-Things get scary and then shit goes down.-

So... yeah. This ended up unexpectedly long. (It's an outlier, please don't expect more like it!)

WARNING for scary things (the chapter is called Haunted, so be careful of that), explicit violence and potential danger to children (...though I suppose that can be said for most of these chapters).

Technically, Bruce was the first one to see it.

At some point in between the time he'd promised himself that he'd stop reading and go to bed (in two minutes, he swore) and the time he realized that even Tony had gone to sleep, Bruce had slipped out of his room to get a glass of milk.

Empty mug in hand, he had opened the fridge and peered inside, bleary eyed with his reading glasses slipping down his nose. He was reaching into the fridge, past the bottle of wine to the jug of milk in the back, when he saw it.

Reflected in the glass bottle in front of him was the shape of something large and dark behind him, taller than he was and bent over as if to wrap its arms around him. Bruce's gasped in a hitched breath, the ceramic mug slipping from his fingers to shatter on the floor in his shock.

But when Bruce spun around, there was nothing there.

Bruce's eyelids fluttered in rapid blinks and he brought a hand up to his chest as he forced himself to calm back down.

"Bruce?"

Bruce looked up to see Tony peering at him curiously, his massive headphones pulled down to curl around his neck. Tony glanced down at the broken mug and then back up. "Okay?" It was both a question and an offer to get help.

Bruce offered him a small smile, almost sheepish at this point. Of course there hadn't been anyone in the room. Never mind the sheer volume of traps the guy would've had to get through. Never mind Steve's superhuman hearing (hearing that he was probably using right now to determine whether or not he should stop pretending that he wasn't listening and check in on them in person).

Never mind all that, because Bruce would have felt a threat the moment it entered his home.

"I'm fine," he breathed out at last. "I thought I saw something scary. I think I've just been awake too long. I'll head to bed after I'm done here. ...And I finish the chapter I'm on," because he was four pages to the end of that chapter and had only gotten up because of the trip to the bathroom he had had to make on the way to the kitchen.

Tony frowned at him as he pulled the broom and a small dust pan out of the pantry. "You're still on chapter four?"

Bruce opened his mouth and then shut it slowly. He was on chapter fourteen. "...yes?"

Tony smirked and rolled his eyes as he handed the items over. "Uh huh. Okay, well make sure you sleep and stuff. Gotta try and be healthy and all that."

"I love hearing you telling me to take care of myself," Bruce teased as Tony left, the younger boy's soft snickers echoing in the empty hall as he went.

-xxxx-

Clint first saw it under his bed.

He and Natasha had a bunk bed in their room. Two bunk beds, actually. It gave them the option of sleeping one above the other, side by side or, on the occasional day/week when things are kind of weird, curled up together on the bottom bunk of a "full-sized" bunk bed, made by pushing the two beds together.

They had no problem sharing a twin bed, but if it lasted for more than a night or two, the extra room was convenient.

They weren't sharing a bed that night, and Natasha had chosen to sleep on the bed above his own. But he'd taken his hearing aids off and missed the nightstand when he rolled over and went to put them down. Mostly because the nightstand was on the other side of the bed.

Clint sighed deeply into his pillow and took a moment to force himself to get up. The last thing he needed was for someone to step on them in the morning.

He climbed off the bed and went down on his knees. It was too late to bother with the lights (and he kind of hated the idea of waking Nat up that way), so Clint was left patting around on the floor until his fingers hit the smooth edge of one of the buds. It was only by coincidence that he happened to turn his head.

The area under his bed seemed pitch black that night, even darker than the rest of their room, if only in his mind. It made the light of the two white eye-like orbs that stared out at him seem so much brighter, like luminescent balls of light floating on their own.

Clint stilled and stared the… thing. Even with eyes as good as his were, he could only vaguely make out the shape of a person there, the rest of it pitch black and streamlined with no distinguishing characteristics. Clint's chest was heaving even though his breaths were silent, mind racing in an attempt to figure out what to do.

