#next to Rock Blues is the biggest obstacle to Metal and is absolutely a threat due to his position as the First

[willows-rambles]

ough metalblues is a plague on my mind and im gonna be thinking about them the whole day while at work

[tonystarktogo]

Here it is, my entry from the @winterironholidayexchange for Ehiel. This fic was supposed to be around 3k. Naturally I ended up writing another 7k in the last three days before the deadline *facepalm* I really hope you like it because, not to pressure anyone, but I might break down crying if you don’t. (Kidding. Well, mostly.) And don’t forget to check out the other works in the exchange!

Turning into a mindless killing machine isn’t what one might call a conventional reaction to a panic attack. It’s a good thing for Bucky then that Tony has never cared much for conventions anyways.

You can also read this on AO3.

The first time Tony Stark meets Bucky Barnes he is decidedly unimpressed.

Granted, Tony isn’t as caught up on the Hydra business as he’d like to be. But what little he’s read up on is more than the general public will ever know and the amount of time he’s spent revisiting security footage is bordering on obsessive.

Nevertheless Tony is intimately aware of the fact that this isn’t his fight, if only because he hasn’t been asked to join. It’s disheartening, just a bit, that Steve hasn’t thought to call him but contrary to popular opinion Tony is capable of minding his own business—or leaving the stalking up to JARVIS and playing obvious for as long as he dares to remain on the sidelines.

The mess is over and done with before it gets that far, the expected explosions and proprietary damage included, and Steve, Sam and Barnes drop off the grind before Tony has finished reaching for the phone. He considers searching for them half a dozen times, but the world is still standing—and in need of someone ensuring it stays that way—and Pepper only lets him flunk every third board meeting unless the apocalypse is involved, so.

A few weeks of radio silence later Natasha drops by. She lets him know everyone is alive and accounted for, does pointedly not apologise for exposing all of Hydra’s dirty secrets to the Internet without a single word of warning and disappears before Tony has a chance to needle her for the good answers.

Knowing when he is being told to back off without saying so, Tony decides to take the wait and see approach most people don’t believe him capable of. JARVIS keeps an eye out for unusual activities, impractical arrest orders especially, but except for a small incident in Turkey the lonesome trio does a good job of covering its tracks. Meanwhile Tony’s life goes on as it always does, weekly villain encounters and all.

Until Steve calls him three months later, asking for a place to stay and stumbling over every word in his shoddy attempt to explain the presence of a recently recovered friend. As though there is any way Tony—or anyone else for that matter—could have missed a god damn exploding helicarrier. As though Tony hasn’t gone beyond what humanity is supposed to be capable of to retrieve all accessible information on the Winter Soldier project and erase as many references to it as possible.

Honestly, Tony would be insulted by Steve’s obviousness if it wasn’t so damn endearing.

It takes seventeen hours and thirty six minutes after that phone call for Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and the officially still dead James Barnes to arrive at his Tower. And suddenly, for the first time ever—because comic books absolutely don’t count—Tony comes face to face with Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s most infamous side-kick.

Tony isn’t sure what exactly he expects when he finally lays eyes on the man but what he doesn’t expect is how, for lack of a better word, underwhelming the entire experience is.

Tony didn’t realise that he has already built an image of Barnes in his mind. Based on stories Howard used to tell on the occasional good day, memories Peggy shared with him while they were still there to be told, an off-handed comment Steve makes sometimes, most likely without noticing. At least Tony didn’t realise until he gets confronted with the real deal. One that doesn’t measure up to any of his expectations.

For one thing, Barnes is quiet. And it’s more than just the soundless movements you would expect from a feared assassin. It’s in the man’s very presence. Barnes’ posture is all hunched shoulders and bowed back, eyes fixated on the ground when they aren’t restlessly taking notes of his surrounding. He is- vacant. To a frankly unsettling degree. It makes Tony question whether there is anything left to save of the person Barnes used to be.

Because what Tony meets during that first encounter isn’t Steve’s best friend or Captain America’s most trusted companion, isn’t even the infamous Winter Soldier. It’s a shell wearing a familiar face, nothing more, and Tony can’t help wondering how Steve can stand looking into those lifeless eyes and not see anything look back at him.

Clearing his throat Tony nods into the man’s direction in acknowledgement. “Barnes,” he says and if his voice comes out a little more gruff than it should have nobody comments on it.

Blue eyes fixate themselves on him, empty of recognition but sharper than glass shards all the same. In that single moment Tony sees a cold-blooded killer appraising his next victim, sees an abandoned boy crying out desperately, sees a sniper taking aim, sees a fighter trapped in a war he can neither win nor loose.

“Stark,” Barnes rasps, void of any emotion, and after a long moment of uncomfortable silence Tony decides that’s all he is going to get.

“You two know where your rooms are,” Tony tells Sam and Steve, continues talking because that’s what he does best. “Barnes, there’s an empty floor right below Steve’s if you’ve seen enough of those two after the last few weeks, otherwise I’m sure Steve here is willing to share. Who knows, maybe you even get to sleep in the top bunk! Get yourselves situated, if you need anything tell JARVIS. And Wilson, if there’s a single bowl of Ben&Jerry’s missing when I get back, we’ll have words.”

Barnes doesn’t smile once during his tirade—Tony isn’t sure why he expects him too—and he makes his escape before he can think more deeply about it.

All in all meeting Barnes’ isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to Tony but it’s hardly under the top ten either. If anything it could be describe as rather anticlimactic.

In hindsight, Tony should have taken that as a warning.

*

The next time Tony sees Barnes is almost three weeks later. It’s impressive really, how successful the man avoids him. Even more so because Tony still isn’t sure if it’s him personally Barnes stays away from or just people in general.

To be fair, Tony has been out of town for most of the time, since apparently Stark Industries can’t run itself despite Pepper’s best efforts. There’s also the fact that JARVIS has labeled Barnes the biggest threat towards his creator within the Tower and has so far done an admirable job of preventing any accidental run-in’s between the two of them. Tony has had a few conversations with Sam and has slipped right back into his usual banter with Steve, but neither of them have made any comments in regards to Barnes. Which, Tony suspects, is a statement in itself.

All in all seeking out a mentally unstable, former Hydra assassin who doesn’t want to be found sounds like a stupid idea. Meaning that eventually Tony would have undoubtedly done so, but before he has the chance to do something drastic, Tony ends up stumbling upon his most elusive house guest on accident.

It’s somewhere between midnight and afternoon, as far as his internal clock can tell, and Tony is long past the point of knowing whether he suffers from a lack of coffee or a caffeine overdoes. Staggering his way to the kitchen—or his bedroom, knowing JARIVS’ secret identity as a badass mother hen—Tony enters the open living room area right when the AI’s urgent voice penetrates his foggy mind.

