#pre-winteriron

Walking out of the tower, Tony mentally sighed in relief when he wasn't accosted by a group of waiting paparazzi or nearly bowled over by some journalist who wanted to hear about any of the up and coming news. Of course, just because he couldn't see them didn't mean that Tony was oblivious to the fact they were probably still there, laying in wait and taking photos so that they could spin some elaborate tale for the gossip magazines. But that was fine – he'd been dealing with that for years.

Lost in thought, Tony hummed the notes to ACDC's Highway to Hell lightly as he turned down the street, heading towards his favourite cafe to pick up a caffeine hit, deciding that he deserved it after a long day of meetings.

Of course he could have just made something fancy back at the tower – he was more than capable and had enough ingredients for it – but it was nice to get out for a change. He'd been feeling a little cooped up.

Turning another corner, Tony stopped all of sudden, eyebrows furrowing. Even though nothing really seemed overly out of place, there was something about this street that was screaming to his senses that he shouldn't walk down it.

Never one to listen to sense however – or turn away from danger – he casually messed with the iron man bracelets, calling for the suit just in case as he cautiously walked down the side walk.

Seconds after he'd reached half way down the street (the point where a normal person would have let down their guard, a mistake he was not prone to) there was a loud explosion and he found himself being blown from one side of the road to nearly the other footpath, ears ringing from the sound and eyes going fuzzy.

On instinct he reached up and winced at the feeling of blood from his head, crimson wetness spilling over his fingers as he reluctantly pulled  them away from the wound. Great. Just what he needed.

Urging the suit to appear faster, Tony frowned as he pushed himself from the ground, refusing to wince even as one of his ribs moved in a way that it was not supposed to and his shoulder cried in protest from how he'd landed on it.

On guard, the engineer looked around, keen eyes searching for the cause of the explosion.

His eyes landed on a single man who was walking towards him, a mask covering his face and gear practically screaming 'assassin'.

Naturally.

Where the hell was his suit anyway?

“It's not safe here.” The man said.

Tony's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he gave the man an incredulous look. Did he really think that it wasn't clear that he was the one who caused the initial accident?

“I'm pretty sure that's been made clear.” He settled on finally, and raised eyebrow (which ow, shouldn't do that apparently) as he gestured towards himself. “But that doesn't mean I’m going anywhere with you. My mother taught me not to go random places with strangers.”

He didn't feel the need to add that it was a rule he'd found strangely impossible to follow.

The man growled. “You will come with me regardless.” He informed, not a bit of doubt in his voice, as though it was just another fact.

Think again.

As the man moved to grab Tony, he ducked under his arm (ow, his rib really hurt now) and spun, aiming a kick for the back of the guys knee to hopefully slow him down but instead finding himself caught and then hauled over guys shoulder.

“It's not safe here.” The unknown assassin stated once more, like Tony needed to be told that a second time, before he turned and started down the street, turning into an alley and moving quickly through the back streets of New York, ignoring the endless complaints that Tony was throwing at him.

It was another forty minutes of travel (damn it how was this guy not even having trouble breathing at this pace while carrying Tony as well?) before they reached the warehouse district and found themselves set up in some abandoned building.

How cliché.

When he said so aloud, he only got a grunt and glare in response.

Not much of a talker, it seemed.

Unfortunately for him then, he'd kidnapped the wrong person if he wanted any peace and quiet.

“So, you gonna tell me why you've stolen me away? Usually this is the point where people start making demands, so I'm listening. What is it you're after? You let me live this long so you have to want something.”

The unknown man's eyebrows furrowed, although whether he was confused or annoyed it was hard to tell, so  Tony was going for the safest option which was to assume he was both.

“Not kidnapped. Protection.” The man explained – or at least he looked like he was explaining something, Tony had to disagree. That didn't explain a thing.

Scoffing, he crossed his arms, wincing at how it jostled every injury he'd managed to get. “I don't know if you noticed, buddy, but these injuries didn't come from a couple rounds in the ring.”

Was that guilt on his face.

“Hydra wanted to you. Couldn't let them take you. Must protect the mechanic.” The man assured.

Tony sighed, somehow not at all shocked to hear that it was hydra who had mounted the attack. Although if what this guy was saying was true then he had him to thank for saving him from spending some time enduring hyrda's hospitality.

But some things were still not adding up for him.

“And I assume I am the mechanic then. What for? What's your name? Can you take off the mask so I can see your face?” Tony asked, curious to see.

The man looked a little confused. “I am the asset. The asset can not remove the mask without express permission for its handler.” It recited, voice more robotic than it had been previously and Tony wished he could take back the words.

Somehow he didn't think he was going to like this one bit.

“And who is your handler?” He tried, leaving the whole 'asset' shtick alone for a moment.

The man's eyes seemed calculating as he replied. “The asset's handler is currently the mechanic; Anthony Edward Stark. Primary goal: protect the mechanic.” He recited. But there was something different about the way he'd said it to how he'd recited the first lot.

