Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being one of the lead scientists on Project Rebirth changed Tony's life, but not for the reason most would assume.

Turning a small, shivering Steve Rogers into the epitome of human perfection with the flick of a couple of switches was undoubtedly an accomplishment — possibly the biggest scientific breakthrough Tony would ever be a part of — but it wasn't the most important moment of his life, either. There was a rush of joy and adrenaline, yes — awe at seeing what they had accomplished — but that came crashing down with the ear-shattering explosion of a Nazi bomb and the death of Dr. Erskine.

Tony didn't blame the military for scrapping the project after that. There was a war to be won and one soldier, no matter how perfect, wouldn't be able to turn the tide. Besides, Tony was already needed elsewhere, his time far too precious to be spent on a theory that had died together with its creator.

While he would always consider Project Rebirth as one of his crowning achievements, the events that came after it were even more monumental. After Tony and his numerous projects had been relocated to London to better further the war effort, and after he'd dropped off the now much bigger — but no less awkward — Steve Rogers in the middle of an active war zone as a favor to Peggy. Then, when Captain Rogers returned and was given a band of colorful soldiers to command, that was when it happened.

Tony met James Barnes.

Steve brought his newly minted unit to Tony's workshop for weapons and uniforms, and there Barnes was, all handsome and smiling. It was nothing as childish as love at first sight — at twenty-six Tony knew there was no such thing — but there was definitely a sizzle of mutual attraction.

Barnes' gaze wandered appreciatively along the curve of Tony's back — like a stolen caress, existing only because he thought no one was watching.

But Tony definitely noticed.

There was a flicker of cautiousness in Barnes' eyes when he realized he'd been caught, so Tony made sure to smile, throwing in a quick wink for good measure. Barnes relaxed and responded with a slow, wicked smile of his own.

That look was enough to make Tony's heart race, his gut clenching from the warm burst of desire.

"Hey, Buck, come here." Steve waved for Barnes to step closer, then gestured towards Tony. "This is Anthony Stark. He—"

"Dumped your sorry ass out of a fucking airplane, yeah — you told me." Barnes was smirking despite the harsh words, and there was an amused spark in his eyes when he held out his hand in greeting.

"I did give him a parachute first," Tony pointed out, accepting the offered handshake. Barnes' grip was firm and dependable. "And it was Peggy's idea, not mine."

Steve cleared his throat and hastily cut in. "Tony will help you with your equipment."

Barnes was still holding Tony's hand, his head tilting to the side in obvious interest. "So you pilot planes, build almost flying cars, and outfit soldiers?"

Tony grinned. The failed flying car might not be his proudest moment, but he was delighted to hear that not only had Barnes been at the Stark Expo — he clearly remembered Tony's demonstration too.

"What can I say? I have many talents." Slowly — reluctantly — Tony let go of Barnes' hand, for the sake of propriety. Tony could still feel the lingering warmth of Barnes' fingers against his own, however, even after they had let go. "I'm currently designing Steve's new uniform, and will be supplying you boys with whatever weapons you desire, customized to suit your every need."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Stark." Barnes' smile was breathtaking.

Steve was studying them curiously but Tony paid that no mind — he only had eyes for Barnes.

"Please, call me Tony. I'm going to take very good care of you," Tony assured, delighted to notice the bright flare of hunger in Barnes' eyes.

"I'm sure you will, Tony," Barnes replied, his voice a low, smooth drawl. The way he said Tony's name was positively sinful.

And that, right there, was the moment Tony's life changed forever.

It still took weeks before they found the opportunity to explore the obvious attraction between them. Weeks of subtle glances and playful quips, of sweetly whispered darlings and sweethearts that Tony collected like precious gems. There was just never enough time to do more in between armor fittings, weapons tests, and covert missions, both of them too caught up in the war and their respective duties.

They toed the line constantly, teasing and playful, as if daring the other to be the first one to act. It was a dangerous game to play if they were discovered, but Tony loved it all the same.

And he loved it even more when it finally culminated.

Usually, Tony didn't come with the soldiers when they went out drinking, but the promise of a night in Barnes' company — be it on the other end of a table at a rowdy pub — was enough to persuade him.

The air was heavy with the smoke from cigarettes, music and laughter filling the empty spaces. Barnes was smiling, his usually bright eyes dark in the low light of the pub, his movements confident and relaxed. Twice Barnes declined offers to dance in favor of Tony's company, barely even looking at the hopeful girls before sending them away.

There was a low hum inside Tony's chest, growing stronger the longer the evening progressed. It seemed to resonate within Barnes, pulling them closer together until they were just shy of touching. Warmth was spreading under Tony's skin, his focus narrowing down to just the two of them, shutting out the laughter and voices of the other patrons.

Nothing mattered but the breathless anticipation between him and Barnes.

"I have a two-day leave," Barnes said, the words spoken softly, inches from Tony's ear.

Their gazes met, Barnes' blue eyes full of yearning and hope, and Tony nodded — there was nothing else he could do.

Barnes smiled that crooked, devious smile of his and Tony let himself fall. He'd been falling for weeks, but now he knew that Barnes was there to catch him.

Without another word Barnes rose from their table, his hand trailing along Tony's shoulder as he passed, sending a delighted shiver down Tony's spine. The touch was simple — fleeting, almost — but held an abundance of promise.

"Steve, I'm heading back early," Barnes called over the cacophony of voices, receiving a confirming nod in reply. Tony could have sworn that Steve's gaze strayed towards him for half a beat, but pushed it aside as his own imagination.

Tony waited a couple of minutes after Barnes had left before following. This time he could definitely feel Steve's gaze and offered a casual nod in goodbye. The flicker of amusement in Steve's eyes was so subtle that Tony almost missed it.

As soon as he stepped out onto the dark street Tony forgot all about Steve. The city was quiet and deserted, huddling in fear of nightly aerial attacks. Tony suspected it always would, as long as the war was ongoing.

Tony came willingly when he felt hands pull him into the shielding darkness of a nearby alley. His back was pushed up against the wall, Barnes a source of blessed heat against his front. Fingers buried into Tony's hair, angling his head, followed by warm lips pressing against his. Tony's hands gripped Barnes' shirt, desperate to pull him closer — to feel and taste more.

Barnes' kisses were like fire, igniting a flame of desire in Tony's heart. The warmth seeped into his blood, slithering through his veins and making him tremble. He pushed closer, arching his back, wanting — no, needing — more. The air was vibrating with urgency, a moan of pleasure slipping past Tony's lips. He couldn't get enough of the hot, searing kisses, drawing them out to better appreciate their perfection.

His hand wandered lower, eager and searching, stroking Barnes' hardness through his clothes. Barnes moaned, pushing into the touch and rolling his hips for more friction.

"Jesus, Tony," he gasped in the narrow space between their lips. Barnes trembled from the intimate caress, but soon gripped Tony's wrist to still his movements. "No, wait. Wait, Tony."

A sudden pang of doubt made Tony freeze.

"Not here, darling," Barnes whispered breathlessly, his forehead resting against Tony's. "Too dangerous."

There was truth in that — being caught doing this with another man would mean trouble for them both. For Barnes more so than Tony, who had money and influence to protect him.

Tony swallowed, nodding in understanding.

"My place," he offered. There was no privacy to be had at the military barracks, after all, but Tony's money bought him almost anything he wanted, even in times of war.

"Lead the way."

Tony stole another kiss before pulling Barnes along by his hand. Their fingers entwined, as if they couldn't bear to part from each other. Even something as small as holding hands was dangerous — a forbidden touch when out in public — but that knowledge only sent a thrill of excitement down Tony's spine.

They moved through the city, hidden by the darkness and curling shadows. The beats of Tony's heart seemed to echo in his chest, loud and resonating like church bells. He wanted Barnes with a fervor he had never experienced before — as if he might cease to exist if he were to be denied the warmth and taste of him.

They barely made it inside the door before they crashed together again. Tony wordlessly steered them towards the bed, pieces of clothing falling to the floor in their wake, leaving a winding trail. Barnes' skin was warm under Tony's hands, spanning over strong, firm muscles. Tony wanted to worship every inch of him with his lips and teeth and tongue.

They navigated each other's bodies in the moonlight, hands exploring and learning — memorizing dips and curves, finding where to place kisses and what caress brought the most pleasure. Tony was soaring, held steady only by Barnes' hands on his skin and the weight of his body.

When Barnes pushed inside him Tony's breath caught, his hands finding purchase on Barnes' strong shoulders. It was nothing but bliss from there, each roll of Barnes' hips sending a wave of pleasure through Tony. The moonlight that shone in through the gap in the curtains gave Barnes' skin an ethereal, silvery glow, his eyes dark and full of desire. Their gasps and breathless moans wove together into a harmony Tony knew he would never experience with anyone else.

In that moment, just as his pleasure crested, Tony couldn't help wishing that he would get to keep this forever.

"I think you should call me Bucky." Gentle fingers were tracing nonsensical patterns on Tony's arm, the tip of a nose nudging against his ear. "Or James, at the very least."

Tony smiled, his eyes closed and back warmed by the virtual furnace Barnes turned out to be.

"I can do that," he mumbled, his smile growing wider when Bucky's nose buried in his hair. "I can definitely do that."

Bucky didn't answer but the way he pulled Tony closer, wrapping his arms securely around him, said everything that needed to be said. There was a flutter in Tony's chest — a wave of happiness and excitement and hope — and he fell asleep not long after, safe and protected in Bucky's arms.

They stole what moments they could. Some of them were hurried — fumbling meetings in the dark corners of Tony's workshop or the few secluded places on base — but other times, when Bucky was given leave, they spent hours lazily kissing in Tony's bed.

They still had to be careful not to be seen, always behaving in public despite how much they yearned for each other. It was difficult, some days, when Bucky returned from a mission only to be shipped out again before Tony could be given as much as a kiss. The friendly pats and lingering glances they had to settle for those times were hardly enough to satisfy the longing Tony felt whenever he had to watch Bucky leave.

Despite this, Tony wouldn't change it for the world. The time they shared belonged to no one but them, blissful weeks turning into equally blissful months. So many forces were at play, the war tugging them along, heedless of their protests — but this was theirs.

The moments spent curled up with Bucky, warm and safe, skin against skin — the war couldn't touch those.

Tony knew that Bucky might not return to him one day, but he tried not to think about that. He refused to even acknowledge the possibility, focusing instead on how Bucky's skin felt under his palms and the taste of him on his lips. Tony focused on the good things because he wasn't sure if he could keep going if he lost what he and Bucky shared. Their happiness was a frail thing, but all the more precious for it.

Tony had fallen, irrevocably, and if Bucky wasn't there to catch him, he wasn't sure what he would do.

"You could give Steve a run for his money, eating like that," Tony pointed out over breakfast. Their legs were tangled under the sheet, a tray of food propped up in their laps. Bucky's hair was glowing golden in the morning sun, the light catching in the chain of his dog tags. "You sure you're not secretly a super soldier?"

Bucky paused, a flash of guilt appearing on his face.

"Sorry," he mumbled, putting his fork down.

"No, no," Tony soothed, "don't stop. The food is meant for you. Eat it."

While Tony knew he should feel guilty for the luxuries he could afford when there were others out there barely scraping by, he took immense pleasure in spoiling Bucky — especially with food. Bucky was always hungry, it seemed, perhaps because he had grown up poor and never known what it was like to have an abundance. Or maybe it was simply because of the strain the frequent missions put on his body.

Either way, it was something Tony could fix — and he did so gladly.

Bucky still hesitated, staring down at their breakfast tray.

"Bucky, dearest, eat the food," Tony urged with a hint of exasperation. Bucky gave him a flat look, to which Tony shrugged. "What? You want us to throw it away?"

Bucky frowned, clearly disliking the thought of wasting something as precious as food. "We could give it to someone else," he pointed out, not unreasonably.

"Yes, we could," Tony acknowledged, inching closer and pressing a soft kiss against Bucky's jaw, "but that requires getting out of bed."

As expected, that drew a chuckle from Bucky, even if he had yet to relax entirely.

"You are a bad influence on me, Mr. Stark," Bucky drawled, but there was a smile on his lips.

"Am I now?"

"Yes," Bucky confirmed, his hand rising to tangle in Tony's hair, "the absolute worst."

Tony's, "I can live with that," got swallowed by the proceeding kiss.

Tony never asked if Steve knew. It was obvious that Bucky and Steve were inseparable, having grown up together and faced down countless enemies side by side, but Tony had no way of knowing if Bucky had told Steve about them.

A part of Tony hoped he had, because he was proud to be the one who woke up to Bucky's smile in the mornings, but another knew the danger they would be in. Steve was indescribably loyal and would never betray the man he saw as his brother, but the less people who knew, the better.

Even so, Tony often found himself wishing — hoping — that what he and Bucky shared could be more than just a secret between them. And, had the world been different, maybe it could have been.

Bucky was staring into the flickering flames, his gaze distant — as if he was seeing much further than the fireplace in Tony's bedroom. They lay wrapped up in Tony's bed, as was their habit, Tony's head resting on Bucky's shoulder. The silence was less comfortable than usual, however — thick and unwieldy. Tony had very little patience for existential dilemmas, his fingers toying absently with Bucky's dog tags.

"What's wrong?" Tony asked, nudging Bucky's chin with his nose.

For a moment, Tony thought Bucky hadn't heard. Bucky continued to stare into the fire, until he eventually let out a soft breath — a sighing exhale that sounded alarmingly like a surrender.

"The war."

Tony waited for Bucky to elaborate, speaking only when it became obvious that Bucky had no intention of doing so. "More than usual?"

"I think it might be ending," Bucky said.

Tony frowned. "That's good, isn't it?"

Bucky remained silent for a couple of beats, until he finally tore his gaze away from the flickering flames, looking at Tony instead. A soft, tender smile spread on his lips, his fingers wandering through Tony's hair. The touch was enough to soothe a lot of Tony's anxiety.

