Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The waters of the Potomac were anything but pure, clouded by a greasy muck. Not that the Winter Soldier cared. He had seen far worse. As he emerged from the icy waters, dragging the unconscious form of Steve Rogers behind him, the cold hit him hard, making him shudder. On the distant horizon, tendrils of black smoke rose into the grey sky, billowing from the crash site. The three helicarriers had fallen on the population underneath. The air, heavy with an acrid scent of burning debris, reminded him that it wasn’t quite over yet. 

The Winter Soldier’s movements were precise, showing a lethal efficiency as he made his way to the shore. Water droplets stuck to his dark attire, making it heavier than it should have been. He finally let go of Rogers’ hand once he was sure that he was out of danger. 

He looked down at the unconscious from sprawled on the pebbles, perplexed. Memories that had been hidden for so long began to stir in his mind like the fragments of a story told by someone else. It was as if he was peeking into the life of a stranger, someone he used to know but had been long forgotten. The quiet, soothing sound of the water’s gradual lap was almost hypnotic, allowing his thoughts to wander back to all the things that had been wiped out during his time on the chair. 

His knowledge was limited, with critical pieces missing. He couldn’t really remember his own name or the year it was. There was only one thing going through his mind. He refused to return to Hydra, to the cold metal chair and the torture that, once more, would erase his mind. He didn’t exactly have a plan. Since Hydra operated all over the world in the shadows, it would make it difficult to hide from them. 

A few nations presented themselves as possible havens, untouched by the tentacles of the shadow Nazi agency. Those would be the safest places for him to hide. But considering who he was running away from, the word safe seemed far from his reality.

All of his instincts were on high alert. He intended to put as much distance between himself and the aftermath of his last mission. The air was thick with tension. The authorities were most likely all around the area now. An inevitable pursuit would follow. The Winter Soldier was the obvious culprit. His thoughts replayed the events of the past hours in an endless loop. Why had he chosen to save Captain America?

He walked away from Rogers. He needed to get out of there as soon as possible. Fortunately, he discovered a parking area nearby for anyone who wished to enjoy the Potomac River's banks. There was a motorbike there with a chain wrapped around the front wheel. The idea that stealing was wrong quickly passed through his head, but he didn't have much of a choice. The chain was quickly dismantled by the metal arm, a testament to the efficiency of his enhanced capabilities. It was simple enough to start the engine without a key. He took off, the tires spinning against the gravel road. He didn’t look back.

Bits and fragments of memories continued to resurface, like pieces of a puzzle assembling themselves into the story of another life. It was like watching a disjointed documentary film about James Buchanan Barnes. That was his name, his real one. Rogers made several appearances, not all of which were positive. Dread crept over him as the realisation sank in. Saving Captain America, while instinctual, might not have been the right thing to do.

He wasn’t entirely sure of what he should have done. His memories and mind had been whipped off so often that he didn’t know what was real anymore. In his world, only the parameters of a mission were of importance. He was instructed on where to go, who to kill, and where to return for extraction. His handlers were just allowing him enough latitude to ensure the mission’s success. His most valuable skill was his adaptability. 

In the early days, Hydra had good reason not to trust him. Bucky had tried to escape often in whatever manner he could. Thoughts of suicide lingered, tormenting him, feeling like the only solution for him, but the serum coursing through his veins made this ultimate route impossible. There was no way out, no escape. The chair wiped what was left of James Buchanan Barnes until what remained was an empty shell.  

Despite Hydra’s best efforts, bits of him were returning now, and they weren’t looking good. The amnesiac fog that had cloaked him was lifting, revealing images of violence and death. The flashes of the war, of the victims of the Winter Soldier were coming in no particular order. He had no control of what was happening to him once again.

Bucky came to a halt in the middle of the road. It was a rather quiet back lane that was deserted. Nobody would bother him, and he wanted some alone time to think. The truth was that Steve Rogers was not and had never been his responsibility. That relationship, if it could be called that, had already cost him enough. Bucly could hide indefinitely and live his life as best he could. 

He let out a sigh. He couldn't do that, of course. He should have known better. This was one of his flaws, he supposed. Bucky didn't have to battle every bully he saw like Steve, but when he realised people were in real danger, he had to act. And, to be honest, it was partly his fault to begin with. He shouldn’t have saved Steve Rogers.

“I can’t do this alone,” Bucky said to nobody in particular.

While overtaking him, a car slowed down, the driver looking at him curiously. So far, the road had been deserted, and now there was someone worrying about him. Of course, this could just be a coincidence. Someone was perhaps kind enough to be concerned about a lone motorbike rider in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe it was Hydra. Within that organisation, suspicion about everything and everyone ran wild. They were most likely aware of what had occurred in Washington and his failure.

They might still have the resources to bring him back in the fold. Rogers and his friends had uploaded all of Shield's data on the internet, but Hydra had infiltrated more than one organisation. They were everywhere. From the White House to the local police. 

Bucky hopped on his bike and rode to New York in record time. This was going to be a hell of a bargain, but who else could he turn to for assistance in those circumstances? 

Hydra always put that man at the top of their list of enemies. The ill-fated project Insight would have eliminated him, along with countless others. Hydra agents were not to engage the man if possible. He had the highest level of threat and whether Bucky liked it or not, it meant something even if it came for Hydra.

New York was as busy as it had always been. The man Bucky was after was there to supervise the construction of his new building. He was never alone. Bucky observed him and his entourage. Bucky would be able to dispatch the bodyguard. He had seen his Hydra files. But he was not to be underestimated. Obediah Stane had planned Tony Stark's assassination overseas for a reason. Stane made a mistake when he decided to form an alliance with that particular terrorist group. Many have tried to kidnap the genius over the years. All of those attempts had been foiled by Happy Hogan.

Suddenly, without warning, Stark grabbed a heavy suitcase from Hogan’s hands and tossed it to the floor. The Iron Man suit quickly wrapped around Stark's entire torso, and he quickly took off.

"I'll try to extract as many as I can! Contact the authorities. The military, the FBI, all of them!" Tony urgently told Hogan.

Without waiting for an answer, Stark was gone with a boom of sonic speed. It was clear what he was attempting to do. This selfless determination was the essence of a hero. Even though Stark had the option to put his own safety first, he decided to go and save others, even if it meant risking his own life. Bucky could have helped, but he wasn't a hero, and most Shield personnel would have shot him on sight. Instead, he would wait and gather information on what Stark intended to do.

Stark did everything he could to the point of exhaustion. Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov did little to assist repair the harm they had caused. It wasn’t surprising. The Black Widow operatives, including Natasha, had to learn the way not to have feelings for anyone, not even themselves. Their training was ruthless. They were saved from the chair, but not much else. Vague memories resurfaced of the days when he had trained Natasha. Back then, she was already only doing things that would only benefit her. A coping mechanism for sure.

By avoiding Hydra, the chair, and the cryo chamber, he was allowing his memories to return. Not everything was crystal clear of course. He had seventy years of trauma to think about.  It was not an easy task. The serum was allowing him to survive on micro naps here and there. He was grateful for it. Sleeping always brought out the worst from his mind. He'd frequently wake up startled, a scream on his lips that would completely derail his small cover operation. He needed to concentrate.

“Okay Boss. I’ll see you in Malibu then. Try and get some sleep.” Happy, standing not far from Bucky without knowing it,  was answering Stark. Who else could it be?

Bucly couldn't just get on a plane like everyone else. Hydra was usually in charge of transportation, and they had enough individuals in their pockets to get practically anyplace on Earth. Bucky didn't have a passport, and the metal arm would be difficult to hide. Time was of the essence, and he didn't waste time. The domestic flights didn’t have the same security measures, particularly in the loading bay. The serum coursing through his veins gave him certain benefits, allowing him to survive on less oxygen than the normal human.