Clint parted his lips just a touch, barely even noticeable, with the intention of making some noise, any noise, in warning. As if reading his thoughts, one of the thing's arms shot out towards him, so fast he almost didn't catch it in the dark. And Clint blinked.

Just once, just a fraction of a second. But when he'd opened his eyes again, there was nothing there.

There was nothing there, nothing there at all (no movement, no noise, just silence and darkness and the void), and Clint really couldn't breathe. He lay there for a full minute before he wrapped his arms around his head and thumped it once against the floor. He got to his feet and climbed up onto Natasha's bunk silently, slithered under her blankets and curled up against her. Natasha instinctively leaned against him, one arm coming to wrap around his waist and pull him in closer as she buried her face into his shoulder.

Clint let out a shaky breath and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Her pulse was slow and even and he could already feel his heart begin to calm. He was tired and it was dark and there was nothing there. Because Natasha was still here, warm and happy and asleep, and if there was any danger to be found, she would be the first one to notice.

Everything was fine.

-xxxx-

Nails sharp like claws carded gently through his hair, starting from the top of his head and then coming down along the sides. It wasn't until those nails were gliding slowly across his throat, large hands made of something smooth and cold like silk pausing to press lightly down against the skin there that Tony woke up. His whole body tensed up and he jerked into a seated position.

It was still dark but almost dawn. Bruce, the only other person in the room, was still asleep, curled up into a tight ball. Tony blinked slowly at him and let out a soft sigh, flopping back down on the bed. He brought a hand up to his neck and rubbed it roughly.

If it wasn't the nails, it was the feeling, the shadow, of someone looming over his back while he worked on something in the middle of the night.

He briefly entertained the idea that it might be his mom or dad from beyond the grave, brought back by the desire to pull him away from this world to theirs. Tony sighed again and rolled over onto his side, pulling his blanket up over his head and steadfastly ignoring the sensation of those clawed fingers running down his back over the comforter.

His parents hadn't been the type to touch him all that often in life, he really doubted that they'd start now.

Tony never saw the thing and he honestly wasn't sure whether that's better or worse.

-xxxx-

Natasha had been on her way to Phil's room. She was already awake and tense and admittedly twitchy from the nightmare that had gotten her up in the first place. She honestly hadn't needed to see the arms, all black and nothing like those of anyone in her care, reaching for her out of her peripheral vision. Her night had gone to crap as it were and this was not helping.

So she could be at least a little excused for grabbing the nearest object (a flower pot) and throwing it at her assailant as she spun in one fluid motion. Only for it to hit the wall. She dashed for the light switch, flooding the hallway and living room in light.

There was nothing there.

Which could only be a lie. Natasha may not have Clint's eyes but she knew her own head. She may not claim to be undeniably sane but hallucinations were not on her list of shit to worry about.

So when the others found her, some as quick as fifteen seconds later (Steve) or as late as three full minutes (Pepper and Tony), she was tearing the living room and neighboring rooms apart trying to find that thing.

"Natasha," Steve said, slow and careful, the question hanging in the air.

"There is something in this house," she hissed as she shoved the couch over onto its back.

"Are you talking about the ghost?" Clint asked. His eyes were glancing about the room as if expecting to see it phasing through the roof.

Natasha paused where she'd been about to push the fridge aside and turned slowly to look at him. "What?"

"A large, all black person reaching out for you in the middle of the night, right?"

Bruce tensed. "You saw that too? I thought I…"

Natasha glanced from Clint to Bruce and back again, her expression slowly falling away to blank impassiveness.

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Just...everyone calm down, okay? This was probably something else. I mean, Tony and I haven't seen it and we're up just as late as-"

"I've seen it!"

Steve startled and frowned at Tony. "Seriously?" he asked sounding vaguely alarmed, "You've seen it?"