“And who assigned your handler?”

“The asset did.”

The response was not at all what he'd been expecting and it took Tony a moment to form words before he gave in and gave the 'asset' and incredulous look. “Why?”

“The asset requires regular maintenance to its arm. The mechanic will provide.”

Automatically, Tony found himself glancing down at the man's arms to figure out what the hell that meant and that was when he noticed that one of his hands was metal.

“Holy shit, how did I not notice that?” The engineer breathed, fingers twitching as he fought the urge to just reach out and touch, cursing himself for getting so distracted that he hadn't noticed something that obvious.

Something that seemed akin to amusement flashed in the other man's eyes but it was gone before Tony really had a chance to examine it closer.

Forcing his mind back on track, Tony tried to figure out how exactly he was supposed to get around this situation. He wasn't about to stay in some dingy warehouse while he waited for someone to realise that he'd been kidnapped and he definitely didn't trust someone who called themselves the 'asset'. Like they weren't even human.

Apparently he'd asked the question out loud because the man seemed to go cold as he addressed Tony. “The Asset was a creation born of Hyrda, code named The Winter Soldier on mission. It is not human.”

The statement was said so simply that Tony choked a little on what he was going to say.

“Well uh, I don't know about you buddy, but from where I'm sitting, you look just as human as I do. But if you're one of Hyrda's goons, what are you doing helping me?”

The Soldier looked confused for a moment. “The Voice says that I'm malfunctioning in a good way. It suggested that the asset choose a new handler, a better handler. It approved of you as the choice.” He stated finally.

Sighing, Tony rubbed gently at his temples, ignoring the flare of pain in his shoulders. “So, this voice. Do you know what it is?”

“The voice has always been with the asset. Sometimes he would go quiet for a while after the asset was wiped, but he would always come back. Hydra has no knowledge of the voice. The voice says that if they knew, they would get rid of him.” He states, before his voice goes a little soft and Tony almost melts at the slightly lost and guilty look on the Soldier's face. “The Asset likes the voice. Didn't want it to leave, so it kept quiet. Are you unhappy with the asset?”

Tony's blood froze at the implications he could draw from that sentence, and he cursed himself for his lack of tact. “No. You did fine. But listen, I can't call you the asset. It sounds wrong and it's just not my speed so we need to think of something better.” He suggested, trying to switch gears.

The Asset looked even more confused. “You wish to call the Asset by another name? It is your right as handler.”

Sighing, Tony did his best not to look exasperated. It wouldn't do him any good anyway. From what he'd managed to gather so far, the man in front of him was an unwilling assassin who worked for hydra but managed to break their programming somehow – it probably had something to do with this voice in his head – and was now on the run and had chosen Tony to be their 'handler' or in this case, director of sorts?

He was too tired for this shit.

“I want something to call you by that seems less demeaning. Is there something you prefer to be called?”

“Soldat.”

Tony shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

The soldier seemed to deflate at that and Tony groaned, not bothering to pretend he wasn't frustrated. “Alright how about this. You said that your code name was The Winter Soldier, right? How does Winter sound?” He tried.

'Winter' was quiet for a moment, seeming to consider it before a small smile formed on his face. “Winter. It is acceptable. The Voice also seems happy.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Tony relaxed slightly. “Alright, now that we have that covered, how about we consider getting a move on? We can't stay here indefinitely, and I do have to get back to my company.” He pointed out.

Winter looked unsure. “You are safe here. I must keep you safe.”

Tony shook his head. “You can't keep me here in an attempt to keep me safe. I have a life and the world doesn't stop turning because you want to keep me safe.” He informed, trying to be gentle.

Biting his lip, Tony considered his options. “You can come with me? To keep me safe?” He offered.

It was a ridiculous thing to offer. He didn't really know this man and for all he knew this was just another ploy from Hyrdra in order to gain his trust and access his tower. But a larger part of him ached to help the man. Winter was alone with just the voice in his head to help keep him sane and safe from Hyrda's clutches, and Tony would be damned if he would let them get their hands on him again.

He knew a little something about being an unwilling prisoner after all, and he'd wish that upon no-one.

“Your terms are acceptable.” Winter stated finally, moving to pick Tony up from the crate that he'd spent the better part of two hours sitting on at this point only to tilt his head when Tony glared at him.

“You aren't carrying me again.”

“You can't walk yourself. You are injured.”

It was a logical argument that would work on anyone else, but Tony Stark was nothing if not stubborn.

“I'll manage.”

Winter frowned. “You will hurt yourself further.”

“Worth it.”

“I cannot allow you to do that. You're health and safety is my directive.”

“Still a nope.”

Winter seemed to accept it after a moment of silence and Tony relaxed, giving himself a moment before pushing himself onto his feet. “Alright, lets go- what the hell do you think you're doing?”

