when you talk to your mom."

Grant didn't hesitate for one second, holding the uncomfortable eye contact with a matching intensity and determination to not be the one to back down. "You need to mind your own business. I don't know what it is that you think you're doing around here, and with mom, but you're not my father and I don't have to listen to you."

"Alright, that's it," you snapped, tossing the knife on the counter top with a loud bang, "nothing's for lunch. Get up and go to your room. I'll be up in a few minutes to talk about this."

Grant stood and kicked the leg of the chair, sending it sliding into the table hard enough to knock his glass of milk over to drench everything in its way. He shifted his glare to you with a look that you had seen from only one other; his father. It was unsettling how much of Steve you were seeing in Grant, and you were conflicted with trying to understand if it was because you missed him, or if your anger was actually meant for him and not your son. Grant raised his hand and began to wave it in a circle to build a portal, but you stepped forward and put a quick halt to it.

"No, you walk your ass up there. No magic or powers for the rest of the day, and I can promise you that it's going to be longer if you try anything, understood?"

"Hypocrite. I hate this place," he hissed, clenching his fists at his sides as he turned and trudged his way to the elevator. You heard Bucky's sigh next to you and could feel just how angry Grant really was, though you struggled to know if this outburst was about Steve, or Maggie, you, or really about Bucky. You had never seen him so mad, and it became very clear just how upset he was when a vase full of flowers at the center of the table burst into flames as the lift doors closed.

~~~

"Then you need to stop."

This attempt at a nap lasted maybe all of five minutes; with each failure the time dwindled closer and closer to nothing, just as Tony felt that his sanity was getting closer and closer to irrevocably broken. He had woken drenched in sweat so many times now that he had taken to lying on the cool wooden floor rather than his bed, and if it continued much longer he considered actually sleeping in the shower just to save time. As he sat up, accepting that this was nothing more than another wasted effort, he tried to stretch away the pain and fatigue of his muscles, feeling the revolt of his own body against him.

"Fuck, I need a drink," he muttered to himself. With another groan of pain, he pushed himself up to stand, reaching his arms high over his head until his shoulders cracked and his head spun from the shift in position, leaving him stumbling and grabbing for the window railing to keep from falling over. He looked out the window with a haze of confusion at the sunset on the horizon, having come up to his room only moments ago to sleep, or so he thought. "FRIDAY, what time is it?"

"Almost 7pm, boss."

"No shit," he scoffed, "maybe I did sleep a little this time."

"You achieved REM sleep for approximately ninety-five minutes."

"New record!" he laughed aloud. "I think that deserves a celebratory scotch."

FRIDAY's response was more restrained this time, and the hesitation wasn't lost on Tony. "We're out, boss."

"Not a problem. I'm in such a good mood now that I'll just go get some more."

"(Y/N) has you locked out from operating any vehicles..."

"So? I'll just take-"

"...or the suits," she finished.

"Dammit," he snapped, hitting his fist against the top of his dresser as his mind raced to find a solution. He still wasn't back to his usual speed of processing, and the recent dive into depressive drinking left his mind even more jumbled. The cognitive side of him knew and understood why you had made those choices, but the emotional father side of him felt only crushing hurt and betrayal, wanting nothing more than to prove you wrong just to shove it in your face. "Okay, but she hasn't locked you out, right?"

"No, sir."

"That settles it," he clapped his hands eagerly. "FRIDAY, I need a lift."

~~~

You stood outside of Grant's room, the palm of your hand pressed against it as you thought about what you would say to him. You also began to wonder if your other two were having the same thoughts and problems as he was, worried now that you wouldn't know how to handle this without your usual united front of having Steve with you. Together, the two of you made an effective parenting team when things got rough, each of you providing whatever was needed for the kids to understand what was happening, but keeping them from being hurt in the process. Without him here to help you, there was no guarantee that Grant would get anything from this and you would both come away from it with heavy hearts. No matter what the outcome would be, you knew that you had to have this conversation, with or without Steve, and it had to be now.

"Grant?"

"What?"

"Can I come in?"

"You own the place. Do what you want."

With a heavy sigh, you slowly pushed the door open to see the room dark with the setting sun, his curtains drawn to quash any light that might try to sneak its way in. You reached for the light switch next to you but he called out for you to stop, instead choosing to turn on a small lamp on his bedside table. The light illuminated only half of his face, but it was enough for you to see the harsh pink in his skin and the red in his eyes, his lashes freshly wet with tears that he had unsuccessfully wiped away.

"Baby, tell me what's going on," you practically begged softly, fighting the overwhelming need to wrap your arms around him. "Let me help you."

"He's not my dad."

"Honey, he's not trying to be. Bucky loves you all so much, and he just wants to make sure that we're all taken care of until Dad comes home. Grandpa hasn't been doing so well lately either, so he's doing what he thinks is right. I promise, he's not trying to be your dad. He wants him to come home just as much as the rest of us."

"What if he never comes back?" Grant asked in a restrained whisper, the words stinging his heart as he spoke them and felt the harsh reality that they could be true. "Why would he leave us behind? I thought..." he stopped, a fresh wave of tears welling in his eyes, "I thought he loved us. This is hurting everyone, doesn't he know that? It's not all about him."

"We all grieve in our own way, Grant, and he needed to step away so that he could come home to be the dad that you deserve again. It's just taking longer than he thought. But believe me, honey, he loves you more than anything. He loves you enough to know that he would hurt you by staying here. He's going to come home...I promise."

Even as the words left your lips, you questioned which of you it was that you were trying to convince.

~~~

"FRIDAY? Is this the address I...gave you?" Tony hiccupped, the newly purchased bottle still in hand as he peered out from the car window. "Looks familiar."

"Yes, this is the correct address."

"Well, hot damn, let me out. Can't wait to see what I can't remember asking to see." The door lock clicked to release its hold, slowly opening so that he could use it to grab onto as he stood. His feet slipped on the cracked asphalt beneath them, and he tripped a little stepping onto the curb, but a few stumbling steps brought him to the porch of the house in front of him to stop his momentum before he could fall. "FRIDAY, don't wait up," he chuckled, reaching out for the handle of the door like he owned the place, walking in without a greeting or announcing his arrival.

The first sight of the room in front of him took him aback; frames on the walls held cracked glass and torn pictures, some of them on the floor and others hanging precariously crooked. Shelves that had held rows of books and decoration were wiped away with the swipe of an arm, leaving them broken and torn at his feet. Furniture was overturned and curtains were ripped away. It looked as if a wild animal had been let loose, and as far as he could see from where he stood, the same pattern followed into each room. It was a sobering sight, made worse when his eyes met a tall figure standing in the shadows looking back at him, motionless and frozen by his own surprise at his uninvited guest.

"Hey, Tony," Steve finally greeted, "sorry that I've been gone so long. I've been doing a little redecorating."