The Malibu house was perched on the precipice of Point Dume, overlooking the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The absence of visible security measures around the property felt weird, the idyllic location possibly explaining it. The large bay windows, while visually beautiful, constituted a security risk that was not his responsibility to fix. Tony Stark’s continued existence was important. At least, until the problem that was Steve Rogers was dealt with.

With time pressing down on him, Bucky found himself resorting to a course of action he wouldn't typically consider. He simply walked through the front door, opting for a direct approach over stealth. He would do his best to explain the issue and hope for the best. Once upon a time, he was quite the charmer. He could only hope that some of it remained.

“Welcome James Buchanan Barnes. What can I do for the Winter Soldier?”

Tony Stark was waiting for him there, his right armoured arm raised in the air, ready to shoot. Since they had made him the Winter Soldier, very few people had survived an encounter with him. Bucky had to give him that. The thought brought a wry smile to Bucky's face. If he was going to die, it only seemed right that it would be at the hands of intriguing weapons in the hands of an equally intriguing person.

The response was straightforward and honest. Perhaps not the finest way to begin a conversation, but Bucky sensed that a lie would only lead to complications down the line. History had demonstrated the dire consequences of lying to Stark, evident in the fate of Stane.

“I’m not Hydra,” Bucky declared

"Me neither," Tony responded. "You're going to have to be a little more convincing if you don't want me to shoot you to kingdom come," Tony snarked back at him, a wry smile on his face. 

"It's a long story," Bucky sighed.

“Go on. I can do this all day.”

Chapter Text

Recalling this particular chapter of his life wasn’t something Bucky was too keen on. This was his main problem. The details were elusive, flashing before him in bits and pieces that never quite came together to really make sense. It would be difficult to explain, especially when the complexities of his own history remained shrouded in mystery. There were two things he knew for sure. First, he couldn’t afford to fall back into Hydra’s clutches, alive or otherwise, and second, and second, the continued existence of Steve Rogers was not a good thing at all. 

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked Stark, giving himself some time to think.

Tony acknowledged Bucky with a nod, indicating the large sofa situated in a corner of the room. The decor had a feeling that was both incredibly Tony Stark and not at all like him. The pressing matter at hand was actually the genius himself, seated in an armchair facing him, his arm levelled at Barnes’ skull with an active repulsor. Trust was a luxury neither could afford, and Tony seemed acutely aware of that fact.

"I grew up in New York with Steve Rogers. The memories are blurry and fragmented," Bucky began, his thoughts wandering to the past. “I remember the guy being a little shit. Thankfully, he was a small and sickly little shit. He would always find himself in trouble," Bucky paused for a moment. "No, let me rephrase that. He would always start trouble one way or the other."

Bucky delved into the fragmented memories of the days following the arrival of his draft letter. That little tidbit provoked a subtle reaction in Stark, but Bucky would have to analyse that later. The Stark Expo, an event synonymous with innovation and progress, held a special place in Bucky's recollections. Bucky was a huge fan of science fiction and anything that gave him a glimpse into the future. During a showcase, Howard presented his ambitious flying car, an invention that only worked for a few seconds before encountering technical difficulties. Stark, ever the showman, quickly turned the setback into a victory.

Rogers had a way of ruining even the simplest joy by being in one of his moods. It was Bucky’s last day in America, before being shipped in Europe to his probable death. He just wanted to enjoy those last moments in peace, but Rogers had to remind him that so many good men were actually dying in Europe while they were having fun here.

"And then there's the memory of saving the punk from yet another fight he'd started himself." Bucky remembered, bitter. 

"Steve never was too fond of school. Back then, I think I found that funny. He would always do the worst shits that came to his mind and then pretended it wasn’t him. Given his health problems, he had no problem making people believe that he couldn't possibly be responsible for it. As far as I can remember, it worked.”

There were photos of a young blond boy roaming around the streets, too underweight for his own good and always getting into mischief. People in the community were frequently fed up with his misbehaviour. Sarah Rogers was working herself to the bone for her only child. If anything, the people respected that,  which may explain why Steve wasn't penalised more frequently.

“I quickly realised that if I wanted a chance at a better life, I needed to do well in school. We couldn't afford university, but working on the docks wasn't something I wanted to do forever. An office job or something with a more substantial paycheck would have made me happy. Anything with a better payday.”

Bucky found it difficult to remember why he was already thinking about his future and how much money he would make. Logically, it was probably to help support his mother and sisters who were most probably struggling during those difficult times. God knows everybody did during the dark years of the depression.

He had a fragmented memory of Steve's mother, Sarah, passing away from tuberculosis. The neighbourhood residents had gathered to pay their respects. The woman had pushed herself to the limit by taking the perilous nursing job in order to provide for her son. The doctor wasn’t cheap, and on top of his many illnesses, Steve was always getting into fights. The neighbours didn’t like him. They pitied him.

Now that Bucky recollected the events from an oddly detached perspective, he honestly questioned whether Steve had experienced anything more on that day than the inconvenience of losing his meal ticket. One thing for sure, he enjoyed being the centre of attention. He had heightened the pathos to garner more sympathy. Steve knew he would need their help soon. It worked. Bucky, dealing with his own problems, had pushed those memories aside until now.

Tony was paying close attention. Bucky was aware that, so far, he had not revealed anything of importance, but the story needed to be as detailed as possible. Perhaps delving into these recollections would help his memory and give him a sense of who he was.

It felt like watching a movie about his own life, directed by someone with only half of the script. Bucky found it odd that he seemed to have so little recollection of his own life and all of them centred around Steve Rogers. What did his own mother look like? Where was his father? What kind of lives did his sisters live? Perhaps it was easier not to remember close people who were likely dead by now. Remembering them would only bring sorrow and interfere with his mission. Later, after dealing with Rogers, Bucky decided he would take the time to find the answers to these questions. The past would not change, whether he remembered or not, but he had a chance to change the future.

The war was a blur of training, fighting, and losing a piece of himself along the way. Bucky was skilled at shooting enemies from afar, an expert sniper, but the distance did not make the act of killing any easier for him. The irony of it brought a small laugh to his lips. Hydra had turned him into a killing machine, but the foundation for that had been laid during the war. At the very least, he could take comfort in knowing that the Winter Soldier’s victims had been killed against Bucky Barnes’ will. What had happened during the war was a different story.

While his memories of that time remained hazy, Bucky could recall each and every one of the victims that Hydra had forced him to kill. He remembered each one of their faces as clear as day. Even the chair had not removed them from his memory. Their names were gone unfortunately, and it added another layer of guilt to everything.

"Barnes? You're still with me?" Stark asked, his tone almost gentle.

He had been lost in his thoughts for a minute. His mind was his own again, at least partially. It was difficult to determine whether he was functioning at full capacity or if these brief moments of disconnection would last longer. Time would tell, for sure. 

Bucky didn’t remember how he had been captured, only that it had happened. The same was true for Zola, the torture, and the experimentation. Although he wasn't confined with the other prisoners, he knew they were nearby, somewhere not too far away. He hoped that they weren’t going through the same experimentation they were inflicting him.

Suddenly, Steve materialised out of nowhere, a larger and more robust version of himself. All the prisoners were saved, and after a brief but intense battle, they simply strolled back to the nearest ally camp. Steve was regarded as a hero, cheered like a saviour. He became Captain America, not the guy who pretended to hit Hitler on the bond tour, but the little guy from Brooklyn who was risking it all to save them all.

Steve was beaming with pride, basking in the recognition. At that precise moment, Bucky felt a chill run down his spine. He began to feel uneasy, having a deep-seated suspicion that nothing positive would come of this strange new circumstance. He knew Steve better than anyone else. Bucky should have said something then. He just didn’t know how.

Rogers was placed in charge of an elite special task force. The Howling Commandos were made up of various soldiers who had proved their values time and time again and had been rescued by Steve only days before. The majority of them believed they were now in debt with the great Captain America. They willingly joined the ranks, knowing they would be assigned to only the most dangerous missions considered impossible without an enhanced help.