Tony tilted his head slightly and glanced away. "Well...I mean, I haven't seen it,"

Steve sighed, somewhere between relieved and irritated. "Tony-"

"But I'm guessing it's the same thing that keeps touching me at night."

Everyone in the room stilled and turned to stare at Tony in visible alarm. "Touched you how?" Phil asked when he found his voice, only barely managing to pull back the edge of murder that was attempting to leak into his tone.

Tony blinked up at him, bit his lips and then mimicked the movements. He ran his hands through his hair and then wrapped them around his throat.

Which is how Tony found out just how fast Pepper was. The woman had him scooped up into her arms before he'd even had a chance to lower his own. "We need to move," she said pointedly.

Phil sighed and shook his head. When Pepper opened her mouth, her expression briefly leaning far closer to outright fury than Phil had ever seen it, he said, "I've lived here for years, Pepper. So have they. If there is a ghost here, it's not attached to the house."

Clint let out a soft groan, "Ugh, I could have lived without hearing that."

-xxxx-

"This is not something I ever thought I'd spend my Sunday doing," Rhodey murmured as he shut the newly made Electromagnetic Field meter and handed it over to Tony. It was actually less a meter and more a radar, set to beep whenever something ghostly moved into its range. Twelve of the things had already been set up in various rooms about the house.

Tony offer him a sidelong grin as he attached the bolts to the back that would hook up to the slots already made in the living room walls. "But it's kind of cool, right? We're ghost hunting."

Rhodey let out a soft huff. He was trying very hard to not be amused by Tony's excitement. He was only sort of succeeding. "Are you sure you even want to be anywhere near this thing? It's been… hurting you, right?"

Tony startled and set the EMF down. "Huh? No, just bugging me."

Rhodey squinted at him and Pepper, on the couch nearby and typing on her tablet, frowned. "Tony, it tried to choke you," she said.

Tony stood up and moved to stand behind Rhodey. He wrapped his small hands around the teens throat, just once in a barely there squeeze. Enough to be noticeable but not enough to even limit, let alone stem, his air supply. "Like that. Bugging," he repeated, sitting down again. "It's mostly just the petting and watching though. Which is rude. Steve at least makes me something nice if he's gonna stare at me for an hour like a creeper."

"Like a creeper? So his "creeper ways" have absolutely nothing to do with the two dozen sketches of you guys that I found in the box under your bed?" Rhodey asked.

Tony's head swiveled to him with a look of surprised horror and outright betrayal. "I don't know what you're talking about!" he said at the same time as Pepper's delighted, "Really?"

Pepper beamed at Tony. This was clearly new information for her and she was holding the thought of it like a prized new treat. If she were a teenager, Rhodey thought she would have been the type to steeple her fingers and cackle with quiet evilness at this information.

He couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

"You keep Steve's sketches of you? Is that so?" she asked warmly, too warmly.

Tony visibly twitched and shook his head hard, quickly rising back up to his feet. He grabbed a chair and dragged it over to where the last slot was. "NO. Rhodey's making stuff up," he said, steadfastly keeping himself faced away from her as he put it up.

"Oh, is he? Why would Rhodey make stuff up about you?"

"Because he's made of sugar and evil."

Rhodey blinked at that. "Okay, one, that's Pepper. Two, it's less odd than the nest of everyone's old stuff that Clint and Natasha have in their closet."

Both heads turned sharply in his direction, startled. "Wait, what?" they chorused.

Rhodey just grinned as he watched them argue and speculate about that. He brought one of his hands up to touch his neck. He glanced at Tony, animated and laughing, and stomped down on the cringe that threatened to jerk out.

It was only now that he could recognize it for the message that it was.

When the end comes, I promise you won't suffer.

-xxxx-

"You're kidding, right?" Tony said nearly a week later, eyes sliding slowly back and forth between Clint and Natasha where they are on Phil's bed, essentially cuddling up next to him.

