Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Tony comes back up from his workshop, there are a few things he’s looking forward to: pizza and a good movie.

Morgan is with her mom this weekend, and though he obviously misses her and her constant, smart-as-fuck blabbering, it’s nice to have a bit of a quiet night. There’s this new horror movie he keeps hearing about, and at least, this way, he knows he won’t accidentally traumatise his kid—poor thing has already had enough bad surprises for a lifetime. Goes with having Tony Stark and Pepper Potts for parents, he guesses.

He’s very much looking forward to his pepperoni pizza and wrapping himself up in a plaid with a bowl of popcorn, which is why, when there’s a huge crash from outside, frustration mixes with panic.

In the space of a second, both gauntlets cover his hands and he’s got his guard up. This is his safe haven; through some legal, and some not-so-legal means, he’s kept the address secret. No one in the media knows he spends a majority of his time here; no villain is supposed to find him in his cabin in the middle of the woods. Of course, he knows anything can happen, and he’s ready for any type of danger—always is— but that does not mean he wants to get into a fight of some sort in the middle of nowhere, with tactical support at least an hour away.

No one is supposed to know he’s here, and he wonders what the hell is about to happen to him.

“Fri?” he asks in a soft voice, and breathes a sigh of relief when a live video from outside starts broadcasting on the wall opposite him. Friday is still up and running, which means he’s at least got her support.

Remember when he said he absolutely did not want to fight a supervillain in the cabin? Yeah, scratch that; it might actually have been preferable to whatever the hell is about to happen.

Because James Buchanan Barnes is lying motionless next to a crashed motorcycle, and he’s covered in blood.

It takes Tony a few precious seconds to react, gaping at the broadcast instead. Why is James Barnes on his property and why is he covered in blood?

Since the events with Thanos, Tony had distanced himself from the superhero world; he’s had enough antics to last him for a lifetime, and though he provides technical support—for lack of better words—and everyone knows he would always show up in the case of an emergency, his kid is his priority. His life is his priority; he’s played with it enough as it is, and the constant low thrum of fire running through his veins is a good reminder of the fact that him being alive at all is nothing short of a miracle.

Thing is, though he’s vaguely aware that James Barnes and Sam Wilson—Captain America, now— have been on a revenge run against Hydra for a few months, he doesn’t know anything more about it. He has no idea where they’ve been, who they’ve been fighting or, straight to the point, why in the name of fuck Barnes would be here now.

He ends up snapping out of it and walks outside, a hand carefully raised in front of him. Sure, Tony and Barnes are now supposed to be allies; still, with all of the madness that is magic, aliens, and crazy things like this, he can’t be a hundred percent sure that this is Barnes at all; even if it truly is him, who’s to say he’s in his right mind and won’t attack as soon as he gets a chance? So, gauntlet raised it is, and if Barnes complains about the view when he wakes up, well, he’ll just have to deal with it.

“Barnes?” Tony calls out as he approaches, still cautious, his heart still beating fast as fuck in his chest, though he keeps his breathing as slow and steady as he can.

There’s no answer; Barnes is barely moving, and if Tony wasn’t able to see his chest raising with his breathing, he’d panic and call a morgue already.

When he gets close enough to see Barnes even better, he notices a few things. First, Barnes is completely covered in blood; it’s gory enough that Tony flinches and wonders if he needs to call a medical team, super soldier and all be damned. Second, his arm, that beautiful thing that Shuri—oh, how he loves Shuri—has made him with that brilliant brain of hers, is shot to absolute hell. It’s facing the wrong way, it seems that a couple of fingers are missing, and the shoulder socket is looking painfully dislocated. Huh. Third, and Tony needs to walk even closer still to notice it, Barnes is staring at him.

That’s when he notes the fourth and last thing: Barnes’ pupils are completely blown, none of that grey blue left in their wake. He’s trembling minutely, and it’s such a weird thing to see in a man like him that it sens a pulse of pain down Tony’s spine. Now, Tony might not have spent a lot of time with submissives in a few months—apart from Peter, but Peter is nothing like any submissive he’s ever known—, but he knows what that has to point to.

Barnes is in subdrop. Completely crashed.

And on Tony’s cabin’s door, of all places.

He gives himself a second to process all of this, his own enhanced senses analysing every single thing that surrounds him. There are no suspect sounds, no branch snapping or leaves moving; he can’t see any sign of anyone else on the floor, just Barnes’ crashed motorcycle, and the man himself, strapped in his black combat gear.

Whoever hurt him, they haven’t followed him here. That’s good. Even though Tony is always in the mood to punch a nazi or five, he’d rather not do it in front of his kid’s bedroom’s window, even though Morgan isn’t around. It’s a matter of principle.

He kneels and, though the gauntlets are still covering his hands, he’s a touch less cautious, a touch less on his guard as he surveys Barnes, wondering where the hell all of that blood has come from. It’s scary, it really is, even though he’s aware that the serum is more than capable of taking care of most wounds—Lord knows Tony knows what that’s like.