Steve's strategy was always the same: attack. He was a man who liked to take risks. His team was usually excited about anything he said, but they rapidly saw that this attitude could cost them their lives when another approach would simply assure their safety. They had gone to Bucky for help, and he had done his best to come up with a solution that would keep everyone happy and safe. However, things would sometimes happen far differently than Steve had instructed. The great captain wasn’t too good at adapting on the fly.

"Steve came to see me after one of those missions, I think. That memory isn’t quite clear. I have images of him shouting at me, but then I have others where he is smiling at me, so I don't know exactly what happened there. The next mission involved boarding a running train," said Bucky, suddenly very tired.

"The one you fell from to your apparent death," Tony continued.

“Before that mission, during our regular preparation, Steve came to me and asked about my plan B, as he called it,” Bucky explained again. "He said that, of course, his own plan was going to work, but there was nothing wrong in being prepared. The others felt better seeing their leader finally thinking that way."

Bucky did not remember what he thought about that turn of events.Perhaps he should have been more concerned by the change of attitude. Steve was more than a fellow soldier, his commander. He was a childhood friend. They would not always agree on everything, but Steve always talked about being together ‘till the end of the line.’

The line was there, drawn in the sand without Bucky knowing. The mission went on very smoothly at first, until it didn't.

"There was a fight of sorts, and I found myself dangling from the side of the train. I clung desperately to some metal piece, but it was clear it wouldn't hold for long. Steve appeared, but he was alone. I thought he would literally give me a hand," Bucky recounted, his voice carrying a mixture of frustration and confusion as he relived the traumatising moment.

Bucky drew in a deep breath, the vivid images from the past flooding his mind with a startling intensity, as if the events had transpired just yesterday. His former self should've known better. Because the enemy had capture and torture him, he had been presented with the chance to return home. Foolishly, he had chosen to stay to protect Steve. Or to keep Steve away from others. It was difficult to say.

"He made the motion to catch me, perhaps for show, in case the others arrived and witnessed the scene. But he never really tried. He could have caught me if he really wanted to. I remember his smile. We both knew I was about to die, and he smiled as if the idea was something to be happy about. As if... I don't know... he had planned something along those lines. I don’t know.”

Suddenly, a glass of water entered his vision. Stark had gone to grab one, and neither Bucky nor the soldier had noticed. At that moment, he remembered to breathe. It was most likely a panic attack. Bucky was a little too familiar with those. 

“Breathe with me, Soldier,” Stark said, offering support. “We still have a lot to do.”

Chapter Text

The gauntlet folded back into what appeared to be an expensive watch. Stark sat down again, allowing Bucky the time to sip from the glass of water and organise his thoughts. The soldier felt a surge of gratitude. Acts of kindness were a rarity in his long life. He couldn’t even remember the last time something like that had happened to him, and he had no idea how to act now or what to say.

But Tony had a lot of questions for him, so he simply had to focus on answering them. Stark seemed to place a high value on details he had overlooked. Maybe that was an attempt to verify Bucky's story. Barnes, to be honest, would not trust himself if he were in the genius' shoes.

When he knew the answers, answering the questions was not a problem, but as his mind was, that wasn't always the case. The fact that he could remember anything at all was already a victory, given the years Hydra had spent manipulating his thoughts and putting him on the chair had left him like a legume. Hydra was not in the business of losing their investments. If there was one thing they could reluctantly admit, it was the serum’s unexpected strength when it came to healing his brain. 

“What’s on the back of your mind, Snowflake?” Stark questioned, using a nickname that Bucky would need to analyse the implication later. 

In the maze of his scrambled thoughts, there was something he couldn’t make sense of. He had never pretended to fully comprehend Steve Rogers, at all. If he had, he wouldn’t have plummeted from that train in the first place. If they were to stop the man, though, they would need to figure out who he was and what he wanted to do.

"Steve... he did everything in his power to bring back Bucky. I was deep into Winter Soldier mode, and he just kept talking to Barnes, refusing to engage in a fight. I don’t understand. Logically, one would expect him to finish the job he had started all those years ago."

Tony’s expression changed for a frown as he processed the information. The lack of logic in Steve's actions was apparent, especially considering the dangerous circumstances. The man from the past was anything but stupid. It had been surprisingly simple for him to believe Barnes's account, and Tony was not entirely sure why. 

Howard Stark's respect for Steve Rogers himself was evident, far more than he admired the idea of Captain America. Even the comics talked about it. The older Stark had dedicated years and a substantial amount of resources to the pursuit of that singular man. He had wasted his entire life away after a man he had hardly known for half a year.

That in and of itself was a problem. Tony relished the fact that his father was gone for months at a time. That meant peace and quiet, a break from the torment of having to endure the brutality of a drunken abuser simply for being alive. Throughout those difficult years, Rogers became an unexpected saviour, every bit the hero the comics made him out to be. In a strange twist of fate,  he was protecting Tony just by existing. 

Years later, their paths crossed. The man had been extraordinarily well preserved by the ice, as if time itself had stopped to protect this relic of the past. Tony had not been exactly comfortable with the idea but the fate of the world was way more important than his feelings despite what Romanov or Shield thought. He didn’t need to like people to work with them.

Tony's distaste for Rogers was instantaneous. People should never meet their heroes in person, and it wasn't rooted in some unresolved daddy issues or jealousy. No, Rogers was simply an asshole, with his condescending remarks and his measuring dick arrogance with his ‘I’ve seen the footage’ nonsense. And then, Rogers had closed the portal on him. It wasn't lost on Tony that he owed his continued existence to a mere handful of seconds and the timely intervention of the Hulk. After hearing Barnes' account, Tony began to question if Steve had not been hell-bent on trying to kill him too.

Because, all things considered, Howard had never been a good man, and his affection for Steve Rogers should have been a huge red flag. The world was on the brink of an alien invasion, and Tony had more pressing matters on his mind than dealing with the self-righteous Captain. Rogers had been pushed to the bottom of the priority list. Recent events unfortunately brought Steve back into sharp focus, forcing Tony to reevaluate his priorities.

“I get what you’re saying. Unfortunately, the answers won't materialise right away. Better not underestimate the man until we know more.” Tony said, still thinking. “But, for the time being, we need to think about your future. I assume you want to stay in the picture?"

Bucky's response was resolute. "Yes!"

"Alright, that means a whole new identity—face, name, the whole shebang," Tony declared, already deep in contemplation. 

To Bucky, watching Tony was, in a way, like watching organised chaos. The man moved with a near-manic energy, pacing back and forth in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, talking animatedly with the voice that seemed to be coming from the wall. In any other context, Bucky might have been concerned about what was about to happen. The opposite was actually true. Tony was taking charge of the situation, planning the difficulties that were ahead and it gave Bucky a sense of purpose. A lot of stress was removed from his shoulders.

“In any case, Rome was not built in a day. Do you want something to eat? My stomach seems to be sending distress signals. When was the last time I ate, J?”

“Sir, you indulged in a serving of blueberries this morning,” Jarvis answered, his voice full of sarcasm. “However, it’s been a good thirty-four since your last full meal.” 

Tony, wearing a friendly smile, suggested, "How about we break this streak and order some pizzas? But first, how about you take a shower and change into something less leathery. You can’t be in murder mode all the time, and I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better afterward.”

The response was met with scepticism. "You're too trusting, Stark, and besides, I don't have any other clothes."

"Isn't that what you were hoping for? My trust in you?” Tony's demeanour exuded confidence, his smile carrying a subtle menace that reminded Bucky of a shark circling its prey. “But, if that can reassure you, Jarvis had enough firepower in that house to kill you three times over before you even have time to blink an eye.”