“Sir, I believe the elevator to your right to be-“ It never fails to impress Tony how well JARVIS manages to convey his rising worry, without ever dropping the posh tone he initially added to the program as a joke and the AI had taken an immediate liking to.

Had he been a little more aware Tony might have caught the implied warning before he literally stumbles over a shivering ball of miserable super soldier. As it is he doesn’t. In fact Tony doesn’t even realise what the unexpected obstacle in his way is until it lashes out, an arm—thankfully not the metal one, striking with lightening speed, causing him to loose his balance and topple over like a particularly ungraceful baby deer.

During the long seconds it takes Tony’s sleep-deprived mind to catch up with his body’s uncoordinated fall, all he does is lie on the ground, blinking. It will only be later that Tony will look back on this moment and realise how incredibly lucky he has been. Barnes on a mission is a challenge to begin with, had he truly attempted to kill him Tony would have been in no position to fight him off.

Thankfully by the time adrenaline finally does its job and kicks Tony’s mind back into business Barnes hasn’t moved from his position of sitting huddled together on the floor, slowly rocking back and forth.

Tony opens his mouth, though whether to pointlessly scold JARVIS or say something off-topic and very unhelpful to Barnes he doesn’t know, when Steve comes rushing around the corner, panicked expression and Sam hot on his heels.

“Tony!” Steve calls out and promptly winces when the sudden noise causes Barnes to curl into himself even more with a whimper. “I’m so sorry,” he continues, rushed but markedly softer than before, “today was a good day, I didn’t expect-“

“A full-blown panic attack in my living room?” Tony goes for dry sarcasm but the words come out more as mumbled mess.

Not that it matters. Tony has already lost the majority of Steve’s attention at that point. The man is too busy crouching in front of his friend, talking in soothing tones. Thankfully Steve doesn’t make any move to reach out and touch Barnes. Even with his limited understanding of Barnes’ mental health, Tony is sure it would be a very bad idea.

In Tony’s opinion—not that anyone has asked for it, mind you—it doesn’t sound like a good idea to crowd the almost hyperventilating man either. But Sam Wilson has previous experience with veterans suffering from PTSD and Steve is the guy’s closest friend and confidant. Or was, but semantics. More importantly, the two have spent the last two months in close quarters with Barnes and treat this like a common occurrence, so Tony figures they know what they’re doing.

Turns out they don’t know what they’re doing.

It happens too fast for Tony to see what exactly goes wrong. All he knows is that one moment Barnes is a ball of spiralling panic and the next he lets out what is either an inhumane sounding snarl or a very angrily spoken Russian curse. Then Barnes is on his feet, the movement almost too fast for human eyes and Tony freezes. He has always seen the Winter Soldier as more of a dramatic villain name chosen by Hydra and less like a separate identity but the current situation makes him reevaluate that assessment.

Because the man now positioning himself in front of Steve may wear Barnes’s face but he looks nothing like him. He’s standing tall and proud for one thing, his stance prominently displaying his metal arm—and dear lord, what Tony wouldn’t give to get a closer look at that beauty—instead of curling around it like he wants to hide it from the world. His entire posture conveys calm confidence instead of the usual worn-down guilt and his eyes are cold and emotionless as they assess their surroundings.

This, Tony knows with complete certainty, isn’t Bucky or Barnes, this is the weapon Hydra spent decades shaping and perfecting. This is the Winter Soldier. And even as a part of Tony recoils in disgust at the mere thought of the horrors Barnes must have suffered, there is another part that can’t help but applaud the fine job they have done.

Then Barnes moves, the suddenness of the motion catching Tony by surprise, and Steve lunges and it all goes downhill from there.

It is a small mercy that Tony doesn’t keep anything irreplaceable on this particular floor.

*

“It’s an instinctive response to highly stressful, emotionally taxing situations,” Sam explains once they have finally manoeuvred Barnes into the hulk containment room, much to Steve’s displeasure. “Slipping back into Hydra’s programming serves as a means to protect himself, emotionally and physically.”

“He doesn’t always attack,” Steve hurries to pacify. “Mostly he just stays in a corner and watches until he’s calmed down again but sometimes something startles him and that’s when he lashes out.”

“I need to sleep,” Tony says and that is the end of the discussion.

*

When Tony wakes up some twenty odd hours later, he isn’t sure what to expect. For Steve to guilty avoid eye contact for a few days probably and for Sam to not steal any of his bagels because neither of them has seen it fit to inform him of the highly efficient killing machine Barnes occasionally turns into.

Tony may or may not be a bit pissed about that.

Barnes on the other hand he expects to keep his distance even more than usual, if that is at all possible. Clearly the man is weighed down by his guilt, which, well. Tony certainly knows how that feels. He also knows how enticing the prospect to run away from it all is—and how well that usually works. You can’t blame a man for trying though.

What Tony doesn’t expect is for Barnes to approach him.

They are in the kitchen, which makes sense because now that Tony thinks about it Barnes doesn’t have access to his workshop. Barnes is definitely completely Barnes too, down to the lowered eyes, unhappy curve of his lips and hanging shoulders. He’s eluding such an aura of misery that makes Tony sort of want to grab a hold of his arms and shake him until he stops.

“Uhm. Stark.” It sounds like a question. Barnes clears his throat, fingers nervously playing with the hem of his shirt and Tony bites his bottom lip to keep quiet because this is physically painful to witness.

“I- I wanted to,” Barnes clearly struggles though Tony is unsure whether it’s because he struggles to remember how to use his words or because he simply doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” the man finally manages, voice raw and eyes wide and vulnerable.

It’s a look that feels like a punch in the gut, leaves Tony gasping for breath and close to speechless but he forces himself to answer anyways.

“It’s not a problem, Buckaroo,” Tony chirps, notes Barnes’ forehead crinkle in confusion at the nickname, “Pepper’s been wanting to remodel that floor for months anyway, says the colour pattern was off, which, ridiculous, right? You’ve seen the room, why would it look better in pastel and mint green?”

Barnes tilts his head and musters up the faintest of all shrugs but it quickly becomes apparent that he has used up his daily quota of spoken words for now. Tony doesn’t mind, fills the silence with his usual babbling as they both wait for the coffee maker to pour what essentially amounts to Tony’s life elixir into a cup.

When he finally turns around again Tony is alone, no sign of Barnes’ presence or where he might have gone. He could ask JARVIS of course but Tony doesn’t see the point.

“Keep an eye on him, buddy,” he mutters.

Tony swears the AI sighs in exasperation.

