Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     Drip. Drip. Drip.

     The slow, pitter-patter of rain drew Tony Stark from the depths of unconsciousness, and he slowly became aware of the world. His head hurt, pounding with one of the worst hangovers he’d ever had the pleasure of having. He felt weak, his lungs ached with each inhale, and his brain was moving sluggishly.

     What happened? He asked himself, stirring as rivulets of water dripped down the back of his neck and over his ears. The chill of the rainwater made him shiver, and he groaned, the sound covered by the resounding bang of thunder. The sudden noise was enough to wake Tony fully, and his bloodshot eyes blinked open, pupils dilating wide. 

     It took him a moment to realize he was hanging upside down, something hard and metallic digging into his gut and hooked around his waist. Then his wavering vision cleared, and he realized he was staring at someone's ass. Someone’s decidedly to perfect ass, wet pants formed to the curve of it, and down long, muscular legs.

     Maybe it was the way the rainwater trailed hypnotically, tantalizingly, downward over the fabric, stirring warmth in Tony’s stomach. Or it could have been the rumble of thunder in the sky, bouncing around like gunfire through the air. For whatever reason, that was when reality caught up with him. Suddenly, he remembered the invasion, the net, and gunfire. Smoke, and searing, burning heat.

     His mind flashed back to the terror of being unable to move, his suit crippled by the unknown tech pinning him down. Alarms had wailed in his ears, JARVIS detailing every failing system and pleading with him to find a way out. He’d been fucking helpless, trapped as his suit filled with a thick, toxic smoke that burned his lungs. Heart pounding against the reactor in his chest like a drumbeat, so loud he could barely hear over the noise of his own pulse. 

     He didn’t remember passing out, and he didn’t know who the hell had him captive now.

     Shit, shit, shit! We’re under fucking attack. Adrenaline flushed through Tony’s system in a breath and cleared the last of the confusion from his brain.  He’d been captured. He had to break free before he was taken by some new bad guy with a bone to pick and a taste for world domination—or torture or other villainous bullshit. It was positively inane how predictable they all were.

     This wasn’t Tony’s first time being caught, and it had certainly been a while, but in his line of work, he doubted it would be his last. He didn’t think his captor had noticed he was awake yet, and he thanked the roar of falling rain for that. He kept his breathing calm and even; he had to be quick and use the element of surprise in his favor. 

     With calculating eyes that burned like he’d lit them on fire, he evaluated his situation. The man carrying him was strapped with guns, all a little too far out of reach for Tony’s liking. There was, however, a knife sheathed on the other person's belt and very close at hand. 

     That’ll do, pig. Tony thought viciously, an almost feral grin curling his lips. He had the thing unsheathed and in hand in a matter of moments. He twisted in the grip that circumferenced his waist and immediately attacked the one part of the other person's body he could reach that was not covered in armor. With a wet squelch and a satisfying chink as it struck bone, his blade sank deep into the flesh on the back of the man's right arm.

     Stark snarled in satisfaction when he drew an aborted shout of pain from his captor. He took advantage of the surprise, kicking and writhing even as his left hand went for one of the guns in a holster on the man’s belt. He had the holster unlatched and the satisfying weight of a Glock in hand, and like that, he was armed. Now his very human ass had an actual chance of defending itself.

     Between one moment and the next, he was unceremoniously dropped to the ground, straight into a filthy puddle. Tony ignored the pain of his hip striking the pavement, scrambling to get his feet underneath him, and lifted the gun in his hand, aiming surely as he flipped the safety. He was ready to pull the trigger, but jerked his aim away when he recognized the tall, muscular form of a super soldier standing over him.

     “Fuck! Shit, what the hell, Stark! It’s me, goddammit!” James Fucking Barnes said, cursing furiously into the air. Well, Sergeant Barnes had a mouth on him, unlike his spangled counterpart, the good Captain. 

     “Barnes?” Stark asked, regret twisting his gut when stormy grey-blue eyes flickered towards him before his gaze went skittering away. The super soldier clutched at his arm with his left, shaking his head and staring up at the clouds as if they were the ones to have stabbed him. Water streamed from the sky, plastering his hair to his face.

     “Yes!” Barnes said, grunting and dropping his chin to his chest. “Did you really just stab me?” he asked in surprise, maybe a little shock, before looking over his shoulder to the knife still buried in his muscle.

     “Uh…well, damn. I didn’t realize it was you. Thought I’d been captured.” Tony said his voice was absolutely wrecked, a bare rasp. His chest was still heaving, every breath an aching thing, and he swayed in place, the rush of adrenaline not enough to sustain his weak lungs. He widened his stance, redoing the safety on the gun and taking a moment to take in his surroundings. 