"Yeah. Yes, it is." Bucky averted his gaze, a flicker of uncertainty showing on his face. "But I don't know what I'll do afterwards." There was vulnerability in his eyes, as well as apprehension. "Where I'll be."

"With me," Tony replied without hesitation. "You'll always have a place here with me."

Too late Tony realized that he might have said too much — that he had revealed things better kept safely tucked away inside his heart, unspoken but painfully true. He panicked when Bucky moved to sit up, forcing Tony to do the same. Tony tried to pull away, tense and uncertain, but Bucky's gentle grip on his elbow stopped him.

Without saying a word Bucky took off his dog tags, slipping the necklace over Tony's head instead. The tags came to rest against the center of Tony's chest, two pieces of warm metal, shining in the light of the fire. With a careful tug on the chain Bucky drew Tony in for a kiss.

"Then I'll make sure to always come back."

Tony swallowed and closed his eyes against the overwhelming emotions, his heart thundering in his chest. When he opened his eyes again he was met by the sight of Bucky bathed in the warm, golden glow of the flickering flames, more beautiful than ever.

It took Tony a couple of seconds before he was able to speak again, his smile teasing but fond.

"The point of the tags is that you should be wearing them — not me," he said.

Bucky shrugged. "I don't plan to die."

"Few people do." Tony stroked his thumb along one of the tags, Bucky's hand drifting down to join his. Their fingers laced together, Bucky's breath a soft caress against Tony's cheek when he leaned closer, pressing a kiss to his temple.

"I'll come back, Tony — I promise," Bucky whispered. "You only live once, and I'm not ready to leave just yet."

"Good." Tony ducked his head, hiding his face against Bucky's neck. "I don't ever want you to."

"I'll do what I can," Bucky promised, a soft, sweet kiss landing on top of Tony's head.

Tony stirred when Bucky slipped out of bed. He made a noise of complaint, which turned into a low hum of pleasure when he felt a hand soothe down his bare back.

"Where?" he asked, the words muffled against his pillow. Bucky only left early if there was a mission. Tony knew better than to ask what Bucky would be doing, but knowing where he went made it easier to predict when he would return.

"Austria," Bucky replied, pressing a kiss against Tony's shoulder blade.

"Mmmh... dress warmly."

"I will," Bucky promised fondly. "I love you."

"I love you too," Tony replied, already slipping back towards blessed sleep. He felt a last, fleeting kiss against his temple before Bucky slipped away, leaving behind a lingering scent on the sheets and the dog tags wrapped around Tony's neck.

The moment Tony saw the look on Steve's face, he knew. He could read it in the hunch of Steve's shoulders — like a giant bending under an invisible weight — and the glassy shine in his red-rimmed eyes.

"He fell," Steve choked out, swallowing once, twice — as if he wanted to take the words back. Make them untrue. "I tried— I couldn't reach him in time."

Tony didn't move. He had forgotten how, one hand gripping the edge of his worktable so hard it was beginning to hurt. Steve was still in uniform, his hair a windswept mess and tear tracks painting pale lines on his cheeks. He must have come straight for Tony's workshop, bypassing the debrief and required check-ups in medical.

Steve knew. Bucky might have told him, or maybe Steve had figured it out on his own — he was deceptively clever underneath that innocent façade — but Steve definitely knew. He wouldn't have come otherwise. Steve was delivering the news in person, before the gossip and reports started trickling in, showing Tony the kind of delicacy and respect only a significant other would be given.

Steve knew.

"I'm so sorry. I t-tried—" Steve's voice broke, his jaw clenching. Grief shone in his eyes, already bright with tears and regret. His shoulders were shaking under the strain, his carefully maintained posture faltering. Steve — firm, unbreakable Steve — was crumbling.

Tony moved on pure reflex — some latent instinct he didn't know he had. He could barely think, but somehow he managed to wrap his arms around Steve's shoulders and pull him closer. Steve smelled of biting cold and smoke, the leather in his uniform creaking when he clung to Tony in return, shattering to pieces from that simple act of compassion. Steve's face buried against the crook of Tony's neck, warm tears wetting his skin.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I tried. I swear, I tried to save him." Steve's breath hitched, the words spilling from his lips in an increasingly desperate stream. "I'm sorry, Tony. I'm so sorry. I tried." Steve sobbed. "I couldn't save him. Oh God, I couldn't save him."

There was nothing Tony could say — no words that would make it better. There was a hole in his chest, big and gaping, and Tony wasn't sure how he kept breathing. Surely he should have stopped the moment he found out Bucky had?

He didn't cry, even as Steve sobbed against his shoulder. Tony felt numb, unable to react or respond — as if he had simply shut down. As if he could no longer function properly. His skin felt cold — unattached to the rest of him — as if the all warmth was being leeched out, one inch at a time, disappearing into the big black void Bucky had left behind.

Bucky was dead.

Tony's throat closed up, his chest aching. Bucky wasn't coming back.

The dog tags burned against Tony's skin, hidden under layers of clothes.

Tony heard a pained whimper, realizing a second later it had come from him. His fingers gripped the straps of Steve's uniform, holding on from sheer desperation.

Bucky was dead.

When Steve crashed into the ocean not long after, Tony was ashamed to admit that a part of him envied Steve. His fall had at least been short, but Tony's would go on for years.

And this time there was no one there to catch him.

Tony couldn't find Bucky's body. He and the surviving Commandos followed the rough coordinates Steve had given, searching through the canyon, but there was nothing there. Washed away by the river, they told him, or maybe wild animals had dragged the body away and hid it somewhere.

The thought of Bucky being ripped to bite-sized pieces by scavenging animals made Tony throw up.

He stayed on all fours in the snow, dry heaving and gasping for breath, until Dum Dum gently pulled him to his feet and ordered them to head back home.

After three weeks Tony could no longer smell Bucky's scent on his sheets.

Chapter Text

"Get up."

Tony ignored Peggy's order, remaining slumped over his worktable, head resting on his forearm and fingers still gripping the empty whiskey glass.

"You embarrass yourself, Anthony. Get up." Her voice was hard, full of anger and steel — as was so often the case since Steve died. "For heaven's sake! You survived a bloody war — don't tell me you intend to drink yourself to death?"

As far as Tony was concerned, that might not be such a bad way to go — it was much better than slowly but surely succumbing to the pitch black sorrow residing in his chest.

"Anthony!" Peggy snapped, gripping the back of his collar and pulling him upright. "We need you—"

She fell silent when she caught sight of the dog tags dangling in the gap of his half-buttoned shirt. Tony let her grab them, the bright red of her nails a splash of color in his field of vision. Her thumb rubbed over the name stamped into the rectangular pieces of metal, her breath catching.

"Oh, Anthony..." she whispered softly. There was sympathy in her voice now, cutting into Tony's heart like glass.

Peggy hadn't known.

Tony averted his gaze, not daring to look at her.

"I miss him," Tony croaked, voice thick from the grief clogging his throat.

Peggy didn't hug him — the moment was far too raw and delicate for that — but her hand was a firm weight on his shoulder.

"I know," she replied. And she undoubtedly did. She knew what it meant to miss someone so much it became a living, breathing entity inside your chest, tearing you apart from the inside out.

She squeezed his shoulder. "But he wouldn't want this, Anthony. You know that."

Tony nodded stiffly, hanging on to his composure by a thread.

"James would want you to keep going."

He wanted to ask her how he was expected to do that when he knew that he would never see Bucky again, no matter how far he went. Why should he keep going when there was nothing waiting for him on the other side?

But he knew better than to speak those words to her — she had her own grief to handle.

So he swallowed instead, nodding slowly.

"There is still work to do," she pointed out. "We look to the future now, Anthony, and we could use your expertise."

That brought a smile to his face, even if it was frail and cracking around the edges. "You want me to have another look at that flying car of mine?"

Peggy smiled in relief, squeezing his shoulder again. "Yes, I think maybe you should."

Tony let out a slow breath. The future. He could do that — he had always wanted to see the future.

"Okay," he said. "Yes. Okay."

Tony slid the needle into his arm and injected the bright blue serum.

He suspected that this wasn't what Peggy had meant when she urged him to find a new project. And, in hindsight, experimenting with Steve's blood probably wasn't Tony's wisest decision, but Project Rebirth hadn't seemed entirely sane either, the first time he'd heard of it.

That was the beauty of science — the ability to make the impossible possible.

Tony wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to accomplish this time, though. The formula — a simplified and slightly bastardized version of what he had found in Steve's blood — was finally stable enough for testing, and Tony was the only available test subject.

He untied the strap wrapped around his bicep, clenching and unclenching his hand to get his blood flowing. A drop of crimson nestled in the crook of his arm but he paid it no mind, reaching for the whiskey bottle instead.

He settled in and waited for the serum to work its way through his system.

Tony lost count of how many swigs he took before determining the experiment a failure. Nothing happened — not as much as a blip in his heart rate.

A chuckle escaped him — a cracked, hollow imitation of his usual laugh — before he shook his head. He hadn't expected much, to be honest, but still felt the burn of defeat in his chest.

After another mouthful of whiskey he got to his feet, his vision blacking out before he managed to take as much as a step.

"What did you do?" Peggy demanded, red-painted lips pressed into a thin line.

"Nothing dangerous," Tony lied, shrugging where he lay in his hospital bed.

"It landed you in a coma for a week, Anthony!" she snapped.

"And now I'm not in a coma. Problem solved." He dared to nudge her hand with his own, knowing she was more worried than angry. "The doctors didn't find anything wrong, did they?"

She shook her head.

"See? I'm fine." Tony smiled.

He was slightly disappointed to wake up unchanged — no super strength, heightened senses, or altered physical traits. The reason was damaged pride rather than any real desire to become enhanced, however. He hated when projects failed.

"Have I mentioned how good you look?" he asked, blatantly changing the subject. "Angie must be doing something right."

Peggy let out an exasperated breath, a reluctant smile spreading on her lips. That clever, bright spark in her eyes was returning, making Tony realize just how much he had missed it.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she chastised fondly, her hand squeezing his.

"Still worth a try," he replied. "Now, is there any food available? I'm famished."

Peggy laughed and Tony couldn't help wondering if he would ever find the strength she had and finally move on.

He guessed only time would tell.

Three days later Tony realized he could no longer get drunk. Of all the traits to share with Steve Rogers, that was undoubtedly the one Tony wanted the least.

But he only had himself to blame, he supposed.

Two weeks after that Tony cut himself on a piece of metal while soldering and the wound healed overnight. Excitement flared in his chest — bright and eager — but further tests showed no other symptoms or changes. The experiment had granted him a greater healing factor but none of the other benefits of being a super soldier. His inability to get drunk was no doubt caused by a heightened metabolism, which would also explain his near insatiable hunger as of late.

An unexpected laugh burst out of him, his fingers finding their way to the dog tags resting against his chest. He could feel the smooth edges of the metal, even through his shirt, and gently traced the stamped letters, spelling out the name against his fingertips.

"I might even give you a run for you money now," he said, voice cracking.

He closed his eyes, pushing back the grief that rose to meet him, familiar but unwelcome. Tony had to move on — he knew Peggy was right. He couldn't keep doing this to himself.

He took a deep breath, palm resting over the dog tags. He pressed the metal tags against his chest, as if he wanted to brand his skin with the words written on them — to leave a permanent mark, right there by his heart.

"The future," he whispered. That was what he had to focus on.

Bucky would want that.

"The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, Anthony? Really?" Peggy crossed her arms over her chest, but there was fondness lurking in her eyes.

"Yes, I think it's catchy. Don't you?" Tony replied with a boyish grin.

Colonel Phillips merely rolled his eyes.

The glowing blue cube Tony fished out of the ocean when looking for Steve was a poor consolation prize. Tony wanted to bring Steve home — for Peggy, if nothing else, because Tony knew all too well what it was like to live without closure. He wanted to give her that, but no matter how long he searched, there was no trace of Steve.

Dum Dum joined several of Tony's exhibitions during the years that followed — as did the other Commandos when they had time to spare — but again they found nothing, just like with Bucky.

Steve was lost somewhere in that cold, icy wasteland.

Some days, Tony would have killed for the ability to get drunk. Jarvis called them Tony's 'bad days' but Tony was pretty sure that all days were bad days — some were just more unbearable than others.

Ana started making him hot chocolate when his mood dipped. It was a poor substitute as far as getting intoxicated went, but might actually have tasted better. Also, there were no headaches the morning after.

Tony stared at his reflection in the mirror.

The face looking back at him was eerily similar to the one he had been met with ever since he reached his mid-twenties. Except those years were already behind him, and still there were no wrinkles or hints of grey; he looked almost exactly the same.

There were obviously more side effects to his drunken experiment than he had originally predicted.

"Well, shit."

The irony of having prolonged a life he found to be pretty miserable didn't escape him. But again, he supposed he only had himself to blame.

Peggy was probably not the first to notice — that had to be Jarvis and Ana — but she was definitely the only one who dared to confront him.

"Anthony, what did you do?" She looked older now, grey at her temples and lines crinkling around her eyes, like soft cracks in her steel façade. She was still beautiful — graceful, authoritative, and more headstrong than was probably healthy — but there was no denying that the years had left their mark on her.

Tony, however, remained almost completely unchanged.

"What makes you think I did something?" he asked defensively.

"Don't give me that bullshit," she said, her expression stern.

She had power and respect now — earned through hard work and determination — and shouldered her responsibilities with a grace and efficiency that Tony could never hope to master. He might have founded the agency together with her and Colonel Phillips, but he had never been interested in running it — Stark Industries was his priority. Peggy, on the other hand, was born to lead.

When she wasn't out kicking the shit out of her enemies on one of the missions she still insisted on taking, that was.