Something about Winter's facial expression in that moment was borderline smug as he held Tony carefully princess style in his arms, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“The Voice explained that if you were going to be difficult it would be easier to just pick you up. You are not strong enough to break free.” It was said as a statement of fact, although the level of satisfaction he seemed to be feeling was not nearly warranted in Tony's opinion.

He struggled for a moment before hissing when it moved things in the wrong direction, finally letting himself settle down with a pout on his face as he pointedly refused to look at Winter now out of spite.

This didn't seem to concern him in the least.

“At least let me take off the mask. You stick out like a sore thumb with it on even in the back alleys.” Tony grumbled after a few moments of silence.

Winter tilted his head. “I told you. The handler may remove the mask if they wish.” He reminded.

Huffing out a laugh, Tony sighed. “Gotta do all the hard work around here.” He teased before shifting a little to undo the clasps of the mask and gently pull it off.

There was a moment of silence after Tony saw the face of the man who was carrying him before he came back to his senses, fingers clutching the mask tightly as he breathed out in disbelief something he never thought he would say.

Rhodey found him in the shop. Obviously.

“Well, that could’ve gone worse.”

Tony muttered something in return, made unintelligible by the screwdriver in his mouth. He wasn’t in the mood for basic socialization. He never was, frankly.

“Tones.”

Tony kept working.

“Tony.”

“Are the legs acting up again? I’ve been working on something that can recalibrate—”

Rhodey sighed. “Tony, come on—”

“Come on what.”

The sound of the screwdriver slamming on the table echoed, loud and uncomfortable. Tony winced. He didn’t mean to be so dramatic. Well, he didn’t mean to be more dramatic than usual.

“Sorry. I—sorry.”

“What are you even apologizing for?”

Ruining your life? Ruining other people’s lives? Ruining the world as we know it?

“I ate your pancake share. I’d feel guilty, but Bruce’s cooking kind of counteracts any sort of negative emotion. I suspect Strange did something.”

Rhodey’s unimpressed eyebrow was enough to tell his bullshit had been called.

“First, you took my share right out of my hands and ran off with the most maniacal laugh I’ve ever heard from you. Second, you’re not working on anything even remotely related to what you just said, considering the Captain America shield is on full display.”

Tony blinked. Well, I never thought I’d see the day I’d bring this much stupid into my own workshop.

“Tony, what are you doing?”

He sighed. “Nothing. Fri, if you please.”

“Yes, boss.” The hologram immediately changed into Mark XLVII.

“Nothing? That didn’t look like nothing. You’re not giving them upgrades, are you?”

Tony’s silence was answer enough.

“I’m going to beat your ass.”

“That’s not nice.”

“God, Tony,” Rhodey sighed, again. He rounded the table and took the wrench right out of his hold. “Did you simply forget what happened? What Rogers said? What Barton said?”

“Of course I didn’t forget, but whether I like it or not the ‘gang’,” he did the air quotes and everything, “Is back at it again, and it’s my job to provide with what I can.”

“No, it’s not. You’re doing this out of the goodness in your heart, is what you’re doing. Don’t deny it, damn it,” he warned as Tony prepared to argue. “You’ve settled things so that they could return, for duty. For our home. For our world. You’ve signed the pardon, for duty. You’ve put on the suit once more, for duty. But this?”

Rhodey waved the wrench in his face.

“This isn’t an obligation. This is another attempt of yours at an apology, at reconciliation, with you being the one to put aside your pride and dignity, like always.”

“Did you maybe consider I wanted to see whether mine or Shuri’s tech would work best?”

“Right, because you haven’t already had 5-hour long Skype conversations with her and incorporated her methods into yours.”

Guilty.

It was Rhodey’s turn to slam his hand on the table.

“You’re already playing host. You’re already giving up your time, money and space to house them, when the government could’ve perfectly done that themselves without you having yet another mental breakdown over these assholes.”

“To be fair, the government would have given them atrocious installations and—”

“And it would have been well deserved.”

In his experience, Tony knew arguing with Rhodey when he was that riled up would be fruitless, so he said nothing. He hadn’t been about to disagree, per se. It would be a long-overdue lesson in humility. But he just… knew. He knew they would think he was behind the whole ordeal, that he would be the one to demand them placed in heinous lodging out of spite, sneering at him for it behind his back.

As if they don’t do that already.

Still. He wasn’t about to risk getting shot in the knee during the upcoming battle by what they all would claim was an alien, turning a blind eye to Barton’s suddenly emptier quiver.

“Look, Tones.” For a minute, Rhodey didn’t say anything. He had his ‘My best friend is an idiot and I don’t know how to deal with it’ brow on. “I’m not saying they shouldn’t be here. They’re the only ones that can help. But I’ve noticed something. Something that’s been happening since the very beginning of this whole Avengers business.”

“In my defense, I haven’t had much time to go to the dresser and cover them up—”

“It’s not your grey hairs. Though it might be related,” he said. He looked thoughtful, instead of defiant. “You compromise. A lot. You compromise with everyone in all senses of the word, even where the smallest of things is concerned.”

He paused.

