Imagine If You Assembled The Avengers: Volume 2

Drill Sergeant (Dad!Bucky x reader)

"Your Dad is hard core, (Y/N).  I think he made the drum major cry just now."

"Are you serious?" you groaned, bending down to lift your snare harness from your shoulders, carefully setting the drum on the cart next to you.  "He takes things like this too far.  Anything with regimen and orders are his thing, and he gets way too into it."

"At least he's just the stand-in for the week, right?"

"You're telling me. Not only do I get to hear him barking orders here, but then I get to go home and hear all about missions and tactics from him and mom."  You shrugged and pushed the tips of your drumsticks into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder and giving your friend a quick goodbye hug.  "Man, once we throw in the old war stories with Uncle Steve, I almost know enough to be on that team myself.  I suppose I'll talk to him and see if I can get him to let up a little. I'll see ya bright and early for round two tomorrow."

"See ya tomorrow," she agreed, with a slight raise of her hand to point behind you.  "Hey, your Dad's heading this way.  I'm outta here."  She turned and was gone before you had a chance to reply, shaking your head the speed she used to flee when you were now caught in his sight. 

"Chicken," you mumbled under your breath, looking back to him with a wide grin.  "Hey, Dad!"

"Hey, kiddo," Bucky replied, giving you a small hug as you met, but he looked clearly distracted by the stack of papers in his hand that he was quick to bring your attention to as well.  "I'm working on a new lineup for the color guard and I need your opinion.  I think if I move the guy in the first position to the third..."

"Yeah, Dad, about that," you deflected, "I heard that you made the major cry?  What the hell is that about?"

"Excuse me?  Language."

"Sorry...sorry," you apologized as quickly as you could, your hands up in defense, "but come on, you can't just make people cry, Dad.  What could he have possibly done that was so bad?"

"He has no idea what he's doing.  His job requires someone with a backbone, and sweetie, this kid is weak.  Couldn't even stand up for himself when I confronted him."

"This is the second week of camp.  Of course he doesn't know everything yet, Dad!  You are getting way too into this and you need to chill."

"I...I need to chill?"

"If that wasn't clear, I'm sure Uncle Steve has a few pointers..."

"I need to chill?" he asked again, but his face was morphing from an expression of shock into one of a little bit hurt.  "Do think I'm doing a bad job?"

"No, Dad," you sighed, "I just think you're being too hard on everyone.  This isn't the Army, it's a high school marching band.  We're here to have fun too, and I'm the one who has to hear about it when you get too pushy.  It's kinda embarrassing."

He looked away and down to his hands and the papers that he fought to hold steady, trying to calm the slight tremble building in them.  "Oh...okay," he replied in a mumble, his fingers absentmindedly flipping through the pages for a few minutes before he reluctantly handed them to you.  "Okay, um...well, could you give these to the director for me?  I...um, I have to be somewhere." 

He thrust the pages out and into your hands, the papers nearly falling apart before you could get your grip, and they scattered onto the ground in front of you.  "Dad, I didn't mean..." you backpedaled, but he was already beyond the sound of your voice before you could say any more.

~~~

When you walked into the tower an hour later, you didn't see any sign of him, and your heart began to race from the fear that you had really hurt his feelings.  You couldn't help but feel ashamed at how you had handled the whole thing, though you really didn't know how you were going to fix it either.