“Always, Sir.”

Perhaps there is more left of the original Bucky than Tony has initially expected after all.

*

When doors to the elevator open it takes Tony all but two seconds to take the entire situation in. Barnes is, once again, curled up in a corner, violently shaking his head while Steve is trying to talk him down, voice infused with as much calmness as possible. Sam is nowhere in sight. Considering the time he is probably out on a run.

“How long, J?” Tony asks reflexively, even as he slowly approaches the duo. The answered “Approximately seventeen minutes, Sir,” makes him suppress a sigh.

This is really not what he had in mind when he finally managed to escape Pepper’s sharp eyes. Tony isn’t a particularly empathetic person on a good day and today definitely hasn’t been one of those. Still, the last time he left this job to Steve he had to pay a couple of thousand dollars for proprietary damage. Although he can technically afford it, Tony prefers to keep his home intact for as long as possible. There are enough villains blowing it up when they feel like it already, he doesn’t need his own team to do it too.

“Alright then.”

Tony takes another few steps towards Barnes and pointedly sits down on the floor, trying very hard not to think about the disadvantages of this position, should his plan fail and the Winter Soldier lash out again. It won’t be pretty, that much he knows for sure, but Tony has never been good at following his common sense.

Tony is an inventor at heart, making leaps and taking chances is in his nature. It’s the only way to keep moving forward. That’s all he is doing right now, or so Tony tries to tell his pounding heart, and really, when has fear ever kept him from doing what needs to be done?

“Barnes!” Tony calls out, tone firm but free of any aggression. Unsurprisingly Barnes tenses anyways, eyes snapping towards the potential threat with lethal sharpness, but that’s to be expected. As long as he isn’t outright attacking, Tony is going to count it as a victory.

Steve doesn’t seem to share his assessment.

“Tony!”, he hisses, in equal parts confused and annoyed. “What do you think you’re-“

“Shut up, Cap,” Tony commands pleasantly, unwilling to risk alienating Barnes in his current state. He doesn’t have a death wish, thank you very much. Tony promptly proceeds to ignore the spluttering Captain America, who’s thankfully stumbled a couple of steps back and is no longer in Barnes’ direct line of sight. Instead Tony focuses on Barnes, forces himself to hold the man’s scarily intense gaze.

“Barnes,” he calls out again, as commanding as he dares, and Tony has never believed in all that windows of the soul bullshit but right now he swears he can see the ongoing fight in Barnes’ eyes, can read the desperation in the icy shade of blue. Or maybe Tony is hallucinating. He really should have eaten that sandwich JARVIS keeps nagging him about. “Tell me five things you see.”

“Five- Tony, what-“

“I said shut up, Rogers. Barnes!” Tony repeats beseechingly, voice hardening in spite of himself. “Tell me five things you see.”

Barnes blinks, brows furrowing. “I- you,” he forces the word out as though it causes him physical pain, breath heavy and chest heaving.

Tony nods in encouragement, holding up four fingers with his left hand and watching as Barnes’ gaze fixates itself on the digits for a moment before he visibly forces himself to glance around the room.

“Door,” Barnes continues slowly. The intonation sounds off, as though he only half remembers how to say the letters out loud. It makes Tony wonder if it’s easier for Barnes to recall his Russian vocabulary in his current state instead of the English one or if that would make the panic worse.

“Wall,” is Barnes’ next word. Tony’s only holding up two fingers now and it looks like they are on the right track after all. But then Barnes’ gaze flickers towards Steve and what little calm the distraction has managed to impair on him is swallowed up in a wave of pure fear.

Tony sees the exact moment it happens, the way the panic-stricken face slackens and wide eyes narrow in calculation, as easy as a switch that has been flipped. He’s scrambling backwards before he knows it, well-aware that he isn’t going to make it out of the room alive if the Winter Soldier so desires and frantically hoping he doesn’t, because Jesus Christ Pepper is going to be pissed if he leaves her alone with his mess of a company.

Thankfully Steve tackles the Winter Soldier to the ground before they get the chance to find out what assassins do when left unsupervised with fragile, human billionaires. Not so thankfully the Winter Soldier doesn’t take the attack lying down. Tony is getting sick real fast of renovating his living quarters because the modified members of the team lack the necessary control over their superior strength in a fight.

It’s time to take a more active approach to the Barnes Situation, Tony decides and watches with a wince as Barnes’ slams Steve’s head into—or through, it’s hard to tell from his current vantage point—the TV.

“JARVIS, initiate the Big Brother Protocol.”

*

A week of uncomfortably close observation of all the comings and goings and interactions in his Tower has taught Tony the following facts:

One, Steve is one hell of an amazing friend. The dedication the guy shows is honestly ridiculous and Tony wouldn’t have believed it could be found in real life if he hadn’t watched the evidence on tape. Multiple times.

Two, Barnes is all kinds of fucked in the head. Which isn’t surprising, never mind that it would be hypocritical of Tony of all people to demand sanity of his guests. Still. Tony has been informed about the seventy years of brainwashing part in the man’s CV but there is a difference between knowing it and seeing it.

Three, Steve is completely, utterly hopeless when it comes to dealing with Barnes’ panic attacks.

It is based on these three conclusions that Tony plans his next move.

*

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupts Tony’s recalculation of the maximum amount of storage he can put into his newest Starkphone mini, “Mr. Barnes is showing symptoms of high emotional distress identical to his usual behaviour patterns in the first stages of a panic attack.”

“Excellent!” Tony claps his hand because it’s been three weeks and he’s started to worry that Steve will never leave his BFF’s side long enough for the man to have an attack without Cap there to make it worse. Then he promptly winces, realising exactly how terrible that sounds. In Tony’s defence though, neither Barnes’ mental state nor Steve’s ability to calm the guy down have have shown any signs of improving.

“Have you notified Cap?”

“As per your request, I have refrained from doing so.” There is no mistaking the disapproval in the AI’s voice, though it has most likely less to do with locking Steve out and more with the rest of Tony’s plan.

“Right,” Tony is already at the door of the workshop and heading towards the elevator, far too used to ignoring JARVIS’ possibly very legitimate concern. “Let’s do this.”

“Sir, are you sure this is wise?”

“Probably not,” Tony admits with a shrug, “But when have I ever let that stop me? Now get me to our snow princess, J.”

*

There is one moment, right when he steps out of the elevator, where Tony honestly considers abandoning the plan and hiding in his workshop until Steve comes back. Barnes isn’t his problem after all.

Then Tony meets startled blue eyes from across the room and remembers that self-preservation has never been his strong suit for a reason. And really, what is life without a couple of near death experiences?

