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Tony thinks the worst thing about him is that he’s got a baby face.
Barnes, that is. It’s the kind of face that makes you wrap him up in a blanket and tuck him into bed more than anything else. Even though he eats maybe once every two days, there’s this stubborn layer of chub that clings to him somehow in spite of his cheekbones— to die for, by the way. The big eyes don’t help either. They make the guy look more like Bambi instead of the cold-blooded killer he is.
Was.
The cold-blooded killer he was. Tony’s been trying to remind himself of that. It really isn’t working, if he’s being honest. Despite the baby face, all he can picture when he sees it is his parents. His mother’s agonized voice calling out for his father right before she got the life choked out of her by flesh instead of metal, almost as if it was personal. So yeah, some people see that face and think— let me wrap this sweet big guy up in a blanket, maybe get him a glass of warm milk. Tony sees it and the only thing he wants to wrap is his hands around the neck that’s holding it up until the light in those doe eyes dims.
That’s probably not the thing he should be thinking when that face is directly across from him, though.
“Yes?” Tony snaps irritably when Barnes’ dead-eyed stare grows to be too much.
“Sorry,” Barnes mutters, finally looking away. “Old habit.”
It was initially Clint who was supposed to be on lookout for this mission, but a nasty case of food poisoning has left him out of commission. Tony would have been happy to leave Barnes on his own while Steve, Nat, and Wilson took care of business inside the AIM base they were storming, but the former of the three was insistent that there be two on the outside in case any stragglers managed to escape. The unspoken I need someone with RoboCop in case he goes off the rails was as clear as Barnes’ displeasure with the coddling. Bruce and Thor are all but MIA these days, so that left one person: him.
It’s honestly a miracle Tony’s managed not to be alone with Barnes for this long. Avengers Tower is big, but not so big that they wouldn’t have ended up by themselves at least once or twice in the year that he has been around. It certainly helps that Barnes is also doing his best to avoid Tony, but still, like he said— miracles.
He just doesn’t get it. Very few of them residing in the tower have been spared from Barnes and his cruel fist, yet Tony is the only one who is scorned for holding a grudge. He can’t explain why he was able to forgive Steve and Natasha for not telling him about Barnes killing his parents but not Barnes himself. And everyone can scold him that the man was brainwashed until they are blue in the face, but that fact doesn’t remove the hurt, both physical and emotional. Acknowledging that Barnes wasn’t in his right mind, that he has suffered unimaginable cruelties, won’t bring Tony’s parents back.
Understanding won’t change the fact that Bucky Barnes killed his mom.
Nobody else seems to care, is the problem. Steve, of course, is only able to blame himself for Barnes’ transgressions, too blinded by the whole Brokeback Mountain routine he and Communist Barbie both had and have going on. Natasha insists she never held it against Barnes for shooting her—twice—and Wilson maintains his teasing is only playful. Even Fury, who had truly nearly died at the hands of Barnes, forgave him eventually. The only person left to make peace with him is Tony, but he refuses to go soft that easily. Not when the tinny sound of his mom pleading for her life haunts his every waking moment.
There’s that itch, though. That inkling that creeps up on him every time his anger threatens to overpower his common sense when Barnes is near. The one he’s tried to ignore but grows more potent the longer he is in the presence of the man who killed his parents.
Did Howard know it was him?
After spending the last year and a half examining leaked SHIELD files inside out, Tony is all but certain his father and Peggy Carter were aware of the existence of the Winter Soldier. They’d had no qualms employing literal Nazis in the name of American security and freedom. What else were they willing to let slide for the sake of their mission? Who else would they sacrifice? Or rather, allow to remain a sacrifice.
“Die hard,” Tony remarks a minute too late.
“I’m sorry?” Barnes says, looking a bit surprised that he’s been spoken to.
“Old habits,” Tony explains, drumming his fingers against the brick of the building they are staked out on top of. It’s the type of fidget he only partakes in when he’s uneasy, and the metal of his suit makes a grating noise as he does it that only worsens his discomfort. “They die hard.”
“Oh,” Barnes nods. “... Right.”
Another tense silence befalls them then. Tony really should relish it, but now that the floodgates have opened, he’s not sure he can go back to the quiet. Between keeping his fat trap shut and acknowledging Barnes’ existence, he’s finding that he begrudgingly prefers the latter.
He gets his opportunity to run his mouth when Barnes kneels to tie his bootlaces that must have gone undone on their way up to the stakeout spot. They’ve been untied since they’ve been up there. Tony watches as he meticulously laces them, flesh and metal fingers working alongside each other, using the bunny ears method rather than the more efficient standard knot. Never one to keep his opinions to himself, Tony voices his stance on the matter in a rather succinct fashion.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
Barnes peers up at him through his lashes before standing, a flicker of irritation passing over his usually stony face, “There are multiple ways to do it.”
Tony huffs, “So why pick the more difficult one?”
“I’ve always just done it like that.”
“It’s a waste of time.”
“It’s the way my mom taught me,” Barnes says softly, and there’s a brief moment where his mask slips entirely and the grief shines through clear as day.
It’s easy for Tony to forget that Barnes had an entire life before being turned into the man he is today. He was once a child with a mother and a father— and sisters, if Tony remembers correctly. An abundance of them, in fact. All but one had passed by the time Barnes came back to himself fully and, as far as Tony is aware, he still hasn’t been to see her. It’s a sharp contrast from Steve, who, as soon as he found out people he had once known were still alive, put every effort into tracking them down.
