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[Image ID: the background is a rainstorm, and the title "Stormy Weather" is superimposed along with photos of Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes, Daniel DiTomasso as Jason Todd, and Garrett Hedlund as Clint Barton, as well as a wet dog in water, a close-up of a sheriff's badge pinned to the jacket of someone wearing a flannel shirt, a slice of a television screen showing a severe thunderstorm warning and radar, and a slice of a sheet of paper that says "record of arrest and prosecutions" with some official seals above the text] Thanks to MumOnRum on Twitter for the Bucky photo edit!
The meteorologists have been absolutely clear, and the Sheriff’s Office has been amplifying the message far and wide. This is going to be a hell of a summer thunderstorm — torrential rain, gale-force winds, flash floods, and maybe even some scattered tornado activity. Everyone with even a lick of common sense has holed up with supplies. Only an absolute fool would be out in this weather.
Which is why when the phone rings at the Sheriff’s Office, Steve looks at Bucky and Bucky looks back at Steve, and both of them say at the same time, absolute resignation in their voices: “Barton.”
Bucky reaches for the phone first. “Deputy Sheriff Barnes, how may I help you?”
“Yeah. So I’m at the Route 52 underpass, and —”
“Jason?!” Bucky can’t help his surprised exclamation, and Steve suddenly sits up straight, leaning in to hear.
Bucky grabs a pen and starts jotting down details, even as half his mind still processes that Jason Todd of all people is willingly calling the Sheriff’s Office.
Not that Jason isn’t a good guy at heart. They had all been friends as kids, in the way that all small town kids are friends when there’s fewer than a dozen kids in every grade. But Jason had it rougher than any of them. Everyone in town knew that his dad was an abusive asshole and his mom was using just to get through the days, but no adult seemed willing or able to do a thing about it.
By the time they all hit junior high Jason had taken a different path than Steve and Bucky — ducking truancy officers, shoplifting, and engaging in petty theft to keep himself and his mom taken care of. By the time Jason’s dad got killed and his mom overdosed soon after, Jason was as angry as a feral cat and no foster home could hold him. He disappeared into the City, and everyone expected it was the kind of place that would eat a small-town kid alive, but Jason was above all things a survivor.
He showed up back in town a few years back, always on the edge of the law, and if the overdoses got a little less frequent and the truck stop working girls got a little safer once Jason was back in town — well, that’s not really something the Sheriff’s Office is not going to admit. Not publicly, at least, and there’s never a scrap of solid evidence against him, as many times as Steve and Bucky might haul him in for questioning about various criminal activities.
Jason just lazes back in the chair in their single interrogation room, smirks at them both, and skillfully avoids telling them any damn thing at all. He almost seems to enjoy it, and Bucky’s man enough to admit that maybe he does too. Hell, at this point it’s the closest thing to entertainment they have around here, since a kitchen fire closed down Josie’s bar for the season.
They gear up and head out, taking Steve’s old F-150 instead of the single derelict official county vehicle. The storm hit about an hour or so ago, so there are branches down and the wipers are working overtime, but the flooding’s not too bad just yet. Not for Steve and Bucky at least, who know these roads like the back of their hands, and can navigate just fine around any low-lying areas.
When they get to the scene there’s a too-familiar red and black Dodge Challenger pulled to the side, with Jason’s SUV pulled in behind it, flashers on.
Steve judders up onto the verge behind both vehicles and they jump out. The SUV is empty, so Bucky makes his way to the passenger side of the Challenger, where a soaked young woman is huddled up, barefoot in a tank top and shorts, looking miserable. There’s a hell of a bruise developing on the side of her face.
Bucky taps on the window and she rolls it down a bare half inch. “You alright?” Bucky checks.
“Yeah,” she says, rolling the window back up before the word is even all the way out of her mouth.