Steve would have been proud.

"You don't age," she accused, throwing the words out without preamble or hesitation.

Tony had to smile, knowing that was how she handled everything. She might be the director of an army of spies, but subtlety had never been the weapon of choice for Peggy Carter.

"No, it appears I don't," he agreed. "Or, at the very least, slower than your average human."

"Is that all you have to say?"

Tony met her gaze, not flinching at the flash of steel he saw there. "Yes."

"Anthony, if you somehow found a way—"

"I didn't," he interrupted, rising from his chair and calmly buttoning his suit jacket. "It's not replicable. And even if it had been, I wouldn't give the instructions to you."

She frowned, a flash of hurt in her dark eyes.

"To the agency, Peggy," he amended. "I trust you with my life, but there are certain things that should never fall into government hands. We both know that."

The moment held, a thick silence vibrating between them, until Peggy let out a soft sigh. Her nod was weary, her age showing in the tight lines around her mouth.

"Now, are you and the family still coming for dinner on Thanksgiving?" Tony asked, hands slipping into his pockets. "Ana complains constantly about the lack of children to spoil and Jarvis is preparing quite the feast — I won't be able to eat all the food myself."

Peggy smiled, but it was easy to see the flicker of worry in her eyes. "Yes, of course, Anthony."

He could do without her sympathy.

"Then that's settled. Give Angie my regards," he called out over his shoulder as he left Peggy's office.

Tony found that he quite liked the future. Which was fortunate, he supposed, seeing as he was going to have a front-row seat for the majority of it.

Laws changed, language evolved, technology leapt forward, and Tony, well, he adapted. He still aged, albeit slowly, and learned to live with the knowledge that people around him would die long before he did. He had already experienced loss during the war — this was just a different kind.

He would manage.

Tony still wore the dog tags.

"This might have been a mistake." Tony eyed the robot in front of him, the claw at the end of the metal arm twisting in a surprisingly accurate impression of a confused puppy. He had wanted a simple but efficient robot that could help him in the workshop, but things had clearly not gone according to plan.

The robot let out a disgustingly cheerful chirp, rolling back and forth to test its wheels. Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Fine. You can stay. You're a bit of a dummy, clearly, but you can stay."

The robot hooted excitedly.

Tony was the first to admit that he had earned his fair share of enemies over the years. Some were due to bad decisions — weapons he should never have built and friends he should never have made — but some were simply out of hate or spite. Not everyone agreed with his choices and he could admit that he sometimes spent more time running from his responsibilities than strictly necessary.

Handing over a portion of Stark Industries to Obadiah Stane was one of those evasion tactics. Tony had grown tired of the company. After having lived for as many years as he had, it no longer held any appeal to build weapons — neither did running the spy agency he had founded a lifetime ago.

Tony had lived through one of the greatest wars of their time, but still surrounded himself with death and destruction.

Leaving proved difficult, however.

While he had managed to fool the world that he was the nephew of Anthony Edward Stark rather than the semi-immortal man himself, he was still one of the richest men in the world and a genius inventor. Stark Industries was the world's leading weapons manufacturer and not even Tony knew if he had the power to change the course of the lumbering behemoth his company had become.

So he gave Stane the reins, and turned his back on the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Those weren't his worlds anymore — Tony wanted nothing to do with wars and spies.

He still had enemies — rivals of Stark Industries, people against capitalism, and the occasional scorned lover — but nothing he couldn't handle.

That said, he wasn't at all prepared to have his tire shot out one night while driving to one of his more secluded mansions. The car swerved, Tony's heart leaping into his throat as he tried to regain control of the vehicle. Despite his best efforts the car didn't come to a stop until it slid off the road and slammed straight into a tree.

The impact jarred Tony to his bones, a bright burst of pain lighting up behind his eyelids, but the airbag and his heightened healing factor meant that he was in no risk of dying. He sucked in a deep breath, groaning as it jostled sore ribs.

The window on the driver's side shattered in a cascade of glittering glass and he quickly ducked lower.

Sniper.

Tony fumbled as he reached for the glove compartment, pulling out his gun. He forced his breathing to slow, counting down from ten before daring a peek out through the shattered window. No more shots came.

There was a flicker of movement in the side view mirror — a dark shape heading towards his car, a glint of metal catching in the moonlight. Tony gritted his teeth and flicked off the safety of his gun.

The man was dressed in black, a mask and dark goggles covering his face. His entire left arm was smooth silver — metal, Tony realized — but moved with just as much fluency as one made out of flesh. The man's controlled gait was that of a trained fighter, and a very skilled one at that. He looked like no assassin Tony had ever heard off, and he cursed himself for not keeping up with the agency intel.

Tony might not make it out of this alive.

He quickly crawled into the passenger seat, ignoring the screams of protest from his aching body — the cuts and bruises were already healing. Adrenaline made his hands tremor, his breaths quick and sharp. The driver's side door was yanked open before Tony had time to slip out on his end, forcing him to turn and face the assassin instead, back pressed against the passenger's side door and gun raised.

The man froze, as if surprised to find Tony alive and armed.

Tony's finger rested on the trigger, but he didn't pull it. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for. He might not be the best shot but he wouldn't miss at this distance.

The man's left arm shimmered in the moonlight, gripping the car door with enough strength to bend the metal. Tony realized he wasn't the only one whose breaths were fast and shallow. There were no facial expressions to read — only a black muzzle and dark, reflective glass — but Tony could have sworn that the assassin was hesitating. The man was coiled tight, unmoving, as if he wasn't sure whether to proceed or retreat.

Tony didn't dare to move.

There was a bright flicker in the corner of his eye and even though Tony knew it was a mistake, his gaze was automatically drawn towards it. They were headlights from an approaching car.

When Tony's gaze snapped back to the assassin, he found nothing but the empty space of the gaping doorway.

"They call him the Winter Soldier," the agent reported, handing over a thin folder.

"And?" Tony prompted, flicking open the first page. There wasn't even a photo of the assassin, just a sketchy physical description, but the metal arm was notable enough that Tony knew he had the right man.

"We don't have much on him, sir."

"I can see that," Tony replied tightly. According to the file, the man had an unconfirmed number of missions under his belt, but those he was connected to all had an alarmingly high success rate. He was of unknown origin and affiliation — though he favored Soviet ammunition — and was virtually untraceable. The so-called intel on this particular assassin looked a lot more like hesitant guesses than actual intel.

Tony sighed, snapping the folder shut before tapping it against the agent's chest. "Keep me posted, okay? If he shows up again, I want to know."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

The agent was no doubt wondering how Tony had earned a high enough security clearance to be granted access to restricted files — not to mention issue orders. Tony's influence over the agency was limited now that Peggy was no longer in charge and he pretended to be a second generation Stark, but he was not shut out completely. He had every intention of using that.

Someone had sent this Winter Soldier to kill him, but for some reason the notoriously ruthless assassin had fled the scene before finishing the job.

Tony wanted to know why.

Tony stared at the tombstone in front of him, hands shoved into his pockets and sunglasses offering him a slight amount of privacy from prying eyes. He knew this would happen eventually, but he hadn't been prepared for how much it would hurt — how helpless and lonely he would feel. There was so little left of the world Tony used to know, and while he was a master at adapting, he still missed what he used to have.

He missed Peggy, now too old and tired to keep up with his antics, though her friendship remained one of the few firm points in his life.

He missed Steve and how he had made everything seem possible, even when all hope was lost.

He missed Bucky so much it hurt, even though years had passed, the dog tags still a familiar weight around his neck.

And now there were more people to miss — more people he would never see again.

Tony let out a slow breath, shoulders tense with grief.

"Goodbye, Jarvis," he whispered softly, then turned and left.

Tony knew he lived a life most people would kill for. He had enough money to never have to work again — even with his extended lifespan — and there was always company to be had, if he wanted it. He was a rich, famous, and handsome genius who could have anything he wanted — but none of that brought him happiness.

There were those who could put genuine smiles on his face — lovers who made him forget, if only for a little while — but Tony knew his existence was a hollow imitation of what he'd had during the war. It wasn't just grief and nostalgia that made him maudlin, though. He was genuinely tired, drifting around without a purpose, not sure what to do with his life.

He knew he'd been given an opportunity — a chance to use his knowledge to ensure a better tomorrow — but he no longer knew how. During the war it had been easy, the enemy a clear, tangible threat, but Tony wasn't sure who he was fighting anymore.

He wasn't sure if he was supposed to fight at all.

When he looked at Stark Industries all he felt was regret. They were no longer at war, so why was he still making weapons? Wasn't the dying supposed to have stopped when Hitler's reign ended? When Red Skull had been defeated?

Tony realized that even if he was a supposed genius, he had none of the answers that mattered.

The Winter Soldier didn't try to kill him again. Tony wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel grateful or frustrated.

There were no confirmed reports of the assassin in the years that followed, though Tony heard several rumors — none of them comforting. The Winter Soldier was allegedly one of the most efficient and ruthless assassins the world had ever known, his skills so feared that some thought he was nothing more than a myth.

The more Tony learned, the less sense it made to know that the Winter Soldier had let him live. There had to be some kind of connection Tony hadn't made, but he couldn't figure out what.

"James Rhodes." The man in question held out his hand. "I'm your new military liaison."

Tony accepted the handshake, tilting his head to the side when he saw none of the usual curiosity — or awe — in Rhodes' dark eyes. This man clearly wasn't impressed or intimidated by Tony's reputation and wealth.

Tony liked him.

"Well, we better get acquainted, then," he said, grinning widely. "We're going to see a lot of each other from now on."

"Seems like it, Mr. Stark."

"Please, call me Tony."

Rhodes smiled. "Alright then, Tony."

"Perfect."

For some reason, Tony couldn't stop grinning.

"Come on, buddy, work with me here."

Row upon row of commands and code flickered past on the screen and a faint hum was heard from the computers when the system finally booted up, whirring to life for the first time.

"Good evening, Sir, how may I be of service?"

Tony was giddy with excitement, his smile impossibly wide. "Hello, JARVIS."

Pepper Potts was a gift from the heavens and Tony was never going to let her go.

Happy, who came shortly after, was equally invaluable.

Peggy, Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, and a few chosen people at the agency were the only ones who knew how old Tony Stark really was.

Suddenly, in the course of a couple of years, his life became bearable again. He found new friends — people he trusted — and wasn't doing too bad, all things considered. He was still irresponsible and reckless and a bit of a disaster, but he made do. If he was avoiding his duties at Stark Industries and ignoring everything that even remotely resembled responsibility, well, he had never claimed to be perfect. Pretending everything was fine was the only way he knew how to avoid feeling out of place.

He just didn't know what else to do.

When Tony woke up in a dark, cold cave with a car battery hooked up to his chest, he finally realized just how far he had fallen. It wasn't just the physical pain that terrified him, but rather the knowledge that he only had himself to blame for where he had ended up. This was where his choices had ultimately led him.

He decided, then and there, that if he made it out alive, things had to change. He was going to change.

When Yinsen's name was added to the list of people he would spend the rest of his unnaturally long life mourning, Tony's determination only grew.

He was done turning a blind eye to everything around him. He was not going to let death, indifference, and cowardice be his legacy. Tony didn't even want to know what Bucky would have thought of him, had he still been alive. Back during the war they had fought for something and Tony had been proud of his contributions — he'd made a difference.

Nowadays, all he felt was guilt, ashamed of what he had let himself become.

Tony decided it was time to stop running away from his responsibilities.

Chapter Text

Becoming Iron Man wasn't something Tony had planned. And, somehow, Obie's betrayal wasn't something he had seen coming either — but that might have been because of his own ignorance. When all was said and done, Tony felt strangely hopeful, despite losing a long-term friend, having a miniaturized arc reactor embedded in his chest, and a company in freefall.

He could fix that.

For the first time in years, he felt that he had something to offer the world. He set about destroying the weapons Obie had sold without his knowledge, he prevented new ones from being made, and stopped shying away from his responsibilities. There was so much to be done that Tony's already full schedule became almost impossible to manage. The only thing that could pull Tony's focus away from his suit was Stark Industries, but he knew he couldn't maintain this pace for long.

Handing control of the company over to Pepper was the natural choice. She was better at running it than he was, first of all, and not having to attend all the boring meetings freed up time he needed for his private projects. Tony might know the company inside out considering how long he'd been in charge of it, but that was also the problem — Tony would rather have someone else at the helm.

He was too tainted by all the wars he had seen, but Pepper — she would see it with fresh eyes and take Stark Industries in a more peaceful, stable direction. Tony would still put in hours in the R&D department, which was what he was most interested in anyway, but she would run it. She could turn the company into something worthwhile.

Thankfully, she accepted his offer.

The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division — or S.H.I.E.L.D as some traitor had acronymized it — was handling itself thanks to Nick Fury, who might not be Tony's bestest friend in the world, but he was dependable. The situation with Obie had taught Tony not to rely too much on trust and familiarity, so instead he took comfort in the knowledge that Fury wanted what was best for the world. That was all that mattered.

Fury had some weird ideas, though, that was for sure. Tony declined Fury's offer to join his super secret boy band, mostly because he didn't feel like a hero — not when he knew what it was like to work alongside Steve. Tony knew he had no claim whatsoever on that title just because he had built himself the suit. Fury didn't seem to like that but was clearly too proud to ask twice.

Tony missed Peggy more than ever. He still visited her, of course, as often as he could, but he longed for the years she had been in charge of the agency — years she was beginning to forget.

When the arc reactor turned lethal Tony had it removed. He would always be grateful for what Yinsen had done for him — his quick thinking was no doubt the only thing that had saved Tony's life back in that cave — but with Tony's healing factor, he could survive the operation to have the shrapnel removed.

Tony had almost forgotten what it felt like to be able to breathe with the full use of his lungs. He would always have the lingering scars — a large, ugly mess at the center of his chest — but he felt literally lighter without the arc reactor.