“You compromise where you shouldn’t. Maybe it’s time you stopped that.”

“Fri?”

“It’s 3:42 in the am, boss. No one is in the kitchen.”

Tony would have fired a comeback about late night cravings for some leftover chinese, which was a real thing that afflicted everyone, but the relief at finally being able to wander around his own house without imminent risk swallowed it back. Granted, he was popping out because Bruce had apparently stress-baked blueberry muffins and those went divine with coffee, but it counted as leaving the shop.

After 36 hours. He could swear Pepper found a way to project herself into his mind to chide him at the proper occasion. His brain couldn’t sound so properly vexed at himself.

Friday turned on and dimmed the lights for him, despite the clear moonlight seeping through the slim panes of the windows. Tony could hear the clock ticking somewhere as he picked one of the two muffins left, cutting through the silence of the night like a reminder—a reminder of how little time they most likely had.

Thankfully, there was some remaining coffee in the mug, so he went without the usual ruckus of coffee machines (maybe he should give it another tweak). Bruce had probably known he would venture out and went to bed only after leaving him fresh coffee. He’d tried making Tony sleep in the past. He gave up the lost cause.

He knew about the nightmares, now.

“Fri, give me Princess Shuri’s drafts on the shield.”

His own voice made all of his hairs stand on end, even if whispered. He knew it was dangerous to display this in the middle of the kitchen, connected to the common area as it was, but there were details on the wakandan princess’s plans for a new shield that Tony was having a hard time figuring out, and damn him if he wasn’t going to spare every break on them.

Her ideas were complex and far more advanced than anything he’d ever come up with. Shuri worked in ways Tony only ever briefly considered and then dismissed, never quite knowing how to get there. He honestly never thought he’d see the day when someone smarter than him would make it possible, or that they’d be a sixteen-year-old girl. Bright, young minds indeed.

It made his blood rush with excitement. A challenge. Finally.

“Zoom in on—yes, exactly.” He took a bite out of the muffin—delicious, as expected—and gulped down some coffee. “Now, see, I don’t quite understand how she wants to…”

“Boss?”

“Brilliant, maybe too brilliant for me. I can’t—oh. Oh!”

Tony almost spilled coffee everywhere. He was going to mail this kid three dozen boxes of American candy and all the Coachella tickets she wanted.

“Ha, you clever kid, you!”

“Boss.”

Of course! Of freaking course, how did he not—

“Jesus Christ.”

The Winter Soldier blinked.

“No. Just me.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

Though the physical differences are slim to none.

Tony quickly swiped left before Barnes could see anything and backtracked to the sink, hackles raised. He suppressed the impulse to press his hand on his chest out of habit, or to call for a suit and blast himself far, far away from the compound. He remembered seeing a knife among the dishes in the sink, but he wasn’t stupid enough to glance at it.

The soldier remained on the couch, unperturbed. Too far away from the kitchen lights, he was almost a shadow, cloaked in light and dark both. The usual unkempt bird’s nest of a hair was tied up in a bun to keep it from his face, only to accentuate the sharpness of his jawline. He looked every bit a heartless assassin.

Tony scrutinized the area for a tactical retreat without having to turn his back to him. “Lover’s spat?”

Barnes looked like he’d almost frowned.

“What?”

“You and Rogers.” He slowly moved around the island. “Did he kick you out of the bed already?”

“I’m not going to put a knife to your throat, Stark.”

Tony really should have known better. One armed or not, it was the Winter Soldier. The Winter Soldier. Brief flashes of roadways and car crashes played behind his eyes, but Tony locked those images away in less than a split second.

“I distinctly remember the Accords stating you weren’t allowed near anything sharp without supervision until they deemed you able,” Tony stated simply. “So I suspect not.”

There didn’t seem to be a hint of resentment at those words. In fact, Barnes looked almost relieved.

“I don’t blame them.” He paused. Tony thought that was that, then, “Steve and I… we ain’t together.”

“Like I care.”

Even in the dark, Tony saw grey eyes peering at him.

“We aren’t together,” Barnes repeated, as if to make a point Tony was missing. “We never were and we never will be.”

A point Tony was now deliberately missing.

“Spare me your pathetic pining, Kristoff. If you’re looking for a pity party, you’d better look elsewhere.”

A crash—his father’s blood—his mother’s whimpers—a murderer’s cold eyes—

“I remember all of them.”

Tony retreated to the shop before Barnes could say anything.

The liquor stash he’d kept down at the workshop of the Avengers tower had never gained a twin for the new one once the team moved to the compound, thanks to Pepper and Rhodey, but as Tony sat on its couch and watched his former companions patter idly about the common area through his surveillance cameras, he felt that old thirst make its return in full force.

This is what my life has come to. Wary and confined to parts of his own home, reliant on Friday showing him if the coast was clear, lest he came face to face with yet another unpleasant, uncivil confrontation with the people poisoning his life. The people that accepted him with open arms and too wide smiles, only to break him into a thousand pieces.

