Chapter Text
Being a free man was a confusing experience for Bucky.
He was sure he liked it, at least parts of it. Getting to choose what to do with his time, what he ate when he could rest; Bucky liked that. But free will, options, preferences, choices? it was a lot to take in. Should he wear blue? Does he like peaches or plums? Is it safe to sleep here? He hadn’t made a choice for himself for over seventy-odd years.
Romania helped.
It was a safe location, politically, that helped ease Bucky into being something other than the Asset, even if it wasn’t Bucky Barnes from days of yore, as Steve had hoped.
During that time, Bucky discovered that he liked plums more than peaches, and he only slept once he triple checked the locks, and ensured he had a fully loaded glock and a knife somewhere in arms reach, but he still didn’t know if he should wear blue – so he settled, black – black was familiar, it was fine. He wore black.
It was hard on some days going without mission parameters and orders. It was constantly buzzing in his head though that he – in a desperate attempt to make it stop – looked for a handler at one of Hydra’s old bases.
Of course, by the time he found one, Bucky decided he didn’t quite like the handler’s tone and did away with the whole base, along with its personnel and data to boot. The buzzing in his skull became a barely-there hum. He liked that he decided to do that for himself.
The mess that followed – Germany in particular – Bucky could barely remember.
Survival was too important, the Soldier decided, to deal with the everyday stressors of choice and preferences weighing them down. Bucky let him take the lead, and only surfaced on the occasion that the Soldier required rest, a necessity without the cryo-freeze.
The longest Bucky had been conscious after Romania was in the damned bunker, just before he had to watch the Soldier almost tear Stark apart.
He’d never tried harder to wrangle control from the Soldier before, but when it came to survival and instinct, the Soldier wouldn’t budge. Steve didn’t help matters.
By the time they got to Wakanda, Bucky felt depleted. Neither he nor the Soldier were talking after their conversation on King T’Challa’s jet, at odds in such a way that they hadn’t been since they decided to co-exist so many decades before.
I saved us, was the Soldier's confusion.
Bucky snarled, We don’t deserve to be saved.
Stubbornly, the Soldier defended, That’s not just your call, not in your state.
It wasn’t just you that killed his parents, Bucky retorted.
We need to survive, the Soldier insisted.
For what purpose?
Mission objective.
With a resigned sigh, Bucky retorted, We have none.
And then the silence followed. Going into cryo was the best option on the table.
Choices, preferences, free will was nothing if Bucky couldn’t choose. Not when the Soldier still needed orders, paramaters, purpose. And Bucky didn't trust anyone to give them to him, to use him.
Steve continued not to help matters, “I don’t think you should do it.” Small mercies that Steve hadn’t phrased it as an order, Bucky thought bitterly.
By the time he was defrosted, pardoned and given sanctuary in the Compound, Bucky still didn’t know what to feel.
A man in an immaculate suit stopped short in front of the entrance of the Compound, watching them through tinted sunglasses. Stark. Bucky wanted to flinch away. He remembered the other man in bits and pieces outside of the confrontation in the bunker. In flashes of moments when the Soldier let him up for air during survival protocols.
Bucky shot him in the face the first time they met, and then the last time, he almost pulled out his power source and left him in his coffin of a metal armor.
Stark looked better, at least, Bucky noted. He was well dressed, well-groomed and from the fit and mold of his three-piece, well taken care of.
The Soldier's attention lingered, Bucky snapped his attention back into focus. No.
“About damned time,” Hawkeye declared, turning his attention to Stark, and sneering, “Well if it isn’t the welcoming committee. Should we be honored that the billionaire whose successfully buying a clear conscious had time for the team he dumped on their asses?”
In the few hours that Bucky actually spent with the archer, he found Barton a great irritant especially when Tony Stark was mentioned, and the news reports during the flight from Wakanda made it clear he would be mentioned often. In light of the media frenzy of “Civil War” Tony Stark returned from the Siberian bunker, seventy-two hours after their engagement a new man.
Or, as Romanova said, the man he’d always been.
She was quick to inform, Iron Man was recommended, Tony Stark was not.
Her insight was unnecessary. Watching Tony go up against the Accords Committee and the UN and the US government, play by their rules and twisted them around his fingers from his hospital bed. Bucky couldn’t divert the Soldier’s attention if he tried, not that he tried too hard.
The man – the man was a goddamn marvel.
From his Stark phone, Tony Stark began restoration efforts around the world, made amends for every misdeed done under the Avenger name and rebirthed a new organization to replace SHIELD that was, from Bucky’s knowledge, Hydra free.
The Soldier couldn’t resist throwing the Witch a look. She volunteered to the terrorist group and had no intention of atoning for her sins. Bucky thought it was crazy. For once, he wasn't the only one.
Tony doesn't like her, Bucky couldn't help but notice.
Smugly, the Soldier decreed, good.
From his workshop, Tony Stark was settling into re-establishing his tech empire with advancements in green energy and prosthetics, as well as a lovely device that Bucky wasn’t sure had a category, but he felt the need to look up anyway: the retro-framing Hydra de-triggering treatment. After King T’Challa told him where the invention came from, the Soldier sat up and declared: I want him.