Then, of course, the government tried to take the suit from him. Tony had expected that to become an issue sooner or later, and he conducted his protests during the hearing with the same carefree, snarky showmanship he did everything else. Tony was no fool, though — he knew that the Iron Man suit was overpowered and scary to the officials running the country, but mass producing it wasn't the answer. That would, in fact, only make the situation worse.

He wasn't sure if he deserved the clusterfuck that followed shortly after, however, with Ivan Vanko, Justin Hammer, and the ever so lovely Natalie Rushman. The only consolation was that Tony, in an effort to not make things spiral even further out of control, had cancelled his birthday party and instead spent the evening convincing Rhodey not to hand over the War Machine suit to the US Air Force — at least not for the time being. God knew what kind of disaster might have happened otherwise.

Besides, holding wild birthday parties felt pretty pointless when Tony couldn't get drunk — or tell the participants just how old he actually was.

Tony wasn't surprised when Natalie turned out to be Natasha, but he did take offense to Fury sending one of his spies to evaluate him behind his back. And then had the balls to inform Tony that he hadn't passed the test. That was just ridiculous — Tony had never failed a single test in his entire life.

"You do know I practically own S.H.I.E.L.D, don't you?" Tony pointed out as he sat opposite to Fury, skimming through Natasha's evaluation report.

There were fewer negative comments than he had expected, but he could see why the textbook narcissism and self-destructive tendencies made them hesitant to trust him. Tony was careless with his safety, perhaps because he still wasn't entirely sure why he had decided to keep on living. He had just reached ninety-three, which would be considered a good run by anyone's standards.

What was he waiting for, exactly?

"You founded it and fund it, Mr. Stark, but you do not own it," Fury replied flatly. "The agency isn't yours."

"Well, obviously not. Because if it had been mine, I wouldn't have sent spies to spy on myself, would I?" Tony placed the report back on the table. "But now you want me to consult. That's cute, seeing as we wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Peggy, Phillips, and me."

Fury looked unimpressed. "You declined our offer two years ago and this is the only new one you'll get."

"Nicky, please," Tony scoffed, "if I wanted to have a look in S.H.I.E.L.D's databases I could simply enter using my security clearance and break through the rest of your firewalls by force. Your system is less advanced than what I use to run my house — and you deal with matters of national and global security."

"Which is why we ask for your input." Fury said the words as if he would rather have kissed a rampant raptor. "Because you are partially right, Stark — this is yours. S.H.I.E.L.D is your legacy. The desire to protect innocent people and a vision of a better future — the cornerstones of what that this agency is built on — that has been there ever since it was founded." Fury pointed at Tony. "By you. And you don't want to see us fail any more than I do."

A lump appeared in Tony's throat; Fury had a point.

Even if Tony might not have been involved in the agency these past thirty years — or approved of their methods all the time — he still thought that the work they did was necessary. He was a scientist above all and knew that sometimes you needed to take chances to make a difference. Tony believed wholeheartedly in the importance of progress and innovation, and wanted the future to be better for those who would succeed him.

Fury leaned back in his chair. "You might have forgotten how to live in this world, but I'm willing to bet that you still want to save it."

Tony averted his gaze. The dog tags felt heavier than usual.

The silence lingered, a thick, crawling thing that made it difficult to breathe — or maybe that was just Tony's guilt.

"Fine," he replied tightly, looking back at Fury. "I'll consult."

Thankfully, Fury was too stoic to gloat.

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Stark."

"I've been aboard this ship since the beginning," Tony shot back, even though he knew that wasn't strictly true — he had left the agency behind years ago, and still wasn't as invested as he probably should have been.

Fury raised an eyebrow and got to his feet. "Then I guess we don't have to ease you into it."

And with that he turned and left, leaving Tony to feel both frustrated and reluctantly impressed.

Tony briefly entertained the notion of wooing Pepper. There was undeniable chemistry between them — and she put up with him when no one else would — but he knew that would be unfair to her. He couldn't give her what she deserved, and he wasn't sure if he was prepared to watch another one of his lovers die.

He looked to be in his early forties by then, but he still aged a lot slower than she did. When it came to their life expectancy — not counting accidents — she would die before he did, and he was self-aware enough to know that he wouldn't handle that gracefully.

The fact that he still wore the dog tags was blatant proof that Tony wasn't very good at saying goodbye to the past.

Besides, Tony saw the way Happy looked at Pepper; he didn't have the heart to ruin that.

"Sir, there is an incoming call from Director Fury."

Tony wrinkled his nose, removing the screwdriver from between his teeth. "And? Can I ignore him?"

"That is up to you, Sir," JARVIS replied diplomatically, "but previous instances suggest that he will keep calling until you answer."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine, patch him through." He put the screwdriver away, wiping his hands on his already dirty jeans while Fury's scowling face appeared on the screen on Tony's left. "Nicky!" he greeted, faux cheerful. "Need I remind you that official consulting hours are every other Thursday? Today is not Thursday."

Well, Tony didn't know that for sure, but the odds were in his favor.

"I think this takes priority," Fury replied dryly.

"Really? What can be more important than—"

"We found him."

Tony froze. He couldn't even say what his heart was doing when he heard those words, hope and dread and confusion making his breath catch in his throat. He knew it wasn't Bucky — it couldn't be Bucky — but he wasn't sure what other 'him' he was supposed to know.

"Who?" Tony croaked.

"Steve Rogers."

Tony sucked in a sharp breath. He hadn't expected that. The disappointment of it not being Bucky was swallowed by the relief and gratitude of at least one of his old friends having been found.

"Where? When?" Tony swallowed. "How?"

Fury's expression was as blank as ever, but his gaze seemed to soften ever so slightly. "All in due time, Stark. There are other priorities."

"Oh? Like what?" Tony asked faintly, sinking down onto the nearest flat surface that would hold his weight. His legs didn't carry him. A lifetime of grief and guilt was rushing to the forefront. He should have kept looking. When did he stop looking? Tony couldn't even remember.

They had found Steve.

"He wants to see you."

The room seemed to spin. Tony gripped the nearest stable object he could find — which turned out to be U — his breath hitching. He was already sitting down but he felt pretty close to fainting even then.

"He's alive?"

Tony would never even have considered that a possibility — it was too good to be true.

Steve was alive?

"He is," Fury confirmed. "And if you'd be willing, he wants to meet."

"Yes. Yes, of course. Yes." Tony almost stumbled over the words in his hurry to get them out. He swallowed, still gripping U's arm to keep himself from swaying.

Steve was alive.

Holy shit.

The Steve that stepped out of the elevator and into Tony's living room looked almost exactly like the Steve Tony remembered, save for the slightly more modern clothes. For a brief second, Tony could almost pretend that they were back during the war, but the present reminded itself soon enough; Tony's sleek, stylish penthouse was miles away from the military bases they had frequented back in the day.

Not to mention that Tony looked older, those wrinkles and hints of grey close to catching up.

Steve's posture was as perfect as ever, but Tony saw the hesitation in his eyes — that look of loss and confusion he'd seen in his own far too many times over the years. Only Steve hadn't been eased into it like Tony had — Steve had woken up seventy years after his own time, lost and without anything to ground him.

Except Tony.

Steve's eyes brightened when he saw Tony, a noticeable burst of relief and gratitude pushing back the despair. Tony's heart was thudding in his chest, his hands shoved into his pockets to keep them from shaking. He could barely swallow around the lump in his throat.

He wasn't sure what to say. This was Steve — big, lovable, and courageous Steve — who, through some kind of miracle, had been returned from the dead. A big chunk of Tony's old life — the one he missed constantly, no matter how many years passed — was standing right in front of him, and he had no idea what to say.

"I tried to find you." The words slipped out before he could stop them, making him cringe.

Steve froze.

"I tried, Steve." Tony's eyes were stinging. "I couldn't find you, but I swear — I tried. For years I—"

"Tony," Steve interrupted, his voice that soft, gentle one that either made Tony want to start tossing snarky insults or curl up in those big, warm arms and cry. He had never done the latter, but he was pretty sure that he might be excused if he did so this time.

God, how he had missed Steve.

"I know you tried. Director Fury told me." Steve stepped closer, cautiousness visible in the tight line of his shoulders and the way he seemed to want to make himself smaller. That rarely worked considering how big Steve was in general, but it was comforting to know that he tried to be less imposing. "I'm not angry."

Tony swallowed. "No, but I am. If I had known, I would have—"

"But you didn't know, Tony." Steve reached out, his big, warm hand landing on Tony's shoulder. "It's okay." Steve's smile trembled. "I'm just glad you're here. At first I thought... when Fury told me about Anthony Stark I thought it had to be your son, but he assured me it was the same one from the forties. It's really you." That broad hand squeezed Tony's shoulder, as if wanting to make sure he was real.

They had never been particularly physical with each other. Steve and Bucky had been, but Tony and Steve's friendship — founded on good-natured teasing and playful bickering — had never really moved past the occasional nudge or slap on the back. Having Steve touch him was therefore quite unusual, but still such a relief that Tony had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. He wanted to lean closer and only barely managed to keep himself from it.

"Fuck, it's good to see you." Tony could hear his voice crack. He clenched his jaw and somehow managed to keep going. "It's been so long. I just... I can't believe it's you."

Steve's expression shifted, his brows furrowing from sadness, even if he was trying so hard to smile. It hurt to watch, and Tony felt his resolve crumble. Had Steve not had his hand on Tony's shoulder, he would have swayed.

"I missed you," Tony croaked, the last syllable wobbling to the point where Tony felt a need to look away. There was so much care and compassion in Steve's eyes, bringing all the pain and grief of the past seventy years back to the surface. Tony couldn't handle that.

He was just about to step away — out of reach, to get some distance and compose himself — when Steve pulled him closer instead. Tony's forehead came to rest against Steve's shoulder, and that was all it took.

"Fuck," Tony gasped, the first sob catching in his throat.

It had been so long. For Steve it had happened in the blink of an eye — which was undeniably horrible, for how much he had missed without even knowing it — while Tony had lived through seventy years thinking Steve was dead. To see him again was unbearably painful, at the same time as it was one of the best things to ever have happened to Tony.

Steve didn't say a word. He just wrapped those strong arms around Tony and let him cry.

"So, do I want to know why you look like forty at the age of ninety?" Steve asked much later, when Tony had managed to relocate them to the kitchen and was showing Steve how to make Ana's hot chocolate. "Not even S.H.I.E.L.D seems to know."

"I moisturize," Tony deadpanned.

Steve gave him a pointed look that Tony absolutely deserved.

Tony hesitated. He had never told anyone what he did to prolong his life — much less the fact that it was an accident — but Steve, if anyone, deserved to know. Steve was probably also the one who would be the most disappointed in him, but Tony only had himself to blame for that.

"You won't like it," he warned.

Steve raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest and hip leaning against the kitchen counter. "That never stopped you before."

"Touché."

Tony focused on pouring the hot chocolate into two criminally large mugs. Steve seemed surprisingly relaxed — especially compared to when he first arrived — and Tony couldn't help wondering if he was the cause.

"It's a long story." Tony could admit that he was stalling. He turned to Steve, handing over one of the mugs — and made the mistake of looking straight at him.

He had forgotten just how effective Steve's disapproving look was.

"We've got time," Steve drawled, accepting the offered treat. He sounded so much like Bucky that Tony's heart clenched.

Tony managed a faint smile. "Yeah. Okay." He nodded. "I'll tell you."

Steve definitely didn't like it, but his disapproval was mingled with gratefulness over having Tony there — someone he recognized and trusted — so Steve seemed to know better than to argue.

Tony made sure to point out that no one else knew what he had done and that he never intended to spread it further. Steve approved of that, at least.

Tony was grateful too, that he could be there for Steve and help him adapt to the new, frightening world he now found himself in. He hated to think what it would have been like for Steve, had Tony not been there. A lot of things had changed since the war, but at least they had each other.

Tony had gotten one of his friends back.

That night, after Steve had been settled into one of the guestrooms, Tony found himself curled up in bed, sobbing from relief. He was clutching the dog tags so tightly that the metal dug into his palm, but that was okay. Steve's presence a couple of rooms away helped ease a lot of the pain in Tony's chest.

He actually felt better than he had in a long time.

"Levels are holding steady," Pepper reported when Tony entered the penthouse, her eyes following JARVIS's analysis of the switch from the regular power grid to that of the arc reactor. She smiled at Steve, nodding in thanks when he offered her a glass of champagne.

"Of course they are, I was directly involved. Which—" Tony cut himself off, accepting his own champagne flute from Steve. "Thank you. Where was I?"

"You were marveling your own brilliance," Pepper replied.

"No, no, I was marveling your brilliance." Tony quickly scanned the readings before waving the screen away. He turned towards Pepper and Steve. "This is your baby, Pep. Give yourself... twelve percent of the credit."

Pepper raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Twelve percent?"

"An argument can be made for fifteen. And you, Rogers—" Tony pointed at Steve, champagne glass in hand, "—you get zero percent. You were absolutely worthless during this project."

"Hey, I offered a lot of moral support," Steve objected.

"Fine, Spangles, you get one percent — but only because you are exceptionally motivating."

Steve grinned, raising his own glass. "To clean energy."

"Everything sounds ten times more inspiring when spoken by a true American icon, doesn't it?" Tony mused, clinking glasses with Pepper and Steve, who rolled his eyes. Tony saw the amusement and fondness hiding underneath, though.

Tony knew that Steve was still regaining his bearings, but he was doing admirably well so far. Tony wasn't stupid enough to think that everything — or anything, really — was fine, but they were working on it. Steve looked less panicked now that he had moved into the tower on a permanent basis, even if that had required a lot of nagging from Tony. The grief clearly hadn't settled yet — Steve had lost so much — but he seemed determined to keep moving forward.