Bucky grimaces, but he can’t blame her. They don’t like to pull in the girls who work the truck stop, but sometimes an out-of-towner makes a fuss and they have to do it. They’re as respectful as they can be about it — hell, Steve is downright shy about it — but the working girls still consider them cops after all, and they’ve made their peace with that.
Jason materializes out of nowhere, his brown leather jacket soaked through and his face drawn into a scowl, his distinctive shock of white hair plastered to his forehead until he swipes it back irritably, gesturing the way.
“You sure it’s just Barton?” Steve asks as they slog their way toward the storm tunnel.
“Yeah,” Jason replies. “Cari saw him go in.”
“And what the hell were you all doing here?” Bucky can’t help but ask.
Jason’s growl is almost louder than the rumble of thunder in the distance.
“Cari’s dirtbag boyfriend kicked her out — stole her phone and wouldn’t even give her a ride to the main road. Marisol saw it — she was scared to come out of her trailer and help so she called me, and I came out to —” Jason hesitates, shooting them a sideways glance. “— give Cari a ride,” he finishes, uncharacteristically diplomatically, and Bucky guesses that maybe Cari’s boyfriend had been in for an ass whupping before this all went off the rails. “I guess Cari decided to hitch, and Clint picked her up to give her a ride to her mom’s, let her use his phone. They got this far and then —” Jason gestures wordlessly at the storm tunnel.
“At least he had the sense to tie a line,” Steve says pragmatically, as they finally reach the mouth of the tunnel. There’s a blue rope tied to the low clearance sign.
“Yeah. He may be a dumbass, but his knotwork is impeccable,” Jason snarks, and Bucky is glad that the downpour probably hides how red his face just got. Steve, who has teased Bucky about his crush on Barton for the past year and his crush on Jason for a decade, seems to know anyway, huffing a laugh under his breath and giving Bucky’s shoulder a friendly bump with his own.
Bucky crouches down, shining his flashlight into the tunnel. The water’s about waist-high in there, and rising quickly, and Clint seems to be around a bend, or at least farther than the light can reach.
“Clint?” he calls out.
“Oh. Hey. Bucky. You’re here. Um, what’s up?” Clint’s voice is a little too high to be as casual as he’s hoping to convey.
“I was wondering the same thing myself,” Bucky shouts over the rushing water. “I mean, I felt like we were pretty fuckin’ clear in our announcements about the storm. I distinctly remember sayin' somethin’ about stayin' away from standing or moving water.”
“Yeah,” Clint says morosely. “You definitely did. You said, ‘You ain’t that good a swimmer, and the Olympics are still a few months out.’ I remember thinkin’ it was real funny, Bucky. You got a talent for that kinda thing.”
With a mighty effort, Bucky refrains from banging his head against the entrance to the tunnel. “I’m glad you liked it, Clint. Can you explain how it didn’t somehow stop you from droppin' your damn fool self into a storm tunnel?”
“Well, it’s not like I meant to, Bucky,” Clint says, sounding aggrieved now. “But there’s this dog —”
“Yeah, yeah, Cari told us. Or Cari told Jason, and Jason told us. You still got ‘em?”
“Of course I still got ‘em. What do you think of me, Bucky, I coulda pulled myself outta here if I had my arms free.” And sure, Bucky is well acquainted with the strength in Clint’s arms and shoulders, what with Clint’s propensity for going around in sleeveless shirts all summer. It’s the talk of the damn town, and Bucky maybe notices even more appreciatively than most.
Clint’s voice interrupts Bucky’s thoughts, starting to sound a little panicky now. “But I can’t let him go under, Bucky, he’s hurt bad. Jason said he could pull us both out, but I don’t want him to go under. I don’t care what you say, I’m not gonna let him go,” Clint finishes belligerently, and Bucky wonders what kind of authority figures Clint has interacted with in the past that makes him think that’s something they’d try to force.
Steve is already opening the duffel, pulling out the rope and vests they brought. Without being asked Jason takes the rope and secures it to a railing, his big hands quick and skillful in a way Bucky is trying not to notice right now.