As soon as he reaches out with a hand to do… something, though he doesn’t even really know what he wants to try, Barnes flinches and a small whimper escapes. It’s a weird and worrying noise coming from that guy, who’s still carrying at least five weapons Tony can see on his person—and he’s pretty sure there must be at least a dozen more hidden on his person.

Barnes flinches, whimpers, and that simple gesture seems to hurt, as he curls on himself even more. It’s a pitiful sight, it really is, but more than anything, it’s worrying.

Tony is out of his comfort zone, there.

“Barnes,” he says, softly, trying not to let the edge of panic seep in his voice. “Barnes, can you hear me?”

The only answer is a slow blink of the other man’s eyes.

Crap, whatever happened to him, he’s down deep.

“One blink for yes. Two for no. Can you do that for me?”

A few seconds, then Barnes blinks, slowly, purposefully. Tony lets a gentle smile settle on his lips and nods.

“Good. That’s really good. Okay, is anyone following you?” Two blinks. Tony sighs, relieved, and his fingers jerk inside the gauntlet. “Awesome. Man, that garden is way too pretty to be blown up.”

That was supposed to be a joke, but when all he gets is Barnes’ blank stare, filled with pain, he sighs. Looks like his awesome sense of humour won’t be needed today.

“Never mind,” he says. “If I move you, are you gonna bleed out?” Two blinks, and Barnes opens his mouth, but Tony doesn’t give him time to try and say something. “Okay. I’m gonna get you inside, is that all right with you?” One blink. “Good. Slow and steady does it, now, lemme help, okay?”

He’s never been as grateful for his newfound strength as he is right now. He’s put it to the test already, of course he has, and pretty early on figured out that it’s a godsend whenever he needs to get a heavy piece of metal to do whatever he wants it to do, but carrying a super soldier is new to him—obviously.

Still, after sneaking a hand under Barnes’ shoulders and another under his knees, getting back up is easy as anything, and he breathes a sigh of relief that he won’t have to use the armour. Sure, it’s useful, but it’s uncomfortable as hell, and he’d rather avoid pinching off any more of Barnes’ skin. He’s in a bad enough state as it is.

Barnes whimpers as he settles in Tony’s arms, but that’s about the only reaction he has. He stares up at him with his black, black eyes, and Tony takes a deep breath and swallows down his panic.

He nudges the door open with his shoulder and walks to the couch, where he gently deposits Barnes. He’ll get blood everywhere, sure, but it’s not like he’ll put him down on the floor, after all. He’ll just have to buy a new couch. Just might go for that one with the cup holders, eh, why not?

He quickly wraps up Barnes in a throw and sits down on the floor, close to the supersoldier on the couch. He doesn’t want to freak the guy out by initiating too much contact when he hasn’t asked for it, nor is in any state to give consent to it, but still; it would not do to step away and leave him alone when he’s crashing as hard as he is. Keeping a close eye on Barnes’ breathing and any potential reactions, he asks Friday:

“Call Wilson for me, will you?”

There’s a beat of silence, then the characteristic sound of metal on metal.

“Little busy over here!” comes Sam’s voice, breathless and as sassy as ever.

“Yeah, well, birdbrain, please unbusy yourself. I got your gift, and it’s dropping on my couch right now!”

Behind him, Barnes stirs and moans at his words; right, no panic, no anger. Hypersensitivity to emotions is a thing, he reminds himself, and breathes to settle down. He’s quick to lightly grab Barnes’ flesh hand in his—a gesture he hopes is not overstepping his boundaries in any way. Though, judging by the way the soldier immediately quietens, it probably won’t be an issue.

“What did you say?” Sam asks, incredulously, after another beat of silence.

“I said, your gift crashed into my garden, and is now in a nice deep subdrop on my couch. Thanks for the heads-up, jackass!”

“I— It’s… Okay, wait, gimme a minute.”

A minute well-spent, apparently. There’s the thunk of vibranium on skin—which, ouch—, several yells of pain, impressive swear words uttered by Wilson (Steve would not approve), then, finally, silence.

“Did you just say Bucky is in subdrop?”

“Yes, indeed, Wilson. Care to explain?”

“That… that’s not supposed to happen,” Sam sighs, and Tony can just about picture him wiping at his brow, taking his goggles off. “Listen, we were fighting—can’t disclose the location, but…”

“You are aware that it would not even take me a minute to pinpoint exactly where you are, right?”

“Oh, hell, Tony, at least pretend like you give a shit about confidentiality. Right, okay, we’re about a two-hour ride from your cabin, that good enough for you? There’s an Hydra base here, one we’d been planning to take on for a few weeks now. Except, they apparently knew what our plans were. Soon as we got there, there were twenty guys on us, and they targeted Bucky’s arm, which—”

“Which now looks like a useless twist of cables and metal? Yeah, I can see that. Shuri would be pissed, I hope you’re aware.”