They could do this.

Introducing Steve to everything new and shiny the future had to offer was a slow process, but Steve wasn't opposed to change — he quite liked it, actually. The fact that Tony could take him through it one step at a time also helped a great deal, and when Steve needed to reminisce Tony could do that too. He missed those days just as much as Steve did.

At some point, Tony might even dare to suggest Steve come with him on one of his monthly visits to see Peggy, but he knew it was still much too early for that.

Either way, Tony was happy to share this moment with Steve. The new direction of Stark Industries and Tony's attempt to redeem himself was important to him, and even though he felt silly for admitting it, Steve's opinion mattered. Steve no doubt knew about the years Tony had spent fleeing from his responsibilities — S.H.I.E.L.D would have briefed him, if nothing else — and he desperately wanted Steve to see how hard he was trying to right the wrongs he had committed with his indifference.

"Sir, Agent Coulson is still attempting to reach you," JARVIS informed.

"What?" Tony frowned. "I told you I was busy. Reroute—"

"Tony." That was Steve's reprimanding voice — the one that made Tony instinctively want to disobey every rule in sight, but also left him feeling suitably, well, reprimanded. Which shouldn't even be a thing when you were ninety-five years old.

Pepper was wise enough to stay out of the conversation, peacefully sipping her champagne.

"What? We're celebrating? I don't want—"

"It could be important."

"—to talk to S.H.I.E.L.D right now. Listen, JARVIS, just tell him that—"

"We'd love to speak with him," Steve finished firmly.

"Steeeve," Tony whined — which probably shouldn't be a thing when you were ninety-five years old either.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a smug Agent Coulson.

"Security breach!" Tony exclaimed, at which Steve scoffed.

"Phil! Come in." Pepper turned to Agent Coulson with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested that she was dying for some sane company. That happened a lot when Tony was involved.

"Pep, I'm pretty sure his first name is 'Agent'," Tony pointed out, but no one seemed to be paying him any attention.

"Ms. Potts, Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers," Coulson greeted, the smallest of changes overcoming his voice when he looked at Steve. Had Tony not found Coulson's fanboying such a comfort — a flicker of humanity underneath a far too polished surface — he would have rolled his eyes.

Now he merely stepped closer, squeezing in between Pepper and Steve.

"Come on in, Phil," Pepper offered with a smile. "We're celebrating."

"Which is why he can't stay," Tony protested, ignoring how Steve nudged his ribs.

Coulson gave Tony a flat smile and held out a tablet towards him. "Mr. Stark, we need you to look this over as soon as possible." His gaze turned to Steve. "Captain, your brief package is included."

"I don't like being handed things." Tony pursed his lips.

"That's fine," Pepper cut in, taking Tony's champagne glass from him.

"Let's trade," Steve agreed, accepting Coulson's tablet in exchange for his champagne. Steve handed the tablet to Tony, his smile full of that sweet friendliness that made Tony feel surprisingly complacent. Tony didn't have the heart to object, and he had to admit — it was a well-executed shuffling maneuver. Pepper and Steve made a good team.

Tony decided to accept defeat and flipped open the tablet, already zoning out Pepper and Coulson. Instead he located Steve's file, tossing it up onto a separate screen.

"That's yours, Cap."

There were times when Steve was still confused by technology, but he'd gotten used to JARVIS and everything within the tower by then, so he merely nodded in thanks, turning to face the softly glowing screen.

Pepper sidled up to Tony just as he opened his own files, eyes widening at the view that met them. Steve, the Hulk, some black-haired guy with a nasty-looking glow stick — this was not the usual consulting gig, Tony could already tell.

"This is my cue to leave," Pepper said, her eyes sliding over the information playing in front of them.

"No, what? You can stay," Tony protested. He and Pepper might not be a couple, but he greatly appreciated her company.

"No," she said, shaking her head, "you boys have homework. A lot of homework."

Tony couldn't argue about that.

His gaze was caught by a familiar blue cube and Tony felt a trickle of unease wander down his spine. He noticed Steve shaking his head, clearly seeing the same thing, his mumble so soft Tony was barely able to catch it.

"They should have left it in the ocean."

Tony couldn't argue about that either.

Of all the things Tony had expected to experience in the future, an impending alien invasion wasn't among them.

Steve seemed equally unimpressed.

Tony wasn't sure where all the rage was coming from. The others were shouting — about Loki, the cube, S.H.I.E.L.D creating weapons — but the majority of Tony's anger was directed at Steve. That made very little sense, seeing as Steve was one of his oldest and truest friends.

Sure, there had been times when Tony wanted to rearrange his annoyingly perfect face or snap at him to stop being so fucking self-righteous all the time, but never before had he felt this angry. Never before had he felt such a need to genuinely hurt Steve.

If the cold disgust in Steve's eyes was anything to go by, the feeling was mutual.

"You've changed," Steve grit out, the disappointment in his voice cutting deeper than Tony liked to admit. "You used to fight for what was good in the world."

"I still do."

"Really? I've seen the footage. You created a world of war and suffering — you only care about yourself and how much money you can make." Steve was towering, but Tony didn't let himself back down. "That's not the man I knew. You're not what you used to be."

"Maybe that's because I wasn't literally frozen for over half a century?" Tony spat back. "Times change. People change. You're the one who's outdated and obsolete, Steve."

"And you're just a big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?"

"The man who helped create you. Or have you forgotten that?" Tony stepped closer, jaw clenched in anger. "You're a lab rat. Everything special about you came out of a bottle."

Steve seemed inches away from baring his teeth, but instead a cold, ruthless mask settled over his face. "Bucky would be ashamed of you, if he saw what you've become."

The words hit Tony hard enough to make him flinch. For a split second he forgot how to breathe. All the anger evaporated, leaving behind a suffocating cascade of grief and self-loathing.

And Steve was right. Tony knew Steve was right.

Tony swallowed and quickly averted his gaze. The others were still arguing around them but Tony couldn't hear the words over the ringing in his ears. He felt Steve's hand, though, gripping his arm. Tony couldn't even find the strength to pull out of the grip.

Some masochistic part of him urged him to look up. To his surprise, Steve didn't look angry. His blue eyes were filled with regret, horror, and confusion — as if he had just woken up from a bad dream.

"Tony," Steve breathed, his voice soft and hesitant, "I didn't—"

The sudden explosion that rocked the Helicarrier was a relief for how it managed to knock Tony's world back into focus. He fell to the floor, holding back a pained groan. Sounds returned, the alarm blaring, and Tony caught Steve's gaze through the curling smoke.

"Put on the suit."

"Yeah," Tony agreed, both scrambling to get to their feet.

Phil was added to the list.

"How will your friends have time for me, when they're so busy fighting you?"

Tony flinched when the tip of Loki's scepter landed against his chest.

Nothing happened.

Loki tried again, causing a barely audible click when the scepter tapped against Bucky's dog tags. Tony stood frozen, holding his breath. There was only a thin piece of metal between him and being mind controlled.

"This usually works..." Loki sounded perplexed.

Bucky's dog tags had stopped a rampaging demigod in his tracks.

Whatever Loki wanted with Tony's heart, it was clearly not his to claim.

Tony shrugged, somehow managing to find his voice. "Well, performance issues, it's not uncommon. One out of five..."

Loki didn't seem to appreciate Tony's input.

"Tony, you know that's a one-way trip."

"I know." Tony swallowed. "It's fine."

He could hear Steve's breath hitch over the comms.

"JARVIS, private conversation, me and Cap."

JARVIS obeyed, tactful enough not to add a verbal confirmation.

"Steve, you'll be fine. You don't need me—"

"You're my friend, Tony," Steve interrupted, his voice tight. That was probably the closest Steve would ever come to admitting that he needed someone — he was stubborn and proud like that.

The lump in Tony's throat was growing, much like the wormhole he was rushing towards. He didn't listen to what the others might be saying — he couldn't bear to. Tony's heart was thundering in his chest, fear and panic spreading like a sickness through his veins. He knew he had to do this. He couldn't let everyone die. He couldn't stand the thought of adding more names to his list.

He was still wary of Natasha, but she was never boring to be around. The same could be said for Thor — he seemed like a fun guy, if a bit explosive. Tony barely knew Clint, but from the snark over the comms he was definitely worth getting to know. And Bruce, well, Bruce was just awesome and one of the few people in Tony's immediate surroundings who might actually be able to keep up intellectually.

And then there was Steve. Tony couldn't lose him a second time.

He couldn't let either of them die.

Peggy, Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy were too far away to be in any danger, which Tony was grateful for.

Steve spoke again. "What I said on the Helicarrier—"

"You're not just a lab rat, Steve," Tony interrupted, knowing this was his only chance to apologize. "You're a hero, and one of the best men I've ever known. I'm so grateful to be your friend."

"Tony, what I said—"

"I know. You were right. I know you're right." Tony could barely breathe.

"No, Tony, I was wrong." Steve's voice broke. "He'd be proud. Because you fought and you survived, despite everything."

Tony let out a strained chuckle. "Yeah, hate to break it to you, but that's about to change."

He felt the moment he passed through the portal, going from breathable air to nothingness. Tony focused on Steve — the sound of Steve's voice that still managed to reach him somehow.

"I'm sorry, Tony," Steve said. "I really am. I hope... I hope you get to see him."

The missile slipped from Tony's hands. He was surrounded by the big, black vastness of space, staring at the invading fleet. He wanted to reply but couldn't find the words.

"Just know that—" The comm frizzled and died, leaving Tony lost and alone.

Tony couldn't stop staring at the alien vessels, even as the suit started shutting down, trapping him inside what he knew would be his coffin. Bright yellows and angry reds blossomed across the starlit sky, lighting up the darkness.

Tony closed his eyes and let himself fall.

Opening his eyes again felt better than Tony thought it would. It wasn't just the heartbreaking relief on Steve's face or the news of them having saved the day, but the fact that Tony was grateful and happy to be alive.

Tony didn't want to die. Despite everything, Tony genuinely wanted to keep living.

He was so relieved he could cry.

Chapter Text

In hindsight, Tony could admit that he didn't deal with the events in New York as well as he would have liked. But, in his defense, he genuinely had no idea that he was capable of having PTSD and panic attacks. That seemed like something people with actual problems suffered from. Tony knew that he was a bit messed up, sure, but he had never bothered to get it diagnosed.

So the situation with Aldrich Killian, the Mandarin, and the army of suits wasn't exactly a surprise, Tony supposed. Even so, he felt that he had handled the whole debacle as well as could be expected.

Through some kind of miracle Pepper was still talking to him, Steve was frustrated for being kept out of the loop but not enough to hate Tony for it, and Bruce was there to be a kind — albeit unresponsive — listening ear. Happy even started dating one of the nurses he met while being hospitalized, which was a much happier ending to that particular story than Tony had expected.

All in all, Tony felt pretty okay. He was settling in again, getting used to the thought of being an Avenger and having actual people to socialize with. He gave them all private floors in the tower, just for when the team happened to be in New York, and was pleasantly surprised when it became their official home base.

Tony, Steve, and Bruce were the ones who spent the most time at the tower, but Natasha and Clint were known to drop by weeks at a time when they weren't out on missions or doing whatever the hell they were doing in their spare time. Thor showed up when he could, his presence large enough to fill up entire rooms, all on his own.

Pepper was also a frequent visitor at the tower, even if she rarely stayed for long. Mostly she came by to force Tony to get some actual work done, or to pick up Steve. Apparently, Pepper and Steve liked to go to museums and galleries and the theatre together; it was disgustingly adorable and Tony was grateful that they didn't try to drag him along.

For the first time since it was built, the tower felt like it could be an actual home.

Tony loved it.

Being surrounded by teammates made him remember the war — but in a good way. He might not have been a part of the Commandos like Steve and Bucky, but he'd been included in the camaraderie all the same. It was comforting to be a part of a group that at the very least tolerated him, and on his good days might even like him.

What with the Malibu house being destroyed Tony relocated to New York more or less permanently, but Steve went back and forth between his apartment in D.C and the tower depending on where he was needed. Tony had tried to explain to Steve that he didn't have to work for S.H.I.E.L.D if he didn't want to, but Steve was the kind of man who needed a purpose.

For the most part, Steve was doing well, readjusting and adapting — a lot thanks to his and Tony's friendship, Tony suspected — but he also knew he had to give Steve space. If Steve wanted to keep himself occupied with clandestine missions for S.H.I.E.L.D, then that was fine by Tony.

He could just as easily keep an eye on Steve through S.H.I.E.L.D's intel.

Which was why Tony was alerted the moment shit started going down in D.C. The thought of Fury dying made Tony's head spin — the man seemed to be above that, somehow — and the fact that Steve was wanted in relation to Fury's death only confused Tony further.

He had no idea what was going on and it was only thanks to his respect for Steve's abilities that he didn't try to chase him down and ask. Steve might be AWOL but Tony had ways of locating him that S.H.I.E.L.D didn't know about. Except Natasha was in all likelihood already there, helping Steve out, and as much as Tony liked to think of himself as resourceful, he was not very subtle. Steve and Nat could handle themselves — especially if it concerned stealth — and they would ask for Tony's help if they thought there was something he could do.

Waiting and worrying was maddening, though.

By the time the first report of the Winter Soldier being sighted came in Tony was ready to fly to D.C, respect for Steve be damned. The assassin was, if rumors were to be believed, most likely on par with both Steve and Natasha, in a way that made Tony's blood run cold.

He got as far as the workshop, barking at JARVIS to power up the suit, when Steve suddenly called him.

"What the hell is going on, Steve?" was Tony's greeting phrase.

Fortunately, Steve was a difficult man to ruffle. "I can't talk long, so just listen, okay?"

Tony would have objected if he hadn't caught the urgency in Steve's voice — and heard the faint flicker of desperation.