Bucky couldn’t dissuade him. Didn’t want to, really.
With the way the Rogues were going on about how it was all just a ploy, “Just Tony trying to buy his way into sainthood,” a never-ending topic of conversation from the looks of the newest members, Lang and Wilson, it didn’t surprise Bucky in the slightest that they made Tony the sun in their solar system because that’s what he was. And they – the Rogues – were nothing but passing asteroids.
When Tony seemed to see through Barton, the blond tried to get in his face, “What, don’t wanna talk now? Still think you’re so much better when you have no one?”
“Mr. Barton,” an agent, former military by the posture, interjected flatly, “I’m going to ask that you desist from trying to provoke Mr. Stark.” Especially since he’s the one that let you come back, Bucky could practically hear her say from the thinness of her lips and the disapproval in her gaze.
Barton ignored her. “You couldn’t be happy with not having no one, could you? You had to go and make sure I had no one either. I know it was you who talked Laura into the divorce, you son of a bitch.”
Ever Barton’s echo and someone Bucky was sure the Witch was using to channel her abundance of rage, the Witch jumped in with a sneer, “We know you didn’t want us back, Stark, did you get lonely now that your friend is as useless as you are?”
Wilson visibly stiffened at the implication of Colonel Rhodes, and even Romanova and Steve grimaced.
The blow was low, maybe Barton was feeding into the Witch too.
Tony remained expressionless, even as the Soldier began to growl.
Barton withdrew before rerouting for a punch just as the unnamed agent declared, “That’s enough." Her tone brokering no arguments or discussion. “You are only back on US soil due to the goodwill and efforts of Mr. Stark.” Barton scoffed. The agent ignored him. “Your return, as you are aware, is conditional and subject to review. Any altercations can null and void the agreement reached, and you will be expedited and trialed by the many countries out for your heads.”
Again, Barton snorted. “What, so we have to play nice or we’re out?”
“No one ever said you weren’t quick on the punch,” she deadpanned. “Mr. Stark has kindly volunteered to provide accommodation and resources until the review of your pardon in three months’ time. However, if you deem him unsuitable, you will have the option of fending for yourself. Do keep in mind that the public doesn’t like you and neither do I. Your welfare and survival will not be our concern until after the government and Accords Committee deem you suitable for Avengers business in which case, we’ll be playing on a different playground, but we all know the saying about counting chickens before they hatch.”
Steve tried to placate, “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“What’s harsh is the number of dead civilians in Nigeria, South Africa, and Germany during your little temper tantrum. Or the number of lives you’ve destroyed of actual SHIELD agents in the wake of Project Insight’s data dump, Rogers.” He and Romanova stiffened. The agent’s smile was politely cruel. “I wouldn’t resist Mr. Stark’s aid if I were you.”
Barton snarls, and Tony finally spoke, voice just as flat and unyielding as the agent beside him, “Oh, resist, I insist.”
“Tony,” Steve turned, voice strained interestingly between pleading and reprimanding. “You can’t possibly -”
Smoothly, Tony interrupted, “Make no mistake, I don’t want you here. But the UN and the governments of the world can’t seem to trust you, and since King T’Challa tired of your attitude a lot faster than I did, it falls to me to keep you contained.”
“You’re throwing us in prison,” was the Witch’s conclusion, I knew you couldn’t be trusted -” Her raised hands flicked red, but were sooner bound by a flash of golden light.
Apparearing from nowhere, a man in a cape appeared just behind Tony. “When you said they threw temper tantrums, I didn’t think you meant it literally.”
“What – what are you doing to me!” With every tug of her hands, the golden light tightened like a noose.
“My associate, Doctor Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme,” Tony said, by way of explanation. His dark brows lifting just enough to be seen over his sunglasses. “Did you really think I was playing that game again?”
“So you are,” Romanova noted, eyes narrowing, and posture flexing into a defensive stance.
“Your residence in the Compound is as it was before Wicked Witch and Bird Brain threw my kid through five floors,” Tony said while Strange flicked a finger against the Witch’s temple before withdrawing.
Furious, the Witch raised her hands immediately only to find the red stream of magic gone. “What – what did you do?!”
“What you signed up for,” the agent answered, exchanging a nod with Strange, apparently unconcerned. “Don’t tell me you didn’t read your pack? Or did you see the word ‘pardon’ and think there would be no consequences for your actions?”
Disapproving, Steve began, “Tony, this isn’t right -”
“By all means, do something about it,” Tony challenged, and Bucky could feel the Soldier smirk; slow, sinful and approving. Bucky admired the loophole Tony was exploiting up close and personal, and truly, it was a sight worthy to be admired.
At that moment, Tony turned and gave them something else to enjoy as he walked away.
We can't, Bucky insisted weakly. There had to be a line somewhere – the Soldier couldn’t possibly –
The Soldier purred, we can, if we ask nicely. I can be real nice.
Over his shoulder, uncaring to assert his authority but knowing it would be followed, Tony ordered, “Follow me.”
Mission identified: Anthony Edward Stark Mission Accepted.