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"My god, it's true..."
Tony's voice comes out raspy and unsteady, but the armor changes the sound to the usual metallic grumble. Once more, Tony is thankful to have it - the suit protects him in more ways than just physical.
The shaking of his hands isn't quite big enough to be visible through the gauntlets, and he is glad for the privacy the mask gives him. There is no way he could have kept his face from showing emotion.
On the table in front of him the body of Bucky Barnes is laid out.
Tony takes a stumbling step closer, with the armor making his heavy step sound decisive and strong.
Bucky is still wearing his Captain America suit, but it is ripped all over his torso where Sin had hit him. Even on the dark fabric, he can see the amount of blood. Bucky's left shoulder ends in a stump of mangled metal. The arm had obviously been ripped out, leaving the shoulder joint open and contorted.
Tony can't look away from his unmoving form. No heartbeat, no breath, no warmth.
He keeps his mask closed. No one can see the tears streaming down his face.
He barely hears what the others say, his head feels like it is packed in cotton. For a second he wonders if he himself is still breathing; he doesn't feel like he is. It's the stale air of the armor, he tells himself. He's always been good at lying to himself. He wouldn't be able to breathe right in the clearest mountain air. Not with the body in front of him. Maybe never again, with the sight of it burned into his memory.
A hand lands on his shoulder and Tony turns abruptly. Thor had asked him something, about smelling bad, Tony thinks. He is still too caught up by the ringing in his head to really pay attention.
"I threw up," Tony grinds out, thinking about how he could do it again just from the sight on that table. "…Paris was a nightmare," he adds. He squeezes his eyes shut. So many people dead, and still the death of one man hits him even harder.
He clutches the bottle of wine in his arms. The crazy idea he had was to make Odin listen, to sacrifice the only thing he has that's worth anything: his sobriety. And how long had he fought to keep at least that. If the Superhuman Registration Act hadn’t made him drink, there was a time he thought nothing else would push him that far. Tony had no illusions that anything else was worth anything. In return, he wanted to do the one thing he can, invent better weapons, to fight Sin and her super powered cronies. Asgardian weapons, to maybe have a chance to beat them.
Now, he is lost, and the hope of winning still just leaves him numb. Yes, he will fight. He owes it to everyone, to protect the ones still alive.
But Bucky would still be dead.
Stick to the plan. Offering up his sobriety as a sacrifice to get something in return.
Now Tony isn't sure if he wouldn't be drinking anyway.
-----
The sacrifice works and Tony spends the time he is not forging weapons in a drunken stupor. He needs to keep working, needs to keep everyone safe.
It's the only thought keeping him from falling apart completely.
-----
When he comes back, things look worse than before. They fight, of course, they’re Avengers.
He sees a flash of red-white-blue and almost jumps out of his skin, but the suit is a light blue and not Bucky's darker version.
It's Steve, and of course he should wear it, he is the original choice after all, the perfect choice.
Still the wrong one for Tony.
-----
Tony doesn't attend the funeral.
It's better like this, really. No one expects him there, no one knew how close they were. Like this, at least, no one will wonder why Tony is falling apart at the funeral of a stranger.
He sits at home, instead, trying to glare the bottle of expensive whiskey in front of him into submission. He'd been drinking yesterday, so what is another day to wait to try the whole sobriety thing again? No one will care if he starts today or tomorrow. His hand shakes when he tries to lift it.
Bucky would have cared. But he's gone.
Tony grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the intense stab of pain to pass. He's been waiting for that ever since he knows, but the ache that makes it hard for him to breathe stays no matter where he goes.
He briefly wonders if he will recover, or if this pain will stay with him for the rest of his life.
Behind him, he hears the door open.
"Go away," he grits out. He doesn't turn, he doesn't want to see anyone, and he's sure no one will want to see him.
No one should see him like this, he knows. He can't tell anyone the real reason why he acts like this; no one knew about him and Bucky. With the last few days of supervillains wreaking havoc, everyone will expect that to be the reason, though.
He hears the door close again, then, nothing, for a while. He almost thinks he's alone, until he hears a shuffling of feet.
"Tony..." a voice says. A voice he knows.
Tony freezes where he sits, heart hammering loudly in his chest.
It's not possible.
He stumbles to his feet, accidentally knocking down the chair he's been sitting on, but he can't bring himself to care.
He doesn't let himself blink as he stares at the person who came in, stares into sad and apologetic brown eyes.
"Bucky," he whispers. His voice cracks, and for once he doesn't try to hide it. "How...? You- you're dead. I saw it."
"It's really me, I'm alive," Bucky starts, his voice shaky. "It was a trick. Fury... likes to keep his secrets close. Sin almost killed me, no one knew if I would survive. I... only woke up once the fight was already done."
Tony takes a tentative step towards him. "The body?"
"LMD." Bucky grimaces and looks down. "Fury apparently had one ready. I've had words with him, about that. Wouldn't want an evil me running around, or something."
Bucky meets his gaze again, and Tony still can't glance away even once. If this is a dream, he doesn't want to risk it disappearing.
"Tony, are you okay?" Bucky asks, slowly coming closer.
"Yes, sure, I'm fine," Tony says reflexively, still not able to tear his eyes away.
Bucky cocks his head, and the smile around his lips seems sad.
"You don't have to keep it together anymore. I'm here, I won't just leave you." Bucky's words are quiet, but hang heavy between them.
Tony stumbles forward, half running and half falling. Bucky catches him, as he had always done before. Tony's fingers dig into the jacket Bucky is wearing, and his arms are shaking from the strain to hold on. Bucky clings back just as tightly.
Tony hides his face in Bucky's neck and breathes in. It feels like the first time since he heard of Bucky's death that his lungs are working right.
With Bucky's pulse warm and steady under his hands, and Bucky's soft reassurances in his ear, Tony finally breathes again.