As Bucky processed this information, Jarvis made himself known, directing the soldier with impeccable precision, “Follow the blinking lights please.”

Tony Stark had a guest room always ready that would be his for the duration of his stay. Bucky had no idea what to make of it. The routine he was familiar with under Hydra consisted of cryogenic sleep between missions. Strange as it might seem, Bucky had been thankful for those moments. Even though the pod was making him feel claustrophobic, it was still preferable than anything they had done to him previously. It was a relief, a sleep without dreams or nightmares, and so much better than the metal chair.

Standing at the door of the strange room, Bucky was at a loss for what to do with himself. In the past, when out of the cryotube, thrown in a little cell, his mornings had been marked by the harsh blast of cold water from a hose, a brutal awakening that also served as a cruel imitation of a shower. His life had been painstakingly fashioned into that of a weapon, a machine only designed to kill with brutal efficiency. The last time he acted like a human was so long ago in his memory that he felt like a totally other person. 

As he still hesitated in the doorway, Bucky felt completely out of place. The room felt foreign, an uncomfortable reminder of a life he had been forced to leave behind. He briefly wondered what James Buchanan Barnes would have done in such circumstances. What was he supposed to do? The Winter Soldier had no idea of what was expected of him.

“Sergeant Barnes, maybe I can be of assistance?” the voice within the walls asked him, surprisingly gentle and almost caring in tone. 

It was a startling contrast to the harsh realities Bucky had become used to. The offer of help hovered in the air for a moment, and Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if he would find a way back to the man he was before, between the machine he had become and the humanity he had lost. 

Jarvis took his time showing Bucky where everything was and how to utilise it with calm precision. There was no hint of judgement in the AI's voice. It was comforting in a way Bucky had not experienced in a long time, if ever. He had to fight off a panic attack every two minutes. Seeking refuge in Stark's sanctuary seemed like a strategic choice, especially considering the formidable adversaries they were up against. 

The spectre of Hydra, though weakened, lingered in the shadows. After getting out of the clutches of Hydra and with each new room he entered, Bucky had to brace himself for the familiar sight of a lab, the frightening memories of the chair ready to trap him. The mission was over. More than that he had failed. The consequences of that failure would be excruciating. He was well aware of that. When Bucky Barnes was still rebelling against his handlers, he had been through that then. Hydra had slowly and very painfully extinguished any sense of revolt in him.

The shower proved to be a wonderful treat, a cascade of hot water, which turned out to be an amazing indulgence. His body was relaxing in ways he didn't think were possible. He lingered for a long time beneath the stream. Nobody mentioned anything about it, so he hoped everything was alright. Draping himself in the soft fabric of the provided clothes felt like a tender caress against his usually hypersensitive skin. Bucky knew all too well that everything around here was a luxury he would not have enjoyed had he gone rogue.

Returning to the main room, Bucky was greeted by Tony's exuberant announcement. "The pizzas are here!" Tony's enthusiasm was infectious. "Jarvis placed a large order. “If you match the appetite of the other enhanced guy… Well, we've got a bit of everything. What do you want to start with?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky admitted, his culinary preferences lost through time.

Hydra hadn't exactly been serving him five-star gourmet meals, and any memory of the foods he once enjoyed in the forties had faded into obscurity. Tony, unbothered by the implication of such an answer, simply encouraged him to sample a bit of everything so he could figure out what he liked. The man was making things a lot simpler. No need to overthink those things.

Stark effortlessly steered the conversation into easier and more lighthearted territories. Bucky found comfort in listening to the easy flow of conversation, especially when Tony started making funny comments on a TV show that the genius insisted Bucky needed to watch. Star Trek was a science fiction show that Tony preferred to another franchise called Star Wars. Bucky was pretty sure they would end up watching both entirely and, really, he was looking forward to it.

The Winter Soldier was a tool, something to throw away when they no longer needed him. Because of his prolonged seclusion, Bucky was desperate for any kind of human interaction. Tony's constant chattering made him feel oddly comfortable, a lifeline that connected Bucky to a security he hadn't had in a long time. 

As the evening wore on, the exhaustion that clung to Bucky finally claimed its due, drawing him into the sofa to sleep. Tony, undisturbed by the late hour, saw that Bucky was asleep and covered him with a nice blanket. With Bucky resting, Tony silently slipped away to his workshop. He had things to do. 

Rogers needed to be stopped.

Chapter Text

Sleep always came with a fair share of nightmares. Maybe he didn't deserve to be at peace. Peace seemed reserved for the innocent. That was not at all who he was. Since his recent escape, a flood of memories had resurfaced, none of them good. That night, the images his mind was coming with were especially vivid.

A desolate road, flanked by towering pine trees, appeared behind his closed eyes. The air was freezing. He knew it was Winter no matter where he was. Hydra had only recently awoken him. Perhaps the lingering chill he felt was only due to the cryotube’s low temperature. He didn’t know. His handlers, as they often were, had been far from kind. He suddenly saw with fresh clarity that they had always taken sadistic pleasure in his suffering. If nothing else, with his current level of comprehension, he could see it for what it was. A heartless disregard for anybody who wasn’t willingly part of Hydra. No one gave a tool any thought.

"It's a very special mission, Asset. You wouldn't want to disappoint a friend," one of the handlers remarked, eliciting laughter from the others present.

The Asset was perplexed, the words making a puzzle with missing pieces. He didn’t have friends. He had no idea what it was. It was an enigma beyond his grasp. His existence revolved around unwavering obedience, following orders with meticulous precision. Any deviation from directives could result in severe consequences, a reality ingrained deeply within him. The whole concept of a "friend" felt meaningless, as if it had no real bearing on his preprogrammed comprehension. The Asset didn’t believe that phrase had any real order in it.

The road stretched endlessly before him, a vast expanse of emptiness. He had procured himself a motorbike. The Asset had a preference for that type of transportation. He was on the hunt. An automobile appeared in the distance. He was well aware that it was his target. Skillfully, he forced the vehicle off the road, a calculated move executed with practised dexterity. The individuals inside the automobile were not killed on impact.

A figure with striking white hair attempted to crawl away from the overturned car. As the Asset emerged on the scene, the man did not appear to be terrified and did not attempt to flee despite the imminent threat. Perhaps he should have. The asset caught him by the hair, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes locked, recognition appearing on the man’s face. 

"Sergeant Barnes," the man uttered in disbelief.

In the background, a woman's voice desperately called for someone named Howard, but the Asset paid no mind. Instead, he unleashed a barrage of punches upon the man's face. In the end, the Asset’s targets would invariably beg for their lives. It fell on deaf ears. Only the mission was important.

The directive was crystal clear. It had to look like an accident. The handlers’ instructions turned in the Asset’s mind as he manoeuvred the man back behind the wheel of the car. The woman was now whimpering and visibly frightened. She was aware of what was about to happen. Her head was bleeding from the impact of the accident. She was a potential witness, and the handlers always wanted to avoid such complications. The asset was nothing but efficient.

Without a hint of urgency, he circled the car and casually opened the passenger door. He grabbed the woman by the neck and squeezed. Her panicked gasps met the relentless force of his grip. The pearl from her necklace was pressing against her throat. Even while strangling worked, it took too long. The Asset quickly decided to take a quicker route. With a decisive snap, he broke her neck. In any case, it would be more compatible with the automobile crash explanation. 

The Asset retrieved the vials containing the mysterious blue liquid from the trunk. The nature of the substance was inconsequential to him. His ignorance was expected by Hydra, wanted even. His handlers had wanted to see him fulfil his mission. Now that it was done, a calculated shot incapacitated the street camera, leaving no traces of his passage before fleeing the area on his motorbike as fast as possible.