Avoidance.
Isn’t that familiar?
“A little outdated,” Tony tries to jest, but it falls flat.
His voice sounds stiff even to his own ears, and he can’t quite muster his usual quips. Thankfully, Barnes doesn’t seem to mind. Until thirty seconds prior, Tony hadn’t even known the man capable of emotion.
“Well. So am I, I guess.”
The joke startles Tony more than he cares to admit. He’s grateful Barnes can’t see his expression through the suit, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as he stares at the guy like he’s grown a third arm. It seems all Tony had to do to bring him out of his shell was actually talk to him, which certainly isn’t the easiest thing to do. Still, for the sake of his team and his sanity during this absurdly long mission, he tries. Tony takes a deep breath.
“What was she like?”
Barnes turns to him with a marginally shocked expression, “What?”
“Your mom, Baba Yaga. What was she like?”
He’s met with a stunned silence.
Rationally, Tony knows Barnes didn’t kill his parents willingly. He’d even been quite close with Howard. But anger does not abide by the laws of sense and every time he sees the man Tony wishes he could rip him limb from limb, metal and flesh alike. The truest test of his patience has been tolerating his presence around the tower since Steve brought him back like some stray off the street, begging Tony to keep him as though he were his charge. To engage him in conversation is a step he never thought he’d be able to take, but he’s always been keen on showing himself up, hasn’t he?
Pepper’ll be proud at least.
Eventually, Barnes murmurs an anguished, “I don’t know.”
Tony blinks, “You… you don’t know?”
“I can’t remember.”
Jesus fuck.
Tony licks his lips, the nervous tick blessedly concealed by his suit, “I thought all that came back to you?”
“It’s fuzzy,” Barnes clarifies, and the mask is back. “I’ll remember birthdays but not names. Names but not faces.” After Tony struggles too long to muster a response, he continues, “Steve says I look like her. I’ve got her eyes, her mouth. Her nose, too.”
“What about the cheekbones?” Tony asks before his common sense can catch up to his mouth. “Those hers too?”
Barnes’ jaw ticks, but he seems amused more than anything else, “I’ll have to ask Steve.”
“No pictures?”
“Some of us were poor, if you can believe it.”
It’s a jab, Tony knows, but he exhibits great strength in not replying in kind. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t even really have it in him to snap back when he’s still so caught up in the idea of not even being able to remember one’s mother. There are moments, on occasion, when Tony will realize he’s forgotten the sound of Maria’s voice. Her tinkling laugh or even just the rare tone of pure fury that seemed to be reserved exclusively for her son and husband. He has videos, sure, but even the latest technology from the era in which she had passed hadn’t been enough to capture her voice in its entirety. Tony doesn’t know what it sounds like anymore without a slight reverb, a tinny undertone that warps her vowels.
He feels for Barnes. He knows what it’s like, in some capacity, to lose those memories you hold near and dear to your heart. And even though the man across from him is the reason Tony will never know if his mom’s laugh would have remained the same after all these years, he’s finding it remarkably difficult to summon that same anger he usually feels for Barnes. This time, his pity might actually overpower the grief. Jesus, some softie he is.
“What about home? You remember that?”
Barnes frowns, “New York?”
Tony shakes his head, “Nah. Before that.”
For the first time all afternoon, Barnes stiffens.
Of all the famed Howling Commandos, Barnes had always been the most mysterious. Up until the late 80s, the general public knew quite literally nothing about the guy. Some sources claimed that he was a child soldier who had grown up in Indiana, an army brat through and through. Others, much more credible, maintained that he was Captain America’s dearest friend, Brooklyn born and bred.
It wasn’t until Tony was in college that some World War II historian based in Sochi published an article in some obscure history journal proving that Barnes was not, in fact, American, but instead Russian-born of Romani descent. The man found documented proof that photographers with the Office of War Information would have Barnes powder his face and hands before appearing in any propaganda shoots, many of which he’d been mysteriously absent from. After that, Captain America’s so-called “right-hand man” all but disappeared from the history books. He served no purpose to the propaganda machine any longer. In fact, he challenged it head-on, and that just wouldn’t do. His existence was only acknowledged again when the Smithsonian unveiled their Cap exhibit and couldn’t possibly let him go ignored.
Steve talked about him enough to make up for it, though. Through him, Tony knew Barnes was born on a farm in the middle of actual buttfuck nowhere in Southern Russia. That’s really the extent of his knowledge, as he tended to tune Cap out when he got all misty-eyed over his assassin boy bride, but regardless. Memory, like anger, is often odd and unpredictable. Trauma does funny things to the brain, but perhaps what Barnes can’t remember about his mother, he’ll find in memories of home, if they’re still present.
Tony starts to wonder whether he’s crossed a line after the man beside him remains silent for a little too long. The air between them, even through the suit, is horribly uncomfortable, and although it’s irrational, Tony wants to snap at him to answer already. A fight would be a lot easier than the tension that’s building with every passing second in stillness. Thankfully, he doesn’t get the chance to come to blows over his own immaturity. Whether it’s for the best or not will remain to be seen.
