Matt And Tfaws Bucky Would Be Disasters Together And I Love Them Regardless. Neither Of Them Would Have

Matt and tfaws Bucky would be disasters together and I love them regardless. Neither of them would have a full braincell between them and that’s ok I love them anyways- ∩^ω^∩

Ok but this idea has had me laughing for DAYS, because these two—I love them, but there truly would be precisely zero sense, which means Sam and Reader would essentially be left to manage the two of them and their insanity, which would be hysterical. So have this thing I managed to put together in between everything else of these two being, well, themselves.

—

The four of you were pinned down under heavy gunfire. You’d only just managed to barricade yourselves behind some overturned steel tables before the firefight had started, and now you all were crouched low, bullets whining past overhead and steadily chipping away at the plaster walls behind you. Trapped on the eighth floor, at least two of you—Sam with his wings, and Bucky with his, well, super-soldier-ness—could have taken the leap out a window, but that wasn’t quite an option when this many people were shooting at you. 

“How are there this many?” Sam shouted. He tried to edge up over the table to look but a renewed burst of gunfire had him ducking back down. “This is way more than—what happened to counting?!” 

“Dude, I can’t believe we’re fighting Captain America!”

“I mean, I counted the guys on the first eight floors,” Matt said, managing to look sheepish even with his face half-covered by his mask. 

You and Sam turned to stare at him, and you blinked in disbelief. “D, there are ten floors.”

He licked his lips. “I figured most of them would be on the botto—”

“Ten floors, D!” you bellowed. 

“In his defense,” Bucky said easily, looking entirely unbothered as he reloaded his clip, “wasn’t like we weren’t going in even with all of them. I don’t see the issue.”

“Someone’s about to throw a home-made grenade, but the fuse is too long,” Matt said helpfully. “Just toss it back when it gets here.”

“Grenade!” came a shout from across the room, and a moment later a grenade did indeed plunk down by Bucky’s feet. He reached out and picked it up, chucking it back. Panicked shouts cut above the sound of gunfire as people scattered, and then a distant thud rattled the floorboards. 

“I told you not to throw those shitty grenades, Todd!”

“The issue,” Sam grit out, trying to bring everyone back around, “is that we could have been prepared if we knew how many guys there were.”

“Why didn’t you do your bird thing?” Bucky leaned up, firing off a few shots before ducking back down just in time to avoid return fire. “Coulda sent your red canary in to scope it out.”

“Redwing! His name is Redwing, and that would be great if you hadn’t damaged him trying to make him carry takeout from ten differe—”

“If we could focus on the men trying to kill us,” you groaned “that would be great.”

Bucky gestured towards the other side of the room. “Look, if you think about it, we have ‘em where we want ‘em. All grouped up.”

“Grouped up and shooting at us,” you muttered. “And I’m out of bullets.”

“I’ve got a metal arm.” Bucky waved his arm in demonstration. “It’s fine.”

“That is helpful,” Matt agreed.

“Some of us are not super soldiers!” You pointed at Sam. “Mortal!” Then you pointed at yourself and Matt. “Mortal, and in case you forgot, D? You too: mortal!” 

“Jesus Christ, Todd, stop throwing—”

“Grenade!”

This time it was Matt that reached up, plucking the grenade from the air. Then he shifted and leaned around the side of the table just far enough to toss the grenade back. It rebounded off the wall, skittering its way across the floor. Once more came the thunderous sound of footsteps as people darted out of the way, followed by startled screams and a muffled bang! 

“Holy shit! That was Daredevil! That was—”

“I swear to God, Todd, you throw one again—” 

Sam slowly pounded his head back against the table. “Why did we think we should put these two together?”

“Hubris,” you said grimly.

Matt reached over and patted your leg.  

“I have an idea,” Bucky said, nodding to himself. “So they have grenades, right?”

“Oh, you mean those things they’ve been throwing at us for the last two minutes?” Sam rolled his eyes. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Bucky glanced at Matt. “How many do they have left?”

“Eight, all with fuses that are too long,” Matt responded instantly, tilting his head to the side as he listened. “Wait—seven. Todd’s about to light another one.”

Sam stared at him in bafflement. “How the hell are you doing that, man?”

“Todd’s… counting. Loudly?”

Todd had not, in fact, been counting loudly.

Sam’s face radiated skepticism. “And you could hear that? Over gunfire.”

“I could hear it,” Bucky interrupted. “Maybe your hearing is just shit.”

“TODD, DON’T YOU DA—” 

“GRENADE, MOTHERFUCKERS!” 

Sam glanced over the barricade and then swung his shield up, smoothly bouncing the grenade back across the room. Predictably, there was a chorus of screams and another bang!

You popped your head up over the edge of the table. “You are not fucking Bruce Willis, you idiot! Stop throwing those!”

“That’s what I keep trying to tell him! Todd, you fucking idiot—”

Matt reached up and yanked you back down.

