Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Malibu mansion was finally quiet. For once, no alarms blared, no suits were flying, and no half-finished projects lay sparking in the workshop. The only sound was the soft hum of the new element pulsing gently underneath the skin in Tony’s chest — clean, smooth, life-giving.

He should have been celebrating. By all accounts, he’d cheated death. He’d stared it in the face, built his way out of it, and come back swinging. The poison was gone. He’d discovered a new element, outsmarted death, and upgraded himself in the process. By all accounts, he should have been exhilarated.

Instead, he stood barefoot on the balcony, staring at the dark horizon. The Pacific stretched out endlessly before him, glittering under a swollen moon. An untouched glass of scotch in his hand as he listened to the ocean waves crash against the cliffs below. The night breeze was cool, but it didn’t reach the warm, restless ache in his chest. The house behind him was lit softly from within, every surface gleaming — a testament to wealth and genius. But it felt cavernous. Empty.

Tony felt… hollow.

For years, he’d filled these walls with noise for years, tech. parties, reporters, the occasional fling that lasted long enough to leave lipstick on a champagne flute, people who didn’t look too closely. But tonight, even the hum of his tech couldn’t mask the quiet ache. It wasn’t comforting. It was loud.

Tony set the glass down. The scotch didn’t even tempt him, and he reached up with his hand, rubbed his thumb absently over the edge of the arc reactor, the new element glowing faintly through his shirt. It may not be killing him anymore, but it wasn’t fixing the part of him that had been quietly breaking long before palladium ever did.

Agent Romanoff’s words in that file flashed in his memory, crisp and clinical, like the snap of a scalpel:

“Iron Man yes. Tony Stark not recommended.”

He’d laughed it off at the time. He always did. Another quip, another smirk to deflect the sting. But alone now, with no one to perform for, the words hit like a body blow.

Iron Man was worth saving. Tony Stark wasn’t.

That was what she’d meant. What everyone meant. The suit was clean, heroic, brilliant. But the man underneath? He was the liability.

Tony pressed his fingers harder against the glowing arc reactor absently. The new element burned bright and steady, but it didn’t fix the rot underneath. Natasha had seen through him — and found him lacking.

The worst part was that he agreed with her.

Pepper’s face flashed through his mind, she had already gone home hours ago, exhausted from juggling his company and his crises. There was a moment, where she’d smiled at him — a tired, confused smile — when he’d brushed her hand away earlier. The look in her eyes said what neither of them wanted to admit: this isn’t going to work.

He exhaled slowly and shaky “I can build an element in my basement,” he muttered to no one. “But a stable relationship? Forget it. Iron Man yes, Tony Stark no,” he muttered. “Story of my fucking life.”

The ocean didn’t answer, but it didn’t need to. The silence pressed in on him, heavy and honest.

The balcony hadn’t offered peace, so Tony pushed away from the railings and made his way down to his workshop, finally cleaned and ready after the mess he had created earlier that week.

Jarvis remained silent as the workshop lights came on with a soft hum, revealing his half-finished suits and scattered blueprints. Normally, this room grounded him. Tonight, it just reminded him how easily he hid in his own brilliance.

His eyes fell on the stack of old film reels — his father’s archives. He hesitated. The last time he’d watched them, he’d found the key to saving his life. But he’d also found something else: Howard’s face, proud and distant, talking to a son he never really knew.

With a heavy sigh, Tony picked one of the reels and slid it into the projector anyway. The machine whirred to life, casting warm, grainy light across the workshop walls.

Howard Stark’s voice filled the room, crisp and confident, like it had been waiting all these years. “This is the key to the future… better living through technology!”

Tony sat himself down on the ratty sofa he kept in the workshop, leaned back, arms crossed. He watched his father strut across the screen. Then the reel shifted. Grainy footage of soldiers flashed by — training exercises, parades, candid shots of men in uniform. And there, beside Steve Rogers, was him.

James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

Not a still photograph like he remembers being tucked in his father's files. No, an actual video.

He was laughing at something Steve said, shouldering his rifle with easy grace, turning toward the camera with that crooked grin like he’d just caught someone staring, as if he knew how charming he was.

Tony’s eyes traced the details like he was memorizing them all over again. Bucky’s broad shoulders filled out the uniform jacket, a clean, strong jawline framed a mouth made for smirks and challenges, and his hair — dark and swept back — made him look effortlessly roguish. But it was his eyes that Tony couldn’t look away from, light, almost icy blue, cutting and bright even in grayscale. Eyes that looked like they saw everything.

Howard’s voice came through in the background:

“Sergeant Barnes. A fine soldier. Reliable. Sharp as they come. Steve’s right hand. You couldn’t ask for better.”

Tony’s throat tightened unexpectedly. His father’s voice held admiration. Pride. He’d never spoken about Tony like that, hell he normally only ever spoke like that about Steve Rodgers.

The footage continued — Bucky walking beside Steve, the two of them a matched set. Steve was the shield; Bucky, the shadow at his back. Loyal. Fearless. Seen. Bucky wasn’t just a legend in a storybook. He was real. A man who lived, breathed, belonged.

And for a second, Tony felt like a kid again, sitting in a dark room, listening to his father’s stories. He always spoke about Steve Rogers, but Tony always wanted to know more about James Barnes.

As a kid, Tony had always admired the war hero. As a teenager, he’d hidden the way those eyes made his stomach twist. And as a man, he’d buried the memory under parties and bravado.

“I’m thirty-nine and crushing on ghosts,” he spoke to no one.

Howard’s voice over faded, but Bucky’s image stayed burned in the flickering light.

Iron Man might have saved the world. But Tony Stark had never had someone look at him the way Bucky looked at Steve in those reels.

The truth was simpler, and far more vulnerable: he was lonely. And he was tired. Tired of saving everyone else and coming home to empty rooms. Tired of pretending that being Iron Man made the loneliness any quieter. He wanted someone who saw beyond the genius and the showman. Someone who stood beside him, not behind him. He wanted someone who saw him.

His voice softened, almost a whisper. As for the first time in a long time, he admitted it to himself:

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

The words hung there, fragile and honest. Somewhere deep inside, a door opened — just a crack — for something he didn’t quite understand yet.

With another heavy sigh and a shake of his head, Tony stood up and flicked the projector off, the reel’s final click echoing through the empty workshop. The warm light vanished, leaving him in the soft glow of the arc reactor in his chest and the lights of his workshop. He rubbed at his eyes and muttered, “Jarvis, bring up the new prototype plans. I want the schematics on the Mark V upgrades ready for tonight.” he said making his way over to his work bench.

Silence.

The kind of silence that made Tony frown, the kind that didn’t just sit in the background but seemed to press on him from all sides.

“Jarvis?” he repeated, sharper this time. His voice sounded small, oddly fragile, bouncing off the steel walls. Still nothing.

Normally, the AI would reply instantly, cheerful, sarcastic, ready with a quip or a status update. But now, the familiar calm voice was gone, replaced by… quiet. Too quiet. And nothing was coming up on his screens.

Tony’s brow furrowed. “Okay… funny. Real funny buddy. Are you trying out some new stealth mode or something?” He tapped his chest, checking the arc reactor. All good. “Jarvis, I need—”

A faint shuffle from the shadows near the far wall made him freeze. Just a shift of darkness that didn’t belong. His pulse ticked up, sharp and alert.

Before he could open his mouth to speak, a hard, mechanical click echoed behind him. The room went cold. Something, cold, hard and metal pressed against the back of his neck. His instincts screamed, but it was too fast. To late.

The world tipped sideways as a jolt of tranquilizer hit him, strong and precise. He staggered, barely catching himself on the workbench, the smell of chemicals and something metallic sharp in the air.

And then… darkness.

 

Tony felt the world swayed, like he was waking up from the worst hangover he could ever experience. He blinked his eyes against a harsh white light, wincing as he did so. Tony tried to shift his legs under him, only to feel a cold unyielding metal shackle around his left ankle, chaining him to the room floor. The floor beneath him was hard, sterile, and unforgiving. It was dirtied white tiles the type of tiles that had never been clean. He hissed as his head throbbed, the edges of the tranquilizer still clouding his thoughts.

A sharp, deliberate voice cut through the haze. “Ah. Finally awake.”

Tony squinted, trying to focus. A man stepped forward, pulling along a worn plastic chair, placing it in front of tony before sitting on it. He was tall, impeccably dressed in a dark uniform. Tony’s eyes flicked over the man’s uniform, and his heart skipped a beat, there as clear as day was a subtle Hydra insignia. Hydra? The word felt wrong, like a ghost from another life. He’d been told they were finished years ago — legends, whispers, history books. They didn’t exist anymore. And yet here they were, alive and organized, staring him down with that unmistakable insignia emblazoned on the director’s chest.

Tony’s mind spun. How? How the hell? The world had moved on. Hydra was supposed to be gone. He’d faced terrorists before, yes, but this… this felt personal. Real. Immediate. And suddenly, the haze of the tranquilizer didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt like a trap closing in, one he hadn’t even seen coming.

“Mr. Stark,” the man continued, his voice smooth, deliberate, and chillingly calm, with a measured cadence that somehow made every word feel like a command. It wasn’t raised, didn’t need to be. Every syllable carried authority, precision, and a faint trace of amusement, as if Tony’s panic were just another part of the entertainment. It was almost patronizing.

“Come now, we’ve been expecting you. Don’t worry, we’re not here to kill you — at least, not yet.” He studied Tony like a predator examining prey. “Your genius, your inventions… your mind is exactly what Hydra needs. You see, we have a plan. A vision for a future where… well, let’s just say your contributions will be invaluable.”

The male smirked leaning slightly closer, eyes cold and calculating. “You know, Mr. Stark, I’ve been watching you for a very long time. Since you were a boy, really. Your father… always one step ahead, always clever, always thinking he could protect the world from men like me.” He let the words hang, sharp and accusing. “But I’ve waited, even when you where previously kidnapped, I waited for the right moment. And now, finally, the pieces are falling into place.” He clapped his hands together causing Tony to wince at the loud noise that echoed in the room.

The male gestured subtly toward a shadowed figure stood at the back of the room, silent, still. Covered in black tactical gear. A mask concealed everything but piercing blue eyes. Eyes that somehow cut through the fog in Tony’s brain like a knife. Tony couldn’t help but feel his heart race even in his clouded mind.

“That is why you have… an escort.” The male continued, his tone was almost casual, but every syllable carried the weight of threat. “The Winter Soldier.” He grinned.

Somewhere in Tony’s groggy mind it latched onto a single phrase: The Winter Soldier. The name sent a strange shiver down his spine. He’d heard the rumors, whispers in old declassified files, casual mentions in newspapers, half-remembered tales from His aunt Peggy. A secret weapon of Hydra. A ghost. A soldier so ruthless, so efficient, no one knew his true identity. The stories had always been vague, almost mythical, some even said made up according to Aunt Peggy who said there was no evidence of said person when Hydra fell. But now, standing in the room, masked and silent, was someone who carried the aura of every terrifying rumor Tony had ever heard. He only knew one thing: the Winter Soldier was real, and suddenly, he was here.

The male snapped his fingers in front of Tony, gaining his attention but the action caused him to wince. The man scoffed, unimpressed. “I expected more fight. But I suppose you’re not fully awake yet. No matter. You’ll serve your purpose soon enough.” He paused, glancing behind him at the soldier.

“Soldier,” he said sharply, “babysit the billionaire. Make sure he is well looked after. When he’s fully conscious, I’ll need him to understand the gravity of our request. I’ll be back in a few days, perhaps weeks. Make sure he’s watered and fed.” He grinned, showing off his off-white crooked teeth. The male stood and strode from the room, boots clicking against the metal floor. The door sealed behind him with a heavy clang, leaving Tony alone, save for the silent, masked figure leaning against the far wall.

Tony sat himself up, trying not to topple over with the sudden dizziness he felt. He sat up, resting against the wall. Tony tried to size the dark figure up. The black armor looked impersonal, almost intimidating. Yet, the soldier’s posture was careful, controlled, watching. Those eyes… impossible not to notice.