His brain was having problems trying to process this image. A quick glance at Bruce (with his brow furrowed, head tilted slightly at an angle) and Steve (smile growing just as wide as his eyes) told him that this was news to them too.

"Knowing that there is a...thing lurking around here at night has not been conducive to a good night's sleep," Natasha said simply, shifting one of Phil's arms down so that she could lie down on top of it.

"So...you guys are allowed to do this every time you have a nightmare or a rough night?" Bruce asked carefully as if trying to make sense of it.

"Basically," Clint said, burrowing under the blankets, "You guys can too, you know."

"I think I'm good," Steve said, still grinning.

"I...don't think it would be a good idea. For me," Bruce said slowly.

"I just… Why?" Tony asked.

"If nothing else, I think it'd be best for everyone to remain nearby. If something happens we want to be able to react at a reasonable rate," Pepper said, shouldering her travel case. She had a business trip to Tokyo to leave for shortly. Knowing that Steve had spent the last week napping for random intervals during the day and patrolling the hall at night was really only a small comfort. He still hadn't seen the thing but Clint and Tony both had. Bruce was now consistently in bed early at this point, a set of large headphones cycling classical music all night. Natasha was all but bolted to her room at night, the lights remaining on if she was alone. "I don't know what it says about this thing that it's only appearing to children, but I'd rather everyone have an adult nearby."

Steve glanced in her direction. "Are you counting me as an adult?"

She smirked and smoothed back his hair with her free hand. "Adult-ish. Close enough."

The blond huffed out a laugh but didn't argue her point. "So, these two in here with Phil, and Bruce, Tony, and I bunking in Clint and Nat's room. Sound good?"

The group nodded, though Tony glanced back at Phil's group with a small frown.

Which Clint and Natasha had no intention of letting go.

"Ahh, this bed is so soft!" Natasha yawned out casually.

"And so spacious," Clint added.

"And so Phil! Shame we have this all to ourselves!"

Pepper bit her lips to keep from snickering and wandered off while Steve and Bruce rolled their eyes at the very unsubtle attempts at manipulation.

Tony actually seemed to be considering it though.

"That looks uncomfortable," Tony murmured, though he was inching closer.

"It's not," Clint said, his expression dead serious. "You have not slept until you've slept with Phil."

Bruce snorted and Natasha's eyes narrowed as she leaned forward. "We're serious, it's like he's a drug."

Bruce watched her for a moment and then tilted his head curiously. "Okay… So, how does that work? Does he make you feel sleepy?"

She shook her head. "You fall asleep quickly, sleep deeply, wake up refreshed and no nightmares, guaranteed."

Bruce squinted at her. "There's no way that's possible. I'm pretty sure it's just because you guys like him so much."

"And I'm saying it's not, which is why you guys should try it and see for yourselves."

"Is it a proximity thing, though? Do you have to maintain physical contact or does being in the same room or the same bed enough?"

"Physical contact isn't required but has better results," Clint replied for her. "Being close enough to hear his heartbeat really helps too."

"I'm sitting right here," Phil said, speaking up for the first time that night as he closed the book he was reading. "And we're not running clinical trials on me. So everyone needs to either get in the bed or leave the room because I'm going to sleep now."

Steve huffed out a laugh and left, Bruce following behind, while Tony crawled up and flopped down onto the bed, right on Phil's legs.

Because of course.

The boy gave him a cheeky smile and then made his way up the bed. He allowed Clint to settle him in between himself and Phil and tried to force himself to calm down. It was weirdly early for Tony to be sleeping and he honestly kind of wanted to spend some time poking Phil in the side to see what kind of reaction he could get.

But Phil was turning out the lights and Clint was all warm against his back, arms wrapped around Tony's chest, and Natasha was running one of her hands through his hair from where she lay on Phil's chest, getting his hair all fluffy and -

Tony blinked and he could see Natasha watching him with a pleased smile on her face.

Because the sun was peeking in through the windows.