“You look like shit,” are the first words out of Tony’s mouth and something akin to a smirk withers away on Barnes’ lips before it has the chance to blossom into a full expression.

If anything the words are an understatement. Physically speaking Barnes is taller and broader than Tony but the way he’s currently sinking into himself makes him look brittle, like a harsh slap on the shoulder might break something worse than bones. Barnes’ lips are bitten raw to the point where Tony can make out smeared blood on rapidly healing skin. He is pale, to the point where his skin looks almost grey and his eyes are hazy and restless and so hunted.

Against his better knowledge Tony takes a step towards the curled up man. The motion causes Barnes’ head to snap around, body forced out of the vulnerable position so quickly Tony is sure he must have pulled a muscle or two, and suddenly prey is the last thing the man in front of him radiates. Tony freezes in his place, hands lifted reflexively. Barnes doesn’t attack though, for all that his eyes are void of humanity, and the faint tremor in his hands assures Tony that he hasn’t lost the man completely yet.

“Barnes,” Tony says, a statement and a question in one.

Barnes snarls, a terrible, biting sound and that’s it, Tony knows it, he’s done for. Only Barnes doesn’t close in on him, doesn’t attack. His hands are clenched so tightly by his side, they seem to vibrate with tension though.

“Leave,” Barnes forces the word out between gritted teeth, his focus on Tony slipping for a moment before it returns with the single-mindedness of a hunter narrowing in on its target.

Barnes still fighting the programming, the command is proof enough of that, but from the gasping breaths and sweat gathering on his forehead it’s easy to tell Barnes isn’t going to win this one.

Tony has no intention of letting it get that far.

“Tell me the first five things you can see,” he commands gently. It’s a tone he’s been practicing with a first aid instructor after the last time, supposed to be effective when dealing with people in shock. There’s no reason the same doesn’t apply for brainwashed, enhanced soldiers from the forties, or so Tony hopes.

Barnes’ eyes are flickering again, trying to take in everything at once as his body sags a little, looses some of the unnatural straightness to curl into itself again.

“You’re alright,” Tony continues, tries to keep his voice even and firm the way he has been taught. “You know what to do, you’ve done it before. Look around and tell me the first five things you see.”

For a long moment Barnes doesn’t respond. Doesn’t show any sign of having heard Tony in the first place. Then, Barnes tilts his head sideways, opens his mouth and speaks. It’s a single word, or at least Tony assumes it is, an unrecognisable, garbled mess of a sound.

It’s hard to tell if it’s some sort of wordless yell or Barnes’ attempt at doing as he’s told. But before Tony has the chance to make up his mind, Barnes’ intent gaze finally breaks away from him and this time, when Barnes says “Lamp,” it’s almost the actual, English word.

Tony could hug the man if it wasn’t for the high probability of getting his neck snapped.

“Window,” continues Barnes, the pronunciation audibly harsher compared to how he usually talks. It makes Tony wonder what he considers his native language nowadays. English? Russian? German? Whatever else Hydra’s come up with over the years?

The last two words, “Table,” and “Apple,” come a bit faster. It doesn’t escape Tony’s notice though that Barnes’ eyes flicker back to him in between every word, checking. Whether for signs of displeasure or threatening movements Tony doesn’t know.

“Good,” he says immediately, unwilling to allow Barnes to get lost further in his own head than he already is. “You’re doing great. Now tell me four things you can hear.”

“Voice,” is the immediate response. It catches Tony off-guard for a second, unsure whether Barnes means him or whether there are other voices he should be worrying about. Another question to file away for later.

“Bru-Breath,” comes next, the word catching on Barnes’ tongue before he manages to wrestle it into submission.

He manages the next two words with little trouble and Tony feels the first tendrils of relief rising from the bottom of his stomach. Panic is a complicated thing, Tony knows that better than most people. There are lots of coping mechanisms people have come up with over the years, some more effective than others.

Counting things in an effort to anchor yourself to reality is one of Tony’s favourites. People are different though, and he knows there are others who don’t deal well with an assigned task they don’t see themselves capable of completing. He has once met a guy who has driven himself even deeper into the panic because of the pressure of the countdown. In comparison Barnes appears to do fine, all things considered.

“Tell me three things you can touch,” Tony says, unable to keep his rising confidence from seeping into his tone.

There’s a moment between “Wood,” and “Wool,” where it’s touch and go. Barnes’ visibly looses his focus again, breath picking up until it turns into wheezing pants instead.

Tony clings to the calm confidence he’s started to build up but keeps his encouragement to a simple “Focus onto the cloth in your hand,”, worried that too much noise may do more harm than good.

Barnes hands clench and unclench again, perhaps a habit, perhaps an subconscious desire to reach for his weapons. He rips his sweatshirt beyond saving but manages a choked, “Carpet,” which is a decent trade as far as Tony is concerned.

Two things Barnes can smell end up being “Sweat,” and “Coffee beans.” Both are a fair assessment and Tony doesn’t succeed at hiding the proud smile that occupies his lips without permission at the fact that Barnes is starting to use longer words.

He leads Barnes through a small detour of “six red things in this room,” and “four blue ones,” just to be on the safe side. Only when the tension in Barnes’ shoulders abates, his body reflexively uncurling again and one of his answers ends up being “that fuckin’ lamp Sam never switches off,” does Tony deem it time to end the exercise with one last “Alright, now tell me one thing you can taste.”

Barnes winces at that one, a shadow flashing across the pale face that lets Tony know without doubt he’s made a mistake. The other man remains calm though, the white-knuckled fists by his side the only physical sign of his distress.

“Blood,” is all he says, blue eyes clear but filled with an anguish that is far too human, and Tony knows better than to ask if he means his own.

For a long moment after, the only sound to be heard in the room are their combined breaths. Tony is still standing right in front of the elevator, Barnes now more leant than curled against the wall he’s chosen to hide behind. The silence wraps itself around them like a heavy blanket, warm but stifling in a way that makes Tony’s skin itch.

Surprisingly it’s Barnes who breaks the quiet first.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, brows furrowing when Tony limits his response to a single question, accompanied by a pointed glance.

“Because you were doing just fine on your own?” The words are dripping with the kind of honeyed mockery Tony should know better than to direct at an enhanced assassin. They come as easy as breathing all the same.

“I could have killed you!” And there it is, a rare glimpse at the rage, the fury that has nothing to do with the savage survival instinct of the Winter Soldier. An emotion purely Barnes that is usually buried too deep under guilt and self-hatred for Barnes to recognise it as such.

“So could Pepper on a war path, those damn aliens or my own liver,” Tony snorts. “Get off your horse, snowflake, you’re not that special.”

