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When Tony woke up, he was a ghost.
His hands, when he looked down at them, were sort of translucent-looking, like they’d been etched into glass, and so was the rest of him that he could see. Everything around him was colorless and pale.
Yep. Definitely a ghost.
“God damn it, that son of a bitch killed me? For fifty bucks and a bunch of credit cards that won’t work for him? Ug. All right, let’s just get on with it, then. Bright light, angel choir, magic door, stairway to heaven, whatever. Come on, let’s go.”
Tony looked around, but all he could see was an alley – the same alley that the mugger had dragged him into. “Unending darkness?”
He tried to walk out of the alley and couldn’t. It didn’t hurt and there was no sensation of a barrier, just… his body wouldn’t cross the line made by the facades of the buildings on either side.
“Highway to hell?”
Nothing.
Someone was coming down the main street. Tony pushed as close as he could to the mouth of the alley to look – it was a man near Tony’s age, tall and blond and built like a brick shithouse. He wouldn’t get yanked into an alley and murdered by a mugger. Tony called, “Hi! Hello? I just woke up as a ghost and I’m stuck; can you call the ghostbusters for me?” Officially, they were CPSR – the Center for Paranormal Study and Relief – but nobody called them that.
Blond-and-buff just kept walking.
“Hello?”
Not so much as a glance. Asshole. Even if it wasn’t his fault that Tony was apparently invisible and inaudible.
If no one called CPSR for him, Tony was stuck waiting for one of the regular sweeps and hoping that they were paying attention to their detection equipment rather than half-assing it. Tony tried to kick at a discarded energy drink can, and his foot swiped right through it. “Are you kidding me?” he whined. “I’m stuck and I’m not even corporeal?”
He pouted, but he’d never been very good at wallowing. It didn’t last long before he’d decided to find out how much movement he was allowed, and what he could do.
***
Bucky was sweating like a glass of ice-water at high noon in July, only a lot less refreshing than that. But at least they’d finally gotten all their furniture and boxes moved into the apartment. At least it was a first-floor apartment and they hadn’t had to lug everything up several flights of stairs. All that was left was unpacking, and that could wait until later.
Much, much later.
Before that, he was going to order a couple of pizzas and fall onto the couch to watch a movie – they didn’t have cable or internet hooked up yet, but the Blu-ray player ought to work just fine.
It took him a few minutes to find the box where they’d thrown all the cables, and the aging player actually threw a couple of sparks at him when he plugged it in, but finally, he got it all hooked up. Jesus, it was a lot of work, being lazy.
Bucky flipped on the TV and the Blu-ray menu appeared, then flickered and was overlaid with a partly-transparent picture of a man who seemed to be examining the inside of the TV. He was strikingly handsome, though somewhat marred by the disgusted purse of his lips. “Are you kidding me?” the man said. “Two months, I’ve waited for someone to take this apartment, and this piece of shit is the best they’ve got?”
Bucky could only stare for a moment, and then he called, “Steve! I think we’ve got a ghost!”
“Wait, you can see me like this?” the ghost said, suddenly looking out of the TV at Bucky.
“God damn it,” Steve growled from his bedroom, where he had insisted on trying to put his bed together immediately instead of putting it off for a day or three like a normal person. As if either of them had seen any action recently enough to need a bed. “The bastard had better be friendly; we can’t afford to bring the ghostbusters in.”
“I have a name,” the ghost pointed out testily. “It’s Tony. Why am I the bastard when I’m the one who got killed? If anyone should be called a bastard, it’s the asshole who killed me! Anyway, the ghostbusters are a free service!”
“Sure, they’re free,” Steve said, stomping out of the bedroom to glare at the ghost in the TV, “but have you seen the kind of wreckage they leave behind? We just moved in! If we get the place slimed or destroy a wall with particle beam burns–”
“Oh my god, you’re that guy,” Tony interrupted, rolling his eyes. “The one who couldn’t see me even when I was waving and shouting. Ug, and here I thought things were looking up.”
***
Tony wasn’t a malevolent ghost, but “friendly” didn’t quite fit the bill, either. He seemed to have some sort of grudge against Steve, in particular.
The first time that Steve was in the shower and Tony manifested in his shower radio to sing along (badly) with Steve’s terrible oldies, Steve let out a shriek that could probably be heard three blocks away.
Steve couldn’t turn on his phone to make a call without Tony popping up to ask if he was finally going to call the ghostbusters.
Every time they sat down to watch TV, Tony was there, more transparent than usual but an obvious and distracting outline on the screen.
“Okay, I can’t take this anymore,” Tony complained when the Blu-Ray player sparked, making the TV screen flicker. “Buckaroo, go get your toolkit.”