     They were on the street, surrounded by buildings that blocked out most of the sky. Clouds seethed and rolled above them, and they were caught in an absolute downpour. There was evidence of the fight they had been in, so Barnes had gotten them away from it. That was good, but where the hell was his suit?

     “You saved me?” he asked, his surprise evident. His gaze darkened with distrust, and he frowned. What the hell was this guy playing at? Tony couldn’t trust a damn thing coming out of Barnes’ mouth, but he had to admit that he was having a hard time reconciling the Winter Soldier's actions with what he knew about the other man. “Why would you save me?” 

     “What the hell kind of person do you think I am?” Barnes asked incredulously, his features wrinkling with confusion and…hurt? He recoiled from Tony as if he’d been punched, shaking his head. “Of course I did! We’re a goddamn team, and despite whatever you think of me, I’m not a monster, you dick.” 

     “You are a monster!” Stark snarled, the rasp of his abused throat making the word positively cutting. He’d never been for trusting Barnes as part of the team. The man was a cold-blooded killer and a step away from crazy. If Tony had his way, he’d be locked the fuck up, or tossed away in an old-school asylum like he didn’t exist. “You might have everyone else believing you're some reformed saint, but not me.”

     “I thought you were supposed to be smart, Stark. When the hell is it going to get through your thick goddamn skull that I’m on your side.” Barnes hissed, turning away, those furious eyes not even looking at Tony. With a dismissive shake of his head, he walked across the street toward a nearby business.

     “If you want me to trust you, you’re gonna have to earn it.” Tony tried to shout as he scowled at  Barnes’ broad shoulders, watching as blood streamed down his right arm from the knife buried in his flesh, joining the rivulets of water that dripped down his muscled arm. Yeah, maybe that had been a dick move.

     “I guess saving your ass isn’t enough? You tell me what the hell else I’m supposed to do?” Barnes snarled furiously. Tony’s nose wrinkled in annoyance, but he had nothing to say to that. If he were honest, he didn’t think there was anything Barnes could do to change his mind. The man was no hero. He was a killer. “Goddamnit, if I’d known this was how it was gonna be, I would have just left your ungrateful ass behind! Ugh! Real fucking show of gratitude.” 

     “What happened to my suit?” Tony asked, huffing and setting off after the other man, his shoes clomping inelegantly through the puddling water.

     “Of course, you’re worried about your goddamn suit!” Barnes seethed, his words sharp. Tony was pretty sure this was the most he’d heard the man talk…ever. “Your stupid suit was compromised. I had to leave it behind.” 

     “Are you an idiot? If the bad guys get their hands on that, we’re in real goddamn trouble.” Stark snapped, worry twisting his gut. A lot of people would do a lot of killing to get their hands on his tech.

     “Don’t worry, pretty sure it's non-functional. I kind of tore it to pieces.” Barnes said casually, and Tony swore he heard a hint of amusement in his voice.

     “You-you what?” Tony asked in a mix of horrified stupefaction and confusion. Had Barnes really destroyed his billion- dollar suit? 

     “Technically, it was falling apart from that stupid fucking net before I got to it, but excuse me for thinking saving your ass was a little more important than some scrap metal,” Barnes said gruffly, mounting the sidewalk on the other side of the street.

     “Jesus Christ! Scrap metal? Is that what we’re calling it? Where the hell are you going?” Tony yelled after the other man’s back, his voice cutting off in a ragged cough as his lungs protested the overuse.

     “I need to take care of this,” Barnes jerked his head toward the knife in his arm. “Believe it or not, but it isn’t exactly comfortable. Follow me if you'd like, or go back and find your suit. I really don’t give a damn which.” 

     Oh, right. Stupid question. Tony thought, scowling as Barnes stepped through the broken pieces of a window frame and into the building just in front of him, disappearing from view. 

     Tony threw his arms in the air, scowling at the man’s back, and stood in the rain for a moment, glancing down the street. As much as he prided himself on being able to navigate the city, he actually had no idea where the hell they were, and the rain was making it impossible to see any nearby street signs.

     He supposed it was time to play nice. Pepper would be so proud of him. Letting out a sharp exhale of breath, Tony reluctantly followed after the super soldier, his shoes crunching over broken glass as he stepped through the open window frame and into a small bakery. 

     Other than the glass being blown out of the windows and the growing puddle on the floor, the place hadn’t been too badly destroyed. Pastries and cakes lay prettily upon little trays and behind glass displays, still waiting to be purchased. Barnes was nowhere in sight and as quiet as a ghost. Tony stepped behind the counter, entering the only other door in the room. 