Tony couldn’t help but stare into the males eyes, eyes that stared right back. They looked so familiar. He thought perhaps he had just been obsessing over Bucky Barnes that he could perhaps be wishful thinking.

Tony shifted in the shackle, his usual bravado muddled by exhaustion and the residual haze. “So… babysitter, huh?” he croaked, trying for a joke. His voice sounded alien to his own ears, weak. “Don’t tell me you’re going to kill me if I misbehave.”

Nothing. The masked man remained still, eyes steady and sharp, following every subtle movement Tony made. There was… intensity in those eyes, a quiet command that made Tony feel simultaneously exposed and strangely alive.

Tony swallowed, attempting a more controlled tone. “Alright, fine. Let’s play it your way. No sudden moves. Capisce?” He offered a crooked grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The solitude, the confusion, and the residual effect of the tranquilizer made even sarcasm feel fragile.

The Winter Soldier shifted ever so slightly, just enough that the metal clink of his gear echoed in the quiet cell. His eyes, pale and piercing even through the mask, didn’t waver. There was patience there. And something else — something that made Tony’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t understand.

He exhaled slowly, trying to calm the pulse hammering in his veins. “Okay… guess we’re doing this silent, brooding type thing, huh?” Tony’s usual humor felt hollow. The man in black didn’t react, and that only made Tony’s mind wander further.

Why do I feel like he’s looking right through me? Tony thought, his brow furrowing. And why… why does it feel familiar?

He shook his head, dismissing the fleeting pang of recognition. It was absurd. He didn’t know this man. Didn’t know his name. Didn’t know his face. And yet… there was something magnetic about him. Something that made Tony wish, even in his groggy, chained state, that he could see more. Could know more.

Hours could have passed in silence. The cell smelled of cold metal and faint antiseptic. The quiet stretched and twisted, a strange companionship forming in the space between two people who couldn’t yet speak. One, a billionaire genius barely awake, chained and vulnerable. The other, a ghost of Hydra’s making, watching over him with disciplined restraint.

Tony rubbed his ankle against the shackle, trying to ease the discomfort. He finally murmured, quieter this time, almost to himself: “You’re going to be interesting to figure out, aren’t you…”

The Winter Soldier’s eyes didn’t blink. And for reasons Tony couldn’t name, that made his chest twist in a way both thrilling and terrifying.

Chapter Text

Tony had no idea how long he’d been sitting there, he knew it was a few hours, there were no windows so he couldn’t tell if it was day or night. He shuffled uncomfortably against the shackle, talking to the silent figure across the cell like it was an old friend. Words spilled out of him in uneven bursts, nonsense and confessions all wrapped together.

“You know… I once tried to build a suit that could serve espresso…in mid-air. Genius idea. Totally impractical. Could’ve been revolutionary…or catastrophic. Actually, probably catastrophic. Jarvis would’ve hated it. Pepper definitely would’ve hated it.” His voice wavered with a humorless laugh. “And yet, here I am, chained like a common… common whatever it is you call prisoners. Prison…person…Ugh.”

The masked man didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t judge. He simply watched, and Tony found himself rambling faster, desperate for the sound of another presence.

“And, uh…I have this companion. Well, not a companion like you think. Dum-e. My robot. Totally untrained, built him in MIT. Almost short-circuited once. Almost attacked me once, well more than once with a fire extinguisher! But, uh…cute in a metallic, slightly homicidal way, one claw arm, a bit like yours! Definitely smarter than some people I know. Not saying who. Definitely not saying who.”

Tony’s gaze wandered involuntarily to the silent figure across the cell. The armored silvered metal arm gleamed under the harsh light. Holy crap…Dum-e would flip if he saw that. He couldn’t help but compare: Dum-e’s joints always jammed when he got excited, arms sometimes misfiring, but this… this was sleek, powerful, precise. That’s… not a robot. That’s a weapon. His mind raced, fascinated despite himself. “Yeah… okay, I see it. You and Dum-e… you’re nothing alike. But kind of similar. Cold, metal, deadly when provoked. But, uh…at least Dum-e doesn’t stare at me like he wants to eat my soul. Yet.”

A low, almost imperceptible mumble came from the shadowed figure.

“Bambi.” The word came low, rough, muffled through the mask, carrying a faint Russian lilt with a subtle, almost imperceptible Brooklyn drawl. Just one syllable, clipped and deliberate, threaded with a hint of warning and something softer, protective. Tony froze mid-ramble. The sound was strange and captivating, it made the sterile cell feel smaller, closer, like a spark flickering in the darkness.

Tony froze mid-sentence. “What?” His eyes narrowed, still trying to make sense of it. “Did…did you just call me Bambi?”

The soldier didn’t answer directly, but the word hung in the air, weighty in its simplicity. Bambi. Tony’s chest warmed without warning, and he couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or something else.

Tony tilted his head, squinting. “Uh…that’s cute? Wait. Wait, don’t answer that. I’m not…I’m not judging. Honestly, I like it. It’s…well you’ve clearly been watching me, haven’t you? Admit it!”

Still, the soldier remained silent, only his piercing blue eyes observing, scanning. The faint shift of weight, the tilt of his head, and the way he lingered just close enough to be noticed, it was like the smallest, most intimate gesture Tony had ever felt from a stranger. From anyone really. Even from Rhodey!

Tony let out a half-laugh, shaking his head. “I swear…if I survive this, I’m putting that in my autobiography. Chapter one: Chained in a Hydra cell, nicknamed Bambi by a mysterious, terrifying operative. Yeah. Definitely a bestseller.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyes flickered just slightly, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough. It was a small acknowledgment, and Tony didn’t miss it. Small victories, he thought. Tiny sparks in a room full of cold metal and danger.

Tony had thought best not to push his luck, he still felt exhausted from the tranquilizer, and he felt himself drifting asleep against the cold tile wall.

 

Day one

The first light of the cell’s harsh overhead lamps stung Tony’s eyes. He groaned, shifting against the cold, unyielding floor. His ankle ached where the shackle bit into his skin, and his head throbbed from the tranquilizer that had finally worn off.

Across the cell, the Winter Soldier remained leaning against the far wall, silent, still, a shadow in black armor with eyes that seemed to pierce right through the dim light. Tony blinked a few times, trying to focus.

“Alright,” he muttered, wincing as he tugged slightly against the shackle. “Day one… what do we do here? Breakfast? Brainteasers? A friendly game of…whatever the hell Hydra people play?”

Nothing. The soldier’s eyes simply tracked him, unblinking, unreadable.

Tony swallowed and tried again, softer this time. “So…do you talk? Or is this one of those silent type scare tactics? Totally intimidating. I like it. I think.” He scratched at his hair, ruffling it in frustration. “You know, Dum-e would’ve handled this differently. Actually, Dum-e probably wouldn’t have cared at all. He’d just…punch a hole in the wall or—”

He stopped, noticing the faint movement of the soldier’s arm, the metal gleaming under the harsh light as it flexed, precise and powerful. “Whoa…okay, yeah. That’s…impressive. Dum-e’s joints always jammed when he’s overexcited. Can’t handle precision like that. No wonder Hydra made you…whatever you are.”

The Winter Soldier shifted slightly, just enough that Tony caught a flicker of acknowledgment, almost imperceptible. Tony blinked, unsure if it was real. Did he just…move? Or am I still high?

A tray of food appeared at the edge of Tony’s awareness, water, a small plate of bland rations, placed deliberately within his reach. No words, no instructions. Just there. Tony squinted. “Ah…okay. Not threatening, yet helpful. Very considerate. Thank you…uh…mysterious silent man. You’re very polite for a killer robot.”

Still, the soldier said nothing. He simply stood back, watching, observing, waiting. And that was enough for Tony to feel…strangely reassured.

Tony flopped back against the wall, dragging his shackle across the floor. “You know, you could at least laugh. Or yell. Or do something! You don’t have to just… stare. That’s unnerving. But, uh… kind of effective.” He gave a small, humorless chuckle. “I mean… if you wanted to terrify me, congratulations. Mission accomplished.”

Hours passed in quiet tension. Tony tried to entertain himself with half-formed plans, imagining how he could escape, rambling about Dum-e’s upgrades, or theorizing wildly about Hydra’s next move. The soldier remained silent, never judging, never leaving — only occasionally shifting, adjusting the weight of his armored frame.

By what Tony assumed was evening, Tony’s stomach grumbled. The soldier left the room and returned with a new tray. Tony reached for the tray, which was already replenished with warm water and another small meal. No words. The gesture alone spoke volumes. Careful, precise, necessary. Tony caught himself staring at the soldier, noting the subtle movements: the way his head tilted when listening, the almost imperceptible flex of the metal arm, the steady, unyielding calm in his gaze.

Tony leaned back against the wall, dragging his shackle slightly, and gave the Winter Soldier a long, exaggerated look. “Hey… do you even sleep?” he asked, voice laced with mock curiosity. “Or are you one of those superhuman types that just… stares at people all day and never needs rest?”

No response. Just the quiet, unblinking gaze from behind the mask.

Tony tilted his head, pouting slightly, like a child denied candy. “Seriously? Not even a hint? Come on…I’ve been talking, rambling, sharing my life…my robot, my espresso suit fiascos…and all I get in return is one nickname. One!” He jabbed a finger toward the masked figure, frustration threading through his tone. “Bambi! That’s it! That’s your big contribution to our bonding experience!”

He let out a dramatic sigh and slumped a little further against the wall. “Unfair. Totally unfair. One nickname, and then back to mysterious silent brooding. Really, I should be offended. But somehow…I’m not.” He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not even a little.”

And with that, Tony fell into quiet again, picking at the tray of food, letting the silence stretch between them, long, heavy, and charged, as the Winter Soldier simply continued to watch, unflinching, unreadable.

By the end of the first day, Tony sat cross-legged on the floor, legs stiff, shackle clinking with every subtle movement. His usual bravado had softened; the humor was still there, but it was quieter now, thoughtful. Across the room, the Winter Soldier remained a silent sentinel, and Tony realized something he didn’t expect: he wasn’t entirely alone. Not yet. And maybe… that was enough to survive another day.

 

Day Two

Tony woke to the metallic hum of the cell and the faint scrape of metal across stone. Groggy, he squinted through the dim light and noticed the Winter Soldier moving, not standing still, not leaning against the wall, but pacing. Slowly, methodically, like a predator confined to a cage, the soldier’s boots echoed softly against the floor.

Tony shifted, dragging his shackle slightly, trying not to wince. “Uh…morning cardio?” he called out, his voice rough from sleep. “Or are you…plotting world domination? Because either way, very intimidating.”

The Winter Soldier didn’t respond. He simply continued pacing, eyes scanning the cell, fingers flexing in the black metal of his arm. The rhythm was precise, almost obsessive, and Tony couldn’t help but watch. There was an intensity to him, a restless energy that made the air in the cell feel charged.

Tony wiggled his foot against the shackle. “You know…if my foot wasn’t locked down, I’d totally join you. Keep pace. Could be fun. Sort of bonding exercise.” He tried to offer a half-grin, though it faltered as he noticed the steady, unblinking gaze from across the cell. “No? Too dangerous? Fair enough. I get it. Can’t have me messing with your super-secret Hydra pacing routine.”

He leaned back against the wall, sighing. “I swear you’re like a caged lion. Only colder. And way more metal. Dum-e would be impressed, though. Or terrified. Probably terrified.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. The Winter Soldier’s steps carried a quiet cadence, metal arm catching the dim light as he turned a corner and started pacing again. Tony let himself study him, the subtle tilt of his head, the faint tightening of his jaw, the way his piercing blue eyes seemed to track everything. Even when he doesn’t speak, he’s saying something.

Tony’s gaze dropped to the floor, feeling the dull ache in his ankle. “I could get used to this, you know,” he muttered softly, almost to himself. “The pacing, the silent brooding…kind of comforting, in a weird, Hydra-abducted way. Not saying you’re normal. Definitely not saying that.”

The Winter Soldier’s pace didn’t falter, but the faintest shift of weight, a minuscule acknowledgment, made Tony sit up straighter. He notices me. He’s…aware. That tiny detail, almost imperceptible, sent a small thrill through him.