You’d think he’d have learned his lesson by now.

They tried getting into the workshop. Of course they did. They came, high on entitlement and set on more degrading words with the arrogant and ungrateful Tony Stark. They came, and outside they stayed, in clear anger at being denied access by the smooth voice of a fuming AI.

Rogers was the one hardest to watch. He wouldn’t even come angry—determined, maybe, but never angry. Desperate suited him better, as well as… contrite. He wouldn’t demand, he would beg—in his own Captain America fashion—and he would stare straight at the eye of the beholder, very obviously aware of Tony watching, or at least in hopes of so. He would speak to Friday like he was speaking to Tony, always saying the same thing.

“I just want to talk.”

His face remained ever composed, but there was real pain in those blue eyes every time he was denied access, and Tony really, really didn’t know what to make of that.

They were trying to watch a movie of sorts now, it seemed. Tony once made the mistake of leaving the sound on when checking up on them. He’d pretended not to feel the stabs at his chest upon hearing the things they’d said about him.

“I can’t believe he’s bitter about that, what a selfish—”

“Still arrogant as ever, it seems—”

“He gets pissed when I give him a piece of his medicine, but I’m not allowed to get revenge for my family? He knows nothing of the pain I—”

No sound. Just video. It was safer that way.

“My ears tell me of you forging yet another offering of weapons for the very people who betrayed your trust.”

“Alright, you know what.” Tony took half a moment to bank back the heart attack, wiped down his greasy hands and reached for the drawer on his desk. “Here you go, Rudolph. A shiny bell to match your shiny nose.”

Loki caught the green collar with one hand and one eyebrow raised.

“I do not have a shiny nose.”

Tony quickly disabled Friday’s live display, but Loki wouldn’t be known as the Trickster if he weren’t smart enough to know what he’d been watching. His eyes narrowed.

“You fear them.”

“I don’t fear them.” Not exactly.

Loki contemplated him. It was still odd to see him in Earth clothing, but an all black suit was an unsurprisingly good fit on him. Completely out of place in a mechanic’s haven, but Tony wasn’t one to talk about donning expensive suits just because he could around the house, now was he?

“You do.”

“Was there a point to you coming here?”

“Ah, yes. We’re having one of those ‘movie-marathons’ tonight as you call them, per young Peter’s insistence. Banner even brought some of those dough and cheese based pies.”

Tony blinked. It’s Thursday already?

“There was no pizza in Asgard? No wonder it got blown up by Ghost Rider's evil grandfather.”

Tony went to check on his drafts, disconcerted by the sudden pass of time, but was halted by Loki’s hand on his shoulder. His expression was unreadable. It always was.

“Stop trying to appease them, Stark.”

Then he left without another word.

These damn Asgardians, I swear.

Due to circumstances, his team—minus Romanoff—took their business to the wing set opposite the one now occupied by Cap’s team, where another, slightly smaller common area was built. There was no kitchen or even a dining room, seeing as Tony’s plan had been to spare it for visitors, so it was more of a living room than anything. He certainly didn’t plan on using it, and he certainly didn’t plan on, you know, using it to avoid certain people. In his own property.

Yet if he so much as issued a part of the compound that wasn’t his workshop restricted, he’d be labelled the asshole again and the slowly steadying dynamic would tip again. So, he let things be.

Decorators had settled on a teal theme, turned dark green by the late afternoon sun. Thor was already sprawled out on a couch, his brother comfortable on the armchair beside him. Bruce and Rhodey engaged in casual conversation. Peter, to Tony’s amusement, sat on the Asgardian king’s belly and gobbled down a slice of pizza that looked legitimately bigger than his head.

“Slow it down, pygmy shrew. Leave some for me.”

“Mr. Stark!”

“Man of Iron!”

Thor actually sprung from the couch and to his side, all joy and smiles and paying no mind whatsoever to the kid he’d just sent spiraling over.

“We were beginning to think you would not join us in the merriment!”

“For God’s sake, just say fun, Thor.”

It was… weird, for lack of a better word, to see him short-haired and one-eyed. Sure, Tony had more time to adjust than some, seeing as Thor had gone to him upon hearing about the disbanded Avengers—he somehow remembered how Tony had predicted what was on its way—but he was like a literal reflection on how things had changed.

A literal reflection who hugged his lungs out.

“Okay, okay, let go, let go, let go.” Thor put him down with a godsworn pout. “Happy to see you too, big guy. But I don’t hug, that’s general knowledge.”

From his spot on the floor, Peter saluted. “General Knowledge.”

“You’re grounded.”

The kid had the nerve to cackle. Youths these days, so disrespectful.

“What have you been working on that’s got you so holed up in that lab?” Bruce asked, even if his voice tone implied he knew. And disapproved.

“Nothing too important.”

Bruce looked about ready to rebuffel, but Rhodey cut in. “He’s right, it’s not important. It’s not going for clearance. At all.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of what I do with my inventions.”