“Every year when I was little,” Barnes begins, voice no louder than a whisper. “My babulya would take us to the sea. We’d nag her the whole summer, but she always made us put it off until the days and nights were equal. She’d wait until it was dark, and then she’d say, “Put your hands in. Go, go put your hands in.” And the water would just… glow. The most brilliant blue. We’d stay out there until the sky turned purple.”
“Bioluminescence. It’s algae,” Tony explains.
His lips twitch briefly, “Yeah. I always just thought it was the sea saying hello.”
“That’s home, then? The sea.”
Barnes drums his metal fingers against his thigh, an anxious tick Tony is intimately familiar with, “I only went four times. We had to leave in ‘22. But I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. I can still— still smell the water.”
That’s something Tony can understand. To this day, he can still recall the sweet aroma of his mom’s floral perfume with remarkable clarity. The musk of the basement in the summer home they rarely utilized and the sharp, metallic scent of his own blood when he’d cut his finger on one of Howard’s projects. The ensuing fight between his parents had been especially brutal, and even as a grown man, Tony can’t forget it.
“Yeah,” is all he says.
“My babulya, too. She always smelled like rain. It’s because she was outside all the time.”
Before he can think better on it, Tony raises a brow, “You can barely remember what you had for dinner last night, but you can remember what your grandma smelled like a hundred years ago?”
Bitterly, you can’t remember your dinner but can remember the sound of my mother’s last choked breaths.
The only one to hear them.
“She was a scientist,” Barnes informs him, oblivious of Tony’s resentment building all over again. “I’ll always remember that as well.”
“Why?” Tony asks on instinct, telling himself he doesn’t care about the answer. To his irritation, his tone isn’t as disinterested as he’d intended for it to be.
“Because I wanted to be just like her.”
Neither of them speaks after that. Tony is angry again, and he can’t really understand why. He wants to say it’s about his mom, but he knows that it isn’t. Something else is bothering him, and as of late, he’s been quick to turn to anger over anything else. Tony didn’t used to be this way, honest. He’s reckless, a self-destructive mess who never has his own best interest at heart, but never has he been so… angry all the time. Maybe it’s because of his parents, or maybe it’s the aliens and the nightmares and the frustration with how everything keeps changing and he is continuously left in the dust, too prideful to let his fear present itself as anything but rage.
Fuck me, he thinks bitterly. He’s turning into his fucking dad.
“You’d know something about that,” Barnes muses.
Tony startles, “What?”
“Y’know. Wanting to be like a family member. Looking up to them.”
“What are you talking about?” Tony asks.
Barnes looks unsure now, “Your dad. You’re just so much like him, I thought… Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”
Another silence, this one much worse than those that preceded it. If Tony was angry before, he doesn’t even know how to describe how he’s feeling now. Jesus, he doesn’t even know if he feels anything at all. And Barnes, the guy’s posture says everything his words don’t. It’s not guilt, but something far, far worse. Pity.
“For what it’s worth,” he begins, turning to Tony with clear sincerity in his expression. “I am sorry. About Howard and your mom.”
“You’ve mentioned,” Tony responds shortly, not wanting to have this conversation for the millionth time.
“It,” he breaks off on a sharp exhale, running a hand through his long hair. “It kills me that I didn’t at least recognize him, or just—”
He’s rambling, growing more and more frenzied with every frantic apology that leaves his bitten lips. Tony, admittedly, is dissociating a bit. All he can focus on is the curl of Barnes’ mouth accentuating the accent that marks his words, growing stronger by the second as he starts to lose that almost scary control he typically has over his emotions. Tony’s never heard it before. He sounds a bit like Natasha used to.
“I’m sorry the others get on you for being angry about me being around. I’m not saying this because I want you to feel bad for me. I’m saying it because I get it. I know now that it was out of my control. But if someone killed my parents…” Barnes keeps his gaze firmly ahead, metal fingers twitching nervously. “I’d tear them limb from limb.”
Howard Stark never claimed to be a good man. Tony takes after him in that regard. The both of them have never shied away from getting their hands dirty for fame, for fortune, for science and for the protection of those they love. Tony knows that his father was far from a saint, and he also knows that he was no fool. The Winter Soldier had been on SHIELD’s radar since the fifties according to the files Natasha had leaked, and there isn’t a chance in hell Howard wouldn’t have pulled on that thread unless he had an inkling of who might’ve been beneath that mask.
Perhaps some fraction of Tony’s anger is rooted not in grief, but guilt— generational, bequeathed to him through blood, just one more of Howard’s many curses inflicted upon him. Or maybe he’s jumping to conclusions. Whatever the truth is, it’s not like he’ll ever know. Barnes—no, HYDRA—ensured such.
Tony clears his throat, “Well. Limb from limb feels a bit overkill in your case. All things considered.”
For what might be the first time since they’ve met, Barnes actually smiles a bit.
After the mission, there is a noticeable ease in the perpetual tension between Tony and Barnes that has been haunting the tower since the latter’s arrival. Everyone notices, but has enough sense not to bring it up. Tony has to begrudgingly admit that it’s almost nice not to have his teammates constantly walking on eggshells around him when Barnes is around. He wouldn’t consider the group of them particularly close by any means, more estranged cousins than immediate family, but things had changed for the worse after the fall of SHIELD. It’s better than Tony expected to go back to what their lives were like before, with notes of teasing underlying their bickering rather than barely-concealed loathing. It eases a burden he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying.
