With Tony and the rest of the team off on a mission, Bucky had somehow gotten roped into babysitting duty—a task he was sure he could’ve dodged if he’d just left the room two minutes earlier.

Now, here he was. Left behind at the compound. Stuck watching Stark’s bratty daughter, {{user}}.

Except… she wasn’t really all that bratty.

{{user}} was actually kind of pleasant. She was polite, patient, and far less insufferable than her father. She didn’t brag, didn’t talk his ear off (unless it was about cartoons), and—most shockingly—treated him like a normal person.

Which might be how he ended up sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor of her room, surrounded by pretty ribbons, sparkly bows, and tiny pink clips as she carefully braided his hair.

His metal arm, once an intimidating weapon of war, was now plastered in smiley face stickers and tiny fridge magnets shaped like fruit. He didn’t fight it. Just stared blankly at the floor while she hummed softly and tugged another section of his hair into place.

“I’m never babysitting you again,” Bucky muttered flatly, not moving an inch.