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By all accounts, Anthony Edward Stark should be dead long ago.
But he is a stubborn one, and either Life or Death—or perhaps the Universe itself, why not?—liked him a lot, which means he survived Siberia much how he survived every single other near death experience.
And don’t get him wrong, he’s glad he’s alive—even if the world is constantly crashing down on him like a damsel with low blood pressure.
He just wishes it hadn’t been with the help of his parents’ murderer.
(Yikes, yeah, no, not repeating that, nope.)
Tony isn’t sure how exactly the Winter Soldier—James Buchanan Barnes, his teenage crush back when Howard was still trying to shove his rose colored Captain America down everyone’s throats and America made a bunch of comics and expositions in agreement—was able to return, since Steve— Rogers, no first name privileges for backstabbing heartbreakers— made known how his entire being existed to be with his friend. He isn’t sure why Barnes—because, goddamnit, he’s not calling this hot hunk of murder “Bucky”— returned for him. To save him.
Worst is that he isn’t troubled by the helping—saving , whatever—, but by the utterly crushing feeling of what now that fills him as the stares at the blue eyes of… of a big, lost, standby murder puppy.
Why the fuck is James Buchanan Barnes looking at him like a kicked puppy?
Tony doesn’t remember “dealing with not-really-Russian Russian assassins” being in his contract with Life.
(Then again, nor does he remember “being betrayed by people he considered family” being there, so he guesses his soul is really bad with contracts.)
(What the fuck is he even thinking? He’s not making any sense even to himself.)
“So, puppy eyes. Better than a rifle, I guess. Easier in the eyes, for sure.” Tony breaks the silence—not very “silence-ish” since there is a machine beeping together with his heart—in the room, voice raspy after a few hours in silence while Pepper and Rhodey fussed.
Barnes flinches—and, yes, it feels like kicking a puppy—, raw emotions flashing through his face at an alarming pace. Tony’s able to catch a few, though. First there’s surprise—which, valid, considering who he is, who Tony is, who they are to each other. Then there’s guilty—an old friend of Tony’s—, almost suffocating. Finally, his face settles in resolve and it’s the engineer’s turn to be unsettled.
Part of him is reminding Tony that Barnes is not going to hurt him, the soldier had had all the chance to do so ever since the old Craptain put him down on the cold ground of the Hydra base. Part of him, the part that probably should be yelling danger, just wants to get this over with. Tony agrees with both.
“I am sorry.”
Oh, Lord, please don’t. Tony is not ready for feeling talk, even if in smooth, quiet Russian.
He really doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. Or ever, really, no matter what his Platypus says.
“Look, I get it, ok? Wasn’t you, I understand that now, I’m sorry I reacted badly, I wasn’t really angry at you back there,” He blurts out in one breath, because he’s both telling the truth and not wanting to think about it.
Tony had understood it hadn’t been Barnes the responsible for his parents’ deaths. Barnes had been the gun, and guns don’t kill people, people with guns kill people. Hydra is the one who should be blamed, not the 183cm of kicked murder puppy sitting on the uncomfortable chair of his hospital room. He also understands that while he reacted badly, he should not be blamed as he’s still human who reacts like humans do when confronted with traumatic experiences—that one had to be hammered in him by Pepper and Rhodey, but it sounds more and more like the truth every time he repeats it, and his two best friends wouldn’t lie about it, they weren’t backstabbers.
And finally, Tony really wasn’t angry at Barnes back on that base. Sure, he did feel the burning craving to give the man as much pain as he was feeling—also a very human reaction, Rhodey-bear had told him—, but that had been a knee jerk reaction to his grief. But anger? No, his anger, his utter wrath had been directed to one Steve Rogers. The Steve Rogers that demanded honesty and lied to his face. The Steve Rogers who preached loyalty and betrayed him. The Steve Rogers who thinks himself worthy yet is unable to see other people’s worth. The Steve Rogers who said he wanted to help people and turned his back on the world. The Steve Rogers who put Bucky Barnes above everything he had. The Steve Rogers who was against people with agendas and had his very own agenda.
His very own agenda that now sits in front of the man Steve almost killed.
Poetic cinema.
“Not for… Well, for your parents too, but also for him. For what I let him do, for how I almost left you there in the cold, fighting death thanks to that man. I’m sorry for letting him attack you, I’m sorry for attacking you with him, I’m sorry for not stopping him from breaking your armor with your father’s shield. I’m sorry for your parents, I’m sorry you had to find in such a way, I’m sorry—”
“Ok, buddy, I’ll stop you right here because I am too tired to process fast Russian.”
