Chapter Text
Steve enjoys early morning runs.
The cool air in his face, the quiet peace on the streets, the satisfying burn in his muscles. The rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement soothes him as he carefully measures his breaths, and he lets his mind wander.
The rest of his day involves sitting down in front of the computer, hunched over whatever task his latest client wants him to do, and so being able to be alone outside for a while is a welcome respite. He enjoys his work, don’t get him wrong, and he is exceedingly grateful that he can do something he loves for a living, but sometimes it can still get a little stifling.
Enjoying the steady movements his body instinctively goes through, he is just about to take his next step when a sudden loud shriek pierces his ears. He snaps his head down and immediately spots a tiny, wriggling body on the ground, right in the path of his foot. Visions of a squashed spot of fur on the concrete flash before his eyes, and he has just enough time to yank his foot out of its path into an awkwardly long stride.
He manages to avoid squishing the creature and bestowing upon it a cruel and untimely death, but he ends up sprawled on the ground, elbows scraping against the gravel of the road and the wind knocked out of his chest slightly. Shaking his head to reorient himself, he peers back at the near victim of a sudden death.
It’s a puny little thing, with four small paws, a thin, twig-like tail and a pink body covered only by a light dusting of fur. It seems almost grotesque in its appearance, and Steve stares at the body in morbid fascination for a good few moments. The body then lets out a screech far louder than its size would suggest it was capable of, and that’s enough to remind Steve that there is a living creature in front of him and not some museum exhibit.
Panicking significantly, Steve fumbles for his phone, listening to the phone continue to ring with increasing trepidation. Finally, on the last ring, he hears something get knocked to the ground, and a stumble followed by a muffled curse. A tired voice picks up and Steve releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“...ello?”
“SAM! I need your help! There’s this unidentifiable creature on the ground and I don’t know what to do!”
Steve’s anxious statement is met with silence as Sam slowly digests the information and blinks himself awake.
“Steve man, it’s 6am, what are you even doing up?”
He runs a frustrated hand down the side of his face. “I was on my run Sam! You know I like to get up early and start the day rig— That’s not the point! There’s this little kind of furless guinea pig on the ground and it’s so small and I almost stepped on it—”
“Steve, Steve, you gotta breathe man. Okay so we have this naked guinea pig,” Sam says slowly in what Steve knows is his therapist voice , trying to wrap his head around the words. “Why would there be a naked guinea pig wandering around some neighbourhood in New York?”
“I don’t know, okay!” Steve bursts out in frustration. “It might be a ferret, a possum or a squirrel for all I know! There’s just this weird little rodent creature here and there’s no one around and I don’t know what to do!”
“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down, take a breath, we’re going to figure this out, okay? First things first, we gotta figure out what this is so we know what to do with it. Bruce spent some time doing some research on wildlife, didn’t he? Man might have a PhD in it even, why don’t we ask the group chat and see if they know what it is?”
Steve has never been so glad for Sam’s steadiness and sensible instincts in times of crisis. Quickly, he hangs up on Sam and takes a slightly blurry photo and sends it to the chat with his ragtag group of friends collected over the course of his life.
Assembly of Avengers
<insert picture of unidentified baby creature>
Captain Obvious: GUYS HELP WHST IS TJIS I FOUNDT IT ON MY RUN AND I DONT KNOW WHTA IT IS
Surprisingly, a flurry of responses come flying in.
The Stark Truth: No idea dude,
Viking God: My apologies, friend Steven! I do not believe we have such creatures in Asgard so I am unfamiliar with it!
hawkguy: Sorry guys, birds are more my thing. I can tell you that it’s nothing we had in the circus tho.
The Jolly Green Giant: Hmm, it’s definitely a rodent of some sort, maybe an opossum or a raccoon? Sorry I can’t be much more help, it’s quite hard to tell until their markings come in.
Red Menace: It’s a raccoon.
Bird boi #2: ...what is everyone doing awake?
The Jolly Green Giant: Science.
hawkguy: Ran into a dumpster and got a concussion, can’t sleep for 24 hours.