“You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met!” Barnes growls. Honest to god growls.

“But you haven’t killed me yet,” Tony replies without thought and resolutely suppresses a wince when his words catch up with him. Maybe this is cruel but Tony has never been one to shy away from the truth just because it makes for an ugly picture. “I’ll take what I can get.”

*

Barnes stays out of sight the next day, but freshly brewed cups of coffee and a variety of Tony’s favourite snacks make it a habit to appear out of nowhere in the most convenient places.

It’s not a thank you exactly. As far as Tony is concerned, it’s better.

*

For all that Barnes is scarily talented at evading Tony, it takes less than three days for them to stumble into each other again.

It’s a coincidence, but considering Barnes is moments away from turning into a blood-thirsty nightmare and Steve is nowhere to be seen, it’s probably a good one. Tony certainly doesn’t hesitate kneeling down, just shy out of the man’s reach, to make himself useful once more.

It’s not as easy as the last time, if dealing with Barnes stuck between blind panic and ferocious aggression can be called easy at all. Barnes keeps rocking himself back and forth, muttering indiscernible words in Russian. He’s half-gone but still hitting the wall at random intervals, yelling out numbers and single words as though they will somehow give him the strength to endure the maelstrom of blackened feelings swirling behind frightened, blue eyes.

Truth is, Barnes is rapidly losing it. He knows it. Tony knows it. JARVIS probably knows it as well. Barnes keeps fighting though, not giving up an inch for free, and that, right there, is something Tony respects. Too bad it doesn’t change that he needs to get out of here right now, before he shares the fate of his last four TVs.

Despite that Tony hesitates. Because Tony doesn’t like the thought of giving up any more than Barnes does and it’s that reckless determination that drives him to impulsively answer Barnes’ mumbling with the only command he can think of which Barnes might actually recognise.

All of Barnes.

“Cтоп!” Tony calls out sharply and hopes, wills himself to believe this will work. And Barnes freezes, caught off-guard for the first time.

It still takes a lot of counting, Barnes breaking a table and punching three holes into the wall before they’re done, but by the end of it Tony is alive and Barnes is sane again. Or as close to sane as he ever is these days.

Just like the last time Barnes doesn’t thank Tony but neither does he lash out. Instead he closes his eyes and runs a shaky hand through his tangled hair, the picture of hopeless exhaustion.

“I didn’t know you speak Russian, Stark,” Barnes mutters eventually, voice pitched two degrees softer than when Tony has to talks him down. It’s the first time Barnes has used his name, so Tony decides to cut him some slack.

“That’s because I don’t, Barnes.”

Barnes blinks at him, lips twitching like they want to form a smile or a question but have forgotten how. In the end he doesn’t ask and Tony is content to simply sit on the ground and enjoy the feeling of his still beating heart. Besides it’s not even a lie. Four words—Stop and three much less polite ones—hardly make up a language.

Tony suspects it might be time to change that though.

*

It becomes a regular thing. Tony has JARVIS monitor Barnes for signs of distress, this time with the man’s knowledge and implied permission, and when possible does his best to help Barnes calm down. Sometimes he comes too late. Sometimes it works better than others. Sometimes Steve is there and Tony’s living room turns into a battlefield.

The problem with regular things is, you get used to them. Sure, Tony knows the danger every time he approaches Barnes but it’s less distinctive, becomes a familiar awareness instead. And with every time he watches Barnes slowly wrestle his escalating emotions back under control, Tony learns more.

He learns when Barnes needs verbal guidance and when it’s best to back off and hope for the best. He learns how to tell when Barnes is safe to touch and when he needs to add another round of questions just to be sure. Learns that Barnes appreciates cutting jokes and dark humour once the edge has been taken off. Learns that speaking Russian is fine as well, as long as Barnes has a clear sight of Tony when he does it.

And so maybe Tony doesn’t just get used to dealing with Barnes’ panic attacks. He also gets used to dealing with Barnes. Spending time with him. Being comfortable in his presence.

Things grow from there.

When he has the time to spare, Tony hangs around for a time, even after Barnes is back to himself again. To keep an eye on him, in the beginning at least. And maybe to get some dirt on the Capsicle too.

The point is, they talk. Not always. Certainly not a lot. Sometimes all Barnes does is stare at a wall, eyes so dead Tony wonders if he’s really doing the man a favour by keeping his murderous side at bay. But on other days, Barnes lets things slip. Or asks a question. Or listens.

It starts with a “What’s a LOL?” here and a “I don’t like people touching the arm,” there. Barnes isn’t a good talker by any means, but Tony knows how to fill unwelcome silences and keep up meaningless chatter when the situation calls for it. He rants about stakeholders, board members and politicians, and complains about Steve’s tendency to clean up after him even though Tony is an adult perfectly capable of looking after himself.

“Or hiring your own cleaning stuff,” Barnes interrupts his rant, with less scorn and more humour than one might expect. Tony can’t help but beam at the other man at that, because Barnes has just made his first joke in Tony’s presence and that’s progress. Admittedly, they’ll have to work on the smiling part, but baby steps.

“It still counts!” Tony cries indignantly instead, gratified when Barnes’ smile becomes a shade more genuine.

*

The inevitable happens eventually.

Of course it does. Counting shit, as Barnes likes to call it, can be a surprisingly effective distraction technique. Especially considering how simple it really is. It is not a miracle cure however and can only do so much to combat a decade-old drill response.

“Sir!” JARVIS calls out, a pointless warning for all that it is part of the emergency protocols.

One moment Barnes watches Tony working on his suit and the next his features blank out. Like a switch that has been flipped the man changes, eager curiosity turning into cool calculation.

The workshop goes into lockdown before Tony has fully processed what's happening. It’s part of the security protocols he has personally installed—because they have all agreed that the only thing worse than Barnes on a killing spree is him not being contained in the Tower whilst on it.

On the bright side, Tony is confident Barnes won’t be able to escape the workshop. With his more recent designs added, it takes far more than enhanced strength to break down his doors. Of course Tony has never planned to be locked in with the man, should he loose control like this.

Which has apparently been an oversight on his part.

Alarms must be ringing all over the Tower by now, but here, behind the thick, sound-proofed walls, the only sound to be heard are the comforting beeps of Tony's machines and whirrs of metal. Help won’t come, won’t even be let through. This time there won’t be a Cap to fight the Winter Soldier until Barnes comes back to himself.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, Tony slowly puts the hammer down onto the table. Then, against all instincts, he turns his back on the suit to faces Barnes instead. He hasn’t spent the last weeks coaching this man on how to handle his panic attacks to fight him to death now, dammit.