Tony leaned back, letting his arm drape across his knees, and murmured quietly, “You’re weird. But…interesting.”

By mid-afternoon, Tony noticed something different. The Winter Soldier was no longer just pacing along the perimeter of the cell. He moved with purpose now, circling closer to where Tony sat cross-legged, occasionally pausing as if inspecting something, a shackle, a tray, or just Tony himself.

Tony frowned, dragging his ankle slightly against the chain. “Okay…I’ve been sitting here like a human pincushion all morning. And now you’re circling? Inspecting? I mean, I appreciate the vigilance, but it’s a little creepy.” He gave a small, nervous laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, though. Creepy can be fun. In small doses.”

The soldier’s metal arm caught the light again as he adjusted the tray Tony had knocked slightly off-center, then stepped back with deliberate care. He didn’t speak, didn’t meet Tony’s gaze for long, but there was a subtle tension in his movements, controlled, precise, and protective.

Tony tilted his head, studying him. “You know, you’re kind of like Dum-e. Only taller. Deadlier. And terrifyingly efficient. And somehow… noticing me more than I expected. What are you… a cat? You’re like a very scary, metal cat stalking your… uh… prey?”

The Winter Soldier paused mid-step, fingers curling slightly, and for a moment, Tony thought he saw a flicker, a hesitation, before the soldier resumed his quiet patrol, keeping the same careful distance but never letting Tony out of sight.

Tony let out a breath and grinned despite himself. “Alright I see how it is. Silent, brooding, circling protective. You’re weird. But weird works. Sort of.”

He shifted his weight slightly, wiggling his foot against the shackle. “If I could get up, I’d probably pace with you. Keep you company. Maybe even challenge you to a pacing-off? You’d lose, by the way. Totally.”

The soldier didn’t respond, but the faintest shift of his weight as he passed Tony again, just close enough that Tony could feel it, made Tony’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t understand. He’s here. Watching. And it’s not threatening. Not completely.

Tony leaned back, letting his arms rest on his knees, and muttered softly, half to himself, “Small steps, right? I can handle small steps. Even if they’re pacing, brooding, terrifying steps.”

Tony squirmed in his shackle, groaning. “Okay seriously. I’ve been sitting here for at least two days. My ankle is numb, my legs are stiff, and…uh…I really need a bathroom break. And maybe to stretch a little before I, you know, cramp up into some sort of modern art sculpture called ‘Tony Stark: Frozen in Metal.’”

The Winter Soldier paused mid-step, tilting his head slightly. Then, with deliberate precision, he moved closer, never breaking the silent rhythm. Without a word, he gently guided Tony to stand, undoing the shackle on his ankle. Tony’s hands were then carefully tied behind his back, a calculated restraint that prevented sudden movements but didn’t hurt.

Tony raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin forming. “Wow…wow. Okay. That’s…uh…careful. I mean, I get it, safety first. But also…kind of kinky, don’t you think?” He laughed, dragging his bound hands slightly as he stretched his legs. “Just saying, most people don’t tie me up and let me wander around. You, you’re special.”

The soldier didn’t respond, of course. He simply stood nearby, watchful, precise, making sure Tony didn’t stumble or try anything reckless. His blue eyes, piercing through the mask, never left Tony’s movements.

Tony stretched his neck, rolling his shoulders, and let out a mock-serious sigh. “Alright, fine. Not completely bad. Could be worse. Could be…like, full-on torture. But, hey, pacing, silent brooding, light bondage, all in a day’s work. Who knew Hydra could be so…domestic?”

For a brief moment, Tony caught the faintest shift in the soldier’s stance, almost like acknowledgment, the slight crinkle around the eyes, tiny, careful, unreadable. That subtle motion alone made Tony’s chest tighten a little.

Once the Winter Soldier guided Tony back toward the corner of the cell, he didn’t reattach the shackle to Tony’s ankle. Tony’s eyes flicked down, surprise written across his face.

“You…you’re not chaining me again?” Tony asked, incredulous. “Wow. What is this…benevolent captor day? Are you giving me a break?”

The soldier said nothing, but instead subtly adjusted Tony’s tied arms, keeping them secure behind his back, then gestured slightly, a silent invitation.

Tony blinked, realization dawning. “Wait…are you wanting me to walk with you?”

Again, no words. Just the precise, deliberate steps of the Winter Soldier as he began to walk slowly across the cell. Tony took a careful step to follow, feeling the freedom return to his foot with each movement.

The soldier’s pace was slow, careful, almost considerate, giving Tony time to adjust and savor the simple feeling of walking unimpeded for the first time in days. Every so often, the soldier’s blue eyes flicked toward him, ensuring he wasn’t straining or stumbling.

Tony’s grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Wow…Okay. You’re considerate. Slow. Patient. Huh…you must like me or something.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Very subtle, very mysterious, but yeah I see it. You’re a fan.” Tony teased

Still, the Winter Soldier didn’t respond, only continued pacing with that measured, careful rhythm, his movements precise, controlled, protective. And Tony, walking alongside him, felt an odd warmth in the quiet, a tiny spark of connection building with every deliberate step.

“I gotta admit, this isn’t terrible,” Tony said softly, leaning back slightly but keeping pace. “Not ideal, sure. Chained up, watched by a terrifying soldier, in a Hydra cell but pacing. I could get used to this.”

The soldier’s eyes flickered, a subtle acknowledgment, almost imperceptible, but Tony caught it. That tiny movement, the faintest hint of awareness, made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected. He’s watching. He cares, somehow.

For the first time since being captured, Tony felt the barest touch of trust.

Tony adjusted his arms behind his back and let himself fall into the rhythm of the slow, careful pace. “You know…” he said softly, glancing up at the soldier’s mask, “I’ve been on some bad dates in my life. Awful, tragic, soul-crushing disasters…” He gave a small shrug. “But honestly? This…this isn’t the worst one I’ve been on. No crowds, no awkward small talk, no overcooked appetizers. Just you, me, pacing in a cell. Very intimate.”

He couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips. “And I swear I can tell. You’re smiling. Just a little. Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

The Winter Soldier didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The tiniest tilt of his head, the faintest softening around the eyes, almost imperceptible, was enough for Tony. He chuckled quietly to himself, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. Yeah, the soldier's enjoying this. Somehow.

Tony shook his head, still grinning. “Alright, alright…I get it. You’re good at the whole mysterious, silent thing. But, uh…pacing date? Not terrible. Definitely not terrible at all.”

Then, low and rough through the mask, carrying that faint Russian-Brooklyn lilt, the soldier muttered:

“Not a date, Bambi.”

Tony froze, eyes wide. He spoke! His chest practically lifted with excitement. “Wait…wait wait wait! Did you just…you actually talked? You said words!” He flailed his hands slightly behind his back. “Oh my God, yes! This is amazing. I…I can’t believe this! My mysterious, terrifying, silent cellmate actually spoke!”

The Winter Soldier’s pace didn’t falter, calm and deliberate, and then, almost casually, he added::

“I can do better date’s than this.”

Tony’s grin widened, practically bouncing on his toes despite the numbing in his ankle and legs. “Wait, WHAT?! Did you just…promise a better date?!” He leaned slightly forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Are you seriously…flirting with me while pacing in a Hydra cell? Because I am all in! I’ll take you up on that. Just tell me when.”

The Winter Soldier didn’t break stride, but the faintest tilt of his head, almost imperceptible, was enough for Tony. That subtle acknowledgment made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected. Yes…yes! That’s human. That’s playful. That’s something.

Tony shook his head, still grinning. “Alright…apparently, I’ve got a mysterious, silent admirer who calls me Bambi and promises better dates. But for now…pacing works. Surprisingly it works.”

Chapter Text

Day Three

Tony stirred awake, groaning softly as his eyes fluttered open. once again the harsh light of the cell hit him, and he immediately noticed something unusual, his ankle wasn’t chained. He sat up slowly, wincing at the dull ache that reminded him of yesterday’s pacing.

A dark, heavy black leather jacket was draped over his shoulders, warm against the chill of the cell, it smelt of leather and gunpowder. He touched it, confused and in awe. His gaze swept the room. And he’s…gone.

The Winter Soldier wasn’t leaning against the wall. He wasn’t pacing silently nearby. The cell felt impossibly vast, the quite oppressive. Tony’s chest tightened as a pang of, something unexpected hit him. He’s not here. And I…I miss him.

“Dammit,” Tony muttered under his breath, feeling tears well in his eyes, leaning back against the wall and tugging the jacket tighter around his shoulders. “Seriously? I…I got attached. To my captor. To Hydra’s silent, metal-armed nightmare.” He ran a hand through his messy hair, frustration and disbelief warring with a strange, tender ache. “Of all people, of all situations…how did I…care about him?”

He stood slowly, stretching his sore ankle and wincing at the sensation of freedom. The quiet emptiness of the cell pressed in on him. He paced a few steps, dragging his toes over the floor, feeling the absence of the soldier, the way he had quietly filled the space, had subtly protected him. Or so Tony assumed.

“I hate that I…missed him,” Tony muttered, voice tight. “I hate that I…care. I can’t…I shouldn’t. And yet…” He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head, dropping it to his knees. “Of course. Tony Stark, master of disaster, and somehow… infatuated with the man who kidnapped him. A man whose eyes are just like my childhood crushes! Perfect. Just perfect.”

The silence stretched between him and the empty room. And for the first time, Tony truly realized how much the Winter Soldier’s quiet, careful attention had meant to him in the short time. the pacing, the tied arms, the subtle gestures of care. Even without words, even without a smile, the soldier had left an imprint.

Tony sank back against the wall, pulling the jacket tighter. “Alright… Day 3. Still alive. Still… ridiculously alone. And apparently… still a fool.”

And that's when Tony’s chest tightened as the realization hit him: he was truly alone. No armor to protect him, no Rhodey to call, no Pepper to save him from the worst of his own reckless plans, no Happy to make sense of the chaos. Just him…and the cold, empty cell.

Panic clawed at his mind. His breaths came in sharp, shallow bursts as he stumbled backward, fingers clawing at his reactor. “No… no, this isn’t… I can’t… I can’t be alone here!” His voice cracked, echoing off the concrete. “I can’t die like this! Not alone! Not without…anything!”

His vision blurred, and the room spun. Thoughts collided: What if Hydra comes back? What if the Ten Rings find me? What if no one ever…finds me? The overwhelming weight pressed down, hands trembling.

Then, almost silently, a shadow moved beside him. The Winter Soldier appeared, smooth and deliberate, his presence calm and grounding. Without a word, he knelt beside Tony, placing a careful, strong arm around him, pulling him close. The touch was firm but protective, a silent anchor in the storm of Tony’s panic.

Tony gasped, clinging to the soldier’s side. “I…I can’t… I’m…I…” His words faltered into ragged breaths, but the closeness, the unyielding steadiness of the soldier, did something unexpected: it began to slow the rapid drum of terror in his chest.

The Winter Soldier held him, arm tightening slightly in reassurance. Not a word, not a lecture, just presence, grounding Tony in the moment, reminding him that he wasn’t completely alone.

Tony let out a shaky laugh between sobs, voice muffled against the soldier’s chest. “You’re…you’re ridiculous. You…you’re just…a terrifying, metal-armed enigma. And somehow…somehow…you’re just here.”

The soldier shifted slightly, adjusting the hold, and for the first time, Tony felt the faintest flicker of calm, not total relief, but a tether, a lifeline. And for the first time since being captured, he allowed himself to rely on another person completely, even if he didn’t know who they really were.

He stayed pressed against the Winter Soldier’s chest, shivering from both fear and the faint warmth of protection, letting the quiet silence carry him out of the panic, one careful breath at a time.

After a few long, grounding breaths, he felt a subtle shift, the soldier’s arm tightened gently around his shoulders, not forcefully, but just enough to remind him he wasn’t alone.

Then, in that low, rough voice, the Winter Soldier murmured softly, almost hesitantly, “It’s alright, Doll…breathe. I’m here.”

Tony blinked, caught off guard and it was like a switch. “Doll? Doll? Really? That’s…that’s your comforting nickname for me?” He let out a small breathless laugh, though it trembled with the lingering panic. “What are you, from the 1940s? Come on, that’s vintage, man. Very old-fashioned. Classic, I’ll give you that.”