Red Menace: Clint ran into a dumpster and got a concussion, have to jab him every hour to make sure he’s not falling asleep.
Viking God : I am currently in another Time Zone visiting my lady Jane at the moment!
The Stark Truth: I never sleep.
Bird boi #2: Fair enough. More importantly, how did you even know that it’s a raccoon nat?
Red Menace: There are a lot of raccoons in Mother Russia.
Steve has known Natasha long enough to not be surprised by anything that she says, so he’s just exceedingly grateful that someone happened to know what the baby creature was. Typing out a quick thanks to everyone in the chat, he calls Sam again.
“Okay, now that we know that it’s a baby raccoon, what do we do? Do they teach raccoon care anywhere?”
“Right ahead of you. I did some quick research and it seems that raccoons potentially carry rabies—”
Even though he’s not touching the raccoon, Steve jumps back a few feet instinctively.
“—but as long as you don’t come into direct contact with it, it should be fine. But as a result, you’re not allowed to keep them unless you have a special license. Now it doesn’t seem like there are any wildlife rescues anywhere near you, and certainly none that are open at this hour, so…”
He trails off and Steve runs his hands through his hair in frustration. What is he supposed to do with a baby raccoon? He’s an artist, so the closest thing he knows about raccoons is Wilber, the mascot for the graphic design software GIMP.
He hears the rapid clicking of keys and a triumphant aha! in the background before Sam’s voice comes over the line again. “Okay, so I found a list of licensed wildlife rehabilitators online that can help take care of raccoon babies so I’m sending you a number! Some person called ‘Bucky’, so go and call them and see if they can help.”
Steve feels a wave of reassurance crash over him. He has a game plan now.
“Thank you so much Sam, you’re a lifesaver.”
“I know, I know, I’m incredible. Bye, now I’m going back to sleep, please don’t bother me again.”
With a final click, Sam hangs up and presumably goes diving back into bed. Steve locates the number and immediately presses it. His hopes are dashed when no one picks up. Not deterred yet, he calls again.
And again.
With every ring of the phone, his anxiety ratchets up. When someone finally picks up on the fourth call, he almost sinks to his knees in relief, and blurts out the sentence he’s been rehearsing in his head for the past few minutes.
“I HAVE A NAKED BABY RACCOON PLEASE SEND HELP!”
“What.”
As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he feels himself die a little inside. He closes his eyes in absolute mortification and counts slowly to ten as he tries to collect himself and recover from that utterly humiliating introduction. Get it together Rogers!
“Hello? Who is this?”
The voice that speaks is groggy with sleep a, but Steve can’t help but note how rich and deep it is. He allows himself to swoon a little, captivated by the rough quality in the speaker, before a tiny squeak from below snaps him out of his fantasy. Now is not the time to go thirsting after some strange guy’s voice! There’s a tiny animal that needs your help so get with it! Slightly abashed, he scolds himself and turns his attention back to the vulnerable animal on the ground.
“H-Hi! I, um, found this baby raccoon and I can’t see its mother anywhere. It’s making these kind of squeaking noises and it doesn’t really have much fur and it’s just lying in the middle of the sidewalk and I don’t know what to do so I found your number online for raccoon rescuers and I thought I could call you—”
He knows he’s babbling, but he can’t seem to stop himself. He wants to kick himself for that embarrassing stutter and the incomprehensible message, but it’s better than his first attempt at least. Small victories, he supposes, I’ll take what I can get. Meanwhile, the voice on the other end seems to have perked up with the mention of a creature in need.
“Okay, well you’ve done the right thing so far. Can you tell me your name?”
He squeaks out his name and resolutely ignores the slight shudder than runs down his spine when the voice says his name.
“Right Steve, I’m Bucky and I’m going to need your help with this baby raccoon while we figure out the best course of action.
The voice — Bucky’s voice, he adds (Not the time Steve!) — takes on a professional tone as Bucky calmly walks Steve through a list of questions.