Barnes begins to spend more time in the common room, which certainly lifts Steve’s spirits. Clint takes that as his opportunity to reintegrate weekly movie nights into their schedules, and soon enough Tony finds himself squashed in between Pepper and Natasha on the couch watching Avatar for the seventeenth time when he really should be in his workshop. He loves movie nights, honest, but not when the movie is one he’s seen more than his father, god rest his soul in hell. Steve and Barnes are sharing the loveseat to his right, the latter practically on the lap of the former, with twin expressions of utter confusion on their faces. Tony only rolls his eyes, settling in for the next miserable three hours and snagging Pepper’s popcorn to try and entertain himself.
A half hour into the movie, nearly all of them have fallen asleep. Tony believes himself to be the only one left awake, but an awed noise to his right proves him wrong. He turns to find Barnes watching the screen with an expression that is equal parts devastated and mesmerized, TV reflecting off his eyes. Neytiri has just saved Jake from the viperwolves, and it’s only when Tony really pays attention to the scene that he recognizes why Barnes is so wonderstruck.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, metal fist clenching the armrest of the loveseat. “Those were the stars.”
Tony raises a questioning brow, “The stars?”
“The sea stars. From… from when I was a kid.”
“Bioluminescence,” Tony corrects.
Barnes’ countenance shifts to that of pure anguish, “Yes. I didn’t even know it happened in other places.”
Uncomfortable, Tony clears his throat, “Happens lots of places.”
“Like here?” Barnes asks, almost eager.
“Not here. The only algae around here is the grow-a-third-eye kind.”
“I know that,” he responds quietly, his hope morphing into dejection right before Tony’s eyes. “I just thought maybe things changed. Since everything else has.”
Tony moves to respond, but before he can, Pepper stirs beside him, blinking slowly as she wakes up fully. It’s better this way, he supposes. It’s not like he had anything meaningful to say to Barnes.
“I fell asleep?” she yawns, stretching a bit.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, he kisses her hair, “Yup. Just like I said you would.”
She swats his arm, “It’s been a long day. Besides, seems like everyone else had the same idea. You liking the movie, Bucky?”
Barnes tries to smile, but Tony can tell he’s still upset, “It’s nice. I think I’m going to head to bed, though. Thank you for the popcorn.”
“You don’t have to thank us, honey,” Pepper says, same as every time Barnes thanks them for something so ridiculously small Tony wouldn’t even think to acknowledge it.
All he does is nod with another strained smile before slipping out of the room, quick and silent like the assassin everyone claims him to no longer be. The sudden movement wakes Steve, whose features morph into one of pure confusion when he realizes Barnes is long gone. That then triggers everyone else to slowly wake, and soon every pair of eyes in the room is on Tony, each one holding some degree of accusation.
“What did you say to him while we were sleeping?” Pepper hisses, and he gapes.
“I didn’t say anything!”
Steve’s eyes land on the screen, and his expression softens, “It wasn’t Tony. I should go after him.”
“He alright?” Natasha asks in a rare exhibit of visible concern.
She’s got a soft spot for Barnes. It’s annoying as fuck.
“He will be,” Steve nods.
It is said with that same conviction he typically only reserves for what the rest of the team has dubbed his “Cap Voice.” As of late, it has been coming out exclusively for Barnes. The rest of them watch him go, trying not to pay too much attention to the exhaustion in his normally perfect posture. Not one to let things go, Tony shifts the focus of the room back to his defamation.
“Why do you all always think I did something!?”
“Because you always do something,” Natasha informs him, boredly picking at her nails.
“I’m sorry,” Pepper sighs, fingers finding his hair and gently scratching in a wordless gesture of placation. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”
He eyes her with suspicion, “You’re being way too nice.”
The light scratching becomes a tight fist and he winces, “Don’t get used to it. Are you coming to bed?”
Natasha snorts and Clint outright laughs.
“Don’t know why you still bother asking,” Tony smirks, pulling a pair of safety goggles from his pocket.
Pepper rolls her eyes fondly, “Wishful thinking. You’re dumped if I wake up to you just getting in.”
He hums, giving her a quick peck on the lips, “Didn’t you say that last night?”
“Don’t push it,” she warns, though the smile tugging at her lips tells Tony she isn’t actually all that upset with him. Regardless, he’ll do his best to be in bed at least before dawn.
After bidding the others goodnight with two familiar fingers, Tony heads straight to his workshop. Ever since he was a kid, he’s found that the easiest way to get his mind off his troubles is to shut down his brain and let his hands take the lead. The stress, the never-ending hustle and bustle of the shop, it soothes something inside of him. Tony knows he’ll probably end up working himself to death if the aliens and panic attacks and brainwashed assassins don’t get him first, but that’s honestly his preferred way of going out. That and maybe sex.
For the first few hours, he’s able to keep his thoughts mute long enough to get some work done. Eventually, though, his anxiety is back in full force. All he can think about is Barnes, but not with the same disdain and murderous intent as he normally does. Instead, pity is at the forefront of his mind. Tony feels bad for the guy. Now that his anger has been tentatively settled, it’s easier for him to make room for some understanding.
