Most Likely (high school reunion Stucky fic)

One

Bucky Barnes didn't want for much. He had a stable job with full health care benefits. Sure, he had never been a morning person, and he always swore that once he'd left high school he'd never go back, but he really couldn't complain about being the automotive teacher at George Washington High. Even if he did get some little shits who expected an easy pass because they didn't think his class would hold any substance. Of course, he remembered thinking the same about a few of his own classes when he was their age, so he decided to choose his battles.

More than that, he was still thankful for Natasha. Not only was she still his best friend, but was an excellent mother to their three beautiful, intelligent, and compassionate daughters. And after seeing how some of his friends got along with their ex-spouses, he was even more thankful for Nattie. Even thankful for her new beau too because he treated their daughters as if they were his own.

So, no, Bucky Barnes might not have changed the world or done anything grandiose. But that was alright. He had never set out to do that.

The only thing that he'd do differently if given the chance would've been for him to stay in contact with Steve Rogers. The pair had been as thick as thieves growing up. Had spent Friday nights at each other's houses, stuffing their faces with popcorn and mocked Becca when the kernels would get stuck in her braces. Had defended each other when bullies teased Bucky for being a nerd or came after Steve because – well, anything really. Steve always knew how to start a fight and did his damndest to finish it without any help. However, he never succeeded at that part of his unplanned plans, and would always go a huge, long rant whenever Bucky jumped in to save his scrawny ass.

Pausing, Bucky wondered the kind of man Steve would've grown into. Had he gained any weight? Or was he still a hundred pounds soaking wet? Had he finally learn how to keep his yap closed? Or was he still fighting the good fight. As much as Bucky had hated seeing the mouthy little fucker covered in scrapes and bruises, he secretly hoped that he was still that kid that Bucky fell in love with all those years ago.

And that was the root of their fallout. Not that Steve had anything to do with it. Oh no, it was all Bucky and his jealousy's fault. Because Bucky didn't know how to be a good friend to Steve. Not really. Instead of being happy for Steve when he finally found a girl who saw all the wonderful things about him that Bucky had seen first, Bucky couldn't stand it. Every smile, every laugh, every kiss, it all felt like a stab to the gut.

So, Bucky only had himself to blame.

But he couldn't do too much of that because he was the one who got drunk at Brock Rumlow's house and tried to match Natasha shot for shot. Who knew that they'd end up stumbling into Brock's parent's bedroom and change their lives forever. Because as much as Bucky hated how he acted around Steve and Peggy, and hated how much he drank that night due to the hellacious hangover the next morning, he'd never take back what happened that fateful night. After all, it was what led to the first of the three best things that had ever happened to his life: his daughters.

Idly, Bucky wondered whatever happened to Steve and Peggy. In his wildest fantasies, he'd like to think that they never made it that far. Like they broke up before freshman orientation. Or hell, even before the first week of August, Bucky wasn't picky.

Sometimes, that made him feel even shittier about all of it. Made him feel like the hypocrite that he was. Bucky didn't have a right to wish such unhappiness on Steve. That wasn't how love worked. But sometimes his broken heart couldn't help it. It did whatever it wanted and Bucky was just there to enjoy the pathetic ride.

Because that was what he felt like whenever he thought of Steve Rogers, pathetic.

"DAD?!" One of his daughters called.

"OUT HERE!"

A few minutes later, his youngest, Vienna, peeked her head into the garage where Bucky sat on an old milkcrate as he worked on his baby, his sweet 2012 Harley-Davidson Softail Slim. It was the one and only purchase that he ever selfishly made, and he saved up whatever he could put aside after paying the bills and for the girls' extracurriculars. It took almost fifteen years to get it, but that just made Bucky cherish it all the more.

"How was the pool party?" Bucky asked the sixteen year old.

Revealing her braces with the large toothy grin, Vienna pulled another milkcrate up, "It was great! Although, Andy Peterson pretended to drown so one of us would give him mouth-to-mouth. It didn't work though because we could all see his chest moving, so Chanel dumped a bucket of cold water on him."

"Yeah, that sounds like something that Andy Peterson would do," Bucky confirmed, thinking about his former student and how he was always trying to scheme his way through everything. Getting back to the routine maintenance, he gave her a crooked grin, "He got exactly what he had coming to him."

Vienna giggled at that. Intently watching Bucky work, the pair sat in companionable silence while the radio played some old rock song from George Barnes's youth. Not that either of them minded. These were some of Bucky's favorite moments.

"Hey, um," Vienna started, nervously tucking her frizzy auburn curls behind her ear, "Can you take me to the movie's tonight?"

"Sure," Bucky easily agreed. "What time?"

"The movie starts at nine."

Pausing again, Bucky returned his gaze to his daughter, "That's kinda late, don't cha think?"

Shrugging, "Luke doesn't get off until eight."

"Oh," Bucky nodded to himself, finally getting it. So, it begins. Of course, he knew the day was coming. After all, Enola and Bianca had started dating around the same age. It didn't make it any easier, but it almost seemed inevitable. Vienna was the last one though. His baby. And she was growing up. Pretty soon, she'd be off at college like Bianca, or going for her doctorate like Enola.

Deciding that he was too distracted to continue babying his bike, Bucky grabbed one of the stained rags and wiped his greasy hands on it. As he stood, he headed back inside, and bypassed their overweight orange tabby, Nemo. The cat giving him a loud yowl before circling his empty fish-shaped food bowl.

Washing his hands, Bucky assured the cat, "Just a minute, Christ."

Giggling, Vienna scratched the top of the cat's head before grabbing the expensive organic cat food. Bucky dried his hands and muttered, "Damn cat eats better than I do."

Playfully, Vienna rolled her eyes and gave Nemo another scratch behind his ear. "He's just jealous of you. Don't listen to anything he says."

Shaking his head, Bucky grabbed the stack of mail. Bill. Bill. Another bill. Spam. Avon catalog for the woman who lived there in the early 2000s and has since passed away. More bills. More spam. A letter for Bianca. Extremely early birthday card for Enola. And then –

"Well, fuck me."

"What?" Vienna questioned, taking a seat at the table. Concerned, "Did someone die?"

"No, worse," Bucky exaggerated, moving over to the breakfast table. There, in his hand was an RSVP postcard. "It's my twenty-fifth high school reunion."