The Winter Soldier didn’t respond verbally, but his body language softened further. He shifted slightly, letting Tony lean fully against him, his presence steady and solid. Even through the mask, the tilt of his head and the careful positioning of his metal arm spoke more than words ever could.

Tony exhaled slowly, letting himself relax just a fraction. “Alright… vintage man, mysterious silent Hydra enigma… whatever you are,” he said with a faint grin, “thanks for… you know… not letting me completely lose it back there. I owe you one.”

The soldier’s gaze lingered on him, unflinching but gentler now, almost human in its attentiveness. Tony couldn’t help the small, teasing smile that tugged at his lips. “Okay…fine. Maybe Doll isn’t the worst. Could get used to this kind of nicknames...Bambie...Doll… though I’m warning you, I have very high standards for heroic captors.”

He chuckled softly, finally feeling a little bit of warmth, not just from the jacket draped over his shoulders, but from the quiet, protective presence beside him. The Winter Soldier said nothing else, only held him closer, patient and careful. And for the first time in days, Tony let himself believe that maybe, somehow, he could survive this, not just physically, but emotionally too.

Tony shifted slightly, still leaning against the Winter Soldier, feeling the steady weight and warmth of him beside the cold emptiness of the cell. His breaths were slowing now, panic fading into a lingering tremor.

“So…” Tony began softly, voice almost hesitant, “what do Hydra actually want? I mean…I can guess, but… why me? Why all this? Why not my suits?” He tried to keep it casual, even joking a little to mask the fear still fluttering in his chest. “I’m not exactly the world’s most humble guy, but I’d like to think I’m not that dangerous.”

For the first time, the Winter Soldier didn’t just stay silent. His voice, low and rough, carried a careful weight, a rare sliver of openness. “They do not want…Iron Man. Not the suit. Not the weapons. They want…you. Tony Stark. Your mind. Your inventions. Your brilliance. They plan things only you can build.”

Tony frowned, chewing his lower lip. “Right…sure. Hydra always wanted the genius Stark. Of course. But… there’s more, isn’t there?”

The soldier’s metal arm flexed slightly, fingers tightening just enough that Tony felt the subtle pressure of vigilance. Then, almost quietly, he said, words slow and deliberate:

“They want control. Power. But…you…you are part of something bigger. A piece they cannot…fully understand. That’s why I’m here. To 'Babysit’ you…until it’s done.”

Tony shifted slightly, still leaning against the Winter Soldier, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “You know…” he said softly, looking up into the soldiers blue eyes, “that’s the most you’ve actually spoken since I woke up here. Not a single word wasted. Very efficient, very mysterious. I like it.”

The Winter Soldier remained silent, though the faintest shift of his head hinted at acknowledgment. Tony’s grin widened. “See that? That’s acknowledgment. That’s your version of smiling, right? Yeah, I’ll take it.”

After a pause, Tony’s curiosity got the better of him. “So…uh…what’s your name? Or do I have to keep calling you…Hydra’s Silent Nightmare?” He gave a playful shrug. “Not that I mind, really. But I think names are…important. Makes things more personal, don’t you think?”

The soldier hesitated. His hand tightened slightly on the jacket around Tony’s shoulders, and his piercing eyes flicked downward. Words didn’t come immediately, and Tony could see the tension in the pause.

“Alright, fine,” Tony said, feigning mock disappointment. “If you won’t tell me your name…maybe you could just take the mask off. I mean…come on, I’ve been stuck staring at a steel mask for days. Surely, I deserve to see the face behind all this mystery. Beautiful face, I’m betting.”

The Winter Soldier’s head tilted very slightly, and his hand hovered near the edge of the mask, though he didn’t remove it. The faintest hesitation, the almost imperceptible softness in his posture, spoke more than words ever could.

Tony leaned closer, grin still teasing but voice gentler now. “I’m not asking to make fun or anything. Just let me see you. Face-to-face. No steel, no mystery. Just…you.”

For a long moment, the Winter Soldier didn’t move, but the closeness, the steady weight of his arm around Tony, and the careful way he stayed near him, it was enough. Tony let out a soft, exasperated laugh, pressing a little more into the warmth. “Fine…keep your secrets for now. But you know…someday…I’m gonna get that face.”

 

Day Four

Tony’s eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, he felt weightless , safe, until he realized he wasn’t just in the cold, empty cell. He was in the Winter Soldier’s arms, cradled carefully against the soldier’s chest. The jacket from yesterday had somehow ended up wrapped around both of them, warmth pressed in on all sides.

Tony froze, a wave of embarrassment flooding him. Oh, brilliant, Stark. This is not the time for vulnerability. Panic, awkwardness, full-on human attachment in Hydra captivity.

To hide it, he tried to joke. “Well…this is…cozy. Not exactly my usual Sunday morning routine, but hey it could be worse. I could be sharing a bed with Happy or Rhodey. Yeah…that’d be fun, huh?” he said acting as if the soldier knew who Happy and Rhodey were.

The Winter Soldier made no sound, no response. He simply held Tony closer, the pressure of his metal arm firm yet gentle, steady. The silence carried a weight of calm authority, a reminder that here, right now, Tony didn’t have to be clever or joking. He could just be.

After a moment, the soldier’s low, measured voice broke the quiet, carrying a faint Russian-Brooklyn lilt. “The director will come today.”

Tony blinked, the humor fading instantly. “Oh. Right. Of course. Mr. Hydra’s Charming Visitor. Can’t wait.” His lips pressed into a thin line, but the soldier’s firm hold kept him grounded.

Tony exhaled slowly, letting himself relax slightly against the warmth and steadiness of the Winter Soldier. God… I hate that I rely on him this much. And yet… I do.

He shifted just a fraction, eyes meeting the piercing gaze. “Great. Can’t wait for our little chat. I should really prepare a PowerPoint or something.”

The Winter Soldier didn’t respond to the sarcasm . His grip on Tony’s shoulder tightened slightly, not in warning, but in something closer to reassurance. His voice came out low and firm, with that subtle Russian-Brooklyn undertone.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

The words hung in the air like a live wire. They weren’t loud, but they carried a quiet conviction that made Tony freeze. His breath caught, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

The Winter Soldier’s eyes widened a fraction, the barest flicker of surprise, as if he hadn’t even realized he was going to say it. He looked momentarily unsettled. Confused by his own words.

Tony stared at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and warmth. “Wow,” he whispered, a shaky smile tugging at his lips. “That’s…probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a Hydra cell. Or, you know, ever.”

The soldier’s jaw tightened beneath the mask. He turned his head slightly, as if to hide the flicker of emotion that had escaped. But he didn’t take the words back. He didn’t retreat.

Tony let out a quiet breath, his heart pounding a little harder than he wanted to admit. “You mean that, don’t you?” he said softly. “You’re…not just here to guard me. You’re…protecting me.”

No response. Just that intense, unwavering stare. And it was answer enough.

He tilted his head up to study the masked figure holding him. The Winter Soldier’s gaze was fixed somewhere distant, like even he was trying to process what had just come out of his mouth.

Tony broke the silence softly. “Why?”

The Soldier’s head turned, eyes snapping back to him with that sharp, assessing intensity.

“Why are you protecting me?” Tony asked. There was no bravado in his voice this time, no quip to hide behind. Just genuine curiosity. “You’re Hydra’s muscle. Their attack dog. You’re supposed to keep me in line, not…hold me and promise no one will hurt me. So why?”

For a long moment, the Soldier didn’t move. His breathing was even, controlled. Then, slowly, almost against his own will, he spoke.

“…I don’t know.”

His voice was low, threaded with that Russian-Brooklyn lilt, but there was something else this time, uncertainty. Vulnerability.

Tony blinked, taken aback by the honesty.

The Soldier’s gaze flickered, as if searching for the right words, but all that came out was a quiet, almost reluctant admission.

“But… you mean something.”

The words were barely above a whisper, but Tony heard them. Felt them. They hit him somewhere deep, a place he’d thought was locked off.

He gave a shaky little laugh, trying to stop the warmth from spreading through his chest. “I…mean something? Wow. That’s…not usually the response I get in hostage situations. Usually it’s more, you know, ‘shut up, Stark’ or ‘give us the tech.’”

The Soldier didn’t respond, but his eyes held Tony’s, steady and unflinching. There was no joke there. No manipulation. Just truth.

Tony exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly against the Soldier’s chest, heart hammering. “Well…guess we’re both confused then.”

Something softened in the Soldier’s gaze at that, the smallest flicker, as if, for the first time, they both understood that whatever was happening between them wasn’t part of Hydra’s plan.

For a few long seconds, the silence between them lingered — warm, fragile, something new taking root. Tony’s question still hung in the air, and the Soldier’s answer had cracked something open between them.

Then, slowly, the Soldier shifted. His gloved fingers moved toward the straps of his mask, hovering at the edges like someone testing a boundary they’d never dared cross before.

Tony’s breath caught. He’s… going to show me?

The Soldier’s eyes were fixed on Tony’s, sharp, intense, but softened in a way Tony hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t the blank, unfeeling mask of a weapon. It was purely him.

But then, the soldiers head jerked slightly, a subtle tilt, like a predator catching a sound far down the hall. His entire posture changed in an instant.

“...What is it?” Tony whispered.

The Soldier didn’t answer. His movements snapped into efficient precision. He crossed the cell swiftly, retrieving the discarded shackle. Before Tony could say a word, he knelt and locked it around Tony’s ankle with quick, practiced ease.

“Wait—” Tony started, confusion flaring.

The Soldier reached for the jacket next, carefully wrapped it around Tony’s shoulders, his hands moved with urgency. Then he stepped back, by the door, posture straightening.

Tony saw it then, the faintest flicker in his eyes. An apology.

Through the cell door, Tony heard it too now: the distinct echo of approaching footsteps. Heavy. Measured. The Director.

The Soldier moved to his usual post in the corner, mask on, shoulders squared, the silent warden once more. In the span of seconds, the warmth of the last few minutes was swept away, replaced by cold routine.

Tony sat there, ankle shackled, jacket around him like a quiet secret, his heart still hammering from the almost-unmasking. His eyes met the Soldier’s across the dim light of the cell.

And even behind the mask, he could see it, that lingering look. I wanted to… but I couldn’t.

Chapter Text

The door creaked open, the harsh fluorescent corridor light spilling in and slicing through the dim room. The tall man entered with the easy confidence of someone who’d been rehearsing this moment for years, his eyes were sharp.

“Anthony Stark,” the Director purred, drawing out his name like he was savoring a fine wine. His voice was smooth, cultured, the kind that might’ve charmed Tony years ago at a gala, before caves and shrapnel changed everything. “I must say, it's nice to see you properly awake. After all, I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Tony leaned back against the wall, arms loose over his knees. “Yeah? Well, most people just book an appointment. You could’ve called my assistant.”

The Director chuckled, a sound that didn’t reach his eyes. He began pacing slowly, every step measured. “But you don’t have an assistant no more, do you?” Tony innerly winced remembering the betray of Agent Romanoff, and that Pepper is now more his boss than assistant. “Once upon a time, Mr. Stark, you were the kind of man who understood power. Who lived for the thrill of innovation, the adoration of the world, the empire beneath your feet. A visionary. A man like that doesn’t come along often.”

Tony tilted his head, watching him carefully. A few years ago, that speech might’ve inflated his ego like a hot-air balloon. Now, it just made his skin crawl.

“You’re flattering me,” Tony said lightly, masking the unease with a smirk. “I’d almost think you want something.”

“Want?” The Director stopped pacing and leaned in slightly, as if sharing a delicious secret. “I need you. Not the suit. You, Anthony. Hydra doesn’t make the mistake of confusing the weapon with the man who wields it. Iron Man is a shell. But Tony Stark, oh, Tony Stark is brilliance incarnate.”

Tony’s stomach turned. Natasha’s words echoed in the back of his mind “The Iron Man, yes. Tony Stark? Not recommended.” But now they were twisted...Iron Man no, Tony Stark yes! And Tony didn’t know if he liked this version better.