"A couple of hours from now, S.H.I.E.L.D will cease to exist. We're—"

"I'm sorry, what?" Tony couldn't help it, his bafflement getting the best of him.

"—taking S.H.I.E.L.D down," Steve continued, completely ignoring Tony's outburst. "It's been compromised, by HYDRA, and they're preparing to launch the Project Insight Helicarriers today."

Tony blanched. HYDRA? They were supposed to have gone down with the Red Skull.

"We're going to stop them, and reveal everything they've done to the world," Steve carried on, clearly not lying about not having much time. He was tossing out information faster than Tony was comfortable with. This was something Tony would have wanted to ask questions about — things he desperately needed to know, like how he could have missed it, if HYDRA truly had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D from within.

"You're dumping S.H.I.E.L.D information?" Tony asked, biting back all the other questions he wanted to voice. "How much?"

"All of it."

"What? Do you have any idea—"

"I'm telling you because I know S.H.I.E.L.D has schematics of your inventions that you don't want the world to get a hold of," Steve interrupted, talking over Tony's protests. "I can't stop them from being uploaded, but maybe you can have JARVIS take them down after the initial dump."

Tony gritted his teeth. "Fine."

Steve took a deep breath, obviously steeling himself for what he thought would be the hardest part. "And, more importantly, you have to promise me not to read anything but your own files and schematics."

"I— what?" Tony frowned in confusion. "I'm not following."

"Whatever other information you and JARVIS find, don't read it. Download it and store it if you want, but promise me you won't read it." The desperation was back and, if Tony wasn't mistaken, something sounding a lot like guilt lurking in Steve's voice.

"Steve, what's going on?" A shiver of unease traveled down Tony's spine.

This was really, really bad.

Steve clearly expected some of the information to be dangerous for Tony to read. Not directly, perhaps, but he didn't want him to see it nonetheless.

"I can't tell you now, it's... too complicated. But I will. As soon as we're done here, I promise you I'll come to New York and explain everything." Steve took another deep breath. "I know this sounds ludicrous to you right now, but please trust me. Promise you won't read anything but what you need to take down your schematics."

Tony opened his mouth, ready to tell Steve to shove it, but there was something in Steve's voice that stopped him. Or maybe it was the fact that Steve outright asked him to trust him. Steve would never do that without a good reason, and Tony really did trust him, no matter their differences.

Tony sighed in defeat. "Fine, I promise." He crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you need me to do?"

"Damage control," Steve replied, to Tony's disappointment. He wanted to help, not sit at the sidelines and work the press.

If Tony didn't know better, he'd say that Steve was trying to keep Tony from coming to D.C. Tony was tempted to defy him out of sheer curiosity, but again, Steve would never ask Tony to put such faith in him unless he was absolutely certain that it was better for Tony to remain where he was. Tony didn't like it, but he knew from years of experience that Steve was a better tactician than he was.

"It's going to be a circus out there, Tony, and I'm cuing you in so you can get on top of that, you understand?"

Tony snorted from amusement. "You know that appealing to my sense of responsibility isn't the best way to get me to obey orders."

There was a smile in Steve's voice. "No, but it's worth a try."

There was distant talking on the other end, sounding a lot like Maria Hill, but Tony decided not to ask. Steve's words were regretful when he spoke up again. "I gotta go, Tony. I'll come to New York as soon as I can."

"You better." Tony swallowed, his hands clenching. "Listen, the Winter Soldier came for me once and I'm still not sure why he let me live. Don't underestimate him. Be careful, okay?"

The silence that followed was so complete that Tony thought Steve had already hung up.

"I will, Tony." Steve sounded wrecked. "I promise."

For some reason, Tony didn't feel comforted.

"They really did a number on you, didn't they?" Tony greeted when Steve eventually stepped into the penthouse, his expression grave.

Steve was carrying a tablet and a thick folder, the latter with Russian on the cover, if Tony wasn't mistaken. There were faint scrapes and hints of bruises on Steve's face — he healed much too fast for more than that to be seen — but the mere fact that he'd been hospitalized said a great deal.

The look in Steve's eyes and hunch of his shoulders was eerily familiar. Tony had seen it before and he knew for a fact that he didn't like it.

As always when Tony became unnerved, he fell back on humor.

"You worry me, Steven. I haven't seen that look on your face since—"

A lump lodged in Tony's throat, the words dying on his tongue. They never really spoke of Bucky. Tony knew they probably should, to help Steve and himself deal with the grief, but Steve had only just started visiting Peggy — discussing Bucky might prove too much. Besides, Tony wasn't sure if he was ready for it.

Steve was gripping the tablet and folder so tightly that Tony feared they might snap in two.

"You better sit down."

Tony did no such thing. "Honestly, Steve, you're scaring me."

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was far from the young, innocent man he had been during the war. Even if he had been asleep for the seventy years that had passed, he seemed to have matured immensely during them. Tony knew that was mostly due to the shock of waking up without the majority of his friends, and it had never been more apparent than now.

"Sit down, Tony." There was no command in Steve's voice, just soft concern.

Tony obeyed, his shoulders stiff with tension. Steve sat down next to him, placing the folder on the coffee table before looking down at the so far black screen of the tablet.

Despite his curiosity, Tony had done as promised and not read any of the information Natasha had unleashed on the internet. He had asked JARVIS to remove and contain anything that seemed too confidential, but he had no idea exactly what was out there.

"There's no easy way to say this." Steve still wasn't looking at him.

"Then do it the hard way," Tony replied. The waiting was probably worse than the actual news anyway.

Steve took a deep breath. "During the events in D.C, we were able to identify the Winter Soldier."

"Oh. Okay." Tony felt himself relax. He had expected something much worse than that. Honestly, finding out the identity of the assassin that had been sent to kill him was something he would consider good news, but Steve looked like he was about to deliver a death announcement.

"It's Bucky."

Tony was sure he must have missed some part of the conversation. Those two sentences didn't seem to have anything to do with each other.

"I'm sorry, where does Bucky fit into this?" Tony asked incredulously.

Steve gave him a look, so full of pain and regret that Tony found it difficult to breathe. Steve handed over the tablet, which Tony accepted on pure reflex.

"Bucky is the Winter Soldier."

Everything seemed to still. Tony stared at Steve, unable to wrap his head around those five simple words. There had to be some kind of mistake. Steve must be wrong. Tony wanted to ask him what the fuck he thought he was up to, but at the same time he knew that Steve wouldn't lie — not about something like this. He didn't have it in him to be that hurtful.

Tony swallowed, his gaze turning to the tablet he was holding — no, clinging to, as if he might lose his grip on the world entirely if he let go.

"But... how?" he whispered, so low that only someone with enhanced hearing could catch it.

"It's all on there." Steve indicated the tablet. "If you want to read it. You don't have to, but I thought you might want to. HYDRA's had him for years. They—" Steve clenched his jaw, both anger and sorrow burning in his eyes. "They hurt him, badly, but it's Bucky."

"Is that why he didn't kill me?" Tony asked. He felt disconnected, as if he wasn't entirely sure who was living through this conversation. "He was sent to kill me, but he didn't."

"Maybe," Steve replied, his voice tight. "He barely recognized me when we met. I don't... I don't know."

Tony was staring unseeing at the tablet in his lap. Each new beat of his heart seemed to ache, pushing the cold, numbing shock further through his veins.

"He's alive," he mumbled, a trickle of hope springing to life in his chest. It was quickly squashed by the guilt and horror when Steve's words finally caught up with him. Bucky was alive, somehow, but had been in HYDRA's hands for years. A pained, choked noise rose in Tony's throat. "Oh God, he's alive."

He wasn't at all surprised when his breath hitched into the start of a panic attack, black creeping up around the edges of his vision. Steve said something but Tony was already too far gone to hear what.

He could do nothing but let the panic in.

Tony wasn't proud of how long it took for him to calm down from the shock. Then again, he'd spent the past seventy years believing Bucky was dead, so even if he now had proof of the opposite, it was still a difficult adjustment to make. Partly, Tony knew, because he'd read what HYDRA had done to Bucky — he wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy.

Bucky had survived the fall from the train thanks to the experiments Armin Zola had submitted him to before Bucky and Tony even met. He had been a super soldier when Tony teased him about how much he ate, but of a slightly different kind than Steve. Tony couldn't help wondering if Bucky had known — or at the very least suspected something.

After that came the arm, the indoctrination, the torture, the chair.

Tony had barely managed to read through Bucky's folder, and even when he had, he wasn't sure what to do with the information.

To be entirely honest, Tony wasn't sure what to do about anything.

While he had never given S.H.I.E.L.D the attention it deserved, he mourned the fact that it was gone, but even more so than that he hated himself for not having seen what it had become. If he had been less preoccupied he might have caught HYDRA earlier. Tony had fought them once already, for heaven's sake — wasn't he supposed to have recognized them when he was staring them straight in the face?

He was relieved to find that the rumors of Fury's death were highly exaggerated, but the death count was still in the hundreds, and they weren't any less important just because Tony didn't know them personally. So many people had died because Tony had been too selfish to care about what happened inside S.H.I.E.L.D. He should have seen it coming.

Somewhere in the middle of that was Bucky, risen from the dead as one of the most feared assassins in the world, and — according to Steve and the files from HYDRA's databases — brainwashed to the point where he couldn't even remember his own name.

Tony caught himself looking at Bucky's dog tags when he read that.

If Bucky couldn't remember who he was, that meant he probably didn't remember Tony either. Tony knew he was selfish to feel hurt by that — it wasn't Bucky's fault. He had been through so much and Tony shouldn't get stuck on something that trivial.

Tony was fairly certain that he was the weird one, for having clung to Bucky for so long.

Then again, he had always suspected that the serum had affected his perception of time. He and Bruce had looked into it, but without any confirmed results. Usually, people in their nineties remembered their earlier years with much less clarity than Tony did, and while he had almost lived through an entire century he felt none of the exhaustion most people his mental age did. He should have been overwhelmed by what he had experienced, but handled it as easily as if it had been twenty years, rather than seventy.

So Tony found, unsurprisingly, that he was still stupidly in love. He had always remembered Bucky so clearly it hurt, and even more so now, when he knew that the real thing was out there somewhere. Tony couldn't help wondering if Bucky would smell the same, and if he was still most cuddly in the mornings.

He wondered if Bucky would still be able to love him.

Tony had changed, after all. He might have aged slower than most, but he looked older. He had the scars from the arc reactor. He was Iron Man now, and one of the richest men on the planet. He wasn't the same man Bucky had known.

In the end, Tony knew that was just his selfishness talking, however, and that those things really didn't matter. Bucky was what mattered — finding him and bringing him home, even if Bucky no longer considered his home to be with Tony.

They needed to find Bucky.

"What do you mean 'you can't come'?" Tony spat, glaring at Steve from across the living room.

"That you can't come," Steve repeated, infuriatingly calm.

"It's Bucky! Of course I'm coming."

"No, Tony, you're not." Steve sounded so patient — as if he was talking to an unruly child. Tony wanted to punch him, and probably would have, too, if he hadn't been certain it would hurt him more than Steve.

"Since when do you decide over me?" Tony spread his arms wide. "I barely even follow orders in the field, why would you expect me to do so now?"

"That's not exactly an argument in your favor," Steve replied dryly.

Tony ignored him. "If you're looking for Bucky, I should come along. Not only do I have access to one of the biggest satellite networks in the world, but I can fly."

"So can Sam," Steve retorted.

"Only if I build him new wings," Tony pointed out sharply. He glared at Steve, jaws tightly clenched. "What's the real reason, Steve?" he demanded. "Don't give me any bullshit about me being shitty at teamwork or me being needed elsewhere. You know I would do everything in my power to help Bucky — I'd drop everything for him."

A brief silence fell between them.

Steve let out a deep sigh. "I don't know what shape he'll be in. He might try to hurt you."

"If only I had a big, near-impenetrable suit of armor to protect me." Tony sighed dramatically. "Or super healing." Tony gave Steve a deadpan look. "Oh right, I do."

Judging by Steve's glare, he didn't appreciate Tony's sarcasm.

"It's not just that. Seeing one of us is confusing enough, but both of us?" Steve shook his head. "We'd put too much pressure on him."

He had a point. Tony didn't want to admit it, but Steve had a point. If Bucky was as unstable as Steve suspected, the fewer people coming after him the better. And Steve was the one Bucky had already met, so it was more reasonable for him to make contact again.

Tony gritted his teeth. He wanted to argue, but his priority was Bucky's well-being. While Tony was tempted to fly out there and turn the entire world upside down until he found Bucky, he knew his methods were usually far from subtle. Scaring Bucky was the last thing either of them wanted, especially since there was no telling how he would react.

"I would appreciate your input and help, but you'll be of better use if you stay here," Steve continued.

"Wow, you really know how to make your men feel appreciated," Tony sneered in reply. He guessed he earned the reprimanding look he got from Steve, but would never admit that out loud.

Steve placed his hands on his hips. "This isn't a matter of discussion, Tony. You're not coming."

There were several things Tony could say — like how he could barely sleep ever since he found out Bucky was alive, wondering where he was, or that he missed him so much it tore him apart some days — but he knew that wouldn't make any difference. Steve was one of the most stubborn men Tony had ever met, and considering that he'd been alive for ninety-six years, that said a lot.

Steve did what he thought was best, even if it meant stepping on some toes.

Usually, Tony respected that — he even found a certain amount of glee in watching Steve and Fury butt heads — but it was a lot less funny when he was the one Steve handed the short end of the stick to.

"Fine. Whatever," Tony bit out. The only reason he relented was because he didn't want to accidentally hurt or pressure Bucky. As much as Tony hated it, he would have to let Steve bring Bucky home.

"I'll keep you posted," Steve promised.