There must be something wrong with him to feel this anger instead of fear, Tony considers absently, then dismisses the irrelevant thought. Focusing on the Winter Soldier, who has by some miracle not yet moved, instead chooses to appraise Tony from a distance, seems far more important.

And honestly, Tony has forgotten how striking the differences between this guy and the Barnes he has come to know are. It’s in the way he stands, broad shoulders drawn back and spine straightened with steel. A posture built on pride and confidence, two things Barnes decidedly lacks. It’s in the tilt of his head, lowered but not bowed. A fortress not built so overwhelm as much as to endure whatever enemy it may face. And then here is the sharpness to the Soldier’s eyes that makes them appear lighter, almost colourless, in the brightly lit workshop, and all the more lethal for it.

Then the Winter Soldier speaks, gruff and throaty but still recognisable as Barnes' voice on its most fundamental level.

“Вы не укладчик.”

You are no handler.

It could be anything, from accusation to compliment. The Winter Soldier’s countenance is free of any cues and it’s this, the complete lack of aggression, that makes Tony answer honestly. He's suddenly very glad to have invested some time into improving his Russian.

“Верный,” Tony agrees. He wonders how much of Barnes’ knowledge the Soldier has access to. How much of it he is capable of understanding.

The Soldier’s gaze dances across the room almost lazily, but Tony doesn’t doubt that he’s memorising every little detail. The Soldier still hasn’t attacked though. Instead an eerily calm aura has settled around the man, a thin layer of pretence trying to cover the rumbling beast within, and just as reassuring. Tony has a hard time deciding whether or not he should worry about that.

“You create,” the Soldier comments, gaze sweeping over the half-dismantled armour. The words aren't phrased as a question and it's this certainty that steals a derisive laugh from Tony’s throat before he remembers himself.

“I don’t create,” Tony sneers, unprepared for how easily this man, who is and isn’t Barnes, gets under his skin, brings memories of missiles and drones and ashes alive, along with every emotion attached to them. “I burn.”

For a long moment the Winter Soldier stares at Tony, as if to measure his sincerity.

Then, he smiles.

It’s biting and feral and blood-thirsty, and in all likelihood the single most terrifying thing Tony has ever witnessed. It’s also the first time he has seen Barnes’ face smile at all and it’s beautiful.

“Good,” the Soldier states. He sounds like he means it.

Tony spends the next hours pondering those words, cursing all his life choices up to this point and eventually continuing his work whilst pretending he doesn’t share the room with a trigger-happy assassin. Glacial, blue eyes watch him silently.

*

After The Incident, as Tony likes to refer to his encounter with Winter Soldier, Barnes goes back to avoiding him again. Which, whatever. It’s not like Tony misses hanging out with the man or anything. They have barely spent any time together outside of their little pseudo therapy chats, it would be pathetic of him to consider Barnes a friend because of it.

Not that Tony doesn’t see Barnes because the other man stops by every once in a while. In a manner of speaking.

It seems that the Winter Soldier has decided stalking Tony is a rewarding way to spend his free time and he makes it a point to drop by whenever possible. And if Tony just happens to be in a highly secured room beyond the Soldier’s reach or someone stands in his way? Well. He makes his displeasure known. Loudly.

As it turns out, one is never too old for a temper tantrum.

The funny thing is, when he gets his way the Soldier doesn’t actually do anything. He just stays in the corner of the workshop that has unofficially been declared as his and watches Tony tirelessly, sometimes for hours to no end. When Tony leaves the ‘shop, the Soldier follows in his shadow, observes movies and dinners from the sidelines. He doesn't participate, doesn't interact with anyone, just stays in Tony's shadow like it's the most comfortable place to be.

The first time the Soldier dropped by he almost gave Tony a heart attack, the engineer having been caught up too far in his own head to notice JARVIS’ warnings, but by now he has gotten used to the constant presence looming at his back. More than is probably wise.

What is much harder to get used to is the way the Soldier becomes Barnes again, a change too subtle to pick up on until it has already been completed. Sometimes Tony is too distracted to notice and Barnes simply disappears in the background with remarkable similarity to his other self. On days like today though, Tony has the questionable pleasure of watching the process first hand. It starts with the slumping posture and drawn together eyebrows, the unhappy turn of the corners of Barnes’ mouth as he takes in his surroundings.

At least there is no more panic and shock over where he is. Barnes has probably gotten used to this as much as Tony has. But the way Barnes immediately turns on his heels is still a bitter pill to swallow. It’s stupid, but Tony is tired of seeing the other man walk away from him.

“Barnes,” he calls out, gratified when Barnes pauses, shoulders tense, one hand already stretched out towards the door handle. Barnes doesn’t turn around but when Tony forcefully clears his throat in the silence stretching between them, he finds himself thankful for not having to face the man.

“You’re welcome here,” Tony ends up saying, voice a fraction too raw to hit the casual note he has been aiming for. “All of you is.”

Tony doubts Barnes believes him but it needs to be said. There are a lot of things that need to be said and they have to start somewhere.

*

“’S not wearing off,” Barnes says out of the blue, breaking the comfortable quiet they’ve fallen into.

It’s been a less intense panic attack, as far as Tony can judge. Barnes had calmed down almost all on his own, by the time Tony joined him, but that hasn’t stopped Tony from slipping back into the familiar role of the coach without a thought to their recent difficulties.

Now that Barnes is sitting on the ground, back against the wall and palms pressed flatly against the ground, focusing on him is no longer appropriate and Tony, who never lacks the words to talk about nothing, finds himself floundering.

“What do you mean?” he asks in a low voice, wary of breaking the unspoken truce.

“The freak-outs,” Barnes shrugs, the motion so slight it’s barely there. “The programming.”

Here he sighs, the action carrying a resignation that stems from somewhere deep within his very soul and leaves Tony feeling strangely like the air has been sucked out of his lungs. Turning his head sideways and allowing it to rest against his shoulder, Barnes’ fixates his vacant stare on a blank spot on the wall to Tony’s left and just- sags.

“Him.”

Tony doesn’t need to ask whom Barnes is talking about. He wants to though, because then at least he would have something to say instead of scrambling for words that refuse to come. When exactly has anyone seen it fit to turn him into a psychologist for traumatised ex-prisoners of war?

“It might help if you’d stop running away from everything,” ends up being what he says and Tony doesn’t need to see Barnes’s face to know that this is not how you comfort people. It’s too late to take the words back now though, so Tony plunges on like he always does. “You’ve got Capsicle and Sam watching your back. You’ve got SI’s doctors and the best brainwashing experts money can find at your service any time you want.”

“Stop!” Barnes hisses but Tony refuses to listen now that he has gotten into the swing of it, glares right back instead.