Because the sun was somehow up?

Tony blinked at her slowly. "How is it already morning?" he whispered in horror.

She grinned at him widely. "Are you tired?"

He opened his mouth to snark, because he was always at least vaguely tired because of his weird schedule, but… "...No," he realized. "We should market this."

Clint laughed quietly into Tony's shoulder. "No go. We're still trying to figure out what it is. At the very least it's not his cologne or heartbeat that do it."

Tony groaned softly at that. It would have been amazing. "I guess we could try cloning? I think SI has a genetic engineering department so me and Bruce could just-"

"I'm right here. I have no idea why you seem to think I can't hear you."

All three startled a little. Clint and Tony offered him sheepish smiles while Natasha gave his stomach a couple of light knocks with her knuckles, earning a soft snort. She sat up to give him a small grin and then froze. A full body shudder racked its way through her and she let out a choked out scream.

It was the first time any of them had heard her make a noise like that.

Bruce and Steve were bursting into the room not three seconds later, skidding to a halt just inside the door. Bruce immediately went for Natasha, who had backed herself to the very edge of the bed. She was curled up into a very tight ball, fingers clutching at her hair. "Natasha? Natasha! Please! You need to tell us what's wrong!"

Steve's eyes darted from Natasha to Phil. As he was about to turn back to Natasha again, he paused, eyebrows knitting together. "Phil? What is that on your forehead?"

Phil blinked at him and then pressed his open palm against his forehead. It came away slightly wet, a small deep red blotch at the center of his hand. His eyes narrowed. "Am I bleeding?"

"It's a star," Clint offered quietly. His eyes were on Natasha, his body already curling up on itself, unintentionally mirroring hers.

"It's not a ghost."

They all glanced over at Natasha. She was breathing shakily still but seemed to be trying to pull herself together. "The red star is his calling card. The Winter Soldier. We're- We're all going to d-die… but Phil will be first," she said quietly, swallowing thickly midway in order to get the rest of it out.

"He's from the Red Room?" Phil asked. "Why haven't I heard of him?"

"That's the point. He doesn't exist unless they want him to! I would never even heard of him if I hadn't… He's never failed a mission from them. I don't think he can."

"Well that sucks for him. 'Cause he's not getting anyone here," Steve said simply.

She turned up to look at him, a sliver of something like hope bleeding into her expression before she stomped it down and turned away. "You may not be enough."

"I will be." Bruce said, spine straightening where he knelt beside her.

Tony crawled up out of the covers fully and scooched up to be across from her. "Worst case scenario, I set up a couple bombs and those two distract him long enough for the rest of us to sneak out and then we blow the whole place up!" Tony paused and then glanced over. "You guys can survive a bomb, right?" At their determined nods, he smiled. "See? Problem solved!"

"Wow. I am a really bad parent," Phil murmured absently. When the group turned to look up at him in surprise, he blinked, realizing that he'd said that out loud. He shrugged at their incredulous looks. "To be fair, we're currently planning a murder."

"It's self-defense," Steve stressed.

"Premeditated self-defense that may involve the destruction of a building." The group cringed, because said out loud...it did sound at least a little bit sketchy. "I don't actually have a problem with it, I just feel like this isn't the sort of meeting good parents normally have with their children," he admitted.

"Well… a good parent teaches their kids how to hide the evidence so we don't all end up in jail, right?" Tony offered.

Phil frowned and blinked hard down at the boy. "I am not going to be teaching you all how to 'hide the evidence,'" he deadpanned, "That is what Nick is for."

"...You actually are a really bad parent," Bruce murmured.

-xxxx-

The end actually came not three days later.

"I still can't tell if 'deadly Russian assassin' is better or worse than 'undying vengeful spirit.'"