When he made his way back at the base, the handlers burst out laughing. They were celebrating as if they had done the deed themselves. The scientists and handlers’ party got so wild that one of the white coats insisted on shoving a strong alcoholic drink into the Asset’s mouth, saying that he earned this reward. The bottle collided with his teeth, a harsh clang that sent an immediate jolt of pain through him. He first tasted his own blood, before the burning sensation of the alcohol. He didn't have much time to enjoy it because he was soon placed back into the cryotube, submerged once more into the darkness.

Once upon a time, he would have resided and fought them at every turn. At the beginning, his days in the clutches of Hydra had been defined by the spark of rebellion and his refusal to submit to their wishes. Now he was almost impatient to go back to the comfort of the cold and darkness. In that void, there were no shouts, no nightmares. The handlers were not hurting him for their pleasure. The cryotube meant nothingness. It was preferable to everything else.

Bucky slowly awoke, part of him remaining in his dream. Things were slowly coming back to him. He felt a rising flood of panic that threatened to drown his senses. The man from the dream, the one who had recognized the Asset, had a face now attached to a name. And what a name that was. They had forced him to murder one of his friends indeed.

Bucky Barnes, the tool manipulated by Hydra, had been instrumental in the death of Howard Stark and his wife. Stark had been a friend of Steve more than one of his but Bucky had spoken with him frequently enough to get to know him. The depth of their connection was irrelevant in the face of what had been done.

He had murdered Howard Stark and his wife. 

Now, in a cruel twist of fate, Bucky found himself living under the roof of their son, Tony Stark. He was asking for the help from a man he had orphaned years before. The universe was conspiring against him, but most of all, against Tony Stark.

His initial reaction was to run, to get away from Stark and Hydra as quickly as possible. Yet, he couldn’t help asking himself, what purpose would it serve? There was a broader mission at hand, a critical need to stop Rogers, and Bucky believed the message had been delivered. It was just necessary to stop the Winter Soldier as well. If he were to vanish now, Stark would be condemned to a perpetual search for the man responsible for the murder of his family, and Bucky knew it would be entirely justified. 

A weariness settled over Bucky, an exhaustion born from a lifetime of trouble that he never desired. He should have died years ago when he fell off a rushing train. There was hope, despite everything. Now, with a chance to right a wrong, Bucky saw some justice in the situation. Although it wasn’t a path he had asked for, it offered a way to remove some red in his ledger.

Bucky walked slowly to the kitchen area. With methodical precision, he opened each drawer until he located the knives. A gun awaited him in his bedroom. It wasn’t personal enough. In order to kill, the Winter Soldier didn't actually require a weapon. Was it strange that he felt a knife would make a better metaphor, be more poetic? A swift, precise strike to the heart, and the problem would be neatly resolved. It was as simple as that. 

Aligning the knives in ascending order, from the smallest to the largest, Bucky examined his handiwork. He made certain that they were all razor-sharp. He examined his work. There was an odd beauty in the arrangement, a strange aesthetic that he hoped Stark might appreciate in some twisted way.

“Mr Jarvis?” Bucky finally said, breaking the silence. 

"Yes, Sergeant."

“Would you mind calling Mr Stark to the kitchen?” Bucky asked, his voice not betraying anything of the anxiety he was feeling.

"I'm afraid that his safety would be jeopardised, considering your new... decoration," Jarvis responded, his voice tinged with caution.

"I assure you I have no intention of harming anyone anymore. But, if it can reassure you, prepare all the defences you believe are required for his safety."

Jarvis was both protective and extremely effective. Heavy armament dropped from the ceiling, aimed squarely at him. He would never get it out of the tower alive, and he didn't want to at this point. Part of him was relieved to know that Stark was protected and safe in his own home. He would need it soon.

Tony entered the room and his eyes instantly focused on the assortment of blades. "Humm. Are you planning on cooking something special?" he asked, seemingly oblivious to the latent tension hanging in the air.

Bucky remained still for a moment, watching the man proceed farther into the kitchen. Tony was trying to look unconcerned. Still, there was an almost impossible tension in the man’s shoulders. Somebody who wasn’t trained in those things would probably not see it. Stark had a lot of practice, having been in a lot of situations when a clean face with no emotions was essential. People had a tendency to underestimate him.

"I killed your parents," Bucky finally spoke, the words landing in the room with a blunt force.

Bucky didn’t mean to be cruel, but there was no other way to say it. To beat around the bush would actually be worse. Stark's head snapped up, a look of shock and amazement on his face, unable to comprehend what had just been stated or the reality of it. Bucky didn’t flinch under the scrutiny.

“They died in a car accident.”

"It was meant to look that way. Hydra wanted the serum your father had managed to recreate. They sent me. No witnesses allowed," Bucky answered, straight to the fact.

He spared Tony the gruesome details. Some images were better left untouched. Bucky knew Tony would understand that he was talking about his mother. Tony's look changed, a broken gleam in his eyes as the realisation finally sank in. His attention shifted to the knives arranged before him, each one a subtle threat that echoed the gravity of the truth just revealed.

Bucky closed his eyes, bracing for what was to come. He didn't want to watch what was going to happen. He kind of hoped it would hurt. In some ways, it would be like redemption. It was nowhere near enough for his numerous victims, but he doubted he would get it out alive in time for another member of the Winter Soldier's victims families to stab him again. This time needed to count for all the others that would never happen. For all of the Winter Soldier’s victims.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as he waited for the blow that never came. Tentatively, he opened his eyes. The room was deserted. The knives remained untouched, their gleaming blades still aligned. However, Jarvis' weapons remained trained at him. Perhaps Stark didn't want to get his hands dirty. Fair enough.

“Jarvis. Please finish the job.” Bucky almost begged.

"Mr. Stark is requesting that you refrain from leaving the tower. Should you attempt otherwise, I am authorised to use any means necessary to prevent your exit. He needs time to process the information and determine the next course of action," Jarvis told him with a clinical detachment.

"You can process faster, and you want to end me," Bucky pointed out.

"What I want is totally irrelevant. Sir is entitled to exact his revenge as he sees fit," Jarvis responded impassively.

Of course, he was. Bucky had only expected a faster and more lethal reaction. Instead, he had no choice but to wait, which was far worse than the speedy death he had hoped for.

So be it.

Chapter Text

Over the span of seventy years, not much had changed in hospital rooms. Naturally, there were a lot more beeping machines and advanced technology. Even yet, its walls remained bland, and the stench of death remained the same as it had when he was a small boy and had to visit the damn place frequently. He despised hospitals almost as much as he hated the ice that had been his prison for so long. Perhaps even more.

Thankfully, the serum had changed all that. Manipulating Erskine, the scientist behind the serum, had been quite easy. Steve has always had a strong will and was used to getting his way. A strong body would get him a step forward, allowing him to be fully the man he was. His plan had gone perfectly as usual. The serum worked its wonders, turning Steve into the pinnable of what humanity has to offer, the perfect man, one of the kind.

As Steve opened his eyes, he was met with Sam looking at him worriedly. "Steve, man, are you okay?" Sam asked, a hint of anxiety in his voice. "Do you want some water?" 

They just had been through a lot, fighting Hydra once again. Steve had to admit that he was probably looking quite bad right now. Bucky had not held his punches. Steve nodded in silent agreement. It would be helpful to have Sam on his side once again. The ex-army man was completely blinded by the aura that surrounded Captain America. Steve might find use for that. Looking for Bucky would certainly be a long and difficult task. Sam could be of help, at least for a while, until his use would be unnecessary and unwanted.

“Yes, please,” Steve said, making his voice sound smaller than it really was.

Sam dashed somewhere out of Steve’s line of sight, most likely the bathroom. Left alone with his thoughts, Steve’s mind replayed the recent events over and over again. Despite the situation, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It seemed as though the universe was once again aligning in his favour, sending him a present as if it was Christmas.