Tony gave a sharp, humorless little laugh. “Sorry, I’m out of the world-domination business. Gave up my membership card ages ago.”

The Director didn’t react outwardly, but there was a flicker in his eyes, irritation. “We’ll see,” he said smoothly. “For now…rest. Think. There’s a place for men like you in Hydra’s future. And when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting to hear that famous Stark pitch.”

The Director spun and made his way to the door only to pause at the threshold, just as the door was about to swing shut. His sharp eyes flicked back to the cell, sweeping over Tony one last time. It wasn’t the arc reactor or the smirk on Tony’s face that caught his attention.

It was the jacket.

The thick, dark fabric was draped over Tony’s shoulders, too large, too military to be anything but the Soldier’s. A strange, silent stillness filled the room as the Director’s gaze lingered on it. It was draped over Tony’s shoulders like a casual afterthought, but the sight was anything but casual to the man watching. His expression didn’t change outright, but there was a subtle shift in the air, like the faint scent of ozone before a storm.

Tony felt the air shift. His mind raced, cataloging the look — the subtle narrowing of the Director’s eyes, the faint lift of one brow. It wasn’t overt suspicion, not yet, but the seed was planted.

“Well,” Tony said, lifting a brow and tugging the jacket closer as if he’d been caught stealing a hotel bathrobe. “It’s freezing in here. Not exactly five-star accommodations, you know?”

The Director’s charming smile returned, but now it was colder, more precise. “Comfortable, are we?” he asked softly, almost purring the words. “Ever the resourceful one, Stark.”

Tony gave his best lazy grin, tugging the jacket closer like it was a blanket. “What can I say? It’s chilly in here. You guys should invest in some heating. Not very welcoming for guests.”

For a heartbeat, the Director simply stared at him, predator evaluating prey. Then, slowly, he turned his gaze on the Soldier. “Efficient,” he said at last, though the undertone was sharp. The mask made it impossible to read the Soldiers expression, but his posture had subtly shifted, not flinching, not defensive, but alert. “I like to see initiative in keeping our assets functional.” The Soldier didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply stood like a statue by the door, but Tony could feel the tension radiating from him, like a bowstring drawn too tight.

The Director lingered for a heartbeat longer, eyes flicking between them. Then, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he turned and stepped out. The heavy door clanged shut, locking them back into their quiet world.

The silence that followed was different now. Thicker. Weighted with the knowledge that the Director had noticed something he wasn’t supposed to.

Tony exhaled slowly, glancing up at the Soldier. “Well,” he muttered, voice low, “that’s not ominous at all.”

But the seed of suspicion had been planted, and for the first time, Tony saw something like worry flicker in those sharp piercing blue eyes.

 

Day Nine

The cell had changed in subtle ways since the jacket incident. The Director hadn’t returned, but the weight of unseen eyes was unmistakable. Tony could feel it, in the way the guards outside walked past more often, in the faint clicks of surveillance equipment he swore hadn’t been there before.

And then there was him.

The Soldier.

He was different now. Not in appearance, he was still so mysterious as ever, still the silent sentinel, mask on, posture immaculate, but his presence changed. Where once he’d lingered close, brushed Tony’s arm without flinching, paced beside him in quiet companionship, he now held himself at a distance.

Hours would pass with him gone entirely, slipping through the door without explanation. And when he returned, there were no soft glances, no grounding touches. Just silence. He stood against the wall like the perfect Hydra weapon they wanted him to be. He only touch Tony when he guided him to the bathroom.

Tony hated it.

He told himself he was fine, that he’d survived worse, that he didn’t need the Soldier hovering like some silent, brooding security blanket. But when the door creaked and the Soldier turned to leave again, something in Tony snapped.

“Hey!” Tony’s voice cracked through the room, sharper than he intended. The Soldier paused, half-turned but silent.

Tony pushed himself to his feet, chains rattling against the floor. “You’re just, what? Gonna walk out again? Like the last four times? Real talkative lately, by the way. Ten out of ten conversationalist. Not even a ‘Hey Doll’ or ‘Bambi’ to be heard”

No reaction. Just that infuriating, unreadable mask.

Tony’s chest tightened. He tried to joke, tried to ease the ache clawing at his ribs. “I mean, here I was thinking what we had was special.” He gave a forced grin, all teeth and brittle bravado. “Was it something I said? You’re not even giving me the silent treatment anymore, you’re giving me the absent treatment.”

Still nothing.

The facade cracked. Tony’s voice softened, the humor bleeding away. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me alone again. Not like this.” Tony felt his chest tighten “Please” he pleaded out breathlessly

The Soldier froze completely. For the first time in days, Tony saw it, that flicker in his eyes. Not cold, not blank. Conflicted.

“You don’t have to talk,” Tony pressed, stepping closer despite the chain tugging at his ankle. “You don’t even have to...I just...I can’t keep doing this. Sitting here wondering if you’re coming back, or if one day it’s gonna be someone else walking through that door.”

The Soldier’s gloved fingers flexed at his side. His head tilted just slightly, as if part of him wanted to reach out, to reassure. But then his shoulders stiffened again, his training snapping back into place like a trap.

His silence said everything and nothing.

Tony let out a shaky laugh that was anything but amused. “Yeah,” he muttered, looking away. “That’s what I thought.”

The Soldier lingered at the door, fingers resting on the handle. His posture was still rigid, but something had shifted in the air , Tony felt it like a pulse.

For a few heartbeats, there was only silence. Then, the Soldier tilted his head ever so slightly, listening. His enhanced senses stretched out through the corridors, Tony had seen him do it before, the way his entire body went still, like a wolf scenting danger.

After a moment, he slowly stepped back into the room, making a b-line over to Tony.

Tony blinked. “What—?”

The Soldier lifted a finger gently to Tony’s lips a silent gesture for quiet. His gaze swept the corners of the cell, searching for the faint hum of guards or recording devices. Satisfied they were alone for the moment, he turned back to Tony.

And for the first time in days, he spoke.

His voice was low and rough, the faintest trace of a Russian accent curling around the words, softened by something Tony hadn’t expected to hear: care.

“Bambi…”

The nickname slipped out like a confession. Tony’s chest tightened at the sound of it. He didn’t realize how much he missed the Soldier calling him that. The soldier spoke as if Tony was a precious jewel that needed to be treasured.

The Soldier took a careful step closer, his gloved finger gently running through Tony’s now somewhat dirty hair, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want you…safe.”

It was simple. Stark, honest. Not the cold commands he gave when Hydra’s eyes were on them, but something real.

Tony’s breath caught. His first instinct was to crack a joke, to make light of the way his heart suddenly hammered in his chest. But the way the Soldier was looking at him, not through him, at him, he stopped the words before they formed.

Something unspoken passed between them then. A fragile thread of trust.

And just as quickly, the Soldier turned away. The mask slipped back into place, his posture straightened, and the weapon Hydra had made of him returned to the door.

Tony didn’t try to stop him this time. But as the door closed, the words echoed in the quiet cell:

“I want you safe.”

Tony leaned back heavily on the wall and slid down, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his face into them, the Soldiers jacket now a staple he wore all the time “But I need you” He whispered to no one

 

Day Fourteen

Fourteen days.

Tony had counted every single one of them.

Time in the Hydra cell didn’t move like it did in the real world. It stretched, warped, folded in on itself. The lights never dimmed quite enough, the silence was never completely silent, and the walls pressed in just a little tighter each day.

The Soldier was back to his normal routine, always there, but different now. Watchful in the way a security camera was watchful. He’d stationed himself near the door or leaned against the far wall, posture perfect, mask on, expression unreadable.

Tony had learned, after Day 9, to stop pushing. The jacket incident had put more eyes on them; Tony could feel it. The subtle clicks in the corners. The way footsteps lingered longer outside the door. Whatever freedom they’d carved out for themselves had shrunk back into something colder.

So, Tony didn’t talk as much.

He tinkered with imaginary schematics in his head, recited equations just to keep his brain from turning to mush, sometimes talked softly to himself about Dum-E or JARVIS, knowing full well he’d get no response.

But today, the silence pressed harder than usual.

He sat curled in the corner, knees drawn up, chin resting on his arms. The arc reactor hummed softly in his chest, the only thing reminding him he was still alive. He missed noise. He missed touch. He missed the world outside these four walls.

And most of all, God help him, he missed people.

The Soldier stood against the wall opposite him, still and imposing. Watching without looking like he was watching. Tony had gotten used to the weight of that stare; it had become the background hum of his existence.

He let out a shaky breath. “You know,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, “I’m actually starting to miss the sound of my own voice bouncing off these walls. That’s when you know it’s bad.”

The Soldier didn’t move.

Tony laughed, the sound brittle. He tilted his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Vulnerability clawed up his chest like it was trying to break free.

And then, almost without thinking, he held out a hand toward the Soldier.

Not in challenge. Not in demand. Just a need.

His fingers trembled slightly in the air, the gesture so achingly human it made his own throat tighten. “I just…” he started, voice cracking before he could stop it. “Goddammit, I just need a hug.”

For a heartbeat, the Soldier didn’t move.

Then his head tilted, just slightly. His gloved hand twitched at his side.

Tony’s heart pounded, every second stretching into something fragile and infinite.

He didn’t know if the Soldier would come closer. He didn’t know if Hydra was listening this very second. He didn’t even know why he reached out.

He just knew that, in this cold cell, fourteen days into captivity, pretending he didn’t need anyone wasn’t working anymore.

And the Soldier...well

The Soldier didn’t move at first. He just looked.

Tony’s arm hung in the air between them, fingers trembling faintly, his wide brown eyes glistening with a desperation he couldn’t disguise anymore. His usual shields, the snark, the bravado, the endless chatter, had all worn thin. What was left was raw and honest. A beautiful man that just needed to be loved,

The Soldier stared down at him, silent and unreadable, until something inside him cracked.

For a long breath, he simply stood there, listening, the subtle tilt of his head giving him away. He was checking for footsteps, for the hum of surveillance, for them. When he finally moved, it was with the certainty of a man who knew they had a sliver of peace, however brief.

He crossed the space between them in two strides. Tony barely had time to suck in a shaky breath before strong hands reached down, gripping him gently but firmly under the arms, and lifted him up off the floor like he weighed nothing.

Tony gasped, not in fear in relief.

The Soldier pulled him in against his chest, wrapping his arms around Tony in a way that was unexpectedly warm. Not rigid, not perfunctory just utterly real. One metal arm braced against his back, the other curling around his shoulders, holding him steady as if Tony were something precious.

And Tony broke.

A choked sob tore free before he could stop it. His arms shot up, clutching at the Soldier’s vest, fingers fisting in the fabric like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline. Tears slid hot and fast down his cheeks, and he didn’t even know what he was begging for, out, help, comfort, someone.

The Soldier didn’t ask. He just held him closer.

“Bambi…” he whispered against Tony’s ear, the rough edge of his voice softened to something almost tender. The nickname was barely audible through the mask, wrapped in his faint Russian-Brooklyn drawl, but it hit Tony like a heartbeat against his ribs.

Tony buried his face against the Soldier’s shoulder, trembling, the sobs finally shaking free after two long weeks of holding them in.

And for those few stolen moments, there was no Hydra, no chains, no Iron Man. There was just them the broken genius and the silent weapon, holding each other in the dark.

Tony’s sobs gradually slowed, his chest heaving against the Soldier’s broad, steady frame. The warmth, the closeness, it was overwhelming, and for a brief, impulsive second, Tony let his instincts take over.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at the masked face inches from his own. Heart hammering, he rose onto the tips of his toes, leaning forward, and pressed his lips gently against where he assumed the Soldier’s mouth would be beneath the mask.

The contact, soft, tentative against the rough texture of the mask, sent a shock through him. But as soon as the gesture landed, his brain caught up. He froze. His eyes went wide.

“Oh god,” he stammered, pulling back, hands raised in apology. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t— I didn’t mean—”

But the Soldier didn’t wait for more. Something inside him, the tension, the restraint, the weeks of silent longing — snapped.

With a sharp movement, he ripped the mask off in one fluid motion, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy clatter. The cool air hit his face, unmasked for the first time in days, revealing sharp cheekbones, the piercing blue eyes, and the face Tony had never expected to see, the face he recognized from the stories, the one his childhood had idolized.