“You’re not a weapons manufacturer anymore, Tones. Legally, I could impeach your ass and confiscate whatever war tech you build.”

Tony gaped. “Now see here—”

“Of course I’m not gonna do it. Just know that I can, and I will if I must.”

“If you must? What exactly am I supposed to do here, then?”

Building and fixing things was what he did. If he wasn’t allowed to do that, then there was no purpose to him on the team whatsoever. And if—if—

“You’re supposed to be minding your own damn business, is exactly what. We are not having this argument, Tones,” he perfuncted. “Now sit back and watch Return of the Jedi.”

“Ugh, again?”

Tony woke up on the floor with a horrible back ache, a mouthful of Peter’s hair and a blanket of Avengers. And cold sweat on his temples. He weaseled out of the cocoon and back to work, popped tires and fiery, starry darkness a ghost in his mind.

“Jesus!”

“No, still me.”

Tony watched Barnes eat his cereal in complete disbelief. He had his hair down this time, and was still in dire need of a shave. Seriously, was it in now, for super soldiers to loathe razors?

“How are you doing that? Friday, what gives?”

“I’m sorry boss. He just seems to appear out of nowhere.”

“Out of—” Tony ran a hand down his face. Ex-assassins.

Barnes raised his brow at him, looking entirely unimpressed, as if being incognito had been his intention all along. Tony was reminded of the silent and efficient kill method of the Winter Soldier, the few reports he bothered to read of dead Hydra targets without a clue as to whom or what killed them.

Cold adrenaline burned then. Once is an anomaly, twice is a coincidence…

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Barnes blurted, immediately scrapping every conclusion Tony had drawn in that one half-moment.

Everything about this guy was… disorienting. Barnes stared at his bowl of Lucky Charms almost like he was afraid of looking Tony in the eye, which was ridiculous, really. If anything, Tony should be the one shrinking in on himself—or not, given what he just heard.

“How do you know that?” Tony asked and immediately winced. Shuri had made sure to send a mentally apt Barnes for the new Avengers cause, so there was no trigger-word concern anymore. In theory.

Barnes looked up, and the simple act seemed to bring him pain, clear and sharp in his eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tony didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to say to that.

I assaulted you. I almost killed you. I blasted your damn arm off. And you don’t want to hurt me.

He got his coffee and made to go back to the—

“I’m sorry.”

Tony froze mid-step and didn’t turn around.

“It’s worth nothin’. It won’t bring ‘em back and it doesn’t make up for it, not by a long shot,” and at this Barnes made a sound, that self-deprecating, pathetic laugh Tony was all too familiar with himself, “But know that I’m so, so sorry.”

There was a pause. Tony still didn’t dare glance at him, unwilling to see what expression matched the utter sincerity and regret in that rasp of a voice.

“And I understand why you don’t trust me. So I’ll say it again: I’m not going to hurt you.”

Tony wanted to scream. He wanted to hurl his coffee at the wall, he wanted to shake Barnes until sense came to him, he wanted to cry his stomach sick. A part of him wanted to assure the ex-assassin he couldn’t hurt him even if he tried. The other begged to let him, in hopes he’d succeed.

Tony did neither. He crept back to the shop, ignoring how violently his hands shook.

“You know, when I said ‘don’t make weapons for the Avengers’ and told you to focus on something else, this isn’t what I meant.”

“I’m sure that’s close to what Raza thought when he told me to build the Jericho and I blew up his base instead, but what’re we gonna do?”

Rhodey sighed, then a flashdrive and a huge stack of papers were deposited on the table. A nail rolled across them and onto the floor, but Tony’s attention was drawn to the Russian words peeking at the corner of an age-old folder. Bruce, previously focused on his own side of their current project, looked up in confusion.

“What’s all this?”

“Everything you need to know about Sergeant Barnes and more. From where USSR first took him to and when, to his stay on Wakanda.” Rhodey turned to Tony. “I thought you already went through the reports?”

“That’s right, you thought.”

Tony had been indeed given these same papers, post his disagreement with Cap and said man’s exile, right when he’d wanted absolutely nothing to do with Bucky Barnes. They were sent back in less than a day, spared nothing more at than a disturbed glance.

Now, though… Tony did a mental pause. Now what?

“Should I be concerned? I mean, last time you pulled something unexpected you became Iron Man,” Rhodey said. “And you taking a sudden interest in the man who murdered your parents is unexpected.”

Bruce took the liberty to flicker through the papers, already frowning.

“When said man is a guest in the compound, I’m going to take such an interest.”

Friday displayed the contents of the flashdrive. A myriad of information settled itself on screen, then the face of 1940’s James Buchanan Barnes was staring back at him. The contrast between this roguish man and the broken one Tony had actually met almost made him reel backwards. The eyes were the same, even through outdated, poor quality photos, yet the ghosts that now haunted them were nowhere to be seen.