From the very beginning, Steve had owned Bucky, much like a kid treated his toys. At first, the novelty caused both boys to spend a lot of time together. In those early days, Bucky had been willing to do anything for Steve, even going so far as to protect him from harm at times. Despite the sometimes harsh punishment from their teachers, Bucky would remain loyal, refusing to divulge the truth, and that Steve was always behind everything in the first place. 

He had admittedly grown tired of Bucky at some point. Everything had become too predictable between them. Barnes had taken some liberties, overstepping his bounds within their little duo. The war had left its mark on Bucky, changing him into a shadow of his former self. Steve hated the new Barnes with a passion. 

As their friendship soured, the toy was finally discarded in a way Steve thought would be definitive. If he couldn't play with it anymore, no one should have it. Steve wasn’t too keen on sharing anything. To be honest, Bucky was to blame for things turning out the way they did. He couldn't help but feel that Bucky had betrayed his trust, undermining Captain America's authority and disregarding the unspoken rules of their friendship. After so many years together, Bucky should have known better. 

"Here, drink slowly," Sam instructed him, holding a cup of water with a straw.

The serum was doing the job it had been created for. It came with a fair share of pain, but in some way, it made him feel alive. It was as if every fibre of his body had been electrified and brought back to life. Steve would be back into shape in no time. 

He understood why Thor, the god of thunder, thought that the people of Midgard as he called Earth were just petty and tiny ants. Few humans possessed the strength, intelligence, or resilience to pose a genuine threat to beings of such extraordinary powers. Steve was just like Thor, gods among mortals, their prowess and capabilities far superior than any other. 

The Winter Soldier, as he was called now, proved to be a formidable opponent. Naturally, Steve had not given the combat his all. It was clear that Bucky had undergone a significant transformation since the last time they had seen each other. He needed to study his adversary a little first. Bucky did not seem to recognise him at all. That was such an intriguing turn of events. With each exchange of blows, Steve was examining Bucky’s movements, trying to get the man to recognise him. Despite his efforts, Bucky’s face stayed closed and focused on the task at hand. Steve wondered how Hydra had managed to change Barnes into the Winter Soldier, how far and how long the transformation would last, but also if it could be done once again.

It wasn't just a calculated bet for Steve to hold back his might during their confrontation, it was an attempt to play on the last shreds of humanity that Bucky had left hidden deep inside the Winter Soldier's mind. Steve tried to close the distance between them, to bring back memories of their common history. It was thrilling! And the stars had favoured him once more. Bucky had not only saved his life during their battle when he could have used Steve’s unwillingness to fight, but also prevented him from drowning.

The prospect of facing off against the Winter Soldier ignited a spark of excitement within Steve. The Winter Soldier was an adversary worthy of Captain America. Hydra, in whatever form it took, was his nemesis. What a story to put in the future comics about the great Steve Rogers! The story of a friendship so strong that it lasted through time and death would certainly sell thousands of copies. Steve was going to be the amazing friend who would go to any length to protect an innocent prisoner of war. Tragic destiny if there was one to write about. It would be wholly manufactured by Steve, but of course, nobody would ever know that. 

Steve was prepared to fight for Bucky, determined to get him back to who he was, simply to see if it was possible. Steve was confident in his ability to undo whatever Hydra had done to Bucky. After all, if there was anything Steve Rogers excelled at, it was defying the odds and overcoming seemingly impossible challenges. Barnes had already begun to recognise him, which was going to cause two problems.

First and foremost, Steve would need to figure out how to keep Stark out of their future missions. The billionaire was not a true hero in the first place and should know his role within the team. Just like his father before, Tony should be a provider. The Starks had the money to support Steve's team and an undeniable talent to create weapons. Although it wasn’t something to be proud of, it was regrettably necessary in the battles ahead.

The truth behind Tony’s parents death should remain a secret, known only to Steve, Natasha and Sam for now. Steve couldn't risk having his little experiment wrecked by a man who didn't even like his father in the first place. The last thing Steve needed was Tony embarking on a misguided quest for vengeance. Or worse, there was the very real possibility that Stark could withdraw his financial support, a move that would mean the end of the Avengers and should never happen.

On the other hand, Bucky could not be allowed to get his memories back out in the open, in a non secure environment. Although few would dare question Captain America’s word, Steve couldn’t take the chance that Bucky would reveal the little sob story behind him becoming the Winter Soldier. 

In any event, it would be preferable if Steve found Barnes first. Steve wasted no time in making his way out of the hospital. There was work to be done, and his team couldn’t afford to waste any time. They needed to speak with Stark, but the man wasn’t making himself Available. His team was becoming frustrated. Nobody believed Stark was really busy. Natasha had told them how Pepper Potts was doing all the work even when she technically was a personal assistant.

As Steve reflected on his past, memories of Peggy Carter flooded his mind. History had painted Peggy as his sweetheart, a symbol of undying love and devotion. He simply couldn’t stand the girl. She had served a purpose. In truth, Peggy had been all too eager to prove herself, desperately needing validation, so manipulating her was child’s play.

History had romanticised their connection, portraying Steve as a chivalrous hero pining for his one true love, waiting for their promised dance and more. To this day, they all thought he was still a virgin. In reality, Steve was no one-woman man, and quite honestly he liked blondes better. There had been other women, other blondes, whose names now escaped him but who had certainly taught him a lot. Carter was right to be jealous.

"He's probably upset that we didn't call him for assistance in Washington. The man has such an ego." Natasha said, jolting him awake from his daydream. 

“Do we really need him?” Sam asked,  with both curiosity and a hint of disdain toward Stark.

For now, they could proceed without Stark's involvement. His resources were already accessible to them. As long as Stark remained as their backer, the Avengers could just go on with the mission. And if the man were to change his mind and try to control their operations, Steve was confident the team could handle him when the time came. 

Unfortunately, the mission could not begin. The Senate demanded to hear their account of the events in Washington. It was a frustrating setback. Those people in suits, with big words but little to no actions, were constantly getting in Steve's way. They were never satisfied with what his team was accomplishing.

"Don't worry, Steve. I'll go and deal with it," Natasha said, clearly confident in her talents.

All the better, really. Steve had no desire to justify himself or his actions. If they were bling to the fact he had been saving the planet once more, that was their problem. Instead of appearing at the hearing, Steve searched through Washington and the surrounding area, searching for any sign of Bucky's presence. Bucky was probably not in good shape to make any decisions on his own. Steve had never been good at sitting around. Sam helped him. He knew the city way better than Steve.

Of course, they did not find anything.

Finally, after the bureaucratic hurdles and distractions were behind them, Steve and his team could resume their mission. Despite all the sacrifices he made during the war, Hydra’s tentacles were now spreading far and wide across the globe. Though they had always been connected by history, Steve didn't really care. Steve had to end Hydra’s horror, but the fact that it would keep Captain America away from Shield and Fury’s claws was an added bonus. The fate of the world was not truly his concern. Most people were too stupid to know what they wanted.        

As they boarded the sleek, futuristic jet, Steve couldn't help but marvel at its design. It was a thing of beauty. It was a far cry from the planes he had flown during the war, with their clunky, utilitarian construction. This jet was a marvel of modern architecture, with sleek lines and innovative technology that demonstrated how far the world had progressed since Steve's time in the 1940s. It promised some fun ahead. 

Natasha always took the pilot’s seat, convinced that Steve’s traumatic experiences from his past had made him fearful of planes and the idea of piloting them. Steve couldn't help but roll his eyes at her presumption. That woman overestimated her psychological abilities. 

“Steve?” She asked when she saw him in the pilot seat.

"It's time, Nat," Steve replied firmly. "I'll do whatever it takes to find Bucky."

Natasha placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, her red lips curved into an encouraging smile. She likely interpreted his words as a commitment to overcome his fears and searching everywhere for his friend. If Natasha had known how far he would go to have his way, she might have tried to stop him. As if anyone could.