“No, I won’t!” he snaps, frustration, helplessness and the arctic but still too warm eyes of the man everything boils down to pushing the words he’s been biting back since Steve has first dragged Barnes through his door months ago finally forward. “Those panic attacks you’ve been experiencing for months, they aren’t just magically gonna disappear. Maybe they never will but sitting around, worrying over the next one won’t do shit! You need to deal with it. Find your triggers, learn to work around them, figure out loopholes, sources of comfort, whatever it takes. But stop your fucking pity party and do something!”

By the end of his rant, Tony is left breathless by the force of his own emotions. His simmering anger though has nothing on Barnes, who jumps to his feet in one fluid motion, whirls around and slams his fists against the wall so hard Tony thinks he can hear the bones break.

“I can’t!” Barnes screams. Then, quieter, a wounded sound fuelled by an entangled mess of agony and fury, “I can’t.”

The defeated aura clinging to Barnes like a heavy cloak that drags his head deeper under water is unbearable.

“Nobody expects you to be fine,” Tony states eventually, unable to cling to his own anger in the face of such unconditional capitulation, yet equally unable to accept it. “You have been the longest prisoner of war ever recorded. You have been tortured, experimented on, brainwashed and frozen alive. You have been used and abused for decades. That would change anyone and the fact that it’s changed you is no mark against you, do you understand that? Because you know what, Barnes?”

Tony’s body moves almost against his own will, and it’s the first time Tony is glad for his comparatively unimpressive height. It allows him to duck under Barnes’ arms and force frosty eyes to meet his own.

“You survived. You went through an unspeakable hell and you made it out alive.” The words hold the unshakeable conviction of someone who has been there, someone who has been remade not in ice but fire, but remade all the same. “You were strong enough to make it through everything Hydra threw at you. That’s how I know you’re strong enough to pick up the pieces now that you’re free.”

“Barnes,” Tony grabs a hold of the man’s broad shoulders and is at the same time surprised and unsurprised when Barnes doesn’t pull away from his touch, “You don’t need us. You don’t need me. You don’t need Steve or Sam or a world-class psychiatrist. But we’re here and we’re willing to help if you want us to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve got a real reputation for seeking help, Stark,” Barnes scoffs.

He hasn’t pushed Tony away yet though, and that is something.

“I didn’t say you have to get help, I said it’s there if you want it,” Tony corrects, refusing to rise to the bait. “You’ve been running from everything since you got away from Hydra and I don’t blame you for that. No one would. But this can’t be all you’re doing for the rest of your life. You’re not with Hydra anymore, Barnes! There are no handlers, there are no orders, and if I’ve got anything to say about it there never will be. You’re free. You have options now, and you need to learn how to use them.”

Barnes averts his eyes but not before Tony notices the bright shine in them. He doesn’t comment on the way Barnes’ hands cling to his forearms strong enough to leave bruises either.

“I-“ Barnes voice trails off then and his grip tightens just a little, forcing Tony to press his lips shut to keep the pained hiss from escaping.

“I remember Bucky,” Barnes chokes out eventually and there is a kind of desperation etched into his expression that belies the oh so simple words. “But I don’t remember being him.” The confession is hesitant, soft almost, but there is no mistaking the shame, the hopelessness in Barnes’ eyes.

Tony swallows, his throat suddenly too dry and his eyes too wet, as though his body fluids have forgotten where they belong. He gets it then, the way Barnes’ shies away from Steve’s attempts to reconcile, the way he avoids anything referring to his life pre-Hydra.

Still.

“You don’t really need to remember him though, do you?” Tony’s question appears to startle Barnes but Tony doesn’t let that deter him. “I mean, who really remembers exactly what kind of person they were five years ago, never mind sixty. It’s who you are now that matters, who you’ll be tomorrow that you should focus on.”

Because when it comes down to it, Tony has and always will be a futurist.

“And how do you suggest I go on a fucking self-discovery trip that with the damn programming stuck in my head?” Barnes demands, anger at ready once again.

“Woah, calm down!” Tony raises his hands. “I know you hate the Soldier but have you ever considered that maybe he isn’t as Hydra as you think he is?”

Silence.

This is why I don’t usually play Dr. Phil, Tony thinks in resignation. He decidedly did not mean to say that particular thought out loud. It’s just a theory, a suspicion that has been growing ever since that first time Tony has faced the Winter Soldier and come out of it without a scratch.

Barnes stumbles backwards as if he’s been slapped, eyes wide and filled with horror. “What-“

“Alright, stop!” Tony interrupts hurriedly before Barnes can work himself into a full-blown rage. “That came out wrong. It’s just, we’ve all worked under the assumption that the Soldier is the programming. Hydra’s ultimate creation, if you will. But we’ve never found any files confirming that assumption and I don’t know about you but if my evil organisation invented a way to slip a second persona I can shape however I want into someone else’s mind, I definitely would have kept the data,” Tony rambles.

“What are you trying to say?” Going from the dread in Barnes’ voice he already knows.

Tony licks his lips, feeling suddenly nervous under Barnes’ intense stare, so eerily similar to the Winter Soldier’s behaviour. Of course if what Tony suspects is true that doesn’t come as a surprise.

“I think we should consider the possibility that the Hydra didn’t create the Soldier at all. You did.”

This time, when the Soldier surfaces, he is anything but docile.

*

Tony wakes up with a headache bad enough to justify the private hospital room he finds himself in. His thoughts are scattered and foggy, which is why it takes him almost two minutes to come up with a viable reason for the Disappointed Frown Steve is gracing him with from where he sits in the visitor chair.

Right. Barnes. The Soldier. Shit.

“I’m guessing you aren’t here to congratulate me for my continued survival, are you?” Tony jokes with a bleak grin, dimmed by pain and sadness.

“Tony.”

The exasperated disappointment a single word can convey is amazing.

“I take it Snow White pulled a disappearing act again.”

“Tony.”

“Thought so.”

Tony closes his eyes and tries to blend out the world around him to the best of his abilities. Sadly Steve is much too stubborn to give up that easily.

“JARVIS gave me a quick run down but he wouldn’t let us watch the footage. Tony, what did you say to Bucky?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” A smile that holds nothing but teeth hushes over Tony’s face. “Something he didn’t like to hear.”

*

Tony stares at the package on the table with something approaching deep resentment.

The package appears entirely unmoved.

It’s been delivered two hours ago, close to thirty-two hours after Barnes has knocked Tony out and dropped of the map, and Tony fights the urge to burn the damn thing like his pride demands. Because he knows exactly what he will find should he open it. Stress balls. Twenty-one, to be exact. In an assortment of different colours and materials, just to be save.

