"Why did you join this war, Sergeant Barnes?" Sam barked out, trying to jolt Bucky out of the trap he had fallen into within his own psyche. He took the chance that if he played along with whatever Bucky was seeing, maybe something inside his friend's mind would at least let him follow orders and move. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

"Sir, yes, sir," he replied as best as he could, even though he was still cowering away. "I joined the Army to fight for freedom and for my country, sir."

Sam closed his eyes at the pain the sound of Bucky's voice was causing him, doing his best to continue playing the role and keep him focused on talking to him, hoping that at any moment, something would snap his friend out of it. "Barnes, listen to me," he began again, "we've got an enemy incursion moving in, and if we don't get the hell outta here, we're done for. Move it, Sergeant!"

"Sir," he agreed, finally pushing himself up to standing and releasing the tight hold he had over his ears to drown out the sound of battle outside. "I have to fight," Bucky nodded, steeling his confidence, "I have to win this for Steve."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, sir. Sorry, sir."

"No, repeat it now, Barnes."

"Sir," he replied, "I have to win this war for...Steve. He wants to join the Army more than anything, but it's gonna get the idiot killed. I have to win before he can get in."

Sam felt his heart drop into his stomach like a lead balloon, trying and failing miserably to cover the haze of moisture building in the rims of his eyelids. He sniffled quietly and turned his head away in embarrassment, whispering to himself as he looked out the window in the hopes that he'd see Steve at any moment, "snap out of it, Buck. Come on, man."

"Sam," came the only voice he wanted to hear over his comm, "where are you? I'm on the ground and we've got an all-clear here."

"We're not clear here, Cap. We are very not clear. I lost Buck somewhere in the 40's, if you get me."

"Alright, coming to ya."

Sam turned back to Bucky, hoping that he had heard Steve too; hoping that the sound of his best friend had worked to release him from the flashback that was gripping him. When he looked back, Bucky was turned away, his hands pressed up against the wall and his head hanging low in front of him; his back was arched and shaking, and Sam could hear the quietest whimper beneath the continued sounds of battle outside. "Barnes? You with me?"

"Sam," came the choked and muffled reply, "what happened?"

"You left me for a minute," he answered cautiously, taking a few steps closer until he could rest a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Are you back with me, pal?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Yeah, cut the shit," Sam finally laughed when Bucky turned to him with a crooked grin, "it got your attention, didn't it?"

"You'll never hear me call you that again, Wilson, so I'm gonna give you a minute to reminisce and enjoy the moment. Go ahead, I'll wait."

"Shut the hell up. Cap's on the way and we still have a fight on the other side of that door." Sam flipped the guns out from his suit and moved to stand next to it, pulling his goggles down with a huff. "I said, you with me?"

Bucky pulled a gun from his boot and another from the holder between his shoulders, taking his place next to Sam and ready to attack. He looked at his teammate and for the first time, even after every battle they had been in, Bucky felt like he had complete faith in the fact that the man would fight until he had nothing left to protect him, and he would gladly do the same. "End of the line, Sam."

"Oh my god," Sam whispered, holding a hand over his chest, "Barnes...did you just..."

"Yeah, yeah, let's not get all sappy about it."

"That means so much," he continued. "Buck, really. I don't know what to say."

"Jesus, Wilson," Bucky scoffed, "if I had known you were gonna be a pussy about it, I wouldn't have said anything. Even when Steve was all scrawny he took it more like a man than you. Wait...seriously? Are you...crying?"

"Fuck off," he sniffled, wiping away the few drops that escaped his eyes, "just let me have my moment."

Bucky stood with his weapons at the ready, though still watching Sam with a grin as he composed himself. With a deep breath and a nod of resolve from his friend, Bucky kicked the door wide and the two men ran into battle at each other's side with a new attention to keeping the other out of harm's way.

~~~

When Steve, Sam and Bucky returned to the jet once the mission was complete and the base was thoroughly destroyed to Tony's liking, the tone around them had changed from focused intent and anger to jovial congratulations for Nat and Clint once everyone was up to speed on the plan. The four of you had kept it a secret for months as you were undergoing treatments to make this happen for them, and it was a complete surprise to everyone else; to no one more so than Tony.

"Couldn't just give me a hint? I would've kept quiet."

"Right," you laughed, "because you've always been so good with secrets!"

"I could've done it," Tony pouted, quickly changing to a look of concern as each moment passed and the realization kept sinking in. "So, you've got a Barton swimming around in there?" he whispered, resting his hand on your non-existent bump. "That's just...hard to think about."

"Why?"

"You make Rogers babies."

"This is actually a Barton and Romanoff baby, Dad. I'm just the oven."

"We're sure there's only one, right?"

"It's too early to know, actually," you answered hesitantly, "but I'll have a scan in a month or so we should be able to tell then." Reaching down, you took his hand away and held it in your own, rubbing your thumb over the rough skin of it as you thought about the conversation that you had with Steve not that long ago, knowing that Tony had been a part of it before even you had. "Listen, Dad, about Steve and I having more kids...I just don't see it happening."

"Yeah, I was kinda getting that vibe from you before he and I talked," he agreed softly, watching your thumb move back and forth. "I understand why you wouldn't want to. I think he was maybe testing the waters a little by bringing it up. After coming so close to losing each other, I think he was grasping for something that would make him feel like things were okay again."

"There are better ways to find that out. You know, like asking?"

He laughed at this, a smile crossing his lips as he brought your hand up to them, "yeah, but this is Steve, sweetheart. He's not exactly adept at subtlety." Tony paused and the two of you sat quietly for a few minutes; he looked around the jet at the rest of the team, talking amongst themselves, with Steve now sitting alone with Clint on the farthest side of the cabin. "Hey, so are you feeling okay with this one? The triplets had you puking like we were watching the Exorcist for a while there."

"So far, so good," you sighed, "but if you just jinxed me, I'm aiming for you when it starts."

"Shit," he groaned under his breath, "hadn't thought of that..."