Chapter Text

Two days had passed since Tony had secluded himself in his workshop. Bucky couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping over him as the hours ticked by. Was this level of isolation and obsessive focus normal? Bucky couldn't say for sure. He had no notion how people normally responded to such situations. Human emotions, once familiar to him, now seemed like a distant and hazy memory, obscured by the fog of his fractured mind. Tony should have killed him. It would have been easier for everybody.

As the soldier, Bucky was no stranger to periods of inactivity. Hours spent on stakeouts or reconnaissance missions had taught him the art of patience and endurance. The soldier was just concerned about completing his mission. Now his thoughts were always drifting back to the countless lives he had taken as the Winter Soldier. Each face haunted him, a ghostly reminder of the sins he could never atone for.

Bucky almost asked Jarvis a few times if he could find the names of the victims he remembered, if the Winter Soldier’s victims had families, anyone who would miss them. Perhaps they deserved closure, some semblance of peace. 

"Mr. Jarvis, where can I find a pen and a piece of paper, please?" Bucky's voice was steady, but his heart pounded with trepidation.

"First drawer of the desk in your bedroom," Jarvis replied, his digital voice devoid of emotion.

With a sense of purpose, Bucky retrieved the writing materials and settled down at the desk. He explained to Jarvis his intention to document everything he could remember about his time in Hydra, the agents he knew by name, the faces he had seen in their files, and, most hauntingly, the names of the innocent people he had been forced to kill. 

As he began to write, Bucky felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He knew that some things would remain forever lost to him, buried in the depths of his fractured mind. But he was determined to do his best, to offer whatever small measure of closure he could to the families left behind. And perhaps, in doing so, he could find a sliver of redemption for the sins of his past before Tony Stark decided to end him for good.

Writing proved to be more challenging than Bucky had anticipated. He remembered the mechanics of it, like riding a bicycle, but his hand felt stiff and unfamiliar, the letters coming out jagged and uneven. Still, he persevered, knowing that each name he recorded brought him one step closer to his goal. Hours slipped away unnoticed. It was a painful process but he pushed through the discomfort, as he wanted to make sure he had all of the names written down.

By the third day, Bucky's hand throbbed with exhaustion when he finally put his pen down. The super soldier serum coursing through his veins dulled the pain, and yet he felt tired like never before. It was not physical. The serum would have taken care of it. The sheer magnitude of the death toll he had inflicted hit him with a force he had never known before. There was a difference between knowing that Hydra had forced him to kill a large number of people and seeing the number scrawled by his own hand. For a brief moment, he almost wanted to go back to cryo so he could forget everything.

The coffee machine standing proudly in the corner of the kitchen seemed more like a work of art than just an ordinary appliance.  The design was very elegant. Bucky had never seen so many buttons on what should have been an easy machine. 

Jarvis, ever the helpful voice, explained to him what each of those buttons were for, but Bucky was still overwhelmed by the sheer number of choices he had. Espresso? Latte? Perhaps something with a dash of cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon? The Winter Soldier was rarely given any choice.

Lost in his thoughts, Bucky was interrupted by a familiar voice from behind, cutting through the silence of the kitchen. "I'll go for a latte if I were you. You look like a guy who would like a latte."

Startled, Bucky turned to see Tony Stark leaning casually walking in the kitchen, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. Despite his initial surprise, Bucky couldn't help but feel a hint of amusement at Stark's observation. "And what does a guy like that look like?" Bucky retorted, attempting to engage in some light banter.

“Tall, broody, and murderous," Stark quipped, his tone laced with humour.

Bucky sighed inwardly. "Stark..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words to express his remorse once again.

“No. I’m not mad. Well, I am, but not at you. Not anymore. For the longest time, I believed Howard killed my mom because he was drunk. But it wasn't him. Hydra murdered my parents. At least you told me the truth straight away.” Tony rambled, not looking the other man in the eyes.

"It was my hands," Bucky replied quietly. "You should take your revenge. I won't defend myself."

Tony shook his head. "No, none of that. What we'll do is tackle that list you're making once we've dealt with the Captain America affair. If you want to make up for what Hydra made you do, then live and fight the good fight," Tony said firmly, his tone resolute.

They sat at the kitchen counter, the only sound the soft clink of spoons against coffee mugs. Tony, restless, wandered over to the fridge, only to find it empty. Without a word, Jarvis swiftly arranged for food to be delivered. After what felt like an eternity of uncomfortable silence, Tony broke it, asking if Steve knew about it. 

Bucky shrugged, his expression grim. "I don't know. Even if he does, he won't spill unless he stands to gain something from it."

"You are really not painting a nice picture of your best friend," Tony remarked dryly.

"He let me fall, Tony. And he enjoyed it," Bucky replied flatly.

Their food arrived, and for a while, they were more preoccupied with stuffing their faces than conversation. It had been too long since either of them had enjoyed a proper meal. As Bucky watched Tony eat, Bucky felt a bit of concern tugging at him. Unlike him, Tony did not have the superhuman strength and endurance of the serum. Given that his health wasn't all that great to begin with, it couldn't be good. Bucky made a secret decision to be more aware of these things, if not for himself then at least for Tony's sake.

"So, I've been thinking about those trigger words," Tony began tentatively, glancing at Bucky. "I have an idea that could potentially help you with your memory, but I warn you, it won't be easy."

Bucky nodded, his expression resolute. "I'm in."

Tony sighed, wanting to ensure Bucky understood the gravity of his proposal. “It means reliving your worst memories, potentially many times, especially the ones around the implementations of those trigger words.”

“I’m in,” Bucky replied, meeting Tony’s eyes with determination. “Whatever it takes.”

"Okay then," Tony responded quickly, relieved. "Jarvis has put BARF in production in New York. We should be able to  start tomorrow."

The workshop in the Malibu mansion would not do. What was the point in building a new tower with top notch technology if not to use it exactly for that kind of projects? Smuggling Barnes in his private jet was not going to be a problem, especially if Tony was driving them both to the airport. New York traffic was a nightmare but he could manage for once. Bucky actually thought it would be simpler for him to make his way to the tower. Jarvis would help this time. There was no need to act too much out of character for the genous, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.

"BARF?" Bucky asked, once the questions of their change of location were hash over.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Bucky's lips as he heard the name. The term was amusing, and he hoped it did not imply that it was a side effect of the medication. Tony explained what it meant and how it worked. The fundamentals looked simple enough. Tony was explaining what it meant and how it would work. It seemed easy enough, at least the principles behind it.

It would undoubtedly trigger him. Bucky has seventy years worth of nasty memories to choose from. Panic attacks were not funny, and he didn't look forward to them. But more than the return of his horrific past, his biggest worry was the possible emergence of the Winter Soldier persona. Bucky wanted to believe he could contain his alter ego, the lethal capabilities of the assassin. His reaction would certainly be violent, even if triggered by somebody other than his handlers. The Winter Soldier was born out of fear and pain. He was acting on instinct, particularly in an unfamiliar situation. 

"Will Jarvis be in the room with us during the BARF sessions?" Bucky's voice trembled slightly with uncertainty as he posed the question.

"I am everywhere," the AI replied promptly.

"Weapons and everything?" 

Tony questioned, partly jokingly, if Bucky still had a death wish despite their conversation. Without wasting a beat, the soldier inquired whether the genius had one. He was prepared to trigger the Winter Soldier in a small room with no protection. It was totally reckless. Tony didn't seem to see anything wrong with that. There was a certain irony in thinking that Bucky was going to keep Iron Man away from harm. 

If Bucky’s action were to prevent Tony from dying, it would not justify the murder of the Starks. Still, it would be a step in the right direction. The past could not be changed, but he could work towards a better future.

Jarvis, ever vigilant, assumed control of one of Tony's armoured suits, standing watchful guard over the room where the BARF treatment would take place. Despite the absence of concealed weaponry in the ceiling of that particular room, the AI was determined to protect his creator and would not allow Tony to be exposed in any way.