     It was darker in there, the fluorescent light flickering despondently above, but it was enough to see by. The kitchen was completely undamaged, though left in disarray, abandoned cookies left mid-prep, and a half-decorated wedding cake was toppled over on a nearby table. It was a picture of everyday life cut short by a terror attack. Barnes was pacing around the room, opening drawers and looking into cupboards. 

     “What are we looking for?” Tony asked, arms crossed over his chest. Barnes’ stormy gaze flashed toward him before they were moving again. Tony swore he was surprised by his presence.

     “Decided to stick around?” Barnes asked with a tired sigh. For a breath, he looked absolutely exhausted, his shoulders slumped, his head drooping down, but it was only a moment before the man was straightening, spine stiff and features empty of emotion. Stark was pretty sure he’d imagined it.

     “For now,” Tony said, snagging a towel off a nearby countertop to wipe his dripping face and hair with. “What are we looking for?”

     “First aid kit. Kitchens always have one.” Barnes murmured, opening another cabinet only to jump back a step when a wave of to-go containers tumbled free, falling to the floor around him. Tony laughed a little. That was definitely funny, a super soldier startled by a bunch of pink pastry boxes.

     “Right. I’ll check in here.” Tony said when he spotted a closed door across the way, hoping it was an office. When the door swung open, he smiled, satisfied at the sight of a messy desk and dark computer screens. He gave the room a cursory search and grinned when he spotted a familiar white box tucked into the corner of a shelf behind the door. “Got it!” 

     Tony left the room behind, plopping first Barnes’ appropriated gun, and then the first aid kit, on a nearby counter that was free of flour. He returned to the office to drag out the chair sitting in front of the desk and waved Barnes closer as he approached. The other man seemed wary, glancing around the room with those dark brows of his drawn down. Nervous? Maybe. It was hard to tell with those empty eyes.

     “Come on, I put that thing in you, let me take it out.” Tony encouraged, patting the chair as he set it up beside the first aid kit. “Sit up here and relax. It’ll be like a spa day, and I won’t stab you again,” he said with a mischievous wiggle of his brows.

     Barnes let out a slow breath and shrugged, dropping into the chair. He ducked under the strap of his rifle, dropping it to the ground beside them before twisting it so he could rest his forehead against the metal countertop. The position gave Tony better access to examine his arm, and he winced as he looked down at it. Blood coated Barnes' lower arm, and the blade had definitely gone deep. Tony dropped down to a squat to get a closer look, carefully moving the limb so he could see it better in the minimal light. 

     “That knife is serrated. Don’t…wiggle it or anything. Pull it out as straight back as you can. It’s near some important veins. Who knows if you already hit one, so get ready to stop the bleeding.” Barnes warned clinically. As if it weren’t his own arm that Tony was looking at.

     “Yep. Got it. No wiggling, straight back.” Tony said, moving to dump out the half-empty kit on the counter. It was mostly stuff for burn care and minor cuts, but there was nothing for stitching other than some surgical tape. “There's already a lot of blood, and we’ve got a very minimal kit here. Think we’ll need to cauterize?” Barnes lifted his head for long enough to glance at the back of his arm. A small frown turned down the corners of his lips, and he peered at the wound consideringly before giving Tony a little nod.

     “Might be the safest bet… we could tourniquet, but that would put my arm out of use until my accelerated healing kicks in. We’re not safe yet, and I don’t like that idea…Do we have the tools for that?” he wondered aloud, moving to stand and look around. Stark plopped a hand down on Barnes’ shoulder, the other man practically jumping at the touch, and shoved him back into the chair.

     “Eh, stay down, Robo-boy. The stoves are gas, and the city would have already turned it off, but I think I saw some crème brûlée in the display case.” Tony said Barnes didn’t fight him. Tony’s sharp gaze darted around the shadows of the kitchen.

     “What does crème brûlée have to do with anything?” Barnes asked, confusion written on his brow.

     “What, you don’t like crème brûlée?” Tony asked, clapping his hands when he found what he was looking for. 

     “I-I don’t think I’ve ever tried it?” Barnes said, or more like asked. 

     “You haven’t lived enough, Barnes,” Tony said, grimacing when the words came out. That was brutal, even for Tony. Of course, the guy had never tried crème brûlée; he’d grown up in the depression, and he didn’t think Hydra was the type to let their soldiers try French desserts. Barnes let out a self-deprecating snort at that but did not deign to offer Tony a response.

     “Well, you’ll probably hate it after this,” Tony said, snagging a butane torch down from its place atop a nearby refrigerator. Tony grinned, shaking it triumphantly.

     “Why do I feel like you’re gonna enjoy this a little too much?” Barnes asked with a long-suffering sigh.

     Well…he wasn’t lying.