“I know, okay, I know. Not like we did it on purpose. Bucky helped with getting rid of that first group, but then, there was nothing more he could do with his arm like this, so I called in reinforcements, and sent him your way.”

“What about a damn call, Sam, for Christ’s sake?”

“I couldn’t! I’ve been fighting nazis for three hours now, don’t you think I would have planned ahead if I could!”

Again, Barnes stirs, and again, Tony groans inside. Having this conversation while staying calm and relaxed is all but impossible. What if he’d shot Barnes on arrival? What if he’d been just a bit more cautious and just a bit less give-the-guy-a-chance?

“Okay, okay. Let’s all pretend like you weren’t able to take a second out of your fight to drop me a text. What the hell is going on that made him drop?”

Now, Tony is not the most adept at human relationships, he won’t even bother to pretend he is, but even he can understand Sam’s long silence. He’s about to tell him something he won’t like.

“Now, listen, I’m only telling you this because I know if I don’t, you’re just gonna hack someone and get the info anyway. The sooner you have it, the sooner you can do something about it. When Hydra had him… they messed with his chemistry.”

Yeah, he really was not going to like what Sam was about to say. Just the mention of Hydra was enough to get his blood boiling; he’d rather not think about what these assholes were capable of, but looked like he didn’t have much of a say in the matter.

“He reacts to pain,” Sam started to explain, and Tony could hear him sighing. “Really bad pain is the only thing that can get him down.”

“… Which means he hasn’t been down in a long time. Which means the pain in his arm was enough to send him barrelling down, straight into a drop. Christ, Sam.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, Tony. I had no idea this would happen. As soon as I’m out of here, I’ll join you and take care of this.”

“You’re a Switch, though, Sam. He doesn’t need a Switch, right?”

He’s right, he knows he is. Sam’s a Switch and tends to sub most of the time. With the state Barnes is in, there’s no way he’ll be able to help settle him down. No, what Barnes is is a pure Dom. Which leads Tony to ask:

“Do you know if he’s been seeing someone? Does he have a Dom assigned to him?”

He knows that Shield, newly rebuilt, offers their Sub employees who need it a professional Dom service to take them down whenever they need to, in order to stay alert and up for their job at all times.

“No, he doesn’t,” Sam sighs. "We all tried convincing him to try it, but he’s adamant that he doesn’t want it.”

“Not surprising if pain’s the only thing that gets him down. Wouldn’t wanna try it either.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I can ask them to send someone, but…”

“But it’ll take ages. No, listen, here’s what we’ll do. I’m gonna take care of him, but you need to tell me what I can and can’t do. You know the man; I’m sure you have a vague idea of what his boundaries are.”

“Frankly, Tony, I’d love to help, but Bucky’s never told me anything about it. I’m sorry. It’s a topic he just… doesn’t wanna talk about.”

“So I’m flying in blind. Great, that’s just great.”

After that, they wrap up their conversation quickly; Barnes is shivering on the couch, and Tony knows that, unless he wants to have to deal with emergency services and have them sedate Barnes—which is the last thing he wants, thank you very much—he’ll have to act sooner rather than later. He’s in a bad enough state as it is, and just holding his hand is not helping much; his breath is growing increasingly erratic by the second, and he’s turning paler and paler.

No, as much as he wants to be a coward about it and just forget anything ever happened, there’s no way he can or will ever do that; though not a friend, exactly, Barnes is an ally, and he won’t leave him hanging.

Still, he needs to think about this carefully; the man crashing next to him is a supersoldier, and though Tony’s strength is almost on par with Barnes’ now, he still knows he wouldn’t stand a chance next to a pissed off, panicking supersoldier.

Not to mention that, even if he wasn’t a supersoldier, consent is key. If this wasn’t an emergency, he would never, ever touch Barnes without his consent. But hey, here they are, and it’s not like he has much of a choice. Flying in blind it is.

“Fri’, crank up the heat a little, will you?” he starts by asking when he sees the way Barnes is shivering. 

Cold might only be part of the reason why he’s shivering, but still; it’s a thing Tony can do, and it’s worth a try.

Next, with his hand still holding Barnes’, he gets up and stretches to grab two blankets and a couple of pillows. Everything in his cabin is soft to the touch and comfortable; Morgan loves running her fingers over soft surfaces, and he loves spoiling his kid—sue him. At this stage, he’s just a step away from buying one of those giant Squishmallow couches and calling it a day.

Sensory input is good in a drop, he knows that. Does that apply to a traumatised, brainwashed supersoldier? That, he doesn’t know, but it can’t hurt. He pulls Barnes up gently, manhandles him with as much gentleness as he can, and still, he sees him flinches in pain. He’s got painkillers somewhere, tailored specifically to his metabolism; no doubt they would help, but there is no way he’s administering medication to Barnes without his consent. As much as it hurts him to see the other man like this, he knows he has no choice but to go through it.