Are the baby’s eyes open? No. Does it have any markings? A few dark patches near the eyes, but not much else. Are you near an official wildlife rescue facility? No. Are you able to transport the animal to another location? No, I don’t have a car. Do you have time to wait for someone to come and collect the animal? Yes, I work from home and I set my own hours. Where are you right now? After peering around at a few signs to figure out where exactly he is, Steve rattles off his location nervously, clutching the phone, his lifeline, tightly.
“Great job there Steve, giving me all sorts of useful information about this baby raccoon. From what you’ve described to me, it sounds like a newborn, definitely less than a week old, so without a mother, it doesn’t have a chance of survival. Since you don’t have transportation, I’ll come over to your location, which is just maybe 20 minutes away from where I am right now. Are you okay to stick around for that time to just make sure nothing happens to the baby while I drive over?”
Feeling a lot calmer now that he has someone qualified telling him what to do, he answers his assent.
“Great! Okay, what you need to do right now is to try to keep the baby warm. They’re at a high risk for hypothermia when they’re that young, so if you have any soft fabric to wrap it with, or a hot water bottle that you can set safely next to the baby, that would be good,” Bucky instructs patiently.
Steve looks around him briefly. “Um, all I have with me are my shirt and shorts.”
“What? Why?” Steve groans at the confusion and incredulity in Bucky’s tone.
“I was out running so I don’t have anything else with me and I just came across the raccoon! I’m a few miles away from my house so I can’t get anything from there and I don’t think it’ll be safe to run back carrying the baby with me.”
He can tell that Bucky is taken aback. “At 6am? Why are you like this?”
Steve throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. Why does everyone judge him for being an early riser and leading a healthy lifestyle? “I like to start my morning with some exercise okay, but that’s besides the point!”
“Alright, alright. This isn’t ideal, but you could even just gently pick the baby up and wrap him in the hem of your shirt, roll it up a few times so it’s snug and having your body heat would probably be enough to keep it warm while I get there.”
A painful pause passes before Steve answers in a small voice.
“...No.”
“What? What do you mean no? Just roll your shirt up with the baby in it!”
Steve feels the tops of his ears turn red. Sam would have a field day knowing that all his comments about the size of Steve’s shirts might actually hold some weight. “I mean um, I can’t roll my shirt up because it’s too tight and the fabric won’t stretch.”
“Are you kidding me.” Bucky’s tone is dry and Steve can feel the judgement coming in through the phone.
“I don’t like my shirt flapping in the wind when I run!” He answers defensively, trying furiously to tamp down on the blush rising up his cheeks. He can almost imagine Bucky pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“Alright then,” Bucky says, dragging the word out, making clear that he’s rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. Steve’s face is on fire. Bucky gives a long-suffering sigh and huffs out impatiently, “You’ll just have to take off your entire shirt and use it to swaddle the baby, kind of like a burrito.”
Steve feels his face grow warm at the idea of being shirtless in the middle of a residential area. Tight shirts are one thing, but standing around shirtless like he’s trying to show off would just make him look like a douche.
As if he can sense Steve’s hesitation, Bucky grinds out with an irritable edge, “Just do it! There’s no one around at this godforsaken hour and it’s really important to keep babies warm. Just wrap him up and wait for me to get there, I’ll see you in a bit.”
Taking a quick look around as if to confirm that there’s no one there, Steve takes a deep breath before quickly whipping off his shirt. Do it for the baby raccoon.
The whole time, said baby raccoon has been making these tiny whimpering noises that go straight to Steve’s heart. As cautiously as he can, he bends down and picks the tiny creature up, wrapping it snugly in his shirt until it’s nicely swaddled in a cozy little burrito. It lets out a pleased little chuff and almost seems to burrow deeper into the makeshift blanket. Steve feels a bright smile break out across his face.
“Hey little guy, or little lady I guess, I’m not sure what happened to your mama, but Bucky will be here and he’s going to take real good care of you. It’ll take him a while to get here, and until then, it’s just you and me against the world, alright?”