Tony froze, lips parted, mind whirling. “B-Bucky?” he whispered, disbelief and awe tangled in his voice.

The Soldier’s eyes hardened instantly, defensive, wary. His jaw tightened, the brief vulnerability vanishing like sand through fingers. With a rough voice, measured, and bitter, the brainwashing still holding strong, even in the face of recognition, he spat out “Who the hell is Bucky?”

Chapter Text

Tony’s chest tightened. He stared at the face before him, the man behind the Soldier, the Bucky Barnes he’d only ever known through stories — and realized the impossible truth: Hydra hadn’t just captured him physically. They’d stolen the mind of a legendary hero’s friend, twisting him into the Winter Soldier.

And Bucky — the Winter Soldier — was still inside somewhere, even if he couldn’t admit it yet.

The heavy door banged open before either of them could fully process the quiet between them. Tony flinched and instinctively stepped back into the corner, but Bucky was already moving, rigid and alert, metal arm flexing slightly at his side.

Hydra agents poured in along with the Director who stride confidently at the front. His eyes immediately landed on the Winter Soldier, or rather, the unmasked man standing perfectly still, every muscle taut, every movement precise. He paused for a long moment, letting the silence stretch, a flicker of curiosity and surprise in his gaze, before his grin returned.

“Ah…” the Director said, his voice smooth, almost amused, yet carrying an undertone of menace. He let his gaze linger on Bucky’s face a moment longer, then finally looked at Tony. “So, now you know the truth.” He gestured casually toward the man in front of him, as if the unmasking were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Tony’s stomach twisted. “The truth? And what, exactly, is that?”

“That Hydra’s most fearsome asset isn’t just a story whispered in childhood legends,” the Director said, voice smooth as silk. “It’s right here.” He let his gaze linger on the Winter Soldier for a heartbeat longer, savoring the tension, before turning back to Tony. “And now you know who the Winter Soldier really is.”

Tony’s mind raced, adrenaline surging. He took an instinctive step toward Bucky, who remained perfectly still, staring at him with an intensity that made Tony’s chest ache.

The Director snapped his fingers. “Take them both. Come along.”

Two Hydra agents stepped forward, positioning themselves on either side of Tony, while the Soldier subtly adjusted his stance beside them. Bucky’s eyes flicked toward the agents, then back at Tony. Every muscle in his body tensed, every instinct screaming at him to protect Tony. Bucky didn’t resist, but his eyes stared toward Tony with a small, sharp warning, a silent promise that he will keep him safe.

Tony’s voice cracked and pulse hammered. “Wait! Don’t—”

The Director’s grin widened further, as if Tony’s protest were part of the entertainment. “Do not interfere, Mr. Stark. We wouldn’t want you injured.” He gave Bucky one last piercing look, commanding obedience without words.

And then they moved.

Through dim corridors and stark hallways, Hydra’s boots echoed around them, the metallic clang of their steps merging with the rhythmic hum of machinery. Tony’s chains rattled softly as he kept pace with the agents, kept glancing over at Bucky.

At the end of one of the many corridors, a doors hissed open to reveal a larger, clinical chamber. Sterile white walls reflected the harsh overhead light, bouncing off the polished metal of tables and equipment, wires snaking across the floor like mechanical veins. At the center of it all stood a dentist like chair.

Tony froze.

The device was like something out of a nightmare. Straps, clamps, and electrodes bristled with mechanical precision, and an overhead apparatus loomed like the claws of some steel predator. Tony’s mind raced, and before he could even process the full scope, the Director’s smooth voice cut through the room.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” the Director said, stepping forward, hands clasped behind his back. “A marvel of engineering and psychology. But it's true brilliance lies in its purpose.”

Tony’s brow furrowed. “Purpose?”

The Director’s grin widened, cold and precise. “Ah, Mr. Stark… I see you haven’t been fully briefed. This chair transforms a man into the ultimate asset. A weapon. We call him the Winter Soldier. It doesn’t just enhance strength or reflexes, it erases doubt, suppresses memories, programs obedience. It makes a soldier who will do exactly as we command, and he will believe he is doing it of his own volition.”

Tony’s stomach turned. He glanced at Bucky, standing silently beside him, the faintest flicker of tension in his unmasked face. “Wait… you mean… all the things he’s done? The Winter Soldier… that wasn’t… him?”

The Director’s eyes gleamed. “Correct. James Barnes is still inside somewhere, yes, but we shape what emerges. Memories, emotions, even loyalty, it is ours to direct. Painful? Necessary? Perhaps. But the results, they are perfection.”

Tony’s chest tightened, his fists clenching in the chains. The reality hit him full force. This wasn’t just imprisonment or intimidation. This was systematic erasure of a man’s identity. The Winter Soldier had been molded into a machine, and the man who had protected him, quietly and fiercely, was trapped inside.

The Director gestured toward the chair with casual authority. “Soon, he will need to go through this again. Conditioned further. Refined. See going too long without the use of the machine, brings back the man, a little more damaged but the memories come back eventually. Though going through this process...well, Mr. Stark, I’m sure you can imagine it isn’t pleasant.”

Tony’s mind raced, adrenaline surging. His eyes met Bucky’s, who didn’t respond but flexed slightly, his gaze sharp, protective, and frustrated, as if warning Tony to be careful, to not let Hydra see their connection.

Tony swallowed hard. “I can’t…I won’t let you do this to him again!” he muttered, voice low but determined. “He’s not a weapon. He’s a person.” Bucky’s eyes seemed to widen at that as if a switch flicked in his brain.

The Director’s grin widened, a faint gleam of amusement in his eyes at Tony’s defiance. He stepped closer, palms clasped behind his back, pacing slowly in front of the chair.

“Ah, so noble, Mr. Stark,” he said, his voice silk over steel. “You speak of protecting him, of seeing him as a person, how touching. But I wonder…” He paused, letting the words hang in the air like a guillotine. “Would you still feel the same if you knew the Winter Soldier was responsible for your parents’ deaths?”

Tony’s chest tightened, disbelief and dread mingling in a tight knot. “What… what are you talking about? My parents died in a car accident…it was just a car accident…” His voice cracked, disbelief creeping in.

The Director’s fingers danced over a small remote in his hand, and a large screen behind him flickered to life. Grainy footage filled the room from a CCTV footage from the 90’s. The unmistakable figures of Howard and Maria Stark appeared, moments before the “accident” that had defined Tony’s childhood. And there he was. the Soldier, moving like a ghost of steel and resolve, carrying out the attack with unflinching precision.

Tony staggered backward, chains rattling, a hollow scream caught in his throat. Everything he had believed about that day, the car crash, the random tragedy, crumbled. Hydra had orchestrated it all. And the man in front of him, the Winter Soldier had executed it.

Bucky’s gloved hands clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening. His jaw tightened, the muscle in his neck twitching as if the mere sight of Tony’s anguish was physically painful.

His eyes, piercing, icy, controlled, flickered with something else: shame. A shadow of the man that was being controlled, buried deep under Hydra’s conditioning. Bucky stirred violently at the sight of Tony, so small, so broken, trembling and begging him silently.

Tony’s voice broke, raw with grief. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t you! It was Hydra! I know it was Hydra, but—”

The Winter Soldier’s chest tightened. He wanted to step forward, to reach out, to erase the unbearable weight of that knowledge from Tony’s heart. But he didn’t. Every instinct in him screamed, yet Hydra’s control held firm.

The Director’s smile was cruel, almost gleeful. “You see, Mr. Stark, he is not just a weapon for Hydra. He is an instrument of our choosing. And while you may care for him, he does not choose you. He obeys.”

Tony’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. Rage, disbelief, grief, they all collided in a storm behind his eyes. But beneath it all, a flicker of stubborn defiance burned. He turned to look at Bucky, and even in the mask, even under Hydra’s conditioning, he could see the faintest shift in posture, tension, conflict, hesitation. The Soldiers eyes lingered on Tony, not in cold obedience, not in detachment, but in silent apology. Every line of his face, every micro-expression, whispered: I didn’t choose this. It wasn’t me.

Tony’s voice trembled, raw and desperate. “You… you can’t keep him like this. You can’t! He’s still James Barnes, not your weapon. And I… I’m not giving up on him.”

The Director’s grin widened one last time, a predator savoring the moment. “We shall see, Mr. Stark. We shall see.”

The Director’s eyes gleamed as he gestured toward the ominous chair at the center of the chamber. “Prepare the machine,” he commanded the agents, his voice silky but cutting. “But not for him,” he nodded toward Bucky “but for Stark. If you won’t join us willingly, Mr. Stark, we will make you.” he said coldly looking towards Tony.

Tony froze, heart hammering, the full weight of the threat finally sinking in. “Wait… you’re going to strap me into that thing?” His voice wavered, a mix of disbelief and defiance.

The Hydra agents stepped forward, but before they could reach him, the Soldier moved. Not aggressively, not violently, but a small, deliberate shift, a subtle block between Tony and the agents.

The Director’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and commanding. “Soldier. Strap him in.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. For a moment, silence filled the chamber, heavy and suffocating. His eyes flicked to Tony, who looked up at him, panic and fear laid bare across his face. That sight , Tony wide eyed, begging, vulnerable, desperate, struck something deep and buried in Bucky’s psyche.

The conditioning battled with his instinct. His shoulders tensed, metal arm flexing, and he exhaled slowly, a silent, almost imperceptible tremor running through him.

The Director leaned forward, voice sharp, impatient. “Now, Soldier. Obey!”

Bucky’s hand twitched near the chair’s straps. He wanted to comply, Hydra’s programming demanded it, but another force, buried under years of brainwashing, pushed back. For the first time, he hesitated, his fingers shaking ever so slightly as they hovered over the restraints.

Tony’s voice broke through, small and pleading: “Please… don’t… you don’t have to do this…”

The words hit Bucky like a hammer. His chest tightened, and he swallowed hard, struggling against the invisible chains of Hydra’s control. Every instinct screamed to obey, but every fiber of his being, the fragment of James Barnes still alive, screamed to protect this man before him.

The Director’s grin faltered for just a fraction of a second, recognizing the hesitation. “What is this?” he demanded, voice rising. “You will do as I say!”

Bucky’s eyes met Tony’s, the silent understanding between them sparking, raw and urgent. And though he was still a weapon, still bound by Hydra, the Soldier took a slow, deliberate step back from the chair, flexing his metal arm with barely restrained tension.

The moment stretched, silent and electric. Tony’s eyes were wide, frozen in both fear and awe, as he saw the subtle shift in Bucky’s stance, the tension in his shoulders, the hard edge in his gaze. The Winter Soldier inside him was surfacing, sharp and unyielding, triggered by the danger to Tony.

The Director barked another command, but it didn’t land. Bucky’s eyes snapped toward him, and in that instant, every ounce of Hydra’s conditioning snapped back into obedience, but not to the Director. His target was clear: Keep Tony safe.

With a fluid, terrifying precision, he moved.

Metal arm swung, catching one agent across the chest, sending him crashing into the console. Another agent lunged — Bucky pivoted, blocking with his shoulder, then countered with a controlled, devastating strike that left the man groaning on the floor. Tony’s chains rattled as he ducked instinctively, staring in shock at the man who had been his captor, his protector, and now, his savior.

“Tony! Bambi!” Bucky barked, voice low, commanding, yet laced with something beneath, urgency. “Go! Now!”

Tony didn’t hesitate. He scrambled toward the exit, heart hammering, adrenaline surging, as Bucky tore through Hydra’s ranks with lethal efficiency. Every strike was precise, calculated, a dance of raw power and training honed to perfection. And yet, even in the chaos, Bucky’s eyes constantly flicked toward Tony, tracking him, guarding him, ensuring no one got close.

The Director’s smug grin faltered as his agents fell one by one. He raised his hands, trying to assert control, but Bucky’s fury was a storm, unstoppable and undeniable.

Tony finally reached the door, fumbling with the chains. “Bucky! Come on!” he shouted, panic and relief mixing into a cocktail that made his vision blur. “I’m not leaving without you!”