“Even if we float the vests out to him he’s not gonna be able to get them on himself and the dog while he’s still holding him,” Jason observes as he comes back.
“I’ll go in,” Bucky says. “Get them in the vests and follow behind to make sure they get pulled out okay.”
Steve objects, as Bucky expected him to. “If anyone goes in it’ll be me —”
“No offense, Stevie, you’re not the scrawny little mutt you used to be, but this arm can pull against the current in a way no one else can manage.” Bucky waves the fingers of his prosthetic and is relieved when Steve seems to listen to reason for once.
“What’s the best way —” Steve starts, frowning at the end of the yellow rope he’s holding, and Jason pulls it away from him with a smirk.
“Let me show you just one of the things I learned in the big city,” he purrs suggestively, a glint of mischief in his green eyes.
Bucky sets his jaw and focuses his eyes on the horizon, trying to concentrate on the life-threatening situation they are in and not the way Jason’s big hands work the rope, or the rasp of his breath against the damp skin of Bucky’s throat as he leans in.
Bucky suppresses a shiver as Jason’s gentle touches turn his body this way and that, until he’s securely harnessed in no time with loops of rope from his hips to his shoulders and one suspension point in the center of his chest.
It’s something straight out of a couple of the videos that Bucky has bookmarked on his favorite porn site, and he tries to valiantly pretend that he doesn’t have the slightest idea about the situations in which Jason would have learned such a thing. Jason’s knowing smile says that he’s not fooled for a minute.
Steve clears his throat, jolting Bucky back into reality. “Boy Scouts didn’t teach me that,” Steve mumbles under his breath, his face red as a tomato. Both of them avoid eye contact with each other as Steve holds out a life jacket for Bucky to shrug on. Jason crowds close to do up the buckles, fingers lingering just a moment too long.
Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to pull together his scattered wits before looping one human and one dog life jacket on his arm. “I’m comin’ to you, Clint,” he yells, keeping the flashlight on and tucked between the straps of his life jacket as he ducks backwards into the storm tunnel.
“Oh, hey, you don’t needta make a fuss —” Clint is already protesting as Steve and Jason belay Bucky slowly down the tunnel.
The current is strong, littered with smaller branches and debris, and it’s a fucking miracle that Clint has managed to keep his footing in all of this. Bucky is swept off his feet almost immediately, but the life jacket keeps him afloat, and he focuses on trying to keep himself from getting buffeted too hard against the tunnel walls, the single spot of his flashlight careening wildly across the dark space.
The current carries him around a bend, and there Clint is, although he could easily get lost in the shadows; he’s got nothing but the flashlight of his phone shining through the breast pocket of his flannel to light the small gap between ridges in the tunnel wall that he’s wedged his broad shoulders into.
Despite all his nonchalant comments he’s in a perilous position. He’s managed to find some kind of rebar protrusion to hang on to, but it’s cut right through the flannel of his shirtsleeve — Bucky can see blood welling up against the flash of pale skin of Clint’s bicep where he has it looped around the rusted metal. Clint’s face looks a little pale in the skittering light of Bucky’s torch, but his jaw is set with determination, the tendons of his forearms taut with the effort it is taking to hold himself and the dog in place.
Bucky had expected a puppy or something, but Clint’s got a full-grown dog huddled wet and whining against his chest, one arm looped under its front paws and the other supporting its back legs. It’s a miracle — or a testament to the strength in those fuckin’ spectacular arms — that he’s managed to hold himself and the mutt up in such a strong current for God only knows how long.
“Slow now!” Bucky yells down the tunnel, and then “Hold!” as he gets abreast of Clint.
Jason and Steve stop belaying the rope. Bucky’s shorter than Clint — the swiftly-running water that is waist-high for Clint is hitting Bucky at his lower chest and the buoyancy of the life vest keeps trying to tip him over, but he manages to get his feet under him and clamber toward Clint, wedging himself into the same small gap in the tunnel wall.