Once Barnes is sitting up, he tucks pillows all around him, taking special care in putting his left shoulder and arm in as comfortable a position as he can find. It won’t miraculously stop hurting, of course it won’t, but tucked like it is, at least Barnes won’t accidentally hurt himself even more.

He then covers him up in two of his softest blankets, tucking him in like a giant, supersoldier-sized burrito. It’s slightly ridiculous to see big, mean Barnes wrapped in a blanket covered in Paw Patrol characters, but it’s not like anyone else can see him like this.

Then, he lies him back down, and Barnes goes willingly, not an ounce of resistance in his body. When his head touches the pillow, something seems to unclench in his body; all at once, his muscles melt like butter and he goes pliant and soft under Tony’s hands, even sighs softly. It’s good to see him like this, settles something deep in Tony’s stomach. He knows it’s just biology, his instincts running wild, but still… it feels good.

He stays for a minute, his hand in Barnes’, his eyes carefully monitoring his breathing, which has settled down some by now. Once he’s as sure as he can be that everything is fine, he gets back up and tries to get his hand out of Barnes’. As soon as they stop touching, though, Barnes whimpers, a low sound that’s so filled with panic and distress that Tony hurries to caress his forehead with the back of his hand in what he hopes is a comforting touch.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s all right. I’m not going far, not far at all. Just need to step into the kitchen and grab some water. I’ll be right there, okay? Just a second.”

Reluctantly, Barnes opens his eyes and blinks, slowly, once—yes. Tony smiles down at him and takes a step back, his eyes on the unmoving form of the soldier. He’s not sure it’s a good idea to leave, but he really isn’t going far. He just wants to grab everything he needs to wipe as much of that awful, awful blood off Barnes.

When the other man stays quiet, his eyes focused on him, Tony turns around and speed walks to the kitchen, where he fills up a bucket with warm water. He grabs a couple of towels and almost runs back to the couch.

Barnes has tensed up some, but as soon as he catches sight of Tony again, he relaxes and melts back down into the cushions. It’d be sweet, if it wasn’t quite as anxiety-inducing.

“Is it okay if I sit down next to you? I want to help clean up some of that blood.” He waits for the blink before he continues: “Good. If anything hurts, just squeeze my hand, yeah?”

He gets to work, slowly, gently, wiping a towel down Barnes’ face, squeezing the blood off his hair. Then down to his shoulder he goes; he avoids touching the left one, but slowly cleans down the right one, down his arm, to the tip of his fingers. Through all of it, he feels Barnes’ gaze heavy on him, up until he apparently can’t take it anymore and his eyes close, fluttering back open a couple of times.

Barnes’ breathing deepens before he starts snoring softly, little kitty-like sounds that have a smile growing on Tony’s face. He’s lost in what he’s doing, just gently taking care of that man he hasn’t seen like this. He’s so lost in his soft, careful gestures that he doesn’t even think about what will happen when Barnes wakes up. 

Chapter Text

When Bucky wakes, it’s to unbearable, all-encompassing pain, and a hand on his left shoulder. His reaction is pure instinct, no thoughts put into it; his eyes snap open and he scrambles away. As soon as he’s on his feet, he sways dangerously, and the pain triples, which he did not even think was possible. He feels too confused, everything is blurry, he can’t see or understand anything.
The hand is back, feather-light on his right arm, this time, and he reacts the way it’s been drilled into him to react: with violence. His right fist shoots out, catching someone on the temple, and only when there’s a surprised, pained yelp, does he snap out of it.
It’s as if time slows down as he finally takes in his surroundings. He’s in a cosy house, and standing in front of him is—Stark. Tony Stark. A hurt Tony Stark, who’s rubbing his bleeding temple, which… Shit. Shit. Bucky did that. He… He…
He doesn’t have time to linger on it because, right in front of his eyes, Tony’s wound closes itself back up. It’s a process that’s very familiar, one that his own body often mirrors, but it throws him for a loop, because… Because Stark is not a supersoldier!

“Ow, ow. Okay, wow, hi?”
"What… It’s… You… I—”
"Yeah, that about sums it up.”

Tony grins, sheepish, and gets up from where he was sitting in the floor, a hand coming up to wipe at the rapidly disappearing scar on his temple. He doesn’t seem very unsettled, or afraid, or anything of the sort, really. In fact, he looks awfully at ease in a pair of threadbare sweatpants and an old graphic tank top.
Things slowly start seeping back to Bucky’s brain. He remembers the fight, all of the Hydra goons jumping him, his arm—
His arm.
He only needs a quick look to his left for the panic to start bubbling back up. His breath grows frantic once more as pain overwhelms him. He has to blink back a dark fog, falling back into the couch, because there’s no way he’s going back down, not like this, not after already humiliating himself in front of Stark once. 

“Hey. Hey, Barnes, come back to me."

There’s steel in Stark’s voice and it’s enough for Bucky to anchor himself to this, this small piece of command. He takes a deep breath in, clenches the one fist that’s still functioning, and breathes out. Slow and steady, like his shrink always says. Slow and steady does it. In for four seconds. Hold for four. Out for four. Hold for four. Rinse and repeat.