With one final sweep, Bucky cleared the room, his breathing controlled but harsh. He moved toward Tony, crouching to meet him as he struggled with the restraints. With expert hands, he snapped the chains, freeing Tony’s legs and arms.

Tony stumbled forward, and Bucky caught him instantly, steadying him. Their eyes met, no masks, no secrets, just raw, unguarded relief and connection.

“Let’s go,” Bucky said, voice low, steady, almost human again. His metal arm flexed protectively around Tony as they prepared to make their escape.

Behind them, alarms blared. But for Tony, all that mattered was the man beside him, the Winter Soldier, the protector, the one who had just defied Hydra completely to save him. And every time Bucky’s eyes flicked to him, he heard the soft, almost intimate whisper of a single word only Bucky would call him: Bambi.

Chapter Text

The corridors of the Hydra base stretched ahead like a maze, dimly lit and humming with alarm klaxons. Red lights pulsed overhead, throwing everything into sharp, stuttering shadows. Tony stumbled forward, adrenaline surging through his veins, barefoot on the cold floor.

Bucky moved in front of him like a shadow with purpose, silent, efficient, deadly. Every few steps, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Tony was still close, eyes flicking to him with an intensity that anchored Tony more than he wanted to admit.

“Stay behind me, Bambi,” Bucky ordered, voice low, smooth with a hint of Brooklyn buried under the Russian edge.

Tony huffed, half out of breath, half to cover the way the nickname made his stomach flutter. “Wasn’t planning on running ahead and making friends, thanks.”

Bucky didn’t respond, he raised his fist, signaling Tony to stop. Ahead, two Hydra agents rounded the corner. Before Tony could even blink, Bucky was on them.

He struck with mechanical precision: metal arm to the first agent’s throat, a brutal twist sending him to the floor; a spin, a kick to the second’s gut, followed by a hard elbow that cracked bone. Both fell without a sound. Bucky dragged their bodies to the wall, clearing the way.

Tony swallowed hard. He’d seen plenty of fights, but watching Bucky move was something else. He wasn’t fighting for Hydra now. He was fighting for him.

“Clear,” Bucky murmured, jerking his head for Tony to follow.

They moved through another stretch of corridor, and Tony realized something, Bucky always positioned himself between Tony and any possible threat. Every corner, every doorway, every vent. Tony was never exposed.

When a small squad appeared from a side passage, Bucky shoved Tony gently but firmly against the wall behind him, spreading his stance to shield him. Gunfire rang out. Sparks flew from the metal walls. Tony ducked instinctively, heart slamming in his chest.

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He barreled forward, deflecting bullets with his metal arm, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His movements were a blur, disarming, striking, dropping agents like dominoes. One tried to go for Tony, but Bucky’s hand shot out mid-fight, catching the man by the throat and slamming him into the wall before he could get within a meter.

Tony stared, stunned, at the soldier who had once kept him captive, now protecting him with an almost possessive ferocity.

As the last agent hit the ground, Bucky turned back to Tony, breathing steady despite the fight. His eyes scanned Tony quickly, checking for injuries.

“You’re okay,” he said softly, almost more to himself than to Tony.

Tony forced a shaky grin. “Yeah. You make one hell of a bodyguard, you know that?”

Bucky’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close, Tony took that as a victory. “For you, Bambi,” he said quietly, as if the words came without him realizing.

For a brief second, the hallway was theirs. Bucky stood between Tony and the bodies on the floor, scanning the corridor ahead like a guard dog that refused to relax until every threat was gone.

Tony, still catching his breath, stepped forward slowly. The adrenaline was making his hands shake, but not from fear, from everything. From what Bucky had just done. From how close they’d come. From the realization that, somewhere between captivity and escape, he’d started trusting this man with his life.

“Hey,” Tony said softly.

Bucky turned to him, eyes sharp from battle, but they softened when they landed on Tony.

Tony lifted a hand hesitantly, then reached out and brushed his fingers against Bucky’s cheek. It was a light, grounding touch, his thumb grazing the line of stubble along Bucky’s jaw as he looked into Bucky’s piercing eyes longingly.

“I am Iron Man,” Tony said, voice light, teasing in the way only he could manage in the middle of chaos. “I can look after myself, you know.”

For a heartbeat, Bucky just stared at him, those stormy blue eyes locked on Tony’s. Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth pulled upward, not a smirk, not the Soldier’s blank stare, but something warm and real.

“You don’t have to,” he murmured.

The words hung between them, soft but sure, carrying a weight that made Tony’s breath catch. For once, Tony didn’t quip back. He just looked at Bucky, the Winter Soldier, James Barnes, whatever or whoever, he was, and let the moment settle, warm and fragile, in the middle of a war zone.

Then Bucky leant forward and pressed his dried lips to Tony’s forehead gently and turned back toward the corridor, slipping seamlessly into soldier mode again. “Stay behind me, Bambi,” he ordered quietly.

Tony grinned, a real grin this time.

The corridors finally opened into a cavernous space: the Hydra hangar. It was massive, steel beams crisscrossing above, harsh overhead lights flickering red with the alarms. Rows of transport trucks, weapons crates, and two black stealth aircraft sat in the center like beasts waiting to be unleashed.

Tony slowed for a second, eyes scanning the area. “Okay, big bad secret base, check. Creepy lighting, check. Experimental planes...yeah, that’s about right.”

Bucky didn’t reply. He moved low and fast, his hand automatically reaching back once to tug Tony closer to him, not roughly, just a protective, unconscious gesture. He scanned the hangar systematically, soldier instincts razor sharp. Tony could practically see the gears turning behind his focused expression.

Tony leaned close, whispering, “So, here’s an idea. I hotwire one of those trucks, we go full ‘Fast and Furious,’ crash through the gate—”

Bucky snorted.

Actually snorted.

Tony blinked. “Did you just— hey! I’m being serious here. I’ve done worse with less.”

Bucky shot him a quick side glance, the faintest spark of amusement hiding under that stoic exterior. “Too noisy,” he muttered, voice low with that unique mix of Russian edge and Brooklyn drawl. He nodded toward a shadowed section of the hangar near a ventilation system. “We take the service corridor to the landing platform. Small aircraft. Quieter. Less patrols.”

Tony threw up his hands. “Of course you have the entire base mapped in your head. Why am I even here?”

Bucky kept moving, motioning for him to follow. “You talk too much, Bambi,” he said, almost teasing, but his eyes stayed sharp as they weaved between supply crates. Every time Tony drifted too far from his side, Bucky reached back, fingers curling around Tony’s wrist, keeping him close.

As they crept toward the hangar’s far end, two guards appeared near the platform controls. Before Tony could whisper a plan, Bucky was already gone, a blur of silent, controlled violence. A sweep of his metal arm knocked the first out cold; the second didn’t even have time to raise his weapon before Bucky had him pinned and out.

Tony shook his head, impressed despite himself. “Okay, note to self: never argue escape plans with the scary efficient super soldier.”

Bucky returned to his side, eyes flicking over him in that protective way again. “Stay close, Bambi,” he murmured.

Tony smirked, stepping in behind him. “Wasn’t planning on wandering off. You seem to have it under control.”

They turned a corner and the space opened into a vast, cavernous chamber. Tony froze. He knew these walls. The curved steel beams, the Stark insignia faintly visible beneath peeling paint, the hangar doors designed by his father’s engineers decades ago.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, a bitter laugh catching in his throat. “They didn’t just kidnap me; they squatted in my own backyard.”

The Soldier glanced back, eyes narrowing slightly at Tony’s sudden halt, but before Tony could explain, the heavy clatter of boots surrounded them.

From the shadows of the hangar’s upper walkway, Hydra soldiers emerged one by one — rifles raised, forming a tightening semicircle. At their center, the Director strolled forward with infuriating calm, hands clasped behind his back like a man inspecting his garden.

“Mr. Stark,” he drawled, voice smooth as oil. “It’s poetic, isn’t it? You’ve finally come home.”

Tony’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well, you’ll forgive me if I don’t roll out the welcome mat.”

The Director’s grin widened. “Stark Industries, once the pinnacle of innovation. Now, it’s the perfect cradle for a new world order. And here you are, exactly where you belong.”

He turned his gaze to the Soldier, sharp and appraising. “And you. Our most prized weapon, standing between me and history.”

Bucky shifted imperceptibly, placing himself fully between Tony and the line of Hydra guns, his metal arm glinting faintly under the lights. Tony didn’t even have to think; he mirrored the shift, stepping close enough that his shoulder brushed the Soldier’s arm.

The Director’s eyes narrowed at the subtle intimacy. “How touching,” he murmured. “But you’re outnumbered. Even you, Soldier, can’t protect him forever.”

Tony’s jaw tightened. “Great. Surrounded. And you thought two weeks of fun was enough?” he muttered under his breath.

Bucky’s hand moved instinctively, guiding him closer, positioning Tony more behind him. “Stay behind me, Bambi,” he murmured.

Tony swallowed, he reached forward and gripped on to Bucky’s vest, feeling trapped and exposed. “I could use… some backup right about now,” he muttered, not really expecting anyone to hear.

Then, from the shadows above, a hum began to fill the hangar. Small, almost imperceptible at first, then growing into a mechanical chorus of servos and repulsors. Tony froze, eyes widening.

“What the—”

Before he could finish, dozens of his Iron Man suits descended from hidden compartments in the ceiling and walls, their repulsors glowing with precision light. They moved like a coordinated swarm, neutralizing Hydra agents by disabling their weapons, lifting or pinning them without lethal force.

Tony stumbled back, jaw dropping. “Wait…wait a second. JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS’s calm, familiar voice finally resonated through the hangar, perfectly timed. “It appears I have located you, Mr. Stark. I am very glad you are safe.”

Tony’s mind raced, heart hammering, eyes starting to fill up, he felt like a pround father. “You…you found me? How—”

“No time, sir. Focus on getting to safety,” JARVIS cut in, the suits moving in perfect synchronization to clear the path.

Bucky’s eyes never left Tony, scanning for threats, hand brushing protectively against Tony’s back. When the Director lunged for a sidearm, Bucky was already there, intercepting and forcing the weapon away with calm efficiency.

“You’re not touching him,” Bucky growled, eyes locked on to the director. as if daring him to defy the Soldier. He gripped around the directors necvk using his metal hand and slowly starting to squeeze “You don’t own me anymore” He growled seeing the panic in the directors eyes fade into nothingness.

Bucky dropped the man, looking around ensuring the other agents where being taken care of. “You putting a good show on for me Doll?”

Tony, still in shock but grinning despite it, let his fingers drift to Bucky’s cheek. “I told you,” he teased lightly, “I’m Iron Man. I can look after myself.”

Bucky’s steel-blue eyes softened, and a faint, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “And like I said. You don’t have to, Bambi,” he murmured, voice low and tender.

The last of the Hydra resistance had been cleared. The hangar was bathed in the cold glow of repulsors from the Iron Man suits still hovering like silent sentinels. The rumble of engines echoed through the cavernous space as one of Stark’s private aircraft, a sleek, modified Stark jet, descended from its concealed bay.

“Sir,” JARVIS’s voice crackled through the speakers overhead, steady and warm, “the nearest Stark aircraft has been remotely activated and prepared for departure. It will make the journey I assure you. It’s ready to take you home.”

Tony let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Home. For the first time in nearly two weeks, the word didn’t sound like a distant dream, after his whole feeling lost before he got kidnapped he would do anything to be home right now.

He turned toward Bucky, bright smile, expecting him to follow, but the Soldier had stopped just shy of the aircraft’s ramp. He stood still, expression unreadable but eyes uncertain, fingers flexing slightly against his thigh.

“Bucky?” Tony asked, brows knitting together, smile slowly falling off his face.

Bucky looked at him, then down at the floor, the edges of his stance tightening, Tony never thought he could ever describe Bucky looking small, but he did, so small and so unsure of himself. “I don’t…” He hesitated, the words halting like they were fighting their way past old programming. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

Tony blinked, stunned for only a heartbeat before stepping closer, closing the gap between them. His voice was firm, leaving no space for argument. “That’s not true.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked up, wary.