It’s closer than he’s ever been to Clint and under the steadying beam of the flashlight he can see every detail that he has admired from afar, from the slight bend in the bridge of Clint’s nose to the adorable little cowlick in his straw-blond hair.
“Careful — I think his leg is broken,” Clint breathes. They are pressed tight against each other, water buffeting them to and fro, their bodies forming a protective vee with the dog huddled between them. Together they manage to get the vest on the shivering dog, and then on Clint.
And Bucky is maybe not as handy with rope as Jason seems to be, but there’s enough slack on the line holding Clint. “Hang on tight for a minute,” Bucky says, drawing his knife, and Clint nods seriously, his sky-blue eyes wide, clutching the rebar and the dog tightly.
Something about Clint’s unfettered trust causes a swell of feeling to rise up in Bucky’s chest, and he tamps down on it. He allows himself one slow breath to push aside his panic at the thought of Clint getting swept away from him, and then as quick as he can he cuts the rope Clint has knotted around his waist and reties it more securely around both him and the dog.
“You go first,” he says. “I’ll come after.”
Clint looks like he’s going to object, but Bucky is already calling down the tunnel. “Blue line, coming out.”
Clint grimaces but then wades toward the bend as the slack on his line tightens. Bucky follows, hand-over-hand on his rope, and he was right — his real arm can barely handle the strain of his body weight against the current, but his prosthetic is strong enough to pull him forward.
Clint manages to stay on his feet until they reach the bend, and then the current picks up. He tips onto his back, keeping the dog well clear of the water, as the rope pulls him along until Jason and Steve can reach for him.
Bucky heaves a sigh of relief as they disappear from the mouth of the tunnel. He’s almost there himself, just a few more feet, Steve reaching his arm out —
Something slams against Steve, knocking him to the side.
“Steve!” Bucky yells.
“‘M okay —”
Jason appears at the mouth of the tunnel instead. “He’s okay, just got whacked by a fuckin’ big log. He’s holdin' it back but you better fuckin’ hurry —”
“I’m losin' hold of it!” Steve yells, and Jason turns halfway.
It happens almost faster almost than Bucky can track it. The log sweeps into the tunnel, headed full-tilt at Bucky. There’s nothing he can do to dodge it floating like he is, pinned in place by the line — all he can do is brace the arm not holding the line over his head.
There’s a streak of motion. Bucky just has time to pull in a breath and then something heavy slams into him, pressing him down into the water. It’s not the log, though — he feels that impact a second later, thumping into the body that’s on top of his and then sliding past as they both bob back to the surface.
It’s Jason whose arms are tight around Bucky’s chest, Bucky clinging to him just as desperately with the hand not holding the line. Bucky has barely a moment to take in the strength in Jason’s body, solid and warm against him, and then with a jolt they are both hauled the last few feet forward.
Clint and Steve pull them free of the mouth of the storm tunnel and together they all stumble up onto the embankment. They flop down on their backs, panting.
“Jesus fuck, Jason,” Clint says wonderingly. “I ain’t never seen nobody move that fast, an’ I was in the circus.” He’s the first to sit up, squinting at them both as he carefully pulls the dog back into his arms.
“What the hell were you thinkin'?” Steve adds, left hand holding his right shoulder. He rolls to his side and then gingerly sits up as well.
“Couldn’t let anythin' happen to Bucky’s pretty face,” Jason slurs, eyes still closed. He’s got a cut on his temple that is bleeding faster than the rain can wash it away.
“You think I’m pretty?” Bucky blurts out, sitting up in startlement and leaning over Jason.
Jason blinks his eyes open, pupils wide enough to almost swallow the emerald-green irises. His gaze tracks dazedly past Bucky’s face, and then veers back.
“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathes, smiling sweetly. “Always thought so.”