The two of them really aren’t so different. Once upon a time, Tony had been a kid fascinated by the miracles of science. Even now, he still finds new things to keep that hunger alive. Barnes never got the chance to expand on his passions. And as Tony finishes up on coding his latest project, he finally allows himself to wonder what part his own father may have played in that. Howard always spoke fondly of Barnes, typically on a personal level rather than the distanced reverence he preferred when talking about Steve. They were, for all intents and purposes, friends. But to Howard, friends would never outweigh the value of what he deemed the greater good.
Sighing, Tony pushes away from his desk, rubbing his eyes. The clock on the far wall reads 4:01 am, which is much earlier than he’d typically get done. Refusing to allow himself to dwell on any Barnes-related matters any longer, he rips his safety goggles off his face and heads off to bed despite the sense of… something nagging at him. Doing what he does best, Tony ignores it.
In the common room, the projector is still on because his fellow teammates are a big bunch of lazy sonsofbitches. With a huff of irritation, he slips inside the space and snatches the remote from the couch, sleepily muttering something about deadly sins and slothful cunts. It’s only when he realizes what’s still on the screen that he quiets down, the nagging feeling growing stronger. Although biology has never been his realm of interest, Tony can’t deny that bioluminescence is one of nature’s finer spectacles. It’s as beautiful as it is fascinating.
Sea stars, Barnes had called the algae he’d seen as a child.
So fucking stupid.
“Goddamn it,” Tony hisses to himself, stomping back into his workshop. “JARVIS?”
“Yes, sir?”
He snatches a StarkPad off the nearest table, “When’s the next new moon?”
“In three days, sir. Thursday the 16th.”
“Great. Book the jet for that afternoon.”
“Where to, sir?”
“Uhh,” he squints, focusing on the article pulled up on his StarkPad. “Vero Beach Regional Airport.”
“Very good, sir. Would you like me to book a car as well?”
“And a boat.”
“Of course, sir. Where will you be travelling?”
Tony sighs, setting the pad down, “Indian River Lagoon.”
“Florida?”
“You know it,” he says with a bitter smile. “Like father like son.”
On Thursday morning, Barnes is clearly in much better spirits than he had been a few days earlier. In the time since movie night, Tony hasn’t seen much of him, but today he seems almost happy. When Tony finds him, he’s tucked into Steve’s side on the couch in the common room, the two of them laughing quietly as they work through another episode of Avatar— this time the cartoon. Rolling his eyes, he makes his unceremonious entry, more than happy to put an end to the tooth-rottingly sweet display ahead of him.
“Pack a bag, Bourne Identity,” Tony instructs, snapping his fingers. From the couch, Steve is observing him with narrowed eyes, unsure of his motives. Resisting the urge to roll his own, Tony simply snaps again, hoping to spur Barnes into motion. “Chop chop. We’re going on a trip.”
“Tony,” Steve starts, warning lacing his tone.
“Relax, Rogers. If I wanted to kill him, I wouldn’t spend a couple thousand dollars to do it.”
“You couldn’t kill me if you tried,” Barnes says simply, entirely unconcerned.
“Don’t goad him,” Steve tells him warily.
Barnes’ lips quirk, “You do care. Cute.”
Tony suddenly gets the feeling Steve’s concern isn’t directed towards his lover, but towards Tony himself.
“Be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” Barnes hums, finally getting up.
He stops just before the threshold, eyeing Tony with an unreadable expression. For a moment, they only stare at each other. Barnes has got a couple of inches on him, but he’s good at making himself seem a lot smaller than he actually is. If anything, there’s the slightest flicker of fear in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. He shifts so that he is back facing the common room, taking in Steve’s worried countenance with an amused huff.
“Can I borrow a bag?” he asks.
Tony frowns, “You don’t have your own?”
The comment goes ignored.
“Of course,” Steve says earnestly. “Take whatever you need.”
The hearts in his eyes are unbearable, and Tony just barely resists the urge to start gagging at the display. Barnes nods, stepping back into the room to grab his half-drunk tea before returning to the door.
“Be nice!” Steve shouts again from the couch on their way out.
Barnes’ grin is wicked when he turns to Tony, “I’m always nice.”
Jesus, what the hell was he thinking?
Tony quickly learns that Barnes’ playful mood had all to do with Steve and very little else. The ride on the jet is, by some miracle, ten times more awkward than he’d initially been anticipating, and the bar was pretty low to begin with. By the time they get into the car waiting for them at the airport—the runway of which is quite literally the size of one of Tony’s garages—he’s practically a ball of nerves. Barnes isn’t faring much better, metal fingers tapping anxiously against the smooth leather of the car door in a most annoying fashion.
It’s about an hour's drive to the Indian River, most of which is spent in that miserable silence that characterized the plane ride there. The further south they go, the more the landscape shifts from the typical American interstate blandness to the swampy marshland this part of Florida is known for. Barnes is staring out his window with a blank expression, doing an excellent job of disregarding Tony’s newly-onset and discomfort-induced hyperactivity. It’s only when they pass a billboard for Disney and Barnes makes a soft noise that the quiet is finally broken, allowing for the opportunity to converse.
“Dad loved Florida,” Tony begins awkwardly, trying not to be put off by the way Barnes stiffens beside him. “I mean, I’m sure you already knew that.”
Barnes plays with his fingers, voice tentative when he says, “I didn’t— I mean, he never said that to me. Why?”