"You better," Tony tossed out before disappearing into the elevator, fleeing mostly to keep himself from punching Steve in his annoying, patriotic face.

The next three months Tony spent wading through the data from S.H.I.E.L.D and HYDRA, sorting important files, figuring out what remaining HYDRA bases to destroy, and, to his dismay, found definite proof that Loki's scepter was in HYDRA's hands. But that was clearly a mission for a later time, so he simply marked it down and moved on to the next file.

Sorting data was excruciatingly boring, but it kept him busy when his R&D work for Stark Industries and the suits weren't enough.

Bruce was always there somewhere in the background, and without S.H.I.E.L.D both Clint and Nat spent the majority of their time at the tower. Well, Nat disappeared for days on end, but that was her business.

Steve reported in, as promised, but there was very little to tell. Bucky was apparently a master at disappearing and not even Steve and Sam's combined efforts could pin him down. Tony didn't have much luck either, despite putting JARVIS on surveilling everything from Twitter feeds to official police reports.

It seemed like Bucky didn't want to come home.

"We found him."

Tony barely had time to find a chair before his legs gave out on him. It was Steve's phone but Sam was the one speaking. Tony didn't really know Sam yet but he seemed dependable — Steve certainly wouldn't trust him otherwise.

Sam must have understood that Tony wasn't quite capable of speech at the moment and continued without prompting. "Steve's with him, so I figured I'd call and let you know."

"Thank you," Tony croaked. He had so many questions — so many things he needed to know — but some were more important than others. "How is he?"

"Disoriented and shaken, but better than three months ago." There was a brief silence. "He remembered Steve this time."

Tony had to bite the inside of his cheek not to ask if Bucky remembered him too. There was no point since they probably hadn't talked about that yet — it wasn't high on their list of priorities. Tony would find out soon enough.

"Okay. Good." Tony took a trembling breath. "That's good. Where are you? I'll come get you with the Quinjet."

"We're on the move right now," Sam replied. "Steve will call you, okay?"

Tony felt a clench of disappointment. "Oh. Yeah, sure."

Sam must have heard the devastation in Tony's voice since his tone was much softer when he continued. "He's okay. We're bringing him home."

"Yeah, I know." Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

That was all that mattered — Bucky was coming home.

Except Bucky wasn't coming home, it turned out. Steve refused to bring him to the tower.

"Why not?" Tony asked, voice sharper than intended, gesturing at thin air seeing as he couldn't do it in Steve's face. Communicating with Steve over the phone was frustrating since he still hadn't agreed to switch to video calls. "Where on earth would he be safer? The entire building is full of Avengers!"

"Exactly," Steve replied calmly — far too calmly. "There are too many people. He's not ready."

"Says who?"

"Says he." Steve sighed. "I asked and he said no, Tony."

Breathing suddenly got a whole lot more difficult. Tony tried to swallow it down, but a trickle of panic was beginning to spread through his veins.

"Okay." Tony wasn't going to argue about that. If Bucky didn't want to come he didn't have to. "So where are you taking him?"

Steve's silence said everything. Tony tried to cling to the anger he felt bubbling inside his chest — he'd rather take that over the hurt and fear.

"You're not going to tell me." It wasn't a question.

"He just needs time," Steve said. "To adjust and calm down."

"No, yeah, I get that. I'm just worried, that's all." Tony knew he had no right to feel so annoyed but he still did. "Why won't you let me see him?"

The pause on the other end was two seconds too long to be anything but hesitation. Realization began to dawn, ruthless and suffocating.

Tony's insides grew cold.

"He doesn't want to talk to me." He barely even recognized his own voice. "He told you he didn't want to come here. He doesn't want to see me." Tony couldn't breathe, his heart squeezing in his chest. "What did I do? Did I—"

"Tony, no. It's not like that," Steve tried to soothe, but there was so much guilt there.

Tony wasn't stupid.

"Don't lie to me, Steve. He specifically said he didn't want to see me, didn't he?"

Steve remained silent — he obviously couldn't even offer a half-hearted lie to soften the blow.

Tony's breath trembled and he was suddenly grateful that this wasn't a video call. He could feel the burn of tears, but as long as he kept his voice stable Steve wouldn't know how much Tony was hurting.

Bucky didn't want to talk to him — Tony had to respect that. He had no idea why, but now wasn't the time to be selfish and place demands.

"Okay. It's okay." Tony forced himself to keep going. "If he needs time, I'll give him that. The most important thing is that he feels safe and... at ease."

Which apparently wasn't something Tony could offer. That was fine. Tony could stay away. Bucky's needs came first.

Tony wasn't sure what he had expected, really — he wasn't exactly known for being easy to be around, so why would someone in Bucky's position want to see him? Their history would probably only make Bucky feel pressured to behave in a certain way — one he wasn't comfortable with anymore.

One of Tony's biggest fears was to find out that Bucky had stopped loving him. This wasn't irrefutable proof of that — Tony clung to what little hope he had — but he hadn't been prepared to be shut out so completely. He'd foolishly thought that Bucky would be eager to see him after so long.

Tony clearly needed to stop making assumptions about his own importance.

Somehow, Tony kept breathing despite the pressure building in his chest. It felt almost like he had the arc reactor again, pushing against his lungs and grinding against his ribs.

"Just give him space, Tony," Steve said, soft and sympathetic in a way that only made things worse. "He just needs to calm down."

"Yeah, I understand. Could you, uh, keep me posted?" Tony closed his eyes and placed a hand over his mouth to hold back any involuntary sounds.

"Of course." Steve paused for second, his tone regretful when he spoke again. "I'm sorry, Tony. I know how much you want to see him."

That didn't really do him any good when Bucky didn't want to see him. If anything, it only made Tony look pathetic.

Of course he'd be one of those people who were stupid enough to stay in love with the same person for seventy years — foolishly in love, at that.

"It's okay," Tony managed, his throat painfully tight. He inhaled, mindful to keep his breathing as stable as possible. "Take care of him, Steve."

"Always," Steve reassured.

Except it wasn't reassuring at all, because Tony knew he wasn't one of those allowed to comfort Bucky anymore. Only Steve could, apparently, and Tony was nauseatingly jealous. Of course Tony couldn't compete with Steve.

So instead Tony would do whatever Bucky needed him to do. If Bucky needed time, Tony would give him that. If Bucky didn't want to see him, then Tony would stay away. If Bucky didn't love him anymore, then Tony would let him go.

Tony would do anything for Bucky, even if it meant breaking himself in the process.

Tony would do whatever it took to make Bucky happy.

Chapter Text

For each day that passed without Bucky wanting to talk to him, Tony could feel the tiny, flickering flame of hope in his chest grow weaker. He knew he was being selfish, but a simple phone call would have been enough — just some kind of indication that Bucky was okay and maybe even thinking of Tony from time to time.

Tony tried to be patient, he really did, but that had never been one of his virtues.

Steve offered periodic reports, for which Tony was grateful. Bucky's recovery was an uphill struggle but neither Steve nor Bucky seemed prepared to give up, as always. Bucky came back to himself more and more over the weeks that followed, and while he was still far from okay — burdened by guilt, according to Steve — there was less and less HYDRA in him. The process might be slow, but there was progress.

Tony was grateful that Bucky had people supporting him. Sam had experience with dealing with soldiers suffering from PTSD, apparently, which had to be incredibly useful, and Steve was there to help with the rest.

Bucky still didn't seem to want to talk to Tony, though, and Tony was too much of a coward to ask. Days turned into weeks, and still there was no word from Bucky.

After two months, Tony stopped counting.

The chain of Bucky's dog tags seemed to burn against Tony's skin, but he kept wearing them. He wasn't strong enough to resist. He couldn't give up a piece of Bucky, no matter how small — especially if it was the only one he'd get.

Even if Bucky was miraculously alive, the dog tags were still all Tony had.

"Sir, Captain Rogers requests your presence in the common room."

Tony looked up from his soldering, frowning slightly. "What? Now? When did he arrive?"

"A couple of minutes ago, Sir."

Tony couldn't bring himself to talk to Steve — not face to face. Steve wouldn't need more than a look to know just how badly Tony was handling the situation. Even Bruce had started giving Tony concerned glances and gently suggested that he should eat and sleep more; Bruce usually avoided anything that could turn into some kind of conflict.

"Tell Steve I'm busy."

"Sir, he insists," JARVIS replied, sounding regretful.

Tony sighed and tossed the soldering iron onto his workbench. "Fine. Patch me through."

There was a subtle beep to indicate that JARVIS was broadcasting.

"Hi, Steve. You should have warned me if you intended to visit. I'm elbows-deep in a very important project here."

That might have been a flat-out lie — Tony was just making adjustments to the suit's repulsors.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to contain a weary sigh. Now that he paused long enough in his work to actually feel the exhaustion kick in, he realized he couldn't remember the last time he slept.

"I tried," Steve replied evenly, "but JARVIS kept telling me you were unavailable."

"Because I am." That wasn't a lie — Tony was always busy. "I might be a horrible excuse for a human being, but I try not to lie to my friends too often."

"Look, Tony—"

"No, you look, Steven," Tony interrupted, his patience running thin. "I'm staying out of the way, okay? Just like you told me. I'm sorry, but you can't have it both ways. I can't..." Tony swallowed. "Don't make this any harder for me than it already is. I know you take good care of him and if your reports are all I'll have, that's fine. I'm happy as long as he is. He doesn't have to talk to me or see me or..."

Tony couldn't finish the sentence, the words clogging up his throat.

He could hear Steve take a breath to speak and forced himself too keep going. "It's okay if he doesn't want to see me. I can deal with that. But please, Steve — don't rub it in my face like this. You're supposed to be better than that."

"Tony—"

"Just tell him I love him, okay? That's all that matters." Tony was gripping the edge of his worktable, trying to keep himself grounded. "Just tell him that."

Tony gave JARVIS the go-ahead to cut the call without waiting for a reply.

He rubbed his hands over his face, barely holding back a frustrated sigh. Steve really wasn't making this easy for him. Which was extremely unfair since Tony had done everything Steve had asked of him — he had given both Steve and Bucky all the space they could possibly need. He'd been careful not to ask too many or too invasive questions and never tried to convince Steve or Bucky to change their minds and relocate to the tower. Tony had shown admirable restraint for being him.

He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his workbench, his face hidden in his hands. The workshop was quiet around him — the bots asleep and no music playing — and he took a moment to soak up the silence.

"Sir, Captain Rogers' override code for the workshop lockdown has been entered."

Tony's head snapped up.

"What?" he barked over the cheerful beep of the door unlocking.

He knew he shouldn't have given that code to Steve. It was for emergencies only, but of course Steve would use it to be an obnoxious ass.

Tony whirled to face the door. "Steve, I swear to God—" He choked on the rest of the words, his breath catching in his throat.

That wasn't Steve in the doorway.

He looked rougher — his eyes haunted and shoulders hunched — but it was definitely Bucky. Tony would recognize him anywhere.

Bucky hovered hesitantly on the threshold, his gaze flickering nervously around the room, as if to detect possible threats or maybe catalogue the exits. He wore simple jeans, a dark hoodie, sneakers, and a pair of gloves — to hide the metal hand, no doubt. His hair was long enough to almost reach his shoulders and there was stubble on his chin. Bucky looked nothing like the charming, confident soldier he'd been during the war, but Tony had never seen a more welcome sight in his entire life.

Tony swallowed, his heartbeat racing. "Bucky..."

"Tony." There was a faint smile on Bucky's lips, but the way he shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie showed how uncomfortable he was.

"I... thought you were Steve. I mean... I didn't know you were here," Tony said lamely. Despite wanting nothing more than to run across the room and throw himself into Bucky's arms, Tony found he couldn't move. He wasn't sure if Bucky wanted him to — if Tony still had the right to assume that Bucky would catch him.

"Yeah, I could tell." Bucky glanced down at the floor, his shoulders tense. He licked his lips, clearly avoiding looking straight at Tony. "We tried to tell you. I said we shouldn't barge in but Steve..." Bucky shrugged, as if that would explain everything — which it kind of did, considering how forceful Steve could be.

Tony wasn't used to seeing Bucky so uncertain. Back during the war he'd been so sure of himself, smiling and flirting as easy as breathing. Of course Tony understood that Bucky would be different considering what he'd gone through, but that didn't mean that it wasn't a shock to see the result in person.

None of it made Tony love him any less, though.

"No, no, it's okay. You—" Tony had to clear his throat. "You're always welcome."

This wasn't what Tony had pictured this to be like. He wasn't stupid enough to think that everything would be miraculously okay the moment they saw each other again, but he hadn't expected it to be this forced and awkward. He wasn't even sure why it was.

Bucky looked up, some strength having returned to his gaze. His eyes were still the same shade of blue that Tony remembered.

"You thought I didn't want to see you?" Bucky swayed, as if he wanted to take a step into the workshop but didn't dare to.

Tony felt a flicker of panic; Bucky looked hurt. Tony didn't know how to deal with that — the thought of causing Bucky pain was near unbearable.

"It's okay," Tony hurried to say. "You needed time — I understand that. And you obviously needed to be with someone you trusted so it was better if I kept out of the way. I just want you to feel better."

That obviously didn't help at all. Bucky's face crumpled, making him look even sadder — as if Tony had just broken his goddamned heart.

Tony held up his hands in what he hoped was a soothing gesture but suspected looked more panicked than anything. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"I thought you died," Bucky croaked, his voice near breaking. "For over three months, I thought you were dead."

The silence was deafening.

Tony frowned in confusion. "What? Me? Why would—"

"They said you died." Bucky sounded wrecked. His shoulders rose higher, making him look so incredibly vulnerable.

"Who did?" Tony really wasn't following but he couldn't help stepping closer. Bucky's jaw was tightly clenched, his posture stiff and guarded.