“Wow.” Bucky is breathless for a moment, stunned by both the words and the smile in equal measure. “You musta hit your head pretty hard,” he manages. His throat suddenly feels dry despite all the stormwater he probably just swallowed.
“I mean, he’s not wrong, you’re pretty fuckin’ gorgeous, but he does seem a little out of it,” Clint contributes.
Bucky’s head snaps around to look at Clint, who rears back defensively. “I mean, not that I’ve been lookin’ or anythin’,” Clint backpedals. “I mean, not much. I just — I got eyes, is all I’m sayin’. I didn’t mean to imply —”
Jason has turned his head to smile dreamily at Clint now too. “You’re pretty gorgeous yourself, baby,” he slurs, interrupting Clint’s frantic rambling. “I bet between us the two ‘a us could wreck this pretty boy. Whaddaya say?”
Clint’s eyes are wide as saucers, a bright flush making the freckles across his nose and cheeks stand out more than usual. “Fuck yeah,” he says, on a shuddering exhale.
Bucky feels his pulse speed up so fast that he gets a little lightheaded. Maybe he died in that tunnel after all, because there’s no way the guy he’s been crushing on for the past year and the guy he crushed on all through his adolescence just agreed to —
“Jesus Christ,” Steve interrupts, rubbing a hand over his face in exasperation. “The only place the three of you are going right now is County General to get checked out. An’ me too.”
“Aw, doctors, no,” Clint complains. “I gotta get the dog to a vet first anyway —”
“I’ll call Sam an’ have him meet us in the parking lot, he’ll take the dog back to his clinic to get checked out,” Steve says firmly, levering himself to his feet. “I can’t drive a stick like this — Clint, are you okay lettin' Cari take your car to her mom’s? It’s just up the road, an’ we’ll come back for it after the storm.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Clint says, standing up with the dog cradled in his arms. “I can drive Jason to County in his car if Bucky helps me get him in there.”
“We’ll follow you,” Steve says decisively, as if he suspects Clint and Jason would just as soon avoid the hospital, and he’s probably not wrong.
Bucky stands and reaches down to pull Jason up. Jason’s a little wobbly but manages to get upright, leaning his weight somewhat perilously into Bucky, smiling down at him.
“You feel just as good in my arms as I always imagined you would,” he says happily, and Bucky ducks his head, trying to hide how much he likes hearing that.
Together they make a slow, limping progress toward the vehicles, getting Jason settled in the passenger seat of his SUV with the dog in his arms and Clint behind the wheel. Cari seems more than happy to take off for her mom’s, fishtailing back onto the road and speeding away, and Bucky settles behind the wheel of the truck, helping Steve buckle in.
They’re barely a mile down the road before Steve starts in.
“So,” he says. Bucky focuses on the road, the taillights of the SUV barely visible through the waves of rain. Clint seems to be steering pretty skillfully around the low spots, and Bucky is doing his best to follow.
“Are you really gonna take up with both of 'em?” Steve prompts.
“Jesus, Steve, I dunno. Jason’s concussed to hell, he probably doesn’t know what he’s sayin’,” Bucky finally says. “And you know as much as I do that every time I’ve tried to talk to Clint this past year he’s always seemed wary of me — it’s clear as day that the badge makes him nervous. But —”
Bucky’s heart races. He can’t even believe he’s saying it himself. “But — yeah. If they both really want me, and each other, an’ me bein’ deputy ain’t a dealbreaker for either of 'em, then fuck yeah. Hell, I’d be the luckiest guy in town, an’ I wouldn’t give a fuck what people around here have to say about it.”
“Well,” Steve says slowly, and Bucky holds his breath. It’s not gonna change his mind, but Steve’s his best friend, and his good opinion —
“At least it’ll keep Sam ‘n me from bein’ the hottest topic at all the church socials,” Steve finishes. “‘Bout time somethin’ more scandalous came along.”
Bucky laughs out loud in his relief, joyous and startled, and Steve’s answering grin is all he needs.
