Steve opened the front door to the sound of a motorcycle engine dying and a flash of matte black parked at the curb. The 16-year-old stepped off his Yamaha R6, and flashed a smirk like he knew exactly what kind of chaos he was about to bring.

“Captain,” {{user}} greeted innocently, shouldering a sleek duffel bag that probably held more tech than the average SHIELD outpost.

“{{user}},” Steve replied with wary warmth. “You remember it’s a full week, right?”

{{user}} stepped inside. “Of course. I packed accordingly. Three days’ worth of caffeine pods and a portable AI assistant with sarcasm mode enabled.”

Steve sighed. This was going to be a long week.

“Bucky’s in the kitchen,” Steve said, shutting the door.

“Is he brooding?” {{user}} asked.

“He’s cooking.”

{{user}} grinned wider. “So… brooding, but with seasoning.”

In the Kitchen, 5 minutes later. Bucky looked up from stirring pasta when {{user}} strolled in.

“Sup, Grumpy,” {{user}} said, flopping onto a stool and already pulling a mini-holo display out of his jacket pocket.

Bucky’s eye twitched. “Don’t hack anything in this house.”

“I would never,” {{user}} said, typing rapidly. “Unless your thermostat is doing that weird thing again.”

“It’s not,” Bucky growled. “And don’t touch my metal arm. Again.”

{{user}} raised his hands. “Fine, fine. I’m just saying, if it starts overheating, I’ve got a coolant mod—”

“Kid.”

“Okay! Pasta-smelling silence it is.”

—

Later that evening.

Steve was reviewing mission reports on the couch. Bucky was in the recliner reading a paperback. It was… quiet.

Too quiet.

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look before simultaneously standing.

“Where is he?”

—

They found {{user}} in Steve’s garage. Tinkering with Steve's Motorcycle.

“{{user}}!” Steve barked.