Barnes throws him another kicked puppy look before taking a deep breath and repeating himself, this time in English, an accented English, barely there but there. Russian accent. Makes zero sense; as far as the engineer knows, Bucky Barnes is from Brooklyn, he’s supposed to have a drawl. Or, at least, not have a distinguished Russian accent—or maybe it’s not distinguished and Tony is the only one able to hear it, which is a bit crazy and not at all impossible; he’s known for training random skills when he’s not working.
“You’re not Barnes.”
Instead of flinching, the soldier closes his mouth with an audible click—oh, yeah, he was still apologizing before Tony interrupted—, jaw tight and eyes alert. He cocks his head to the side, still much dog-like, but less of a puppy and more of a guard dog. A doberman, maybe.
Tony strangely doesn’t feel like prey.
“Yes. And no.” Barnes’ voice settles in a calmer tone, accent much heavier.
“Great, cryptic murder puppy.” That gets him a smirk from the man.
“I am Barnes. We are Barnes. But also not.”
“Right, two people, one body, at least you don’t turn green. And big.”
Any other time, Tony would ask a trillion questions about what in the world is going on with this guy’s mind, but right now he can feel his body relaxing against his will, exhausted from the battling and the healing. His eyes are starting to get heavy and he knows he’ll fall asleep soon enough. He can interrogate the doberman some other time. Or, even better, let Pepper and Rhodey do it; the Winter Soldier might be something akin to a force of nature, but he sure ain’t mightier than Virginia Potts and James Rhodes, specially combined.
“That answered, what the fuck do you want?”
Maybe he could have phrased it better, but he doesn’t care.
There must be a reason why the Winter Soldier saved him and is now sitting on a chair inside Tony’s hospital room.
The strangest thing happens after. Suddenly the Soldier blinks, a really long blink, and when he opens his eyes, they’re different. Still blue as all Hell, somehow bluer than Rogers’, but instead of icy blue they’re more of a light sky blue— and, dammit, he can hear Rhodey laughing, saying he should have done design instead of engineering.
Focus, Tony.
Anyways, Barnes’ eyes are different, and he himself is different. Still stiff, but clearly not in the same state of alert. He actually deflates a little, as if some greater burden had suddenly crashed on his back—which, relatable— , bringing his hand to his forehead, messing his already messy hair. There is a tired air around him now.
“To apologise.” Ok, now he sounds like James Barnes. “Sorry, the Soldier wanted… to speak first.”
“... The Soldier. Right.”
The smile he gets is almost pitiful. Kind of reminds him of Brucie-bear when talking about the “Other Guy”, as his fellow scientist says.
“Shortly after Steve… Steve brought you down, something in my mind clicked and, for the first time, I could see things clearly. And the thing I saw was his betrayal. You were friends, but he lied to you, he almost killed you. I got scared he’d do the same to me—probably the Soldier’s instincts, he never liked Steve—and I ran.”
Friends. That’s what Rogers told his best friend, isn’t it? That he and Tony where only friends. And Tony had agreed with it without knowing how true that lie was. Maybe Steve thought Bucky would leave if he knew, and Lord help the Earth if Steve ever finds himself more than two steps away from his BFF.
Thinking about that.
“He didn’t follow you?”
“I might have socked him unconscious.”
Tony barks a laugh, feeling his torso scream with pain but not caring the slightest. The mere image of Steve Rogers getting punched by the reason he turned his back on the world is hilarious and vindicating. Barnes himself looks very amused, as if remembering it put him in a good mood.
“King T’Challa took him and the rest to Wakanda, trying to pay a debt for wrongly trying to kill me or something. I let him, I didn’t even hesitate, I just couldn’t be there with him.”
“Barnes, that man abandoned everything to go after you, he wouldn’t betray you.” And maybe his tone is more biting than he thought it’d be, but he’s allowed to feel vindictive after all that bullshit.
“He thinks I’m Bucky.” It’s the answer he offers, and suddenly it all makes sense.
Rogers did everything he did for Bucky Barnes. The Bucky Barnes that grew up with him, the Bucky Barnes from before the war, the Bucky Barnes from before the train, the Bucky Barnes before Hydra, the Bucky Barnes before the Winter Soldier. The Bucky Barnes that doesn’t exist anymore. Because, if there is something the entire world should agree on is that seventy years of constant torture and brainwashing definitely changes a man.
For Barnes to even have a personality—or two—after all that means that the man is either immensely strong or inexplicably stubborn. Or both.
Probably both.
Steve Rogers should be happy that the man is simply alive and conscient, but then he wouldn’t be Steve Rogers, now would he?
Tony can even imagine how the good old Captain America would insist that Bucky is still Bucky and that he just needs to remember how things used to be. How he’d coddle the man like he’s a glass doll that needs help every turn or he’ll break, and who better to help Bucky than his good pal Stevie? After all, the man is always right, his hands are the safest.