County General is slammed with cases more urgent than theirs, and by the time they all get cleared the storm has mostly passed, the sky clear and twinkling with stars.
Steve’s shoulder is in a sling, and Clint, Bucky, and Jason are all patched up and on broad-spectrum antibiotics to counter anything they might have picked up from the dirty water, but they’re all still damp and bedraggled by the time they make their way out of the emergency department to meet up with Sam and the dog back in the parking lot.
The dog’s damaged eye is patched, an inflatable donut around his neck to keep him from scratching it. His leg had apparently been broken and healed badly some time ago but probably got sprained again as he struggled to stay afloat. It’s splinted for now and will have to be reset when he’s a little healthier. In the short term, all he apparently needs is rest and care.
“I’m gonna call him Lucky,” Clint says, down on his knees in the graveled parking lot as the dog tumbles all over him, licking everything within sight.
“Well, it looks like he’s in good hands,” Sam says, handing over a bag full of dog food and supplies. “On that note, I’m gonna get Steve home an’ in bed.”
Bucky hands over the keys to the truck, and as Sam and Steve head out, he and Clint and Jason stand a little awkwardly under the parking lot light, just looking at each other. The loopiness seemed to fade about an hour in, and Jason’s usual scowl is back on his face.
“I can drop you both an’ drive myself home,” he says.
Bucky’s not sure if it’s defensive or if Jason really didn’t mean any of the stuff he said, but he’s damn sure that he needs to find out before Jason has the chance to build his walls back up any higher.
“You have a concussion, you’re not supposed to be alone tonight,” he points out.
“Neither are you,” Clint aims at Bucky. “Nurse Claire said I gotta keep an eye out in case you get, like, double drownin’ or somethin’.”
Jason’s eyes track from Bucky to Clint and then back, the scowl fading from his face until it’s replaced by a look of frank speculation. “Well, hell,” he says slowly. “Sounds like the best thing for us to do is just stick together after all.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Clint agrees immediately. “I mean — Bucky, what do you think?”
Bucky squints up at the full moon, and then back at the two men regarding him carefully.
“I think it’s late,” he says. Clint’s expression drops and Jason’s shutters for a moment before he finishes, “An’ since I live the closest an’ have a fenced yard for Lucky to explore, not to mention a king-sized bed, I say we all pile in there for the night an’ figure out the rest over breakfast in the morning.”
Clint smiles like sunshine, and although Jason is a little more reserved his eyes are crinkled in the corners with happiness. It’s a good look on them both, and Bucky resolves there and then to do whatever he can to keep them looking that way.
“That sounds like a great idea,” Clint says, already leading Lucky toward the SUV as if he’s worried Bucky might change his mind. “The best idea.”
“Yeah,” Jason says. “I could get on board with that,” he adds, as if the whole thing wasn’t his idea to begin with.
Clint has already got Lucky situated in the back seat, and he throws the keys to Bucky before climbing in the backseat and buckling himself in, bracing Lucky under one strong arm.
Bucky gets into the driver’s seat, pulling the seat forward — damn but Clint is tall — and adjusting the mirrors. He catches a glimpse of Clint in the rearview as he tips it down. His head is leaned back, his eyes closed and a dreamy smile on his face as Lucky licks enthusiastically at his jaw.
“I’ll confess I was just a little bit scared for a minute there when I was in that tunnel,” Clint admits. “But if I come outta it with two boyfriends an’ a dog, I’m definitely gonna call this day a win.”
“God help us if this actually encouraged your reckless behavior,” Bucky says, trying to sound stern but missing by a mile because he can’t keep the affection out of his voice. “You got into enough scrapes even before this. Guess it probably is gonna take two of us to keep you in line,” he adds with a glance at Jason, and Jason looks back, lips quirked.
“Guess so,” he agrees, and Clint only grins wider as Bucky puts the car into gear and heads for home.