Wait for the Word by
“Oh, Captain America,” Bucky calls, voice a dangerous sing-song. The edge of a blue shoulder and elbow he can see don’t move an inch. Stopping completely about four feet away from the tree, Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, feeling utterly unimpressed. “I can see you,” he calls, to a response of nothing. “Steve. You're behind a tree that isn't as wide as your shoulders. I can literally see you.” Finally, Steve moves. He appears from behind the tree, thumb tucked in his belt and expression carefully nonchalant, smiling at Bucky like he wasn’t an idiot who had just got himself shot. “Oh hey, Buck.” "Don’t you," Bucky begins, voice threatening as he scans Steve and spots a new tear in his uniform, across the side of his calf. "Don't you ‘hey Buck’ me," he tries, but Steve is still looking at him with a stupid winning smile fixed firmly in place, and it’s no good, Bucky is starting to laugh. "Stop grinning at me, punk, I'm mad at you," he insists. "Oh my god, you were hiding behind a tree, how have you survived this long-" "Dumb luck," Steve says. This is adorable.