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Getting out of where Tony had been held and rid of his pursuers had been harder than he’d thought it would. His bruises and scratches shouldn’t have been enough to keep him from doing a good job at fucking them up. Yet, here he was, stumbling in a back alley, feeling like the earth had stopped turning, like life had ceased its course. The world felt numb and cold.
The mark on Tony’s neck had faded. It hadn’t disappeared totally yet, but Bucky’s heartbeat was impossible to feel, unreachable, absent. Like he had ceased to exist entirely. Vanished from earth, never to be felt again. The bond linking them together was a never-ending thread leading to a vast nothingness, fading into a darkness Tony had never felt before.
A sob tore itself out of Tony’s throat, feeling like it scratched everything inside on the way out. Scraping where the ARC Reactor used to be, burning his lungs and leaving his throat raw. Tony’s steps faltered and he let himself lean against the nearest wall, uncaring of how it glistened filthily, of the putrid scents and disgusting garbage scattered around.
What was the point?
Hydra had taken them. Tony had woken up in a damp cell, alone. Bucky was nowhere in sight. Either he had been taken and lead somewhere else or he had managed to escape and was planning Tony’s rescue from the outside. Probably reaching out to the Avengers for some well needed help.
The certainty and composure the steady stream of warmth coming from the mark on Tony’s neck had spread throughout his body, comforting and reassuring. From the top of his head to his toes, a steady presence by his side, a solid ground to walk on and keep him going forward.
Until it had stopped. Suddenly. Like a bullet right to the heart, like a massive hit to the head. Bucky had ceased to walk by his side. The comforting heat had left, all at once, leaving him cold and alone. Unable to think or understand. Refusing to.
It had happened as Tony was halfway through his escape plan, grinning madly at the joyous thought of beating Bucky to the punch. Of meeting him at the front door and being a taunting son of a bitch until Bucky shut him up with a life affirming kiss. He had gone through the rest of the plan like a bad dream, feeling numb and far away from reality.
Nobody was at the front door.
There was no Bucky waiting for him, worry and relief warring over his face as his eyes roamed over Tony’s frame. No bone crushing hug, no life affirming kiss, no nothing.
Just a deep, terrifying emptiness.
Tears ran down Tony’s face as the gaping hole in his chest expanded, pushing at his seams, trying to swallow him whole.
It had taken them so long to accept each other, to get to the point where they could accept someone else’s love, to love themselves and be able to be loved in returned. Taken so long and it was already gone, the bright hope shut down like it had never been there.
Tony let his head fall back against the wall, the back of his skull hitting the filthy wall as he stared upward. The night sky was clear of clouds, dark and unconcerned with Tony’s pain. It didn’t sooth anything, but the numbness that had helped him through the rest of his escape came back, settling over him like a dull blanket.
Tony was still there, leaning heavily against the dirty wall when a spike of pain lit up a spark of awareness. He frowned, feeling lethargic and far away. It took a conscious effort to raise his arm until he could look at the brownish sleeve that covered it. It used to be white, he remembered, his eyes flickering to speckles of dark red, like rust. Where had all that blood come from? Had he been injured? He hadn’t noticed.
Under the piece of clothing, something stung. A steady prickle, like pins and needles focused in one specific place. With a shaky hand, Tony undid the button on the sleeve and rolled it up to his elbow before staring at the bright mark. He’d always had it. It’d been there since his birth, like the coyote on the side of his neck. Two soulmarks weren’t rare, but they weren’t exactly common either. Tony had never minded it. It had been hell when he was a kid, while pretending to not care one bit about it, when he was looking everywhere to find his soulmate, hoping to find one of them. To get the love he had been denied his whole life by an absent mother and a father that couldn’t care less about his son beyond the legacy he could provide.
Disappointment was the only thing Tony ever found. He raged at not having Rhodey’s mark but, exhausted, it started being an old rant, an old battle Tony finally gave up and brushed under the carpet. A soulmate wasn’t for him. Neither of his marks ever brought someone to him and he almost forgot about them, aside from the pretty pictures they offered him when he looked at his reflexion. He forgot they meant something.
Until Bucky.
The coyote on Tony’s neck took life and brought a new kind of warmth with it until it was there and gone again.
Bucky was gone, his coyote was a dull emptiness on Tony’s neck and now the one on his forearm started acting up. He scoffed. What a smart way to fuck him up, what an elaborate joke life had found to flip him the bird. Tony smirked, his eyes roaming over the mark inked on his skin.
