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He'd survived aliens, rogue AIs, terrorist organizations, multiverse collapses, even fighting fucking Gods—and a regular ol' bullet to the brain was what was going to kill Tony Stark in the end.
It was a Tuesday, just another day in the week, in a nothing month in a fairly boring year, to be honest. The Earth was churning on nicely, with no major catastrophic events, no major wars, just the standard global warming and overpopulation.
Tony was headed downtown for a lunch meeting he didn't particularly care to attend, not that it was anything new, either. These days, he'd much rather be up in the Tower working away on his latest suit refinements, or distracting Peter while he frantically wrapped up his postdoc.
Alas, one does not say no to an old enemy turned coworker turned friend turned state senator, and if James Buchanan Barnes was trying to be a real boy, tie and all, who was Tony to stand in the way?
Jarvis pinged him, and Tony sighed, leaning back against the leather car seat and opening the channel.
"Whatcha got?"
"Intercepted some troubling messages regarding Mr. Barnes, Sir."
Tony raised one eyebrow. "Do tell."
"Not everyone is pleased with an ex-assassin representing them in the Senate."
"That's old news."
"Yes, however, it seems that it's gone from disgruntled online denizens to real-life gatherings. One of which looks to be in your location today, actually."
"Intriguing. Are they hoping to be the one to off our Winter Soldier? So many have tried."
"And failed. It appears their phones are pinging near the rear entrance to the restaurant, Sir."
"Maybe this lunch won't be as boring as I feared. Give Bucky a heads up, won't you, Jarvis."
Tony adjusted his cuffs as the car pulled to a stop in front of the building and pasted on a smile. It should be fine, just a political meet-and-greet as he gave his official approval to Bucky and then maybe stopped an assassination attempt. He'd be back in the Tower for dinner.
That, as it turned out, was maybe a touch too optimistic.
One hour and a sub-par steak frites later, Tony found himself with a gun to his temple and an arm around his throat.
The restaurant was chaos around them. Diners huddled beneath overturned tables, a woman screaming near the front door, and a half dozen of Bucky's security detail angling to get a clean shot. Broken glass crunched underfoot as the man with his hands on Tony pulled them backwards a little. He stank like cheap cologne.
Two other attackers lay nearby, one with a knife through the throat and the other sprawled across a collapsed table with three gunshots in his chest. Tony wasn't sure why Bucky even bothered hiring his own security if he could work twice as fast.
The former assassin stood about fifteen feet away, his gun trained on the last man in the room. Years of training had smoothed the emotion from his face, but Tony knew him well enough to recognize the tension beneath it, his breathing deliberately slow as he forced himself not to act.
As Cheap Cologne gave the gun another sharp shove against Tony's head, his eyes snagged on Bucky's shirt and the spreading red stain there. He hadn't realized one of the bullets had found its target.
With barely a thought, nanites slipped silently from beneath the cuff of his jacket, flowing across his skin and onto the stranger's before burrowing in and vanishing without a trace. The nanotech raced upward like silver veins along his forearm and neck.
Tony felt the pressure around his throat tighten, fingers spasming before the man's knees buckled and he hit the floor with a dull crack that echoed through the suddenly silent restaurant.
For one shocked moment, nobody moved; then Bucky was there.
He reached Tony almost before the man had finished collapsing, one hand catching Tony's shoulder while the other swept his pistol back toward the dining room. His eyes flicked across the room in rapid assessment before he turned back and pushed Tony backward.
"Move," he ordered.
Tony let Bucky hustle him through the swinging kitchen doors, and they didn't stop moving until they'd reached a narrow concrete hallway near the loading docks.
Bucky turned him around, hands catching Tony's jaw with surprising gentleness as he turned his head first one way, then the other. His fingers searched along Tony's hairline, behind his ears, down the side of his neck before moving to his shoulders, his ribs, checking for injuries that weren't there.
"You hit?"
"No. Bucky—"
"You lose consciousness?"
"No, I'm fine, look—"
"Can you breathe properly?"
"James."
Blue eyes snapped to his, and they both froze in place.
"You're the one bleeding," Tony said softly.
There was the faintest tremor running through Bucky's fingers where they still rested against Tony's neck. He'd seen this man get shot, stabbed, and blown through walls, but he'd never seen him look this shaken.
"Gosh, Barnes," Tony said, voice gone soft without his input, "I didn't know you cared."
That was a lie, and they both knew it.
Tony gently pulled Bucky's shirt from his slacks and undid the buttons to reveal a slowly seeping wound on his side, far enough from anything vital to not be life-threatening. He felt a slow burn of anger at the sight.
"Come back to the Tower, I'll patch you up."
"I don't live there anymore, Tony."
Tony sighed heavily, head coming down to rest on Bucky's shoulder, the comedown of adrenaline turning his mouth copper and heart shaky.
"I know, just come back for now. For me. I don't want you trying to fish out a bullet on your kitchen counter."
"It's a through-and-through."
Tony pulled back, huffing in exasperation, watching Bucky as his eyes flicked down to his mouth and back again. "Can we not argue, just this once?"
"But I like it," Bucky said quietly, a rare smile creasing the corners of his eyes.
Tony shook his head slightly before turning them toward the loading docks and pinging Jarvis to bring the car around.
"I know."