He murmurs softly to the little body in his hands, feeling a strange protective surge for this tiny, helpless infant. He stares at its shivering frame almost swallowed by the layers of fabric, looking so small in his huge, clumsy hands. It’s a somewhat surreal feeling, holding a real life in his hands, and he vows to himself that he will protect this baby.
*****
20 minutes later, Steve has not renounced his vow to protect innocent animals against all the evil in the world, but he has to admit that the quest involved much more heroism and much less public humiliation in his head. Thus far, he has received four weird looks from soulless businessmen trudging up the street with their briefcases to their mindless corporate job, a suspicious glare from a mother who grips her child a little closer to shield him from the strange half-naked man standing in the middle of the street and not a small number of unsubtle leers from college-aged girls wearing slouchy beanies and black leggings.
Steve is about to give up the rest of his dignity and go hide in a bush to avoid all of the coming public scrutiny when he suddenly sees a beat-up old truck come sputtering up, stopping right beside him. Bucky must have finally arrived, and what a sight he has arrived to.
Steve had figured from the sexy voice across the line that Bucky must have been a pretty attractive guy, but nothing could have prepared him for the man that steps out of the driver’s seat.
The man has dark brown hair that was clearly tossed up quickly into a messy bun in a run, but still frames his striking blue eyes and luscious lips perfectly.. Wrapped in dark jeans that cling to sinfully muscular thighs, Bucky does a casual strut towards Steve that appears effortless but is having a major impact on Steve’s hormones, a large box in his gloved hands that only serves to accentuate the defined muscles in his arms even from under his long-sleeved red Henley.
Clutching a baby raccoon wrapped in his repurposed t-shirt in his arms, Steve knows that this is the most starstruck he’s been since he had his great bisexual awakening in high school. He swallows the lump that has formed in his throat.
When Bucky finally makes his way over to Steve, he sets the box down on the ground and comes close enough that Steve can feel the warmth of his body.
“Hey,” he murmurs softly to the little raccoon and Steve is in love. “Let me get a good look at you, little guy. It’s been a rough start in life for you, but I’m going to make sure you grow up all strong and prepared to be the biggest, baddest raccoon on the block, kay?”
When Bucky moves to gingerly take the raccoon from his arms, Steve willingly surrenders it.
Bucky opens the box, which turns out to be a mini raccoon home complete with a soft looking fleece blanket and a hot water bottle. He makes quick work of reswaddling the baby before placing it gently in one corner of the box, where it nestles in comfortably. Steve just stands awkwardly at the side, watching the entire process unfold with a dry mouth, head still swimming from the slight twang that he caught when Bucky spoke to the raccoon.
With the raccoon now safely secured, Bucky turns towards Steve and the two just look at each other for a bit, unsure of what to say. This meeting has been bizarre, to say the least.
The awkward silence is broken by a group of girls that pass by them giggling obnoxiously, and one particularly brazen one leans back and gives a loud wolf-whistle. Steve feels his entire face flame and Bucky is failing to keep his laughter hidden.
“Alright so, as that demonstrates, I probably don’t want to leave you here to be fed to the wolves in case you need rescuing later on,” Bucky says with a laugh. Steve applauds himself silently for resisting the urge to say you can come rescue me anytime.
“I would prefer to go settle this little guy in properly first since he’s been out facing the elements for quite some time now and it’s best to get some fluids in him, but if you don’t mind tagging along, I can drive you home later. Sound like a plan?”
Steve feels a little thrill rush through him. He’s certainly pleased to not have to run all the way home after this morning’s exhausting debacle, but more than that, he’s jumping at the chance to spend some more time with this beautiful man.
“Yeah, that’d be great! I didn’t even think about getting home after this,” he says with a nervous chuckle at the end, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.
Shooting back a quick grin at him, Bucky turns back to hop in the driver’s seat, settling the box securely with the little strap that he has installed in the backseat. Steve blindly follows and slips into the passenger seat.
*****
The ride to Bucky’s place is exciting.