"At the museum. I went there because I remembered Steve and... there was a part about me." Those blue eyes met Tony's, full of anguish. "And one about you. I didn't even know who you were then, but when I read that you died I just... I couldn't breathe."

The Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian. They, like the rest of the world, believed that Tony had died in a car accident during the late eighties. If Bucky had read that, then yeah, he would have thought that the Tony he knew had died — the possibility of him having turned himself into a part-super soldier and prolonged his lifespan probably wouldn't have occurred.

"When Steve found me, it still took three days before he could explain that you were alive." Bucky swallowed noticeably. "I didn't believe him at first. It sounded ludicrous."

"I don't blame you. It is ludicrous," Tony blurted out. The comment earned him a frail smile, to his infinite relief.

Bucky took a deep breath, his shoulders squaring ever so slightly. "I thought you were dead those first three months." He took a step closer, even if it was hesitant. "When I found out you weren't, my first instinct was to find you."

"Why didn't you?" Tony knew his tone showed his disappointment — he almost sounded accusing, even — but he couldn't help it. He would have welcomed Bucky with open arms.

The shitstorm in D.C was over six months behind them.

"I got scared." Bucky's voice trembled. "Because... of what I've become. I was afraid that you wouldn't recognize me. Or hate me. Or that you would take one look at me and just—"

"Bucky, no." Tony crossed the distance between them, his hands reaching out to frame Bucky's face. The stubble scratching against his palms was new, but the warmth of Bucky's skin was so familiar that it sent a shock of longing through Tony's body. "I could never hate you. What HYDRA did to you wasn't your fault."

Bucky's breath hitched, his eyes closing. He angled his head, pushing against Tony's touch — as if desperate for more. His lips brushed against the heel of Tony's palm and Tony could have sworn that he heard Bucky let out a low, pained whine. Bucky pulled his hands out of the pocket of his hoodie but seemed to hesitate, as if unsure if he dared to touch back.

Hope was flaring inside Tony's chest, burning brightly enough to sear away the doubt and fear.

"I missed you, Bucky. I've missed you so much." Tony felt the sting of tears and heard the wobble in his own voice, but he didn't care. He wrapped his arms around Bucky's neck, pulling him close — as close as he could possibly get. "I can't believe you're here."

Bucky let out a choked sob against Tony's shoulder before his arms circled Tony in turn, squeezing so hard that Tony could barely breathe. He didn't care. Bucky could hug him as tightly as he wanted.

They clung desperately to each other, Bucky's face hidden against Tony's neck, sobs wracking his frame. One of Tony's hands buried in Bucky's hair, his cheek pressed against the side of Bucky's head. Tony took a deep breath, his heart fluttering in his chest.

"You smell the same," he whispered, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Bucky seemed beyond words and simply sank deeper into Tony's embrace — as if he wanted them to meld together. Tony closed his eyes, reveling in how good it felt to hold Bucky in his arms again. "It's okay," he whispered, his nose nudging Bucky's ear. "You're home now. You're safe."

Bucky managed a nod, his grip around Tony still tight and desperate.

"You came back," Tony said. "That's all that matters. You came back, Bucky."

Tony let out a trembling breath. The joy and relief and love coursing through him made him dizzy.

"You're home."

Tony was able to relocate them to the couch after a while. Bucky was clearly exhausted and Tony was beginning to feel pretty worn out too, both from the emotional turmoil and the lack of sleep these past couple of days. Or maybe it was weeks?

They curled up together since Bucky seemed reluctant to let go, and Tony wasn't about to complain. They had seventy years' worth of touching to catch up on so they better get started. Tony pressed a kiss against Bucky's temple, smiling when Bucky's response was to push even closer. There was a barely noticeable whirr when the metal arm shifted, wrapped tightly around Tony's middle.

"I wanted to see you," Bucky mumbled, his head on Tony's shoulder. "For months I've been wanting to see you, but I was too afraid. Too broken."

"It's okay," Tony soothed.

"No, Tony, it isn't. I should have—" Bucky sighed, pulling back enough to meet Tony's gaze. "I didn't realize how painful this had to be for you. I was selfish."

Tony knew a whole lot about being selfish and Bucky definitely wasn't it. Tony was the one who had been selfish in this situation, if anyone.

Bucky continued before Tony had a chance to protest. "But then Steve reminded me that you've spent years thinking I was dead." Bucky shook his head. "I barely managed three months and you had to face seventy years. I honestly don't understand how you did it."

"Neither do I," Tony admitted, the words slipping out without his consent.

Bucky looked so sad it was painful to watch. "I shouldn't have been such a coward," he said. "I was just so afraid that you wouldn't like what I had become."

"None of what HYDRA did to you is your fault," Tony replied. "Besides, I'm pretty sure that's my line. I've lived an entire lifetime since we last saw each other — I've changed more than you have."

"I have a bionic arm made out of metal," Bucky pointed out, his tone flat and almost a little challenging.

Tony was definitely going to call Bucky on that one.

"And I had a bionic heart that tried to kill me," Tony replied with a shrug.

Bucky's eyes widened in horror.

"Uh, long story short: I got better," Tony hastened to add. He raised his hand, tracing the familiar line of Bucky's jaw. No matter how many years had passed, his fingertips still remembered the path. "But I'm not twenty-eight anymore. I've aged, Bucky."

Gracefully, admittedly, but Tony did look older.

There was a silence — long enough to make a tendril of fear crawl into Tony's heart — before Bucky tilted his head to the side. There was a flicker of his old spark, lighting up those gorgeous blue eyes of his.

"Actually," he drawled, "I think you look pretty good for a ninety-year-old."

Tony snorted on a laugh. "Ninety-seven-year-old."

Bucky smiled, his gaze soft and loving enough to make Tony's breath catch. "I don't care what you look like, Tony — as long as you're still mine. That's all that matters to me."

It took some effort, but Tony was somehow able to swallow the lump in his throat.

"I am." He couldn't look away from Bucky. "I'll always be yours."

Bucky shifted, placing his hand on Tony's chest — the metal one, even if Tony couldn't see it what with the glove Bucky was wearing. Tony was relieved to find that Bucky didn't seem averse to touching him with it.

"You still wear them, don't you?"

The question caught Tony off guard, but he didn't have to ask what Bucky was referring to.

The dog tags were so scratched and worn by then that the text was barely legible. They clearly weren't meant for seventy years of everyday use, and no matter how careful Tony had been, there was only so much he could do to save them from the wear and tear.

He looked down at Bucky's hand, his palm resting against Tony's chest, covering the dog tags hiding under Tony's shirt.

"Yeah." He nodded. "I do." Tony placed his hand over Bucky's, squeezing gently. The metal was hard and unyielding under Tony's fingers but he didn't mind. "They saved my life once, actually. I'll tell you the story some day."

Tony might also have to tell the story of how Bucky had almost killed him. From what Tony had been told, Bucky's memories were patchy at best and he might not actually remember having been sent to assassinate Tony. But now was definitely not the time for that.

"The first time I saw you was at the Stark Expo," Bucky said out of the blue, his voice soft — matching the smile on his lips. "I thought you were brilliant."

Tony snorted from amusement. As far as he remembered, the 1943 Stark Expo hadn't been his brightest moment.

"No, really." Bucky inched closer, until his nose brushed against Tony's cheek. "The car might have failed, but you — you shone so brightly." There was a soft exhale against Tony's temple, making him shiver. "I remember thinking that you were the future. That you'd find a way to take us there with that brilliant mind of yours."

Breathing was suddenly a whole lot more difficult than it had been mere seconds ago. Bucky kissed Tony's cheek. Tony didn't have to look at him to know that Bucky was smiling, warm and fond.

"And I was right — you did." There was awe in his voice now. "Somehow, you found a way to meet me here. I thought for sure that I had lost you, and I just didn't know what to do. Those three months were a nightmare."

"Bucky—"

"I love you, Tony — more than you know." Bucky met Tony's gaze, his own determined. There was affection there too, and an abundance of love. "You're the future." He raised his hand, his gloved thumb stroking Tony's cheek. "You're my future."

Tony's heart was racing, his skin tingling from joy and giddiness. He smiled, teasing but fond.

"You are so unbelievably cheesy," he said softly.

Bucky grinned and Tony felt a surge of gratefulness; he never thought he'd get to see Bucky smile again.

"Says the man who literally waited seventy years for me," Bucky countered, the words a hushed whisper against Tony's lips.

"Okay, I admit that's pretty cheesy. But in my defense — it was well worth it."

Bucky's smile dimmed slightly. "Was it really?"

Tony framed Bucky's face with his hands. "Yes, Bucky, it was definitely worth it. I'd do it all again if I had to."

Whatever Bucky had intended to reply seemed to get stuck in his throat, so he surged forwards for a kiss instead. Tony embraced it. To kiss Bucky again after so long made Tony shiver, delight and excitement racing down his spine. Bucky's lips were warm and familiar against his — a comfort unlike any other.

Slowly, Bucky pulled back, resting their foreheads together, while Tony let his fingers wander into Bucky's hair. He had to admit — he quite liked it when it was longer.

Tony smiled, blissful and relaxed for possibly the first time since Bucky fell off that train. Living without Bucky had been difficult, yes, but having him now, safe in Tony's arms, was worth it. Bucky would always be worth it.

"Welcome home," Tony whispered in the narrow distance between them, his heart giving an exited skip when he saw Bucky's soft smile.

Bucky didn't reply — he just gave Tony another kiss, full of sweetness and promise, which was more than enough.

Tony made sure to apologize to Steve for being so rude when they had talked. Steve waved it away, saying he understood. He thought Tony had shown admirable restraint under the circumstances, as well as an incredible amount of devotion.

Steve was clearly overjoyed to see Tony and Bucky together again; he often gave them soft, fond smiles — as if their happiness made him happy. Steve's unflinching support made Tony grin so widely he had to hide it against Bucky's shoulder to avoid looking like a dork.

Judging by Bucky's laugh, Tony didn't manage all that well.

"What are you smiling about?" Bucky asked, amusement mingling with suspicion — as if he expected Tony to be plotting world domination.

"What?" Tony looked at him over the top of his sunglasses. "Can't I smile? I thought you liked it when I smile."

"Of course I like when you smile, darling, but I hadn't expected you to be doing so while on a picnic where Steve confiscated every single piece of technology within your immediate vicinity."

"Fair point," Tony agreed, turning his face towards the sun, smile still playing on his lips. "I'm just full of surprises, aren't I?"

Bucky snorted, the arm he had wrapped around Tony's shoulders squeezing a little tighter.

Truth be told, that right there was the reason Tony was smiling.

Clint was the asshole who had suggested a picnic for some godforsaken reason and Nat had agreed with the kind of enthusiasm that said she only did it to torment Tony. Or maybe she genuinely liked to sit on a blanket out in the open and nibble on dainty sandwiches — you never really knew with Natasha. She seemed to be having a good time where she sat with Pepper, talking and smiling, and tossing the occasional grape at Clint's head.

Sam and Clint were involved in a very deep discussion that, for all Tony knew, could have been about anything from baseball to which bird of prey was the coolest. Bruce was reading, looking more at ease than Tony had expected, while Steve was busy drawing the landscape, his posture soft and relaxed. Partly, Tony suspected, because Steve sat back to back with Pepper, the graceful lines of her body fitting surprisingly well against his much broader frame. Both of them were smiling.

Steve and Pepper were going to have the prettiest babies, Tony just knew it, and he was going to spoil the little shits rotten.

All of that was lovely — Tony could actually put up with being without technology if it meant seeing his team so happy — but the best thing about it was Bucky. Or, more correctly, the fact that Tony could sit propped up against him, with Bucky's arm around his shoulders, and no one gave them a second glance.

Well, some people did, but that had less to do with Tony and Bucky being physical with each other and more to do with the Avengers being out on a picnic. No one looked at them strangely when Tony nuzzled Bucky's cheek, which earned him a soft laugh and a gentle kiss.

These were the things Tony and Bucky hadn't been able to do back in the day. To sit out in the sun and bask in each other's presence — that would never have been possible. They had been forced to hide, their love only safe when they were behind closed doors, but that was no longer the case.

The world was different now and they didn't have to keep their relationship a secret.

Tony thought he had a very good reason to smile.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" Bucky asked, the words whispered against Tony's ear.

Tony closed his eyes, his smile growing wider. "I am," he admitted. "So I intend to make the most of it."

Bucky's fingers wandered into Tony's hair, the touch making him hum from pleasure. Being able to have this — to have Bucky again — was nothing short of a miracle, and Tony knew how lucky he'd been.

There were snags here and there, like Bucky's continued recovery and the everyday complications that arose from being superheroes fighting evil, but Tony didn't mind. The Avengers were awesome, mainly because it felt more and more like a big, rowdy family.

And Bucky was feeling better, slowly but surely. He smiled and laughed, his good days finally more frequent than his bad ones. Despite how badly HYDRA had hurt him, Bucky was determined to move forward — he was leaving that life behind. In two weeks they were going to switch out his old arm for one Tony had built, which Tony knew would remove one of the biggest burdens Bucky was carrying.

Tony was in awe of Bucky's strength and told him so, every time Bucky woke up shaking from a nightmare. Tony made sure to kiss and soothe where he could, showering Bucky with quietly whispered words of praise and love and devotion, wrapping him up tight in his arms, keeping him safe.

Things were getting better. There was hope for the future.

Tony was, above all else, happy — and he wasn't going to let that go anytime soon.

"You only live once," Bucky said softly, almost as if to himself.

"Well, it's more like twice in your case, isn't it?" Tony pointed out teasingly.

Bucky had to be rolling his eyes at that. "Fine, twice."

"And thank fuck for that," Tony said, settling in more comfortably against Bucky.

"Yeah, thank fuck for that," Bucky agreed and kissed Tony's temple.