The snowflake was as perfect as ever, shades of whites and blues clear against his skin. The gladiolus’ petals were as clear and bright as they always were. Somewhere, deep under the sheer number of years spent pretending he never learnt the flower’s meanings by heart, Tony thought of it. Remembrance, strength of character, faithfulness. Honor. With resignation, he pushed aside the infatuation it could convey. It never mattered, it still didn’t.
The prickles grew stronger and Tony’s frown deepened. He rubbed over the sensitive skin, wincing.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and Tony froze.
Breaths coming in short, fast pants, Tony turned his head toward the end of the back alley, fear tightening its hold on his throat.
In the alley’s entrance lights stood a tall man. The street’s lights cast shadows over his frame, hiding his face from Tony’s view but it wasn’t needed. The mark on his arm burnt like it never had before but the pain barely registered.
“Bucky?”
It looked like him. The same shoulders, the same build, the same everything, but the way he was holding himself was alien to Tony. There was a straightness to his shoulders, to the way he held them back, the way he looked taller than he ever had, even in battle.
The man moved and the street’s lights caught on his eyes. They were cold and focused, sharp like Bucky’s when he looked through his rifle’s scope… it was Bucky’s body but the man inhabiting it had nothing to do with him.
The mark on Tony’s forearm felt like it was burning itself into his skin a second time.
Straightening and getting away from the filthy wall, Tony turned his full attention to the man, tilting his head to the side. His heart was still an open wound but a spark of hope put a balm over the wounds, making it bearable. For now.
Tony had never met the Winter Soldier before. Since Bucky had joined the Avengers, no reverting back to the Soldier’s mindset had happened. Bucky had been Bucky for as long as Tony had known him. But today, he wasn’t and Tony got to meet the legend who had been nothing but a whisper, a ghost story, for decades.
“If you’re there to finish the job, take a ticket,” Tony taunted, eyes roaming over the shadow’s body.
It was hard to tell in the alley’s darkness but the more Tony looked, the more he could find similarities.
Any doubt he had, though, flew out the window when the man got closer, approaching Tony with slow but purposeful steps.
The eyes were the same, the jaw was as sharp as ever, the lips as appealing as they always were, the long hair hung free around the Soldier’s face. The intensity in his eyes was terrifying as he stood straight in front of Tony, looking down at him.
Slowly, like he feared he might scare him, the Soldier raised his hand, his thumb swiping carefully over Tony’s split lip. The mark on his forearm blazed, burning so deeply, it felt as if it was searing itself into his very bones.
Right up until the Soldier’s fingers touched his skin.
The wildfire faded gently into a comforting warmth unfurling itself through Tony’s veins, the unbearable heat becoming the familiar flames of a fireplace. It was different from Bucky’s warmth and yet the same.
Slowly, the Coyote on Tony’s neck came back to life, sluggish and asleep but still very much there. As it did, the fear and despair loosened their hold on Tony’s heart.
“If I wanted you dead,” the Soldier said, his words a low rumble made for Tony’s ears only, “you would not see me.”
Tony scoffed, the sound weak and unstable as he looked up at him, unsure if he should be afraid or in awe : “You’re all about efficiency after all.”
“Right.”
The Soldier looked down, his eyes falling upon Tony’s forearm. He reached out, fingers hovering over the uncovered skin but not daring to actually touch it. The Soldier raised his gaze, seeking Tony’s approval.
It was difficult, honestly, to actually give it. The whole situation felt surreal and yet here the Winter Soldier was, looking down at him with those unbelievably clear eyes. Tony knew them, could describe them without failing at any moment of the day but, right now, they looked nothing like Bucky’s. They were clear and honest, open like Tony never thought he would see them from the Winter Soldier’s face.
Tony nodded jerkily, expectation coiling tight in his guts.
Face unreadable and eyes shining bright, the Soldier reached out and took Tony’s hand in his, lifting it until the mark could be seen in all its greatness. Slowly and, oh, so carefully, he traced the mark on Tony’s skin, the feather-light touch tickling, and Tony had to hold back a giggle.
The mark pulsed, deep and true, and the Soldier froze, eyes wide in shock and wonder. Warmth spread under Tony’s skin from where the Soldier’s hand touched his skin. While the comforting heat of a found mate stretched out, filling Tony with a renewed sense of belonging, his heart, however, had entirely stopped in his chest.
“It’s you,” Tony whispered, staring at the Soldier in disbelief. Before anything more could be said, though, the genius exploded in uncontrollable laughter, clutching at his stomach with both arms and bending forward as decades of disappointment crumbled under fate’s sense of humour.
Tony truly had two soulmates, they just happened to share the same body.