Tony reached out, fingers brushing against the fabric over Bucky’s chest before reaching up to cup either side of his cheeks. “You have me. Wherever I go, that’s where you belong. You’re coming home with me, got it? Because…” He exhaled softly, searching Bucky’s eyes. “Because you’re my home now too.”

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, the hard soldier exterior flickering with something softer, something achingly human. A slow, teasing smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“So, I just have to do what I’m told, huh?” he said, voice low and warm with a touch of Brooklyn drawl. “Because Mr. Stark’s spoilt?” He leant into the touch Tony was providing.

Tony huffed, pulling back, hands on his hips and pouting, pretending to be offended but failing miserably. “Excuse you, I’m selectively indulged.”

Bucky tilted his head, smirking faintly. “Sure, Doll.”

Tony blinked at hearing his second nickname before smiling. “Hey I’ve been meaning to ask, about those nicknames.”

Bucky glanced down at him, eyes narrowing faintly but softening the instant he caught the soft longing tone. “What about them?”

Tony shrugged, pretending to be casual. “I mean…you’ve been calling me Bambi for a while now, and sometimes I’ve heard you say Doll. I…I’m not sure which one I’m supposed to respond to. Or which one I prefer.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, just the faintest hint of a smile. “Does it matter?” he asked softly, voice low, almost intimate, reaching over to tuck some loose strands of hair from Tony’s face and behind his ear.

Tony leaned slightly closer, tilting his head. “Well, maybe it does. I want to know if I’m your Bambi, or your Doll.”

Bucky’s eyes softened "Both...Bambi suits you, and I don’t really remember being Bucky but Doll seems fitting too.”

Tony grinned, a mixture of relief and delight. “Alright then…” He reached out, taking Bucky’s hand in his. “But just so you know,” he added playfully, “you’re stuck with me, no matter which name you use, or silly nickname I give you.”

Bucky’s gaze lingered on him, protective and tender, before he nodded slightly. “Good,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not going anywhere, Bambi.”

Tony’s chest warmed at the words, and even amidst alarms and chaos, he felt…safe.

“Come on, Buckeroo. Let’s go home.”

Bucky followed, still a little hesitant, but the warmth in Tony’s voice and the steady presence as their hands clasped together was enough. For the first time in decades, he wasn’t walking toward a mission, he was walking toward his person.

Chapter Text

The jet sliced smoothly through the night sky, autopilot engaged, the world below shrinking into distant lights. Inside, the cabin was quiet, only the soft hum of engines and the occasional beeping from the console broke the silence.

Tony leaned back in one of the seats, exhaustion hitting him like a wave now that the adrenaline had finally ebbed. His arc reactor cast a faint bluish glow over the dim cabin. He glanced sideways, Bucky hadn’t moved far. The Soldier stood like a sentinel, still half-on guard.

“Hey,” Tony murmured, voice rough around the edges, “you don’t have to stand the whole flight. We’re not in a Hydra base anymore. No one can hurt us.”

Bucky hesitated, then lowered himself next to Tony. The movement was awkward at first, like someone unused to sharing space, but when Tony shifted closer, letting his knee brush Bucky’s, something eased between them.

Minutes passed like that, in companionable silence. Then Tony shifted again, turning so he could lean against Bucky’s chest. It wasn’t planned, but Bucky’s arm immediately came up around him, steady and protective. Tony exhaled softly, melting into the warmth.

“You’re warm,” Tony muttered.

Bucky huffed a small laugh, low against his ear. “It’s the serum...you’re light,” he replied, as if it surprised him.

Tony tilted his head back slightly, catching Bucky’s gaze. “Is this okay?” he asked, quieter now. There was no teasing in his voice, just raw vulnerability.

Bucky nodded once, a quiet certainty settling in his expression. He pulled Tony a little closer, until Tony was practically in his lap, their bodies fitting together in a way that felt unforced. Bucky’s metal hand rested carefully against Tony’s ribs, gentle despite its strength, while his other arm wrapped firmly around him.

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut. For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t thinking about escape routes or enemies. He just listened to the steady rhythm of Bucky’s breathing against his head, hearing his heartbeat as his ear rested on Bucky’s chest.

Bucky lowered his head, his voice a quiet rumble against the top of Tony’s head. “You’re safe now, Bambi.”

Tony smiled faintly, fingers brushing over Bucky’s forearm. “Yeah,” he whispered. “For once I actually believe that.”

Tony shifted slightly in Bucky’s lap, just enough to look up at him again. There was a softness in his gaze that still made Bucky’s chest tighten, the kind of warmth he didn’t think could ever be directed at him. His metal fingers brushed absently over the arc reactor’s glow, feeling the faint warmth beneath Tony’s shirt.

“You keep looking at me like that,” Tony teased lightly, trying to break the silence, “and I might start thinking you like me or something.”

Bucky’s lips twitched,not quite a smile, but close. “Maybe I do,” he murmured, surprising even himself with the honesty in his voice.

Tony blinked, a small laugh caught in his throat. But before he could reply, Bucky’s expression changed, the walls he kept up, the soldier’s steel, cracked in quiet confession.

“I didn’t fight them,” Bucky said softly, his eyes focused somewhere past Tony’s shoulder. “Hydra. All those years. I mean I did at first. But it hurt so much and in the end I just...stopped. I didn’t fight because I didn’t care. About living. About…anything.” His voice was steady, but there was a tremor beneath it. “I thought maybe…maybe I deserved it. To be used. To be their weapon. It was easier than feeling the weight of it, feeling all the pain they caused”

Tony went still, the teasing gone completely. He turned fully in Bucky’s lap now, straddling his knees so he could really look at him. “Bucky…”

Bucky met his gaze then and the blue of his eyes looked less like ice and more like ocean, deep and raw. And for the first time Tony really saw the man behind the weapon, vulnerable, raw, real.

“But then you happened,” Bucky continued, his hand lifting hesitantly to cup Tony’s jaw, thumb brushing lightly against his cheek. “You talked. You teased. You called me out. You looked at me like I was someone worth something. You made me remember what it felt like to want to fight. For myself.” He swallowed thickly. “For you.”

Tony’s breath caught. The sincerity in Bucky’s voice hit him like an arc reactor pulse to the chest, no dramatics, no shields. Just truth.

Bucky’s fingers slid into Tony’s hair, gentle, grounding. “I didn’t think I’d ever see light again,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “And then you came along like some stubborn, brilliant spark. And suddenly… everything wasn’t so dark anymore, there was no more black and white but bright colours and life.”

Tony didn’t know when the tears had started gathering at the corners of his eyes, but he laughed shakily, blinking them away. “You sure you weren’t secretly a poet in the 1940s? Because, damn.”

Bucky chuckled, an actual, soft laugh that Tony swore could fix broken things, a sound Tony wanted to bottle up and keep forever. Bucky pressed his forehead against Tony’s, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.

And then, slowly, Bucky tilted his head. His hand slid further into Tony’s hair, his metal hand resting securely at Tony’s waist. There was no rush, no demand, just a question in his eyes. Tony’s breath hitched, and he nodded the smallest bit.

Bucky closed the distance.

The kiss was soft, almost tentative at first, a feather-light brush of lips that carried all the quiet confessions neither of them had said aloud. Tony leaned in instinctively, hands coming up to rest against Bucky’s chest, feeling the steady beat beneath his fingers. The world outside the jet could have been burning, and Tony wouldn’t have cared.

When they finally pulled back, Tony was smiling , cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

“You’re here now,” Tony whispered. “And you’re not going back. I’m not letting you.”

Bucky’s reply was quiet but firm, a promise etched in stars. “I don’t want to go anywhere you’re not.”

 

Malibu Nights (A Few Weeks Later)

The Malibu house was quiet, save for the rhythmic crashing of waves against the cliffs. It was late, well past midnight, and the world outside was draped in silver moonlight. Inside, the lights were dim, warm, wrapping the living room in a soft glow. But tonight, Tony Stark wasn’t in the workshop.

He was on the living room couch, a rare sight these days, barefoot, in loose sweatpants and a faded “Stark Expo” tee. A half-finished mug of tea sat cooling on the coffee table. The moonlight spilled in through the glass walls, painting everything in soft silver tones. Outside, the Pacific stretched endlessly, calm and dark.

Tony leaned back, a content little sigh escaping him as he pulled the edges of a worn leather jacket tighter around his shoulders. Bucky’s jacket. It had become a fixture in the house now, usually left draped over the couch or hanging on the back of Tony’s desk chair, like Bucky had quietly, subconsciously claimed a corner of Stark’s world.

He heard the soft, measured footfalls before he saw him.

Bucky emerged from the hallway, hair loose and still damp from a shower, dressed in a black henley and joggers that Tony had ordered for him. He still moved like a soldier, careful, controlled, but there was something different in his eyes now. Less haunted. More alive.

“You’re up late,” Bucky said, voice low, warm.

Tony smirked. “Says the guy prowling around my house like a ghost.”

Bucky shrugged, settling down next to him on the couch. The leather dipped beneath his weight, and Tony instinctively crawled up into his side. Bucky didn’t hesitate; his arm wrapped around Tony’s shoulders, tugging him closer until Tony’s head fit against his chest like it belonged there.

“JARVIS says you’ve been working too much,” Bucky murmured.

Tony snorted. “JARVIS is a snitch.”

“JARVIS is right,” Bucky countered, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

For a while, they just sat in comfortable silence. The waves rolled in below the cliffs, steady and grounding. Tony glanced up at Bucky’s profile, the strong line of his jaw, the way his hair framed his face now that he let it grow a little, the faint warmth in his usually sharp eyes, and his chest ached in a way that was becoming familiar. Not painful. Just…full.

“You know,” Tony murmured, “two months ago, if someone told me I’d end up falling for a brainwashed super-soldier with a dramatic stare and a Brooklyn accent, I’d have laughed them out of the room.”

Bucky’s lips quirked. “And now?”

Tony leaned in, brushing their foreheads together. “Now I’d tell them they should’ve warned me sooner.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh, quiet but genuine. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” Tony shot back, grinning.

Bucky didn’t deny it. His fingers slipped into Tony’s, their hands fitting together like they’d always belonged there. He glanced out the window toward the night sky. “You know this, everything with Hydra, it’s not over. There’s gonna be a fight.”

Tony’s gaze softened. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But I’m not alone anymore. And neither are you.”

There was a pause, and then Bucky squeezed his hand gently. “You sure about this? Me. All of this.”

Tony turned fully to him now, unwavering. “James Buchanan Barnes, I’ve been through kidnappings, bad press, palladium poisoning, a near-death experience, and at least three disasters of my own making. And somehow, you are the best thing to happen to me. You’re stuck with me, Barnes.”

Bucky’s lips twitched. “Guess I’ll have to learn to deal with your ego.”

Tony’s grin was immediate. “And my charm.”

“And your snoring,” Bucky teased.

Tony gasped in mock offense. “I do not snore.”

“Sure, Bambi,” Bucky murmured, using the nickname like a caress. Tony melted a little every time.

Their banter faded into a softer quiet. Bucky reached out, his metal hand brushing Tony’s jaw with unexpected gentleness, thumb resting just beneath his chin. Tony leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering half-shut.

Bucky leaned in, pressing his lips against Tony’s. The kiss was warm, lingering, the kind of kiss that said everything neither of them had to put into words. Tony’s hands slid up to frame Bucky’s face, holding him there like he was something precious, because he was.

Outside, the waves kept their steady rhythm. Inside, two souls who had been broken in different ways finally found a piece of peace together.

And on the distant horizon, unseen but inevitable, the world was shifting. The Avengers Initiative loomed closer, Hydra’s shadows grew restless, but for now...Tony Stark and James Buchanan Barnes sat wrapped up in each other, letting the night hold them.

A beginning born out of darkness and a future waiting, bright and unstoppable.

 

Tony suddenly tilted his head, a mischievous spark lighting up his eyes.

“You know,” Tony said casually, like he was commenting on the weather, “we should totally get married.”

Bucky froze mid-breath, blinking down at him in stunned silence.

Tony grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “What? Too soon?”

And just like that, under the soft glow of the Malibu night, the future cracked open, unpredictable, wild, and theirs.