ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ || 𝟙

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 13

"Really?" Bucky muttered to Peter as he jerked open his personal storage unit. 

"What?" he asked, occupied, quickly programming his web settings. He had readjusted the chemical ratio to prevent it from hardening too quickly while still maintaining its elasticity. 

Bucky jerked his head to the adjacent locker where they had stored her gear. She had already emptied it out, spreading everything carefully on the bench, sharpening the knives the old-fashioned way, with a whetstone, steel scraping against stone as she tested them with her fingertip, only satisfied when it drew blood with the slightest touch. They watched as she grumbled, tossing aside some of the syringes, seeing as they were useless. All of them had been emptied out and she had no idea how to manufacture the chemicals. Reading the room, it was highly unlikely that anyone was going to point her to the nearest storage or chemical factory to let her restock. Garotte-belt had snapped during her confrontation with Parker but other than those two casualties, her artillery had made it out relatively alive. She would still be just as deadly but it would have been nice to have the extra backup. 

"Who even sharpens knives like that anymore?" Bucky grunted,  his own daggers having been retrieved from the armory.

There was the slightest whisper of wind that parted his hair as a knife plunged deep into the metal locker, quivering slightly, millimetres above his head. Peter could have sworn that it had even clipped his hair just a little.

"Only the best." she said in response to his comment, before pressing a button on her glove, the knife extricating itself and slapping into the palm of her hand hilt first. The rest of her gear had been inventoried and put in a large duffel bag which she hauled over her shoulder. 

"I'm going to change." She announced tp the room before walking off.

"Nice one you got for us, kid," Bucky grumbled, running the non-metal hand through his hair, before jamming a SIG-Sauer P220 in its holster.

"You're just jealous that there's someone as good as you." Sam schuckled, leaning against the door, ready, red-tinted goggles perching atop his head.

"Shut up, Wilson." Bucky mumbled, punching his team-mate in the arm while flipping him the finger, as both of them headed downstairs, where the Quinjet was being manned by Clint.

Peter chuckled lightly at the frenemy like banter, their voices fading. It was nice to know that Steve was the person who had brought these two together although the frequent head-butting ran everyone's nerves ragged.

Wiping a thumb across the face of the watch that Mr Stark had left him in his will, it glowed a faint red before fading back to midnight black, the silver inscription glinting in the light as he tightened the strap.

for you, kid.

--

"Everybody buckled in?" Clint called out, turning to the back just as Demetria boarded the jet, dark hair sloppily French-braided, looking to Hawkeye like the ghost of her mother. 

"Let me go. It's okay."

The echo of her last words followed him every time he reached the driveway of his home, lights spilling onto the porch steps like warm liquid butter, as the kids tumbled out while Laura, hung back, soaking in every single moment she could. He saw her face as he tucked the kids to sleep and lying-in bed incapable of sleeping before he thanked her for bringing them back to him.

"Can we go yet?" Demetria asked, as the engines were beginning to stutter, idling. 

"Clint?" Bucky asked as he finally tore his eyes away from her, turning his face away from Sam who was co-piloting, blinking the tears out of his eyes as he slowly pushed the handle forward and the engines thrummed to life, white-hot fire propelling them upwards as a section of the ceiling begin to rotate open, sunlight filtering into the hangar.