Steve snorted softly, stretching his legs out in front of him. He was sitting on the floor in the hallway between Phil's bedroom and the one Bruce and Tony were currently sleeping in, Tony preferring to bounce back and forth between rooms (sometimes even once or twice in the middle of the night) rather than staying in one place. Steve pinned the phone between his head and shoulder and began cleaning his guns for the third time that night. "Right? On the plus side, if I punch him hard enough he might actually go down. I did not pay nearly enough attention to the 'Ghost Murder 101' lessons Dr. Selvig gave us last week to be useful in that fight."

"Dr. Selvig? The physics teacher?"

Steve let out a curious hum, "Is he?"

"Yeah, at my school. He... hunts ghosts on the side?" Sam's voice wavered in that way that meant that he wasn't quite sure if Steve was being serious or pulling shit on him.

Steve was pretty sure that Sam hadn't had that specific tone of voice before he'd met Steve. He's not sure whether or not that's a good thing.

"Apparently his parents were into mythology and lore. Or something."

"Jesus. Your entire neighborhood, Rogers," Sam murmured. Steve could hear papers rustling in the background, the soft clicks of a keyboard in use. He couldn't help but be grateful for Sam's ability to multitask.

"Do you not sleep?"

Sam let out a soft huff of air. "Nope. Not having that conversation with you."

"Fair enough."

"You talk to Mr. Coulson and Ms. Potts about Tony yet?"

Steve bit his lips and closed his eyes, letting his head thump lightly against the wall behind him. He hadn't. Rhodey had made sure to take Steve aside before he'd left for his dad's base to mention the warning. If Natasha was right, the guy was already planning on killing all of them anyway, so he honestly wasn't sure if telling them that Tony's death would be quick could actually be considered helpful.

Tony wasn't going to be dying. End of discussion.

"This whole thing makes even less sense than that ghost bullshit. Why spend a month just...messing with them?" Steve had to pull back on the growl that was leaking into his voice. "Those guys aren't exactly harmless but Phil and I are the real threats."

"That's kind of the point, Rogers. The kids aren't real threats to this guy but they're still freaking dangerous. So you keep 'em up, make them sloppy and easy to kill. No chance of accidentally torturing them because they fought back too hard. That's what I'd do."

Steve pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a long moment. He squinted at it. "I get the feeling that you and Nat would get along… really well. You're not allowed to ever meet her," he said slowly.

The sound Sam made seemed deeply sympathetic. "Oh, Steve, kiddo... She friended me on facebook, like, three days after we met."

"No. No. No, Natasha doesn't even use the computer at all!" Steve whispered as curled up, more in an attempt to assure himself than to convince Sam.

Sam hummed. "Yeah… Well, that belief explains a lot about her Tumblr page."

"What? What's on her Tumblr page? Never mind. What's her username?" he asked, putting the phone on speaker and lowering the volume so that he could pull the website up on his phone.

"No. Steve, as your friend, I am telling you not to follow the rabbit down that hole, okay? You don't want to do that."

"Actually, I think I do. I'm-" Steve cut himself off abruptly, clicked softly once with his tongue and ended the call. He moved into a crouch and pressed the small panic button Tony and Rhodey had installed on the back of all their phones.

-xxxx-

Phil's woken up in a lot of crappy ways over the years (surprisingly few of those Tony-induced), but he had to admit that waking up to the feeling of a garrote slipping around his throat was pretty high up there.

Phil kept his body still, only allowing his breath to hitch up slightly, naturally. One hand, hidden under the pillows, inched back to slide a small switch on the bottom of the headboard. A sheet of long flat metal from the wall just above the headboard released itself and flew over to the wall across from them, taking his assailant with it.

It had seemed like a really dumb idea at the time, but Phil was really glad he'd okayed it.

The sound of a body slamming against that wall was more than enough to get Clint and Natasha up and alert. The lights were suddenly on, bringing the man, clad in thin black combat gear with blackout goggles and a thick muzzle, into full view. He was bound by that force of the two magnetic sheets, holding his neck and the arm that had come up to shield it in place.