~~~

'You need anything? You hungry? Something to drink? Want me to rub your feet?"

"Clint, I'm fine."

"Okay," he answered readily, relieved but still watching you closely. Ever since the jet returned home, his entire focus was on you, and even though you knew that he was just beginning his overprotective mode because of the bundle you were carrying, you were already beginning to feel a little smothered. "Do you feel sick at all? Tired? I can carry you upstairs if you need me to?"

"Barton, sit."

"Yes, ma'am."

Steve's arms wrapped around you as you sat on the couch with him, leaning back against his chest with a blanket pulled up tight; you were trying to unwind with a movie together after putting the kids to bed, but Clint wouldn't give you a moment of reprieve. "Go easy on him, doll," he whispered, "he's a first-timer."

"Because you were so much better?" you smiled, looking up at him. "That's easy for you to say now."

"We weren't talking about me," he mumbled, deflecting the topic.

"Of course not." Seeing Clint still staring at you from your periphery, you decided that maybe it was time to call it a night. The only way that you would be getting a moment of peace was to find it in the comfort of your own room, on the other side of a door that would keep him at bay. "Alright, kids, I'm going to bed." Pushing yourself up, Clint stood in reaction, and Steve joined to stand at your back.

"I've got her, Barton. Stand down."

"Right," Clint nodded, "sorry...of course."

"Is this how it's going to be for the next eight months?" you asked, finally unable to take any more. "Because I'm not okay with that."

"I thought you would've enjoyed having him at your beck and call," Steve chuckled, grabbing your hand to lead you away. "Clint, you're gonna have to trust me, alright? I know how this goes, remember?"

"Woah," you groaned, before Clint could reply and grabbing Steve's arm with your open hand, "slow down, Steve. I think I stood up too fast." A few beads of sweat grew on your forehead and in your brow, while your skin paled and your ears began to ring. "I'm just gonna...sit..."

Steve held your arm while you took your seat, kneeling down at your side while he watched. When you hiccupped only once, he knew immediately what was happening and pointed to a nearby garbage for Clint to bring to you. "And so it begins," he whispered to himself. "Hey, grab a cold cloth for her," he directed his friend, turning his focus back to you.

"I was feeling good until now," you mumbled, "this is so not fair."

"Nothing lasts forever."

"Hmm," you nodded, but the calm only lasted for a second, your eyes widening as the inevitable came and the retching quickly began. "Dad's...fault...he jinxed it..."

"Here," Clint hurried back in, resting the cloth against your head, "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I would trade places with you if I could. That looks so miserable. I'm sorry."

"It's okay...knew this was a part of it."

The sound of a jovial whistling broke your concentration on breathing and the waves of nausea that were gripping your stomach, turning to look past Steve and seeing Tony all but skipping into the living room, clearly not aware that you were cursing him under your breath. "Dad," you called out as best as you could, "I hate you."

"What? What did I do now...oh!" He hurried across the room and to your side opposite of Steve, putting his hand gently against your back when you turned to use the garbage can in your hands again. "Oh, sweetheart, I shouldn't have said anything. You're going to puke on me now, aren't ya?"

"Thinking about it."

Tony watched as helplessly as Steve and Clint were, remembering how hard of a time you had with the triplets once the sickness began. Not much was able to help you through it other than Wanda, but she wasn't home and it started to look like you were going to be in for a long night. "(Y/N), I might have an idea," he smiled, "but you have to trust me."

"Tall order," you scoffed.

"You've got a point. But listen," he continued, his energy growing more excited as he went on, "remember how BARF made you sick like this? Well, if I make a few modifications to only affect those nerve receptors, not touching the memory control like it does now...I might be able to give you a cure for this."

"No, Tony, no messing with her head," Steve jumped in to argue. "She's not going to be an experiment. No way. It's better to have her puking everywhere than to start screwing around with her brain when you're not even sure what you're doing."

"Speak for yourself," you gagged, continuing until there wasn't anything left to release. Your body ached all over from the strain, and the thought of Tony's device altering your nerve pathways didn't seem scary at all; it was a testament to how miserable you really felt. "Do it, Dad. Nothing could feel worse than this. And that's not a challenge," you pointed, wondering if you had just made a terrible mistake as you listened to the whistling restart when he ran towards the lab.