“He fell off the train in 1945 and was found by the Russians. Not by Hydra, like most people think…”

Bruce kept reading aloud, words Tony’s brain didn’t process as he was too busy assimilating the absolute horror he was shown. He’d suspected some of what he read, but this—

Torture—brainwashing—violent punishment—

“Fuck.”

“Tones?”

Memory wipes—isolation as punishment—starvation as punishment—mind control—

His mind brought him back to Afghanistan before he could even process it, to cold heat of caves and metal and stale water, to—

“Ton—”

There were photos. Visuals to accompany the reports on progress, proof that proper discipline methods were being exercised—so it read. Depictions of red, yellow, black, blue. Bruises. Blood matted skin and hair. Countless lacerations. Protruding bones. Swellings from head traumas.

Utter gore.

“Oh my God.”

There were videos. The one playing was of not many, caught in very, very poor quality, but you could clearly see Barnes and the chair he was strapped to. And the electric flares on his head.

And you could hear the screaming. The screaming.

“Jesus fuck…”

Tony didn’t even admonish Bruce’s swearing. He was too busy throwing up his coffee.

Bruce’s tea was hot on his palms and burned going down his throat. All heads-up displays were disabled, all music muted. His shop was silent but for his bots’ whirrs and the disturbing sound of four human beings breathing.

“I’m sorry.”

Bruce frowned. Tony gestured to the coffee mug Dummy was currently replacing.

“Wasted your coffee.”

He was then on the receiving end of three varying expressions of disbelief. No, two—Rhodey actually looked exasperated instead.

“Tony. You had a completely acceptable reaction to what you just saw.”

“It was damn good coffee, though. I’m—”

“Stop apologizing.”

Tony stared at Strange. The wizard stared back. Didn’t so much as blink, eyes hard to read. Tony opened his mouth—

“Stop apologizing. And drink that.”

Strange then gestured open a portal back to the Sanctum and left with a twirl of that infuriating red cloak.

Tony shot his tea a haughty look. I knew it.

The lockdown mode lasted for five days. Well, the extra lockdown settings did. About five people in the compound had access codes to his shop. For five days, they didn’t.

For five days, Tony was AWOL. For five days, Tony processed what he’d learned. Sat shrouded in nothing but darkness and the cyan blue light of his monitors, Tony watched Bucky Barnes. He watched him do his work out routine. He watched him eat breakfast. He watched him eat lunch. He watched him eat dinner. He watched him skip movie night and go to bed.

For five days, Tony watched him. And he noticed. He noticed that Barnes’ work out routine ended when somebody else joined him. He noticed that Barnes always ate alone. He noticed that Barnes skipped his team’s bonding hour to sit in the gym and stare at nothing. Or the compound garden, or the compound roof, or anywhere that got him alone.

Or anywhere that got him away from his team.

Tony already knew what kind of shitstorm awaited him once he authorized the codes again. Rhodey was probably pissed. Bruce was probably concerned. Peter was probably hurt. Thor was probably sad, and Loki… well, Loki wasn’t probable, but Tony guessed he wasn’t pleased.

He wasn’t referring to the Avengers, no, currently enjoying their own movie night in their own common area, either oblivious or impervious to Tony’s lockdown mode. He could have fucked off to someplace, and they’d still sit and talk and laugh among each other as they watched Pulp Fiction. He could have up and left the planet, and they’d still plot behind his back.

Like they were now.

“Hey, not for nothin’ or nothin’,” Barton said, from his spot sprawled on Romanoff’s legs, “But have you talked to Rhodes yet?”

The question was apparently directed at Rogers, who sighed. Tony was quick to note Barnes next to him, looking for all he cared like he didn’t care to be there at all. He maintained enough proximity to his best friend for no risk of questions asked, yet he was too stiff and too focused on the screen while in fact not paying any attention to the movie. Tony was surprised, trained ex-assassins and ex-militaries as most of them were, at how nobody noticed this.

(Or maybe they did. And chose to ignore it.)

“He says it’s not in his place to give us the access codes. And neither is, uh, acting messenger boy.” Sam let out a cynical laugh. “He says if we want to talk to him, we’ll have to go to him ourselves.”

Barton raised his arms in the air. “He won’t let us talk to him! The stick in his ass got even deeper after what happened in Leipzig.”

“Clint—”

“Look, his fragile little ego got Hulk smashed, and Hulk wasn’t even there. We gotta handle this before shit hits the fan again, Cap.”

“Thor said—”

“I know what Thor said about this Thanos guy. That’s not the shit I was referring to.”

Rogers, for no change whatsoever, looked confused.

“We wounded his pride,” Romanoff clarified. “We wounded his pride, and we don’t know where he is or what he’s up to. He took Ross out of the Accords to be monitored by the Colonel instead, as we know, who won’t tell us if Tony’s even in the premises.”

She pushed Barton off her to sit up and stare straight at the Captain.

“Tony is dangerous and reckless when his pride is on the line, so we have to take control of the situation before it becomes one.”

Almost imperceptibly, Barnes shifted on the couch. Rogers didn’t see.