“How are you going to tell him how to fix it?” Steve wondered. “Don’t you have to leave the TV when we turn it off?”
Tony winked out of sight. “Thank you for volunteering your laptop,” he said from Steve’s laptop across the room. Tony’s face replaced Steve’s screensaver. He was grinning toothily, and Bucky had to suppress a laugh at Steve’s affronted noise.
“You are such an asshole,” Steve grumbled, stomping out of the room.
“You could just call the ghostbusters and be rid of me!” Tony called after him.
“I think he’s starting to like you, actually,” Bucky said, carrying the laptop over to the coffee table.
“More like he’s keeping me around to torment me,” Tony complained. “I want this taken into account when I’m facing my eternal judgment.”
Bucky laughed. “Sure,” he teased, “Steve might be worth knocking off a few millennia, but what about the privilege of getting to hang out with me?”
“You’re the worst torment of all, hot stuff,” Tony shot back. “Now come on, get your pliers. There’s a loose wire in there, and a corroded bolt, and then I’ll talk you through a quick-and-dirty way to fix a loose circuit board.”
***
“You asshole, that’s barely a sip,” Tony complained when Bucky put the mug on the table in front of Steve’s laptop.
“You manage this, and I’ll get you all you want,” Bucky promised. He owed Tony something; the ghost had talked Bucky through a dozen different repairs over the last couple of weeks. “I just don’t want to have to clean up a whole mug’s worth if you pick it up and then lose it again.”
Tony disappeared from the laptop, then came back a minute later. “I can’t,” he whined. “My hand just goes right through it, every time.”
“You have to really want it.” Bucky strained to remember the basic lessons he’d gotten in high school health, but no one ever paid attention during the If You Become a Ghost unit.
“Oh, believe me, I’d die for a cup of coffee right now,” Tony said.
Bucky flicked a crumpled-up napkin at the computer screen for the joke. “Come on, try again.”
Tony disappeared for longer this time. Bucky was still staring at the mug and willing it to move when the key rattled in the door and Steve came in. “Heya, Buck, what’s going on?”
“We’re working on trying to get Tony to access the material plane,” Bucky said.
Steve leaned over Bucky’s shoulder to look. “With coffee? Do we really want our ghost to be caffeinated?”
Tony popped back onto the laptop screen. “Fuck you, Rogers,” he said. He sounded frustrated. “Caffeine doesn’t affect ghosts. It’s psychological.”
“Wait, it’s the coffee you want, not the mug,” Bucky said. “Can you drink the coffee without trying to lift the mug?”
“That sounds messy,” Steve said, but he dropped onto the couch next to Bucky to watch the experiment in action.
Tony made another face. “I guess I can shove my face through the mug instead of my hand and see what happens. At least you won’t be able to see me look like an idiot.”
“Every time you show up,” Steve said, smirking.
Tony flipped Steve off and disappeared again.
The mug still didn’t move, but Bucky leaned forward to watch. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath.
It took almost five minutes of breath-holding suspense, but all at once, the level of coffee in the mug dipped. “Oh my god,” Tony said, falling into the laptop screen with a blissed-out sigh.
“Yes! You did it!” Bucky cheered, and put his fist against the laptop screen for Tony to bump.
“And now he’ll be stealing coffee from us all the time,” Steve said, though he looked more amused than annoyed. “Why would you do this, Buck?”
“Just yours, Rogers,” Tony said, grinning. “I’ve seen the sludge of sugar and milk that Buckaroo dumps in his mug. Gross.”
***
Brock walked Bucky home after their third date and crowded him up against the door to kiss him good night. That was good, that was brilliant, so he invited Brock in for coffee.
Bucky tried not to grin too stupidly when Brock agreed.
They made out on the couch for a while, and Bucky was aching blissfully when Brock reached for the remote. “Let’s have a little background noise, yeah?”
“No, wait, you–”
“Well, well, well, and who have we here?”
“–don’t want to do that,” Bucky sighed, dropping his head into his hands.
Brock narrowed his eyes at the TV screen. “You have a ghost?”
“Or maybe the ghost has him,” Tony shot back.
“Ignore him,” Bucky told Brock. “Or better yet, just turn the TV back off.” Tony still hadn’t mastered turning the TV on by himself , and while he could manifest in their cell phones, he really hated being confined to so small a screen.
Brock made a noise. It wasn’t a happy one. “But he’d still be here,” Brock pointed out. “Watching. I don’t think I’m down for that.”
Bucky threw a glare in Tony’s direction. “Can I walk you home?” he offered. Maybe, as long as they weren’t here…
“Nah. Mood’s gone.” Brock started straightening his clothes, stuffing his wallet and keys back into his pockets. “Maybe next time, sweetcheeks.”