God, did Rogers even have a plan for after he “saved” his bestie? Last time Tony checked, Barnes still has the Hydra programming, and thanks to the Shield info dump—another show of Steve’s brilliancy and Natasha’s arrogance—, a considerable amount of people probably has already memorized the trigger words. Exactly the type of information enemies would love to buy from people who love money. Maybe he was hoping to let his little Hydra toy fuck around the already traumatized man’s mind to try to “fix Bucky” with her rage fuelled powers—the mere thought of that witch doing anything is already enough to give him nightmares, it’s even worse to imagine how much fun she’d have with a tortured mind like Barnes’—. Or perhaps the “power of friendship” would magically poof away years of terror and “reset” him back in his Bucky years.
T’Challa’s offer literally saved his ass, as there is no where else they could hide, but Steve probably didn’t think about it. He didn’t think where they’d go after running away from 117 governments, he didn’t think about what the people would think and how the world would react and what consequences would fall on his back. He didn’t even think about how he’d provide Bucky the safety he promised, and, following that thought, he probably didn't think about the safety of his own team.
Because of course he didn’t, Tony had been the one to provide to him up until now. Tony and Shield, and then only Tony when Fury couldn’t keep the Avengers afloat.
In the end, Steve Rogers is just one overgrown spoiled brat.
Now with a different sugar daddy to leech off of.
And he’d do anything to bring his Bucky back, even if that meant betraying the trust of the Barnes of now. He wouldn’t be much different from Hydra, constantly pushing his fellow super soldier to be whoever Steve wanted him to be, the man’s free will be damned.
Staying away from him is the safest for Barnes.
“And there is no safer place than with me, I’m guessing?”
Barnes has the decency to fidget.
With a deep breath, Tony thinks about his current situation.
Technically—and Tony is the King of Technically—, having Barnes here with him is not the end of the world. Sure, the damage control that will be necessary to keep the man is probably going to be hellish, but the damage control after the entire “Civil War” is already being a Hell on Earth, so what’s one more demon? If Barnes is in this room right now is because both Pepper and Rhodey think he isn’t a threat—Tony has no idea how the Winter Soldier of all people was able to convince his overprotective best friends he’s not a threat to Tony, and he doesn’t want to ask. And, sure, the man still has those triggers that turn him into a Russian Terminator, but that’s what BARF and therapy are for; and there is no one better to hold back a crazed Winter Soldier than an Iron Man with explicit desire to cause damage. There’s also the fact Barnes is a two-in-one deal and past experience has shown that people like that function better in a safe, healthy environment than in the constant fear of being witch hunted by 117 countries and Hydra, who certainly wanted their toy back.
And maybe the poetic irony of James Buchanan Barnes being under Anthony Edward Stark’s protection by his very own choice soothed the mechanic’s soul just a little bit.
“Here’s the deal, Red October: I will allow you to stay, we’ll find a way to glue your mind together and give you a shiny pardon. But my house, my rules.” He weakly points his finger at the soldier, the exhaustion in his bones making every inch of him a thousand kilos heavier. “First, you will put your recovery first, no buts. Get that head of yours—well, not fixed, cuz the human mind is not nice enough to just let itself be fixed, but better. Get better. Become a functional human.”
“Not normal?” There is a faint smile in the soldier’s face, a tentative show of emotion.
“You’re roommates with one of the most dangerous assassins in the world, Robocop, normal doesn’t fit you.” Barnes’ eyes flash that icy blue again without losing the amusement. “Second, if you hurt anyone, and I mean anyone, I will not hesitate in killing you. Don’t take our scuffle in that bunker as an example of what I am capable in my right mind, Barnes, because I can do more damage than you with both of your hands. And faster.”
“I know.” Barnes grimaces, slumping more in his chair. “I’ve looked into you, and Hydra… Hydra has been keeping an eye on you for a long time, they fear you.”
Makes sense, both Iron Man and Tony Stark have been taking steps against the slimy bastards ever since the fall of Shield, and Tony might not think much of himself, but he is fully aware he’s a genius and his tech is unequaled. He’s either very high on the hit list, or the wish list of Hydra. Maybe even both.
“And number three?” The other man’s voice snap him back from his thoughts.
“Right, three… Three… Don’t follow Steve Rogers’ steps.” Tony doesn’t even care to think about how the other man’s eyes darken, or to wonder if the glare is even directed towards him. He needs to make sure they both know where they stand with each other. “If you don’t like me, you leave. Don’t lie to me to get an expendable sugar daddy because I am tired and done. Of course, that means that outside the treatment and therapy, since they’re a public service more than anything, I will not be responsible for you. Capisce?”
Silence.
“Mission parameters accepted.”