Steve fumbles through a few conversation starters, but once he asks Bucky some questions about the rehabilitation process, the man relaxes and begins to expressively share the main points of raccoon care. Much of the information is flying above Steve’s head, but seeing those blue eyes light up and how passionate Bucky is about the subject stirs up warm feelings in his chest.
He enjoys watching Bucky talk so much that he feels a slight pang of dismay when they arrive at Bucky’s house, a sensible little apartment with a small garden at the back. Steve notes with a hidden glee that it doesn’t appear to house anyone other than Bucky, like a girlfriend or spouse.
Bucky pushes his way through the front door, gesturing for Steve to follow. Once he gets inside, he switches on a light and sets the box on a table before stripping off his gloves and Henley, leaving him in a plain black tank top.
Steve has to hide his gulp at the sight of Bucky’s bare arm, and when he turns towards the light—
Oh.
It’s a sleek, grey metal prosthetic that attaches right to the shoulder in an explosion of angry-looking scar tissue.
Bucky must notice Steve’s sudden staring and his face drops slightly, but he quickly veils it with a charming smirk and walks over to the box.
“Lost it in Afghanistan, but now I have this thing right here which comes in awful handy when I need to pick up one of these guys without worrying about them biting me.”
To demonstrate, he carefully picks the little raccoon up, and Steve melts a little at the sight of this ripped, powerful man cradling a tiny little animal so gently.
“Sorry for staring, but yeah, I definitely see the advantages of that!”
Bucky waves the apology off and points Steve to a small little fenced-in area at the side of the room.
“I’m going to go get this guy all comfy in his new home in my bedroom over there, but in the meantime, you can have a little look at the rest of my pals in the corner over there. Just make sure to keep your fingers away because they’re crafty little fellows, and for the love of God, do not open the door.”
With those ominous words, Bucky vanishes into the room at the end of the hallway. Slightly bewildered, Steve makes his way to the mentioned fence and has to muffle a scream when he sees three beady pairs of eyes staring back at him.
More raccoons!
It makes sense now that he thinks about it, given that Bucky clearly has experience with taking care of raccoons, but it’s still fairly shocking to see surprise raccoons pop out from the corner of someone’s living room. After his initial surprise, Steve finds that he enjoys looking at the raccoons.
They have these deep, intelligent eyes that spark with so much curiosity, and he has the impulsive desire to hold their tiny little hands that he only manages to suppress when he recalls Bucky’s warnings to not touch them. They too seem fascinated by him, and he starts making funny little faces to try to entertain them.
That is the scene that Bucky walks in on when he returns to the living room with a plain black shirt in one hand. Steve stands up quickly with red painting his face, but Bucky just has an amused smile.
Tossing the shirt over, he says, “Little guy seems to have a real liking to your shirt and won’t let go of it, so I hope you don’t mind if he keeps it for a little bit, or forever, depending on whether you’re comfortable wearing a raccoon shirt again. In the meantime, you can have one of mine for the ride home.”
With a fond smile, Steve nods his thanks and catches the shirt, slipping it over his head in a single fluid motion. He tries to pretend not to breathe in deeply, but he secretly relishes in the scent of Bucky that saturates the shirt. Even though Bucky is a big guy, Steve’s proportions exceed him as well, so the shirt stretches tight over his chest.
He wonders if he imagined the slight blush on Bucky’s cheeks and the man muttering under his breath, “ now I understand why his exercise clothes are so tight…”
Shaking himself out of that rabbit hole, he follows Bucky to the truck, and somewhat reluctantly, leaves Bucky’s home.
*****
Now that the raccoon population in their vicinity has dwindled to 0, the ride back to Steve’s house is uneventful. They do exchange some light banter that has both of them letting out little snickers every now and then, but it is over far too soon.
Steve thanks Bucky before awkwardly climbing out onto the pavement. This will probably be the last time they see each other, so Steve lets himself have one last long, indulgent look at Bucky’s handsome face, and stays on the pavement for a long time, watching the truck drive away.
When he finally drags himself back into his house, he collapses at his table. Putting his head in his hands, he takes one last whiff of Bucky’s shirt before stripping it off.
He really needs a shower.