When he was gone, Bucky flopped onto the couch and snarled in Tony’s direction. “I hope you’re happy, asshole.”
“I don’t like him,” Tony said. “There’s something wrong with him. No one is that ruggedly handsome in real life. He’s got to be a spy or a serial killer or something.”
“He’s not a spy!” Bucky yelled, frustrated and angry. Why was Tony being such a dick? “Just– stay the fuck out of my love life!”
“Fine!” Tony sneered.
“Good!”
“Fine!” Tony disappeared from the TV before Bucky could turn it off, and the flicker of the screen as he left somehow managed to convey a slamming door.
***
Tony didn’t come back.
Bucky took to leaving the TV on all the time, by way of invitation. Nothing.
A week later, Bucky mentioned it to Steve. “You haven’t heard from Tony lately, have you?”
Steve hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. Why? You two have a lovers’ spat?”
“If only it was that simple,” Bucky muttered. He didn’t know why Tony had been so touchy and weird about Brock, but he felt oddly guilty for their argument.
“Maybe he finally Moved On,” Steve suggested.
Oh, god. Had that argument been the last time he had seen Tony? A pang of regret slithered around his spine to curl, cold and heavy, in his stomach.
“You wish,” Tony said.
Both of them whirled to face the TV, but Tony lingered only long enough to turn his nose up at Steve, and then faded away again. He hadn’t even looked at Bucky.
***
Bucky didn’t see Tony for another two weeks after that. He would have worried, except that every few days, he’d hear Tony’s voice – talking to Steve.
Steve was infuriatingly calm about it when Bucky asked him. “Tony says he’s giving you space,” Steve said. “He says that’s what you wanted.”
“I didn’t mean I wanted to never see him!”
Steve eyed Bucky thoughtfully. “I think Tony’s right about Brock. I mean, not that he’s a spy, but I think the guy is bad news.”
“Oh my god, can you both give it a rest? Jesus, isn’t a guy allowed to get laid once in a while?”
***
Brock actually turned up at the apartment the morning after Bucky broke up with him, the fucknut.
Bucky didn’t even want to listen. It had turned out that Brock was one of those alt-right assholes who thought fascism was actually the best way to run a society. No matter how great Brock was in the sack, there was no getting past that bullshit. Bucky clutched at his mug of coffee and wondered if he was pissed enough to throw it right in Brock’s face.
Of course, Brock wasn’t so much pleading with Bucky to take him back as being vaguely threatening about Bucky’s poor life choices, which was definitely not endearing him to Bucky at all.
Bucky’s mug suddenly got lighter. Before he could process that, a spray of coffee appeared out of thin air to drench Brock.
Bucky couldn’t help it: he laughed. “Guess my ghost doesn’t like your attitude, either,” he said.
While Brock was still sputtering, Bucky pushed him the two steps needed to get him out the door, and firmly closed the door in his face. And then locked it for good measure.
“Does this mean you’re talking to me again?” Bucky wondered hopefully.
The TV flickered, and Tony was there, arms crossed and lips pursed in a petulant pout. “I told you he was no good,” Tony said.
Bucky was too relieved to see him again to be annoyed. “Yeah, you did.”
***
Everything went back to normal after that, except that Tony and Steve seemed to be getting along better. Steve even left a mug of coffee on the counter for Tony in the mornings, when he got up for his daily run, and Tony had stopped tormenting Steve just for the fun of it.
Bucky hadn’t found anyone else to date, but that was okay; he and Steve and Tony kicked around the apartment and played dumb games together. And then when Steve started seeing a woman he worked with, it was just Bucky and Tony hanging out, and that was fun, too.
“You don’t think it’s too weird, do you?” he asked Natasha one day when they met for lunch. “That I’m friends with the ghost?”
“Just because he’s a ghost doesn’t mean he’s not a person,” Natasha said. “It’s a little weird, maybe, but it’s good of you to keep him company. No one ever Moved On because they were bored, you know?”
Bucky didn’t mention the way the thought of Tony Moving On made his stomach cramp into knots. Having a ghost for a friend was only a little weird. Having a crush on a ghost… that was probably taking things too far.
***
The knock at the door was strident and official-sounding. Bucky and Steve exchanged a startled glance, and then Steve went to open the door.
“Oh my god,” Bucky groaned. The fucking ghostbusters. It had been months, and now they were doing a sweep?
“Good afternoon,” the ‘buster said. She was a petite redhead, and Bucky was frankly amazed that she wasn’t staggering under the weight of the proton pack strapped to her back. “We’re from CPSR. Are you gentlemen aware that you have a ghost on-site?” Her partner looked like the sort of no-nonsense career ‘buster that they put on posters. He didn’t say anything, but nodded tersely as Steve stepped back to let them in.