“Who—“

“Grenaa-a-a-ade!” 

Bucky surged up just in time to catch the grenade and hurl it back, the grenade whistling through the air with such force it punched its way through two walls, goons scattering like a startled flock of birds. Then he ducked back down, throwing you a look as there was another distant explosion. “You need to be more careful.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Really? I need to be careful?”

“I told you: I have a metal arm. I can take some hits.” 

“Just tell us your idea, Buck. Please,” Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I got a good look just now and the grenade bag is just sitting there. So what if I shoot the grenades—”

“You are not shooting a bag of grenades!” Sam barked. 

Matt cleared his throat. “Also I can’t kill people.”

“And it might kill us.” You gestured at the lot of you. “I’m kind of concerned no one’s pointed that out yet.” 

“I can respect no killing,” Bucky said solemnly to Matt. “So is it even if I shoot and not you? That counts?”

“Yeah, pretty much. It’s a thin line but—”

“What if I tell them I’m going to shoot the grenades so they can run?”

“I think you’re forgetting we’re on the same floor as the grenade bag,” Sam snorted. “What happens when the floor gives? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m the only one with wings.”

“It’s only eight floors. Just flap your wings and carry them down.”

"Why are you like this?!"

“I think it could work,” Matt said, tilting his head as he set a hand against the floorboards. “The construction is sound enough and the grenades are pretty weak. So we tell them, they run, you shoot the grenades, and then we get back to the stairs.”

“This is a horrible plan, and I blame all of you,” you muttered. At Sam’s cleared throat, you quickly amended your statement. “Except you, Sam. You’re an angel.”

“Thank you,” he said, sounding pleased. Then he narrowed his eyes at Bucky. “See? At least someone here’s got sense.”

“I’m fucking angelic, what are you talking about?” Bucky objected. “She loves me!”

“You told me I was an angel yesterday,” Matt said to you, lips quirking. “I’m starting to think you say that to everyone you’re caught in a firefight with.”

"I’m gonna shoot the grenades,” Bucky muttered.

Sam held up his hands. “Ok, wait a second, can we just—”

“I’m shooting your grenade bag, assholes!” Bucky bellowed, reaching a metal arm up to point. “Get running!”

“Wait, is that the Winter Soldier’s arm?! I thought his hair was longer—”

“Oh fuck—”

“It’s fine.” Matt threw you a feral grin, as Bucky began firing. “They’re really shitty grenades.”

                                                            -x-

The four of you, surrounded by shattered glass and rubble, stared up at the building. 

“I think that went well,” Bucky said.

“Bucky,” you said slowly, making sure to enunciate every word. “The building is on fire.”

Indeed, it was: the top four floors of the building now almost entirely consumed by billowing smoke and orange tongues of flame that spilled from the cracked windows.

“Not a big fire.” Matt cleared his throat. “And no one died.”

“Yeah, even got this asshole out.” Bucky held up Todd. Todd, in response, yowled and kicked, desperately trying to free himself from Bucky’s hold and the parking meter Bucky had bent and twisted around him. After a second, Bucky shook him. “Stop being annoying.”

“And they needed to renovate anyway,” Matt said with a smirk. “There was some black mold in the bathroom on floor six.”

“See?” Bucky pointed out, grinning. “We helped.”

“Oh my god,” Sam groaned, as the distant warble of sirens grew closer. “This was not helping.”

“I’m hungry,” Bucky said blithely, tossing an angry Todd up onto the sidewalk. “Takeout?”

“Dude, seriously?” Sam barked. “You’re hungry? Now?”

You glanced at Matt and then did a double-take. “Jesus, D!"

“It’s a minor graze,” Matt reassured you, another droplet of blood dribbling down his arm. “Just hit the less bullet-proof part of the suit.”

“There is no less-bulletproof, D! It either is, or it isn’t—”

Bucky frowned and then nodded. “Ok, you go get bandaged up, and then we get takeout.”

“I could eat after that,” Matt agreed. “There’s some good Chinese food two blocks west if we want to eat there.”

“What is happening?” you whispered, a deep sense of dread welling up inside you because this sounded too much like… friendship. 

“Cool, we’ll meet you there.” Bucky slapped at Sam’s arm and sauntered off. “Come on, Cap.”

“I’m going to go home, bandage up and change,” Matt said, leaning over to kiss your cheek fondly. “See you soon.” And then he was gone, slipping off into the shadows of a nearby alley.

Sam and you stood there a moment, staring up at the burning building. 

“We need to make an agreement right now,” you said slowly, “to never leave them unsupervised.”

“I hear that.” Sam shoved his hand in your direction and you shook it solemnly. 

You cleared your throat. “Actually, which means we should probably—”

“Yeah, I need to—I need to follow him, he’ll—”

“And I need to go make sure D actually, like, takes care of his—”

“Good god,” Sam sighed, turning to jog after Bucky as you turned and headed after Matt. “What the fuck have we done?”