"It’s okay, Barnes. It’s okay. I don’t know what you remember, but you’re safe. You’re alright. I gave Shuri a call while you were out; she’s mighty pissed that you, and I quote, ruined her masterpiece, but she told me the basics and sent me the blueprints. I can take care of your arm. Now, she told me there’s a switch on the back of your shoulder. It’ll disable the arm and relieve most of your pain, but I need you to tell me if I can switch it off.”

Bucky nods, wordless; it’s almost a plea at this point. He’d do anything to get rid of that awful, awful pain. Starks smiles at him and slowly, very slowly, reaches out a hand towards Bucky’s arm. He’s so careful in the way he moves that Bucky knows he could stop him at any point, which is probably what Stark is trying to make him understand, without flat out saying it. Still, he doesn’t move, lets the man reach behind him, settle his warm hand on his shoulder and—there.
All at once, most of the pain abates, the neurotransmitters stop sending panicked, hurt signals up to his brain, and he could seriously fall to his knees from relief if he wasn’t already sitting down. The arm falls down on the cushions with a soft sound and Bucky sags on his side.
He finally manages to take a deep breath in, the first one in what feels like literal hours, and blinks back the last remains of the fog. Now that he’s more alert, he looks around, takes in his surroundings. Sam sent him on this way with just an address and a warning that Stark can be cautious and on edge—which would have done him more good if he hadn’t passed out and crashed like an absolute idiot—but not much more. He’s never been in the cabin, though he vaguely knew about it from Sam mentioning it in passing a couple of times, and Nat spending a few weeks here to recover after the war with Thanos.
The place is cosy, far from the sleek, modern lines of the compound. He has no doubt there’s more tech hidden inside these walls than can be found in an Apple Store, but still, it looks so homey that he wouldn’t have thought Stark actually lived here if he hadn’t known. The walls are covered in drawings—probably made by Morgan, Stark’s kid that he’d briefly caught a glimpse of, hold tight in her mother’s arms, right after the war—, there’s a fireplace set into the brick wall, and he can just about see a lake out of the window. It’s peaceful, quiet, far from the hustle and bustle of the city. The perfect place to settle down and raise a kid, when you’re done with that superhero madness, he guesses.
Then, his eyes snap back to Stark, who’s standing still, hands up, as if to make himself less dangerous. Not that Bucky has any doubt the man couldn’t knock him down in a second if needed. He’s seen that nano technology in action, after all, and though his memories are vague, he remembers the gauntlets pointed at him right after his crash.
Even without the gauntlets, there would be the arm.

He knew about the arm, because Sam kept teasing that Stark and Bucky were now twins, of some sort.
What happened after Tony snapped the Gauntlet is basically a mystery. While everyone thought he was gone, had sacrificed himself for the greater good, Pepper Potts refused to let him go. With the help of Colonel Rhodes, she flew Tony away from the scene. Two months later, the man made a public appearance during a crazy press conference that had him simultaneously retiring from the superhero lifestyle, showcasing his new bionic arm, and announcing his and Pepper’s divorce.
Needless to say, there was not a single tabloid to be found without a piece about Tony Stark for the next couple of months. Never mind that the man all but disappeared after his conference, only making brief, Stark Industries-related public appearances ever since; everyone and their neighbour has their theory about what happened to Stark.
Bucky’s pretty sure even Sam doesn’t know much about what happened, or if he did, he was a very good liar about it. He’d asked him about it, someday, wondered aloud how the hell Stark could still be alive after what happened, but all he’d gotten was a shrug. Sam had told him that, as far as he was concerned, he didn’t care much; was just happy that Stark would be able to see his kid grow up and live the rest of his life peacefully.
Not that he’s wrong, of course he’s not; Bucky totally agrees on this, especially after everything Starks’s been through. Still, he’d wondered. And he feels like he has an idea, now.

Sam might have joked about the arm, about the two of them being twins, but Bucky has to admit, he wasn’t totally wrong about it. They do make quite a sight, both of them, like this.
Where Bucky’s arm is all bulk and sleek, dark lines, made for combat and strength, Stark’s right arm has obviously been built with multitasking in mind. Its delicate lines in matte dark grey metal are highlighted with touches of red and gold—of course they are. It’s reminiscent of the Iron Man armour, but looks softer somehow now that he’s having a good look at it. The gauntlets must be something that he can add to it because, currently, his fingers look smooth, slick, and it’s the same all over the arm. It looks strong, obviously, and Bucky has no doubt that it’s got many hidden features, but more than that, it looks like an arm that can curl around a child and be comfortable, warm.
It does not look, he thinks with a gaze to his own left side, like a weapon.
The arm stops at the shoulder, just like his, and Bucky can see the scars there, angry red lines that crawl up his neck and right cheek. He shudders, thinking, again, about the awful sight of a motionless Stark on the battlefield.