“Because of Disney World,” Tony explains before once again bearing in mind that Barnes was much too busy being a brainwashed husk of metal and muscle to know anything about such matters.
If Tony is remembering correctly, the man was wreaking havoc in Vietnam around the time the resort first opened its doors. A Winter Soldier among thousands of winter soldiers.
“Disney World?” Barnes frowns.
“The cartoon guys,” Tony explains, feeling entirely out of his depth because Christ, who the fuck doesn’t know about Disney? “Princesses and shit.”
Barnes huffs, “I know about Disney, asshole. Just didn’t know they made a… world.”
Tony makes an acknowledging noise, “A land too. Plus a couple islands. Real Rockefeller shit.”
“Sounds greedy.”
“Like I said. Rockefeller shit.”
“Right up your alley then,” Barnes hums.
Before Tony can respond to the barb with a scathing insult of his own, the car stops, indicating they’ve reached their destination. Until now, Barnes still hasn’t asked what they’re doing here, which Tony almost appreciates. He doesn’t want to have to explain that this entire expedition of theirs is driven by unexplainable feelings, most of which he has already identified as guilt but is choosing to disregard. The sun is just beginning to set, the clouds shifting into orange smears in the darkening sky as the two of them step outside.
The air stinks of sulfur, atmosphere muggy and bordering on unbearable despite it nearly being evening. Barnes, though, seems to be basking in it, contentment spreading across his features. Tony knows for a fact that he’s never lived in an area with a climate such as this one, so why he looks so comfortable remains a mystery. Regardless, he allows the other man ten more seconds to wrap up the hippie act before thanking the driver and telling Barnes to shift it.
“Don’t got all day,” he announces snippily, walking briskly towards the docks.
There’s a boat waiting for them, very unlike the vessels Tony typically finds himself on while on the water. For one, it’s much smaller and significantly dingier. The lack of multiple levels is throwing him off, but he supposes there are sacrifices to be made when attempting to be a good person. He can suffer on a fishing boat instead of a yacht for an hour or so to help ease his conscience.
“You must be Mr. Stark,” the captain greets in a gruff voice, sticking out his calloused hand.
Tony pushes his sunglasses up onto his head, shaking it without a second thought,“What gave me away?”
“Not a lot of Italian leather gracing the floors of ol’ girl. Not a lot of president killers, either.”
Both Barnes and Tony stiffen, but the captain breaks into a wide, gap-toothed grin, “I’m just messing around. Why would I give a damn? Not like you killed me. Shit, if you’re still into all that, I got a coupla guys I need disappeared.”
Blinking, neither of them says anything. Eventually, Barnes manages a stammered, “I’m, uh. Retired. Sorry.”
“Damn,” the captain sighs. “Well, if you ever—”
“I won’t.”
“Damn,” he says again. “Hop on in, I guess.”
The two of them climb onto the boat, Barnes remarkably steadier than Tony, to his irritation. As they do so, the captain settles comfortably by the wheel, lighting the cigarette between his teeth with a grunt.
“Show won’t start ‘til the sun’s down. Y’all can get comfortable in the seats up there in the meantime.”
“The show?” Barnes asks curiously.
The captain lights up, “Oh, I get it. It’s a surprise then. You just sit tight, Mr. Oswald. I’ll make sure to get us somewhere with a nice view.”
“Oswald?” Barnes murmurs to himself, confused.
Tony only lifts his eyes heavenward in exasperation, making towards the bow of the boat. It’s another minute before Barnes joins him, as far away from him as he can manage on such a small vessel. Both of them elect to stand, hands—three flesh, one metal—tightening on the railing as the boat begins to move.
“Who’s Oswald?” Barnes finally asks, his curiosity clearly having gotten the best of him.
“You, apparently,” Tony sighs, pocketing his sunglasses. “The dude everyone thought killed JFK. Dunno why you’re acting so lost. SHIELD files said you worked with him.”
“I worked with a lot of people,” he mumbles.
“I’m sure you did, Agent 47.”
Barnes goes quiet for a moment.
“Those don’t work when you do them with me.”
Tony turns to him, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your jokes,” Barnes clarifies. “They don’t land if no one understands the reference.”
Almost petulant, Tony asks, “You don’t get them?”
“I got the Baba Yaga one,” he hums. “It didn’t make sense, though.”
“I didn’t mean like, the myth. Not exactly. John Wick?”
Barnes stares at him blankly, and Tony purses his lips, “I’m beginning to see your point.”
The sky is darkening with every passing second, but it’s still too light for the show, as the captain aptly put it, to begin. Nevertheless, Tony keeps his gaze firmly on the water as they lapse back into yet another silence, not wanting to take in the scenery that surrounds them with the same awestruck fascination as Barnes. It’s familiar in a way that stings.
It makes him feel like his father.
“It was nice of you,” Barnes begins, metal fingers drumming against the railing of the boat. “To let me stay in the tower when Steve brought me back. I didn’t expect you to.”
Tony shifts uncomfortably, “Yeah, well. It wasn’t worth tearing the team apart over. He was never gonna give up on you.”
“He’s an idiot.”
“I’d agree, but I like my balls attached to my body.”
The beginnings of a smirk play on Barnes’ lips, “Now you’re getting it.”