“What do you mean?”

“She means, maybe he’s finding a way to bench us before the big game,” Barton answered, looking at the ceiling. “Maybe this whole ‘welcome home’ thing is a ruse to keep us in the dark. Maybe we should get back on the run before he gets those arrest warrants ready. Maybe we should be gearing up for another Ultron situation. He’s too arrogant to trust us.”

Barton opened his mouth to continue, but what Tony and the others heard came in a voice that definitely wasn’t his.

“Maybe you’re all too arrogant to be trusted.”

Barnes didn’t even look away from the movie as he said it. Everybody stood stock still. It was like the tide receded at his words, the dead giveaway to an incoming tsunami.

Rogers was the sounding alarm. “What?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Barton asked, too taken aback to look insulted. Romanoff wore the exact same face he did. It was almost comical.

Barnes took his time replying. He was still ‘fixated’ on the movie.

“There ain’t no ‘welcome home’ ruse. Hell, there wasn’t even a ‘welcome home’, for starters, so I don’t know what you’re even on about,” he said, with an honest to God laugh. “And I really don’t know why you expected one.”

“We signed the Accords,” Rogers stated, a perceived cold fact. “We agreed to his terms—”

“No, he agreed to yours, punk.”

“Am I actually listening to this?” Lang asked, effectively voicing Tony’s thoughts.

“Buck, you of all people should know that we can’t trust the—”

“You ain’t above the law, Steve.” Barnes finally tore his eyes from the screen to stare at his best friend’s. His voice was ice. “You ain’t above 192 countries. If you can’t accept limitations, you’re no better than the bad guys.”

Tony’s sharp gasp synched with Team Cap’s.

“You’re defending Stark?” Barton asked, sounding as skeptical as Tony felt. “You, of all people?”

That’s it, no more tea from Strange. He was absolutely not witnessing this.

“Buck.”

“Steve,” Barnes mocked.

Rogers blinked, before his face contorted into something like anger. Tony wasn’t sure.

“Bucky, he tried to kill you!”

“I killed his parents!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Barton jumped off the couch. “What the fuck?”

“Okay, what?”

The rest of the team, including Maximoff but not Romanoff, reacted like this was big news.

“That wasn’t—!”

“Yes, it was. No, shut the fuck up, Steven Grant Rogers,” Barnes growled, and Tony couldn’t for the life of him believe his eyes and ears. “I killed his parents. I fuckin’ killed his parents, that was me, brainwashed or not. Their death is on my hands and I take full blame and responsibility for what I did.”

“Hold up a sec—” Wilson started, but Barnes wasn’t done.

“But you, Steve, didn’t take no fucking blame or responsibility. You knew it had been me, and you didn’t tell him. You knew it hadn’t been an accident from the start, and you didn’t tell him. Didn’t you say you were friends?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then what the hell, Steve—”

“How was I supposed to tell him?” Rogers finally snapped. “How could I say it? How do you say that to someone? Buck, you’re my friend—”

“So was he, damn it!”

Tony could feel his eyes growing progressively wider.

“You’re my friend, I was protecting you!” There was actual betrayal in Rogers’ face. “If I told him, he would have gone after you!”

“Would he?” Barnes gestured around vaguely. “I’m standin’ right here, in his house, per his invite, and not once has he tried to pick up where we left off.”

“Not yet,” Lang corrected. “He doesn’t because he’s smart enough not to mess with you, seeing as that would mean messing with us.”

And then Barnes’ face, ever so calculatingly blank, stretched in the most scornful smirk Tony had ever seen.

“Oh, he’s smart alright. But that ain’t why. Lord knows he could kick your asses on his own if he needed to. He certainly kicked mine and Steve’s.”

“Okay, what?” Wilson—it had been Wilson—repeated.

“When did this happen?” Maximoff asked, right back to Stark-Hate mode.

Both Rogers and Barnes fell into silence, one out of guilt and one out of sheer anger.

“You didn’t tell them about Siberia.” It wasn’t a question.

“Siberia?”

“Siberia?”

“What happened in Siberia?”

Tony could never be sure watching through video feed as he was, despite the fine quality of his installed surveillance, but the expression Barnes now had struck too close to the one he’d associated with the Winter Soldier.

Rogers did make an effort to explain, surprisingly. “Tony came to us after Leipzig. As a friend. He… he found out the truth. Lashed out, attacked Bucky. I stepped in and it… it just went downhill from there.”

“What do you mean, ‘downhill’?” It was Romanoff who asked, at a loss to make a difference.

Rogers took too long to come up with his response. Barnes beat him to it.

“He tried to kill him.” Perceived cold fact. “He crushed his arc reactor, then left him to die in the cold.”

He was met with silence, underlaid with the movie in the background. Barnes got up.

“I already watched Pulp Fiction last week,” he informed, then promptly left.

In his lab, Tony watched him go. The moment Barnes was out of frame, he turned off all monitors. Left himself in complete darkness.