“Your face…”
“What, this?” Starks inquire, pointing at the, by now, almost completely erased scar on his temple. “Just a scratch.”

Just a scratch?
Now, okay, Bucky might not have put his full weight into the punch, but that was not just a scratch. That was, at the very least, a wound that should have required a few stitches, and that’s only if he hadn’t been pretty sure he’d broken the other man’s temple.
He raises an eyebrow and stays silent, targeting Stark with the full force of his judgemental stare, which, he’s been told, he’s picked up from Steve and perfected through the years.
It seems to work, too, since Stark sighs and grimaces.

“Would there be any chance of me convincing you it was just a hallucination? Something you made up and should probably forget about?”

Bucky raises his other eyebrow.

“Okay, I guess that’s a no. You know what? I’ve been told communication is key, so we’ll communicate. First, though, you need food, and a shower. I’ve gotten most of the blood off, but I’m afraid your clothes need a good wash, and you do, too.”

He’s probably right. Bucky’s sticky with dried blood and his clothes are soaked with it. Stark’s eyes are heavy on him, and without even looking at him, Bucky knows he’s worried about him, about the after effects of his drop. Truth be told, it’s taking everything he has to keep his trembling under control, and there’s a low current of pain and discomfort running through his veins, even though the arm is off, now. There is, however, absolutely no way he’s letting Stark see him in such a weak state, not after already humiliatingly dropping on his front porch. He might not be totally convincing, but it’s worth a try.
Wordlessly, he nods, and makes to stand up when Stark points at the stairs. He wobbles as soon as he’s on his feet, though, and trips on his first step, landing right in Stark’s open arms—he won’t even think about why the man was ready to catch him, would rather not if he can avoid it.

“Steady there, soldier,” Stark rumbles, and his hands on Bucky’s sides are steadying, pretty much the only thing holding him up right now.

If anyone asks, Bucky will blame his lack of coordination on the missing arm, certainly not on the remaining fog of a subdrop. Certainly not. Still, as he painfully climbs the set of wooden steps, he’s more than aware that Stark is carefully walking behind him, and he has no doubt that, were he to trip, the man would be ready to catch him, again.
He makes his way to a nice bathroom, equipped with a spacious shower, and Stark asks him to wait while he goes to collect some clean clothes for him.

“They’re Rhodey’s,” he explains, setting down a pair of sweatpants, a hoodie and a grey t-shirt. “They should fit. At least, they’ll fit better than my own clothes or Morgan’s. Not that you wouldn’t look stunning in a kid-sized Spiderman shirt, mind you.”

Bucky just nods to thank him and closes the door, probably more brusquely than he should. It’s not very polite, he knows it isn’t, but he can feel the cold sweat pooling on his back, and he’s pretty sure that he would have fallen down if he had to keep standing up. He falls to his knees, his right hand coming up to massage at the scars on his left shoulder, fingers kneading the muscles a lot rougher than they should. It feels good, though, the pain, helps him settle down some, enough to get back up and get rid of his blood-soaked clothes before walking into the shower.
He sets the water to a painfully cold setting and starts to shiver right away. As he looks at the blood pooling at his feet and disappearing down the drain, he can’t help but wonder what’s about to happen. Stark’s seen him at his worst, has seen the one thing he doesn’t want anyone to see. On the other hand, Bucky has also, apparently, seen something he wasn’t supposed to witness. It should put them on equal footing, but Bucky is at a disadvantage here. He hates that part of him, viscerally, would have cut it out and gotten rid of it years ago if he could have. It feels like a weakness, and it’s ten times worse now that he’s going through the tremors and exhaustion that a drop brings. He hasn’t had one in literal years, hasn’t allowed anyone to touch him like this, to hurt him like this. Hydra had fucked up that part of him so deeply that he would rather bury it deep inside himself and forget about it, danger be damned. He knows that it’s not good for his body never to go down, that it’s dangerous for his biology, is putting himself and others at risk, but what can he do about it? He’d need to be whipped bloody to even have a chance to go down, and that’s not something he wants to go through, ever again.

He’s soon done with his shower and, still shaking—though he now can’t say if it’s because of the cold or the drop— dons the clothes Stark has laid out for him. They’re soft and comfy, smell clean, and they’re just the right size for him. It feels good, not being covered in nazi’s blood anymore.
He’d love to just jump out of the window and disappear, but he does have some good manners. Not to mention, he’s crashed his motorcycle anyway, and does not feel up for a walk through the woods. Also, there’s the missing arm. Shuri would probably kill him for losing the arm.
So, reluctantly, he makes his way back down the stairs and follows the smells and sounds of something cooking to the kitchen, where Stark is busy stirring something in a pan. He turns around as Bucky enters the kitchen and smiles, hesitant, as he beckons him to the table, where two plates are set with fresh omelettes. A second later, Stark sits too and sets down two mugs. They’re filled with hot chocolate, covered in marshmallows, and Bucky stares at him questioningly.