They are just an idea, like so many others. Like his damn theory. But it hasn’t escaped Tony’s notice that Barnes’ fingers continue to twitch every once in a while, like he needs to get a hold of something that is no longer there.

So. Stress balls.

It’s a silly idea, stupid really. Not that it matters anymore with Barnes gone, no thanks to Tony.

He kicks the package into a free corner of his workshop and tries to concentrate on the newest report from R&D instead.

*

It’s a little after two in the morning when Tony stumbles through his abandoned living area. Steve is hunting down a cold trail somewhere in Iowa and Sam has a weirdly regular sleeping schedule for a superhero, so it’s quiet.

Whatever. It’s not like Tony is in the mood for company.

He takes a sip from his glass of very expensive scotch instead, closes his eyes and allows the slight burn in the back of his throat to take off the edge of the stress the last few days have brought him.

“You can join me, you know,” Tony says without bothering to open his eyes. Then, as an afterthought, “You really need to stop running off like this. Breaks Cap’s heart every time.”

There is no response, no sound to be heard at all, but when he finally does look, Tony isn’t surprised to find Barnes sitting on the love seat across the table like he has never left in the first place.

A couple of minutes pass in companionable silence as Tony savours his drink and Barnes watches him with an unreadable expression. It’s only after Tony sets down the glass for the final time that he finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Barnes blinks, clearly not having expected that but Tony isn’t finished yet.

“I don’t regret what I said but I should have handled it better, not just thrown all that baggage at you and especially not out of anger.” Tony holds Barnes’ gaze, wants him to realise how serious he is. Because he has had lots of time in the last week to replay their conversation and whatever the right way to broach a topic like that is, the way he did it wasn’t it. And Tony should have known that.

“I have a tendency to do things like this, push too far too fast.” And isn’t that the truth? “But it wasn’t fair of me to just load all this crap I’ve kept bottling up onto you.”

When Barnes just looks increasingly like a deer caught in the headlights, helpless in the face of an apology of all things, Tony decides to hand the poor guy an easy out. Before they repeat the abrupt end of their last talk, because Tony really, really doesn’t want to explain to Captain America how he lost his best friend again.

“Of course you knocked me out afterwards, so I figure we’re pretty much even now.”

That at least gets him something approaching a smile. It’s a tiny, flickering thing, gone mere seconds later, but it’s real.

For a moment Tony considers continuing their last conversation. The thought of having someone to share Bruce’s and his theories of the supersoldier serum with, of his ideas regarding the Soldier’s existence and all their implications, is certainly enticing. On a less logical level though Tony is well aware that Barnes may not be the best person to discuss these things with. Not yet at least.

Maybe some day.

“So,” Tony drawls, “You’re here to stay?”

It comes out a lot more like a question than he intends but when Barnes gives a short nod, Tony doesn’t find it in himself to care.

“Great!” he scrambles to his feet with more energy than Tony has felt in a while. “Follow me, I’ve got something for you.”

Tony does his best to hide it but when Barnes falls into step beside him, an uncomfortably tight knot in his chest finally eases.

That night Tony falls asleep with a gentle smile on his face as a shadow with glacial eyes watches over him.

*

The sad thing is that, for all his genius, Tony doesn’t notice the developing pattern that follows Barnes’ return at all. Oh, he notices the small things, the incidents and shared moments, but he’s too close to the situation, too involved, to take a step back and look at the entire picture. Or perhaps he is simply too obvious.

Steve and Sam aren’t.

For Steve’s heightened senses it’s hard not to pick up on the way Bucky keeps counting under his breath sometimes or begins to tap a rhythm on a nearby surface at random times. There is no apparent reason for those actions as far as Steve can tell, except that they somehow help Bucky calm down—and never fail to make Tony smile when he notices them.

It’s Sam who first notices that Tony has stopped calling Bucky ‘Barnes’ and instead seems to prefer a variety of nicknames ranging from snowflake, Snow White and Jimmy The Second all the way to sugar cake and rainbow-flavoured muffin heart. Ridiculous nicknames is something Tony is known for though, which is why Sam doesn’t think much of it.

The same can’t be said for the first time Bucky calls Tony sunshine.

In fact, once he processes it, Sam promptly chokes on Natasha’s favourite tea whilst Steve stares at his old friend like he has just revealed a magical cure to every sickness imaginable. Natasha raises a single eyebrow at them and asks what exactly they thought the term cолнышко the Winter Soldier prefers when referring to Tony means.

Sam wisely doesn’t point out that pet names have been the furthest thing on his mind where the Winter Soldier is concerned.

It is around that time that the touching starts. A light hand on Bucky’s arm to keep him calm and centred where Tony used to keep his physical distance. An excited half-hug after a scientific breakthrough and less than three hours sleep the previous night. It’s not overt exactly and Steve wouldn’t have thought all that much of it, if not for the fact that it doesn’t seem to make a difference whether it is Bucky or the Soldier who is in control. Not a difference for Tony at least, who reaches out to either one without hesitation. It is around that time that Steve starts researching a topic SHIELD’s modern day introduction has only briefly covered: the LGBT+ community. Clint, Sam and Natasha meanwhile continue placing their bets.

It’s the falling asleep that really stands out to Sam. Because Tony seems to put a lot of effort into always being as loud and energised as possible, and so of course everyone notices when their resident genius falls asleep at the dinner table or during movie night. That doesn’t mean it’s a common occurrence. But when it happens Tony always and without fail falls asleep on Bucky. Or curled around him. Or by his side.

And Bucky, Sam can’t help but grin, makes it his personal mission to ensure nobody disturbs Tony’s sleep. Clint has tried to play a prank on Tony one time and never again, and even Natasha makes it a point to stay out of their way.

When Bucky eventually joins them on missions, there is an unspoken rule not to mention how their enemies have a way of dying mysteriously and very violently when they come too close to Iron Man or the Winter Soldier. Not to forget the flirting over the comm lines, which, coming from Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes, is exactly as subtle as you would expect.

There are days where Sam wants to shake the two most stubborn, obvious men he has ever met—and that is saying something, considering he is friends with Steve Rogers—but then. Then he watches the Soldier squeeze a small stress ball in his hand with a focused expression that wouldn’t be out of place on a battle field. Observes Tony’s brilliant smile as he talks about improving the durability of the material. Sees Bucky whisper a quiet “Cпите мой пучик,” into the dozing engineer’s hair. And Sam can’t bring himself to say anything at all.

They’ll figure it out, he thinks with a surge of exasperated affection. Eventually.

It’s done. *lets out deep, relieved sigh* I hope you guys enjoyed it!