They couldn't see his face, but the slight tilts of his head made it pretty clear that he had glanced at the wall behind him and back to them, wondering what the hell had just happened.

The door slammed open at that moment, Steve coming to stand between his family and the assassin, gun already aimed and ready to fire. "You may want to surrender."

The hand caught by the metal straightened and then curled, bending the metal, supposedly thick enough to hold down Bruce for at least a full minute, with a loud screech before he tossed it away.

Which, okay.

Steve immediately fired two shots at the guy. The assassin ducked low, much faster than anyone Steve's seen since Schmidt, and tackled him at chest level. Steve grunted lowly and got his arms under the assassin's. He allowed the guy's momentum to throw him off his feet and then jerked his knees up to flip them up and over so that when they landed, it was on the Soldier's stomach.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Clint, Natasha, and Phil wisely leaving the room and Bruce entering. The Soldier must have seen it too because he growled out something low and venomous and tried to slam the back of his head into Steve's face. When that didn't work, he jerked one of his arms back to slam against Steve's lower ribs.

Steve let out a choked gasp, his vision whiting out just long enough for the Soldier to throw him off and get up again. Steve forced himself up to his feet, clutching at his side. That wasn't a normal blow. It'd felt hard and heavy like metal and had cracked, if not full out broken, three or four of his ribs.

"Stay back! He's stronger than he looks!" Steve called out, voice throaty.

Bruce's eyes narrowed and he remained in the doorway. His eyes had already turned a dark green, almost glowing from that angle. "Don't worry, I've got this," he growled out.

The Soldier paused, halfway through the room and just watched Bruce through his covered face. His posture shifted slightly then, spine straightening, arms relaxing, head tilting forward and began advancing again. Bruce clenched his fists tightly as he bared his teeth. But, instead of his blood boiling, his muscles rippling and surging and growing, he got calm. The closer he got, the more Bruce's blood settled, cold and slow like there was nothing to fear.

Like there was nothing there.

Bruce let out a choked out gasp, taking a stumbling step back. And he tried. Tried to get angry. Tried to remind himself of all the bad things that were going to happen if he didn't change. And that person, that thing, was getting closer and closer. Every step was careful, body somehow swaying and still even though he was clearly moving in. "No! Don't-"

He was cut off by Steve tackling the guy from behind, throwing them into the wall just inches away from when Bruce stood and grabbing the Soldier by his long hair to slam his head against the wall. "Get out! I'll hold him here!" Steve barked.

Bruce swallowed. He wasn't so prideful as to think he'd be helpful at the moment. While the Hulk could save him if he caught up in the blast, that wasn't going to help him if he couldn't change with that thing so close by. So he ran, slamming his hands into what looked like innocent light nobs on the wall as he dashed. The further he got the more energetic he felt, like his blood was actually working again, acknowledging the level of fear and anger that had been left to spark and die inside of him.

It wasn't a full change but enough to keep from immediately dying when the first bomb went off, Bruce just barely reaching the door in time to open it and let the blast throw him out.

Natasha and Clint were both outside, a few yards away, just outside the expected blast radius. Natasha had two guns aimed at the door (still at the door, thank god) and Clint had his bow, with two arrows already nocked, but was facing away from him as if to watch to watch the houses for any signs of co-conspirators.

Bruce blinked at them and took in the rest of the neighborhood. Several doors were open and Phil was ordering people to stay indoors and out of sight. Tony was by his side, assuring people that it was an experiment gone wrong, because he was Tony Stark and that is definitely a thing that sometimes happens with SCIENCE. Bruce closed his eyes and let out a soft shaky breath as he buried his face in the cold, wet grass.

He just hoped Steve would be enough.

-xxxx-

Whatever upperhand Steve might have had, it lasted for all of seven seconds.

Seven seconds was a lot. Seven seconds got Bruce very near the door, the first of the bombs blocking the exit from view.