“Sugar’s always good,” he explains with a shrug, “but it’s especially good after a drop. Drink up.”

It’s so weird, hearing that word pronounced so casually, when every memory of Bucky’s has that same word tainted with venom, spit at him. Useless sub, always dropping. That’ll teach him. 
He shivers and focuses on the mug to hide it. 

“Isn’t it ten in the evening?” he asks, his voice hoarse. “Bit late for breakfast food, isn’t it?”
“Meh,” Stark shrugs, digging into his food. “Breakfast food is still food. Plus, it’s fast to make it, and very comforting. At least, it is for me.”

Bucky doesn’t comment and starts eating his own omelette instead. It’s good, filled with gooey cheese, hot, warming his body from the inside. The hot chocolate is sweet as can be, and he’d fear getting some cavities if that could happen to him. As it is, he hides his face behind the mug and hopes Stark won’t…

“So. Quite an eventful way to show up, that was.”

… won’t start asking him questions. Though that was a lot to ask. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sincerely is. “Sam told me it’d be a safe place and you could help with the arm. I figured he’d call you. I didn’t think that…”
“That you’d crash on my lawn, in more ways than one? Yeah, I kind of figured that out. Still, here we are. Hm. I’ll be honest, Barnes, there are quite a few things I’m curious about, and I know you feel the same way with all of this—” he gestures at his body with one hand, lazily. “So here’s a deal: you ask a question, I answer. I ask one, you answer. Let’s try to be honest with each other. I hear that’s actually a pretty good thing.”
“Sounds like you and I have the same shrink,” Bucky mumbles, and Stark smiles at him, sassy as ever. “Okay, but I get to start.”

Stark laughs, his hand lazily curled around his mug of hot chocolate.

“Of course you do, Frozone. Shoot.”
“Are you enhanced now?”

That’s probably a rude way to ask. Still, it’s straight to the point and does the job.

“Yeah,” Stark confirms bluntly. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”
“But…”
“Nope. One question each, remember? My turn. Hm. Let’s see. How long since you’d last been down?”

Bucky grimaces and wonders if he should lie. The way Stark’s eyes are staring at him, it probably wouldn’t fly, though. Honestly it is.

“Last time, I… was still with Hydra.”

Stark’s eyes widen and his flesh fist tightens.

“That’s over ten years, Barnes! How…”
“I know, I know. I’ve heard it all before. Teaming up with Sam, remember?” Bucky grins ruefully. “My turn. How?”

The other man sighs and takes a sip; it leaves him with a little moustache of cream, and it’s perfectly ridiculous. 

“Have you heard about Extremis?” Bucky nods and Stark keeps going. “After that fiasco with Aldrich, I had teams assigned to it. They worked on it. They mixed in something awfully similar to supersoldier serum. It wasn’t technically ready to be used but… it was the only thing that could realistically help me. I’m a bit of a lab rat, I guess, but hey. It worked, didn’t it? No unexpected third eye, no skin turning green. I should consider myself lucky.”
“Wow,” Bucky whispers, and Stark grins at him.

It’s at that point that Bucky notices—Stark looks younger. Not the “I finally had time to rest and stopped playing with my life” kind of younger, but genuinely younger. Where grey hair was starting to appear, everything is now back to a dark black. The lines around his eyes are softer.
It’s all very interesting, and Bucky knows what he’ll ask next.

“Now, my turn. Hm… Why haven’t you been down in so long?”

Ugh. He really knows how to ask the worst questions, doesn’t he?

“Because…” he sighs and turns away; it’s hard enough answering, he’s not about to say everything there is to know about him while staring into Stark’s sympathetic eyes. “Because pain is the only thing that can properly take me down. And I’m not talking ‘bout the kind of fun, spanking pain. Nah. I need to take a beating, a proper one, for anything to happen.”
“Hydra’s doing?” Stark asks softly, and Bucky doesn’t even stop to point out that they said one question each.
“Yeah. They used my submissive side as another means of punishment. If I fucked up a mission, if I was hurt and in pain, it sent me right down, and they could do whatever they wanted with me. I wouldn’t be able to protest, fight back. Nothin’.”

When Bucky turns back to Stark, he notices the man has turned slightly green, now. His metal arm is whirring, and Bucky is ready to bet that, were he to touch it, it’d be hot to the touch.

“I’m sorry, Barnes. That’s awful.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know. That serum of yours—what did it do to you?”

Stark’s eyes light up, and he starts gesturing with his hands as he speaks:

“Well, enhanced healing, obviously, you already know about that. It can’t work miracles, obviously,” at that, he gestures at his right arm, “but it’s pretty damn good. Enhanced strength, which you can thank for me carrying you here instead of dragging you. And…”
“Increased lifespan?” Bucky guesses.
“Uh. Noticed that, didn’t you? Yeah. Anyone’s best guess is that it made me about twenty years younger, give or take some. No more back pain when I wake up, and I can breathe again—arc reactor really messed that up. No one really knows how efficient it’ll be, if I’ll live to be two hundred or what; like I said, it was still not ready to be used, but… yeah. I’m probably gonna hang around to see my grandkids, if Morgan ever wants them.”