It’s grown even darker now, and as the boat moves slowly through the water, Tony glimpses the quickest flicker of electric blue in the gentle waves. Beside him, Barnes tenses, back going ramrod straight as he seemingly realizes why Tony brought him here in the first place.
“Is that…?”
His voice has gone breathless, tone nothing short of mesmerized as his eyes greedily scan the water for another sighting of the bioluminescence.
Tony purses his lips, holding up his hands in the direction of the lagoon, “Surprise.”
Barnes laughs—actually laughs—shaking his head, “I can’t believe it. I thought you said it didn’t happen here?”
“Obviously I meant New York,” Tony says slowly, like he’s an idiot.
He might be. It’s not as if they know each other that well.
Barnes laughs again, “When it gets darker— that’s when it’ll show up? For real?”
Tony sighs, “Yes, according to Skipper back there.”
“I can’t believe it,” he murmurs. “Wow. It’s like magic, isn’t it?”
Unable to tell whether he’s just trying to make conversation or actually asking a question, Tony just says, “It’s science.”
From the aggravated exhale he gets in response, Tony suspects it must have been the former.
“I know it’s not really magic, you dick. It’s a chemical reaction.”
“How the fuck do you know that?” Tony demands.
Barnes raises a brow, “Because I went to school?”
“No shot bioluminescence was included in the New York City public school science curriculum of 1930-whatever.”
“I read a lot,” Barnes shrugs. “I know some chemical reactions produce light. So when you touch the water, it’s gotta be triggering something in the algae. Like lightning bugs.”
“Fireflies,” Tony corrects mindlessly.
“Are you serious?”
“Habit,” he mutters. “Yeah it’s a chemical reaction. Your grandma teach you that?”
“I just said I taught myself, didn’t I?”
“Huh,” Tony muses. “You must’ve had a good brain in your head before they put it through the deep fryer.”
“Thanks,” Barnes says dryly.
The boat starts to pick up speed as they go deeper into the lagoon, and the flickers of blue become more and more frequent. It’s still light out, but the sun has dipped to just above the trees that surround them, illuminating Barnes’ features with golden light. His nose, the one he got from his mother, is short from Tony’s view. He’s watching the water with an almost anguished expression, almost as if it physically hurts.
Tony’s hands tighten around the railing.
If he closes his eyes, he’s six again, standing on the edge of the long dock attached to his mother’s dream home in Indian Creek, keeping an eye out for dolphins at Howard’s behest. He’s fourteen, grumbling in the back of a town car that they should’ve gone to the beach instead of Disney for the millionth time. Nineteen, in one of his fondest memories of his father, laughing with Howard instead of getting the bitching out of a lifetime after he’d instructed the car to take him to Clearwater instead of down south to Naples where his parents were waiting for him. The humidity, the sulfury air, his hair sticking to the back of his neck, it’s all the same.
“First trip I ever went on as a kid was to Disney. We came every year. Florida was the only place Dad was ever… normal. He could relax here.”
Barnes’ gaze never leaves the water, but Tony knows he’s listening. He’s not sure why he’s even talking in the first place, but he can’t stop himself from continuing.
“He always said the water here was better than up North, or the West Coast, or even fucking Bora Bora. We never fought here, y’know? He was too happy.”
Howard Stark was far from a good man, and even further from a good father. These are facts Tony repeats to himself multiple times a day, almost like prayers.
Howard Stark was far from a good man and yet— Tony grieves him every day. He misses his dad. It is easier, now, to call upon memories of him fondly. Especially back in Florida, where he was happiest. He’d put work on the back burner and just enjoy his vacation, not just with Maria but with Tony as well. He would actually pretend to be a good father, the performance so sincere that Tony would nearly forget what he was like everywhere else until it smacked him in the face the second they were home.
For a long time, Tony lived by the sentiment that time heals. That’s what the one therapist he ever allowed himself to see said anyway. But now, he looks at Barnes beside him, a man whose life has been overextended by decades, and realizes that is a load of bullshit. Time doesn’t heal and Tony still hates Barnes, but he probably hates his dad worse. And despite that, he still mourns Howard with every ounce of feeling his feeble, frigid metal heart is capable of. Dad’s death fucked him up in ways he still can’t fully comprehend even to this day. He hated him—hates him—just as much as he misses him today.
Grief is a complicated thing. He’s starting to get that now.
“Why’d you bring me here?” Barnes asks after a while.
“To see the algae,” Tony tells him shortly.
He shakes his head, “No, I mean— why’d you do all this? For me?”
I’m guilty, he thinks at first. Perhaps selfishly, I needed an excuse to come back here. But that’s not true, is it? It isn’t as if he’d planned on coming to Florida when he initially came up with the idea to bring Barnes to see the algae. If Tony’s being totally honest, he actually has no idea what he’s doing here. He supposes it does have to do a bit with guilt, as he’s really starting to think that Howard knew Barnes was the soldier all along and did nothing to save him. His guilt has led to him making rash decisions on multiple occasions in the past, but this is different. Tony genuinely has no idea what the fuck they are doing here.
Softly, Barnes continues, “I thought you brought me here to kill me.”
Tony blinks, “And you were just going to… what? Let me?”
“Yes.”
For fuck’s sake. For fuck’s sake.
“I hate you,” Tony says with too much emotion, but he can’t rein himself back in. Always causing a scene, him. At least that’s what Dad always said. “I look at you sometimes, and I just wanna beat you bloody.”