The Soldier threw his foot back, getting Steve in the thigh. He was more than a little relieved to find that, while certainly strong, that limb didn't have the same bite as the one that took out his ribs. But it was enough to loosen Steve's grip enough that the guy could throw them back against the wall, the back of his head finally slamming against Steve's face hard enough to make him bleed.

Steve brought his arms up, folding them over the Soldier's chest and using his hands to claw and grab at the masks covering the guys face. Screw the history books. If this guy was willing to kill children, he'd have to just understand that it meant potentially getting his eyes clawed out. He got the muzzle off first, the goggles just one second behind, and immediately regretted it when the asshole immediately bit into his arm.

Like an animal. And sure, he had been planning to claw the guy's eyes out but biting just seemed rude.

Which didn't stop him from biting down on the Soldier's right shoulder. The guy let out choked gasp, not screaming once, and tore himself away from Steve, who was ready to offer up a bloody, full teethed grin when the guy turned around, but froze.

Because he recognized that face.

Even with the fire and the smoke and the now barely there lights of the hallway, Steve recognized that face.

He'd spent the better part of nearly ten years carving its smile into nearly every sheet of paper he ever owned.

"Bucky?"

The Soldier reacted (if Steve could even really call it that) to that with a full bodied twitch, like he'd been shocked. And then immediately punched him in the face.

With the strong arm. Jesus.

"Bucky! Wait!" Steve shouted, throwing himself to the side to barely miss the next punch. The wall wasn't so lucky. "Bucky, I-"

"Stop saying that word!" The Soldier screamed, throwing himself bodily at Steve, sending them into the living room and over the couch. They landed at an awkward angle, Steve's legs up on the upturned (and apparently on fire) couch, his head falling with a thump on the ground, just barely missing the edge of the low table there. But that left the Soldier, Bucky, on top of him with just enough time to punch Steve in the face again before he could gather himself to block.

"Bucky-" Steve tried to shout.

"Stop it!" Another punch with the hard arm.

"Bucky!"

"Shut up!" Another punch. Other arm this time. Small miracles, he supposed.

"Bucky!"

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!" It came out as something like the mix of a growl and a scream, no doubt painful on the throat. And when he opened his mouth to try again, to try anything, Bucky's fist was coming down again, catching him at the side of his nose. If it wasn't broken before, it was ten different kinds of broken now.

"Fucking hell," Steve half hissed and half screeched out, back arching as his head fell back, "That fucking hurts, Jesus Christ!"

"You don't get to bitch at me about hurt when you went and got yourself run over by half the fucking city!" Bucky barked back.

Both teens froze at that. Steve blinked his unswollen eye up at Bucky who was staring down at him with a mix of shock and horror, somehow even more surprised by his own words than Steve was. Less than a second later and his body was shaking with it, looking at Steve as if he didn't know whether to cry or scream or murder him.

Bucky got up shakily and climbed off him, backing away. Steve rolled over, pausing just long enough to cough out the surge of blood that gushed down from his nose before he got up. "Bucky, wait!" He called out, but the assassin was already running through the fire, deeper into the house.

Steve forced himself up and took chase but by the time to the back door, thrown open and half off the hinges from the force, Bucky was already gone.

Steve stared out into the night, one hand coming up to clutch at his chest, at the dogtags that didn't belong to him underneath his shirt. Steve let out a shaky breath and fell to his knees. After a moment, he found himself falling down fully onto the grass, his concussion starting to catch up with him. He coughed thickly, blood sludging from his lips as he closed his eyes and lost consciousness.

He was too numb and too far gone to notice his head being tilted down and to the side enough to keep him from drowning in the blood that was threatening to flood his throat.

He was too numb and too far gone to notice the gloved hand that slipped into his shirt and worked the dogtags from his grasp, or the long pause that ensued before they were gently pulled up and over his head.

He was too numb and too far gone to notice the soft clinking of metal as they were carried away, lost in the sirens and smoke.