His face splits into a grin as he mentions his daughter, and it’s such a strange look on that man that Bucky has only known on battlefields, that he has to blink and recalibrate for a second.

“Couple more tricks up my sleeve, too,” Stark mentions with a wink. “But I’ve been told I’d better not mention everything there is to know about that serum to just anyone. Gotta earn my trust.”

Interesting. Bucky’s curious mind really does want to know what Stark is talking about, but it’s not like he’s gonna push; he’s made it pretty clear that there are some things that he needs to keep secret.

“Now, Barnes—”
“I think you should call me Bucky,” he cuts in with an awkward, small smile. “You did help me out of a drop after all.”
“Okay, then, Bucky, tell me. Have you ever tried using the Dom service Shield are providing?”

Bucky grimaces and shakes his head. He’s heard about the service, had it mentioned to him in passing by Sam and, more rudely, by Natasha, who insisted he gave them a try. He doesn’t want to, though.

“No,” he says, simply enough, but feels obligated to elaborate when Stark keeps staring at him expectantly: “They’re not enhanced. They could try to take me down, but chances are, at some point, I’d start fighting back. Like I said, we’re talking some really rough pain, here. I wouldn’t take it without a fight. That wouldn't be safe.”

Starks hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t comment on it. Still, Bucky can almost see the cogs turning in his head.

“But they could…”
“No. No, they couldn’t do anything. I don’t want to…”
“You should let them…”
“I said no. What, are you offering to take their place and give it a try?”
“No,” Stark is very quick to refuse, and though Bucky tries to hide his wince, it must be obvious, because he’s just as quick to add: “Nothing to do with you, Bucky. I just—I don’t do pain. Never liked it and now, I’ve had enough of it to last me a life time, really. It’s—if I could help, I’d give it a try, but…”

He shakes his head and adds, empathetically:

“No pain.”

Before he can add anything else on that topic, Bucky takes his chance.

“Who knows about that serum, Stark?”
“Oh, c’me on, I think it’s only fair you call me Tony if I get to use your nickname. Who knows about it? Well, Pepper and Rhodey, obviously—they were the ones who thought to use it. Shuri and Bruce, because they helped with the last adjustments. Some people on the medical team, but they’ve signed so many NDAs, no one will talk. Oh, and Peter—Spiderman” he clarifies at Bucky’s blank stare. “Didn’t really wanna tell him, but he tried pulling a prank on me, and it kinda backfired on him.”

He grimaces and Bucky chuckles. He’s only caught glimpses of the Spider-Kid, but he does look like a wild thing. No wonder he and Tony get along so well.

“And you, now,” Tony adds, quietly, staring straight at Bucky.

He doesn’t need to say more; Bucky gets the message. He’s been trusted with a secret, one that could probably change the world were he to share it. One thing he’s good with, though, is keeping secrets.

“No one will know,” he swears, and Tony nods, as if he trusts him, simple as that.

He then launches, unprompted, into the story of the prank Peter tried to play on him; Bucky strongly suspects he’s grossly overplaying it—it involves way too many fake spiders to be real—but he listens all the same, lets himself be settled by Tony’s warm voice. Soon enough, he feels himself yawning, and he sends an apologetic look to Tony as he covers his mouth.

“You must be completely wiped,” Tony comments with a wince.
“Yeah. Yeah, I should… Any hotels around?”

Tony barks out a laugh and shakes his head.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, Frozen. No hotels around. I’ve got a couple of spare rooms though, you should crash here. I’ve called Sam to let him know you’d made it; he said he’d stop by as soon as he could and meet us there. He did say it could take a couple of days, though. Use them to get some rest, why don’t you? I’ll work on your arm, get it good as new, and we’ll have a look at that motorcycle of yours, too.”

Bucky nods, grateful for the offer. He would have left if Tony wanted, of course he would have, but this… This will be good. A few days of peace and quiet to get back on his feet, recover from the post-drop symptoms. He knows, too, that Tony is a bit of a mother hen; Steve and Sam have both told him so a few times. He’s not surprised the man wants to keep an eye on him rather than letting him run back outside right away.

“One last question before you get your beauty sleep, though,” Tony asks, quietly, as Bucky is about to get back up. He looks back at Tony and raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Have you ever, um…” he seems to hesitate. “Have you ever tried having someone take you down without any pain?”

He doesn’t know if it’s because of the mood they’ve set, with the lights low and the distant sound of the lake, or just because he feels like he owes Tony, but Bucky doesn’t feel like lying. He offers a fully honest answer, consequences be damned, looking at the stairs rather than at the other man:

“No. Wouldn’t wanna be disappointed.”

Still, as he climbs up the stairs to the spare room, he can’t help but think about the question.

“Have you ever tried having someone take you down without any pain?”