“No,” Bucky said, at the same moment Steve said, “Yes.”
Steve gave Bucky a raised eyebrow, and Bucky sighed. “Yeah, okay, but he’s kind of a friend. Can’t we keep him a little longer?”
The guy tugged a sweeper out of his pocket and thumbed it on. “I’m not saying we’re sticklers for the rules,” he told Bucky, “but it’s my experience that they usually want to Move On.” He pushed a glowing blue button, and a pale light illuminated the room, showing Tony standing right in the middle of it. “Hey, man,” the ‘buster said. “How’s it going?”
The redhead rolled her eyes. “Jim, we’re not here for conversation. Get on with it.”
“Relax, Pepper,” Jim said. “It’s not a hostile. I’d like to get through just one whole day without getting slimed, if that’s okay with you.”
Tony folded his arms. “Oh, sure, now you guys show up,” he groused. “I was just getting comfortable.” He looked over at Steve. “Can you see me?”
Steve nodded. “You’re shorter than I expected.”
“Fuck you, Rogers,” Tony said, but he held out a fist for Steve to bump.
Steve overshot and wound up with his fist halfway through Tony’s, which Tony found hilarious. “It’s been real, and it’s been fun,” Tony said, and Steve finished with him in chorus: “but it hasn’t been real fun.”
“Maybe I’ll see you again on the other side,” Steve said.
“Not if I see you first,” Tony quipped. He grinned, but it faded again as soon as he turned to Bucky. “Buck…”
“Damn it,” Bucky said, “I want to be able to hug you.” Steve dropped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Why? Why did Tony have to Move On now? Of course, the longer they waited, the more it was going to hurt to give Tony up. Bucky knew that. But he still railed against it.
“I hate to break up the moving farewells,” Jim said, “but I don’t think we can send you On your way yet. You’re still tied–”
“Oh, for fucksake, who ever heard of a ghost who acquired Unfinished Business AFTER they died?” Tony burst out.
“Actually,” Pepper tried, “it’s–”
“Okay, I’m going to do this, and then we can get on with things. Okay? Okay. Bucky, I’m sorry to do this to you.”
“What are you babbling about?” Bucky asked.
Tony huffed. “I think I’m in love with you. It’s driving me crazy that I can’t even touch you, and I managed to rescue you from that Brock asshole, but I can’t keep you from everyone, and sooner or later you’re going to fall for someone and then you’ll leave me! And frankly I’d rather be gone before that happens, so can we please shuffle me off this mortal coil or whatever before I die again from embarrassment?”
“What we were trying to say,” Jim said, before Bucky could recover from that, “was that we can’t send you On because you’re not actually dead.”
If it were possible for a ghost to get paler, Tony might have. He whirled to stare at the ghostbusters. “What?”
Bucky couldn’t come up with anything better to say, so he repeated it. “What?”
“According to these readings,” Pepper said, eyes on her scanner, “you’re in a coma.”
***
It was dark, and there was a voice. Several voices, actually, but one of them he knew. It was that voice that drew him up out of the darkness and spun him around until he slotted back into his body.
He could feel things again. His toes were cold and his back ached and his neck itched. He’d forgotten what itching felt like. (If this were a movie, he’d say something stupid like being grateful for getting to feel that much, but instead, it was just annoying.)
Someone was holding his hand. That felt pretty nice. Was it the owner of the voice?
“…Mr. Stark? Can you hear me?” said someone irrelevant.
“Tony, come on, squeeze my fingers for me, just a little,” the voice said.
He tried. He didn’t want the voice to give up on him and go away again.
“…muscle atrophy,” another irrelevant voice was saying. “So it will be a lot of work to…”
Tony wanted. Tony wanted the voice to stay more than anything. Wanted to open his eyes and see the face.
“Come on, Tony, you can do it,” the voice said. “You have to want it, just like before, but you can do it for me, right? I love you, baby, I’m right here, waiting for you. Don’t give up.”
He wanted it, he needed it, more than he’d ever wanted sleep or coffee or– He could do it. He could. He would. Tony wanted–
–and his eyes opened, his hand squeezing with all his pitiful might. In front of him were two eyes, the pale blue of a winter sky. So that’s what color they are, Tony thought. Then the eyes crinkled and filled with tears. Tony blinked, re-focusing, and saw the face.
The face that belonged to the voice. The face and the voice of the man he’d fallen in love with, who was squeezing his hand, crying and smiling all at once. “You did it, Tony. You’re back.” The man whose name was–
“Bucky.”