A/N:

What if Bucky didn't want to fight anymore? What if he was done with using violence to solve his problems?

While I never expect to see this in canon (let's face it, it wouldn't make nearly as exciting a movie as blowing shit up), I thought it'd be fun to explore what would happen if Bucky went a different way once he's recovered.

This story won't be as emotionally charged as some of the others, so enjoy a little light reading :D

Steve isn't surprised.

Bucky was always a protector. Always. From the time he was still just a gap-toothed little brat like the rest of the kids on their block, not much bigger than Steve.

He never bullied the other kids, not even when he started to shoot up past them around the time he turned eleven. Even when the assholes from uptown would come around, calling him 'mick', 'bastard', 'dock monkey', and 'fairy', Bucky kept his head.
They called Steve plenty too, but Bucky usually managed to plant himself in between the bullies and his best friend, so Bucky got the brunt of it. These guys were obviously spoiling for a fight, but they rarely got one… at least not out of him.
Bucky hated them, sure. Hated the bile they spewed on a regular basis, that they loved kicking the little guy, especially when he was down… but he just rolled his eyes, tossed an arm around Steve to keep him from jumping into it to defend his friend's honor, and kept right on walking the other direction. These jerks just weren't worth it.

Bucky was always eyeing the bigger boys around them when they were kids; watching the ones who'd already come after Steve once, especially. He didn't like to do it, but he'd knock anybody that messed with his family (and Steve was certainly that) into next week.

Bucky Barnes, all of twelve and a half at the time, had even dived into a fight against five other boys, all at least a head taller than himself, just to drag out a lost kid from three streets over and get him running towards home for all the kid's shrimpy little legs were worth. Bucky'd come out of that one pretty badly, with a split lip, a busted finger, and at least three bruised ribs, but he'd rescued the kid before the other boys could much more than give the little guy an impressive shiner, and he'd always been proud of that.

Bucky never wanted to go to war. He had been angry, then sullen, then depressed, when his number had come up. Bucky had never wanted to hurt anybody - wouldn't unless he was defending his own. And here they were, asking him to walk away from all the family he had left in the world -from a guy with too little sense and no self-preservation instinct left in that thick little skull of his, who got sick whenever the wind changed, who barely survived the winter every year- they wanted him to just walk away from all of that and go off to the other side of the godforsaken world to shoot a bunch of strangers just for being on the wrong side of a line that he hadn't even drawn. He had no way of knowing when or if he'd come home, or if Steve would still be alive to greet him if he did.
Bucky had, predictably, hated the war and everything it involved.

But Steve knows all this in retrospect. Bucky wouldn't tell him any of it until years and years later -nearly 80 years, in fact. Bucky had protected him the best he could to the last; even from knowing how much his best friend hated what Steve dreamed about.

… In retrospect, Bucky really had been right. War was awful. It had been a necessary evil perhaps, but it wasn't glorious. It wasn't heroic. It was just ugly, heartless, and cruel. He didn't dream about going to war anymore - not unless you counted his nightmares- and that hardly seemed the same.

So when Bucky tells him, tiny tremor in his voice, right in the thick of the team movie night - Steve barely even bats an eye. He's been half expecting it for weeks, really.

The Bucky that the others know is all about violence. He'd been an assassin for close on 75 years, nearly killed half of them at one time or another while he was at it. They expect sudden rages and vicious assaults out of him. They expect quiet, deadly, and unpredictable. They don't at all expect what Bucky has just handed them, and the room falls into a stunned sort of silence as they try to process it.

The Avengers haven't really gotten to know the Bucky Barnes that's slowly crawling back up out of the darkness and filling in his own skin again. The one that went hungry more often than not because Steve couldn't afford to lose one more pound. The one who'd jumped into more ill-advised fights and taken a fist right in the face more times than he could possibly count, just so Steve would be spared.

Steve doesn't blame them for not knowing.
The Bucky he knows, though? This is right in line with him.

"You're kidding me…" Tony looks absolutely baffled. "So, wait, I'm not the only one that didn't want to join the super-powered boyband?" He crosses his arms and looks at Bucky with a grudging sort of respect. "I gotta say… didn't think you'd be the one turning down your engraved invitation, Tin Man."

"I'm tired of killing people." Bucky says simply. He's tense, curled up on himself, and taut like a garrotte around a throat. He runs a hand (flesh and blood) awkwardly up his metal arm, scrunching the soft cotton sleeve of his shirt in the process. "I thought I'd try saving some, instead."

Steve smiles. Natasha glances at Clint, who shrugs.

"You don't think that's what we do?" She ventures, turning back, face unreadable.

"No, you do." Bucky amends, aware of the delicate territory he's stepping into. "But I just-" He glances at Steve for support. "I can't do that anymore. I can't do it the way you guys do. I'm sorry."

"So what's the alternative plan?" Bruce's voice is encouraging and warm from the other end of the couch, where he's leaning over his popcorn bowl to meet Bucky's eyes. Bucky grins gratefully.

"I'm gonna volunteer." He says, knuckles still slightly white where he's fussing with the metal knob of his left elbow. "Thought I'd start with fighting fires, maybe do some paramedic stuff… nothing with guns." Bucky's eyes dart down, staring at the dull gleam of his metallic fingers, drumming on his thigh. He makes himself look up. "Once I'm all trained up… thought maybe I could just do some field support for you guys… when you need me." He glances at Steve, a faint involuntary smirk creasing his face. "God knows Rogers can't keep outta trouble without me."
Steve smiles back. He looks… proud. Bucky feels a little of the knot in his chest unravel.
"I thought… I thought I could do some medical, extraction… that kinda stuff… Non-combatant."

He glances over at the beanbag chair Sam has staked out as his own, propped up against the foot of the couch. At Sam, who looks just as proud of him as Steve does. He gets a subtle thumbs-up.
That's two… Bucky thinks.

"You've been pretty quiet, Cap." Clint observes, though he can't have missed the obvious fond expression on Steve's face. His own is perfectly neutral. "Wha'd'you think about your boy's plan?"

"It's Bucky all over." Steve says, still smiling. "And I think it's a great idea." He leans into Bucky's space and gives him a gentle, playful punch in the shoulder. The knot loosens a little bit more. "Let me know if you want any help."

Bucky could just about faint with gratitude. He'd more or less expected Steve to support him, but to hear the words spoken out loud, well… that's something else entirely. Count on Steve to have a guy's back he thinks fondly.

Natasha just shrugs when Clint's eyes stray back to her.
"Your call, Robocop." She says, her voice even. It's clear she doesn't really approve of his approach, but Natasha has always been big on choices and letting people start over. "If this is what you want to do, you do it."

And that settles it. No one had planned to force him, but after this discussion none of them push or pressure him either. Bucky's not going to be an Avenger - not officially, anyway. He's going to save the day in his own way.

New York State will barely know what hit it.