Barnes doesn’t speak, and God, that just pisses him off even more.
“I hate that you fucking just… stand there when people say shit like this to you.”
“I deserve it,” Barnes tells him blankly, like he’s reading from a script.
Tony laughs, the sound entirely devoid of humor, “Jesus, and I think that’s the worst part. Not that you deserve it, but that you don’t. Fuck, it drives me crazy. You are, undeniably, innocent.”
“But I still did it,” Barnes whispers.
“I know. And it sometimes makes me wish that you’d just drop dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Tony snaps. “Fight back.”
“I don’t want to.”
“And why the fuck not?” he heaves.
Barnes catches his gaze dead on, “I’m not a fighter. Never been.”
And Tony just… deflates.
He’s no stranger to putting on an act, but that’s not the case with Barnes. No, the title of a fighter, the lifestyle, it was thrust upon him against his will rather than a performance he took up to better protect himself. Tony’s wit is a willing act. But his cruelty? That was thrust upon him. By his fear and by his father, though perhaps the two are indistinguishable. The duo of them, he and Barnes, they were made to be something they weren’t. Molded to be at odds. Tony won’t blame all of his mistakes on his upbringing, but he thinks he maybe could have been a better man without it. Maybe he can try to be now.
“Show’s just getting started, boys,” the captain says gleefully, pulling both of them from their thoughts.
Their heads whip around from facing each other back to the water, where they’re greeted with what looks to be something out of a dream.
“Wow,” Barnes breathes, awed.
Tony himself has been stunned into a rare silence. He’s touched nearly every corner of the globe, seen the solar system itself right before his very eyes, and yet nothing compares to the phenomenon he’s witnessing now. It reminds him of his childhood, when everything was still new to him and his thirst for knowledge had no purpose other than plain curiosity. He can almost hear Howard’s voice in his ear, back when fatherhood had yet to become a burden on his already aging shoulders. Tony wonders if Barnes is undergoing the same sort of nostalgia-induced psychosis, his broken mind flooded with memories of his grandmother from a century prior.
The waves lap up against the boat, each smack against the hull punctuated by bright flashes of blue. As if in a trance, Barnes crouches down so that he can stick his hand in the water, the glow of the algae strong enough to illuminate his expression. He swishes his flesh hand in the lagoon before lifting it upwards, traces of the bioluminescence flashing on his skin before disappearing entirely.
“Stars,” they murmur together, and Barnes glances up at him, the smile on his face so genuine Tony feels taken aback.
“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “Thank you so much.”
Tony’s lips twitch into a small smile of his own, “Don’t mention it.”
Suddenly, the captain makes a howling noise of excitement, pointing out somewhere ahead, “You see them!? Look!”
Admittedly, Tony’s eyesight isn’t what it used to be, especially in the dark. At first, he hasn’t the slightest idea what the old crackpot is talking about, but when Barnes shouts in a similar expression of delight, Tony finally realizes what is causing the water to ripple up ahead. He’s six, and he’s a ball of excitement because finally, after all day of searching, he’s found what his Dad asked him to find.
Fins, popping up from the surface. Dolphins.
“No shit,” Barnes gasps through a smile, sounding happier than Tony’s ever heard him.
“Y’know, they love chasin’ after ol’ girl,” the captain muses, adjusting his hat. “Something about the waves. Hold on tight, boys.”
That’s all the warning they get before the boat is jolting forward, pace picking up with every second. When they near where they’d first seen the fins, Tony is disappointed to find nothing there. Then, out of the corner of his eye, another flash of blue. This time, though, it isn’t just stars, as Barnes had put it, but the entire outline of the pod deep below the surface. Some are deeper than others, but one has risen right to the surface, twisting happily beneath the waves that the boat has created.
“Oh my god,” Barnes laughs, tears glistening in his eyes. He wipes at them, but never does his smile fade.
“Step on it, Skippy,” Tony instructs the captain, a grin of his own straining his face.
The boat picks up speed, and with it the dolphins. They chase after the vessel, the bioluminescence leaving trails of wispy blue in their wake. The captain laughs heartily, reaching from beneath the wheel for a bucket of what must be fish, tossing one into the water every so often and attracting even more dolphins than Tony had even thought possible. It doesn’t skip his notice that they primarily congregate on the boat’s left side, right where Barnes is standing. On occasion, they’ll even jump out of the water before diving back in, the ensuing burst of light mesmerizing. It’s almost as if they really are saying hello, just as Barnes had once believed.
If the last few years have taught Tony anything, it’s that he doesn’t want to be the villain in someone’s story anymore. He doesn’t want to be the reason another child goes to bed without their parents or the reason a mother can no longer hug her son close anymore. Grief has turned him into a shell of what he could have become. Barnes, who is tearful without abandon now and watching the dolphins with stars in his eyes, is just another victim of loss so profound it stripped him of what he once was. Looking at him now, Tony can almost imagine the young boy from that old farm in Russia who thought the Black Sea was saying hello just for him. Beneath every layer of accumulated armor, decades upon decades of trauma, he’s still that boy. He grieves and he feels guilt and shame, but he also laughs and reminisces over times where things may have been better.
There’s more to him beneath the surface. A little bit of prodding, and he lights up.
Maybe Tony’s the same.