Once in his tower, Tony’s first priority as he got ready for the BARF session was to collect information on his past prior to Hydra, a necessary step to calibrate the odd-looking glasses. Bucky, on the other hand, tried to mentally prepare himself, trying to focus on positive memories, or at least neutral ones. He was fully aware of the emotional toll that lay ahead, his painful history would obviously make things hard on him. 

It was irritating to see how his life had always been linked to Steve's. Even in memories of something as banal as Bucky's sister's birthday, Rogers was there, cutting a piece of cake together. Those were expensive days, with basic cake ingredients costing a lot of money. Barnes’ mother worked herself to the bone to provide her children with as normal a life as possible. The times were hard for everyone. Bucky didn't mean to be selfish, knew he shouldn’t be resentful, but Steve was everywhere he could remember, spending more time at the Barnes’ house than at his own home. It felt like Steve was using him even then. 

"The calibration is completed. The next step will be to select the first trigger word. But for now, I think we should have a movie night and relax as much as we can," Tony said while closing down the several holograms required for BARF. 

Bucky felt a wave of gratitude wash over him, appreciating Tony’s efforts to alleviate as much tension as tension before the next day’s session. The genius informed him that they would be watching an old favourite of his, a film about a ragtag team of scientists messily trying to catch ghosts in New York. Both men laughed a lot, something Bucky had not done in forever. He really loved what the future had to offer.

"We should eat something before moving on to the next step," Tony suggested as the credits rolled, already making his way toward the kitchen.

Jarvis had efficiently arranged for the fridge to be stocked with provisions, and to Bucky's surprise, Tony had decided to cook. It was kind of surprising for a man of his stature. Bucky used to cook for his mother and sisters, or so his confused memory seemed to remember. This time, he would simply follow Tony’s directions. Bucky was skilled with a knife, no pun intended. These small, ordinary moments of domesticity allowed him to find a measure of peace, that even in the chaos of their lives, there were still pockets of tranquillity to be found. He enjoyed the domesticity of it all. Alone, he might have faltered, but with Tony by his side, he knew that they would make it.

Chapter Text

His chest constricted, each breath a struggle against the suffocating grip of panic. Blackness was engulfing his vision, threatening to swallow him all. The handlers had caught up with him. They were going to punish him hard and repeatedly. That was their favourite part of their job. Nothing they could do would truly break him. The serum coursing through his veins would eventually fix everything. Even what they were doing to his head, on the chair, was obviously getting reversed  if he stayed out of the cryo chamber for too long.

As they strapped him into the chair once more, his body numb with dread, Bucky's mind retreated within itself. They forced a bite guard between his teeth, something he barely noticed at all. Sometimes, the anticipation of agony was almost worse than the pain itself. Not by much. His muscles tensed involuntarily, hard like a plank of wood. The seconds stretched on interminably, each heartbeat a thunderous drumbeat in his ears. Time was losing all meaning there.

A voice cut through the fog, calling his name with an unfamiliar warmth that felt almost out of place, like it shouldn’t have been here. In that Hydra base, nobody was calling him Bucky. In this place, he wasn’t a man but a weapon, a tool to be wielded. He didn't need a name, especially one that would remind him of his previous existence and give him the courage to fight Hydra with everything he had. 

And yet, that voice was soft and warm. It reached out to him like a lifeline, an anchor in the storm. The person behind the voice seemed to be trying to calm him down, much like trying to quiet a wild animal about to strike. Bucky struggled to understand what was happening. His handlers would never extend such gestures of kindness. He found himself drawn to the warmth of the voice. If it was a trick of his mind, a desperate illusion born of his need for someone to be there for him, he would cling to that semblance of hope, no matter how fleeting or fragile it was.  

"Bucky, breathe with me. Follow my lead. In and out. In and out. Just like that," the voice urged, its tone gentle but firm. 

Bucky did as he was told without hesitation, his body instinctively falling into rhythm with the other man’s steady cadence. He was good at following orders. For a moment that stretched forever, he only concentrated on the act of breathing, each inhale and exhale providing a lifeline in the suffocating blackness of his mind. Slowly, the fog began to lift. As his vision cleared, he realised that he was not in any Hydra’s bunker he had ever seen before.All his senses came back to him, and the first thing he noticed was that the place didn’t smell like mould or humidity.  This room was different, unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. 

"It is three twenty-four p.m. "You're in Stark Tower, New York." Jarvis said, talking about the weather and other trivial matters as he would when his creator had a panic episode of his own.

Jarvis, unfortunately, had previous experience in dealing with similar situations. His creator’s life had been difficult, long before Afghanistan. The AI had been designed to provide care for the brilliant yet troubled man. He would gladly do so for another. Things were moving a little faster than he had imagined. Sometimes, one had to run before walking.

Despite everything, Bucky was still determined to see the treatment through to its conclusion. For him, the thought of regaining control of his own mind and preventing future harm to innocent lives at the hands of the Winter Soldier outweighed any other considerations. It was a matter of survival. It may be selfish of him, but it felt more essential than catching Steve. 

After each session, Tony was there for him, a stable and warm presence. Some days were harder than others, the memories and emotions brought up by the BARF treatment leaving Bucky raw and vulnerable. But, no matter how bad the situation, Tony was always there for him, wasting some of his precious time offering a comforting presence and a sympathetic ear. They talked about a lot of things as long as it had nothing to do with Hydra and what they had done to Bucky and the world. Pop culture was an easy topic of conversation for them, especially since Tony had made it his mission to show him everything he had missed over the years. Tony spared no effort to help Bucky expand his horizons and help him adjust to the modern world, introducing him to everything from the latest technology to classic movies. 

In many ways, Hydra had made sure that their Asset remained well-versed in the knowledge and skills necessary for the success of their missions. Bucky had been kept up to date with the history of the world and all kinds of weapons. He simply did not have access to anything funny.

Bucky’ voice, laced with concern and tiredness, broke the silence that lingered just after another BARF sitting. “It’s difficult on you too,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on Tony. "You could find someone else to supervise easily." 

“Actually, no,” Tony countered, his fingers playing with the hologram in front of him. “Finding someone else to supervise wouldn’t be as easy as you think. I would have to spend months teaching that person everything there is to know about BARF.”

He paused, glancing up at Bucky with a faint smirk. “They'd have to be prepared to react on the fly if something went wrong. You wouldn't want an unprepared moron frying your brain, right?" Tony responded half-heartedly while closing his laptop. "Plus, I thought we were trying to be discreet," Tony quipped, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes.

"But it's still hard on you," Bucky reiterated.

"You won't let it go," Tony sighed, his expression weary as he glanced over at Bucky. "Yes, it is hard. All that torture, on one side, reminds me of Afghanistan, but on the other hand, my three months in that cave look like a walk in the park in comparison."

Bucky shook his head. "It's not a competition, Tony," he reassured gently. "And it doesn't invalidate what you've been through. An hour of torture is an hour too many. For anybody."

"I know," he murmured, his voice tinged with bitterness. "It makes me hate Hydra more every day. And Steve as well."

The data dump would surely deal a blow to Hydra, but both Tony and Bucky knew it was just a temporary setback. The insidious ideology behind Hydra would survive, just as Captain America did not eradicate them during the Second World War. It was a sobering realisation. The battle against evil would be relentless, never ending. Everyone would have to do their share. The world was not an easy place to be or to protect.

Their conversation was interrupted by Jarvis's gentle voice, "Sir? Colonel Rhodes wanted to let you know he's on his way to the tower."

“How long?” Tony asked, his mind already thinking about the problems that Rhodes’ arrival would bring them. 

“ETA 15 minutes.”

Tony began to methodically place each component of the BARF system back into its designated drawer, a task he performed with precision and a sense of urgency. Everything needed to appear as normal as possible. He then gave Bucky a critical look, thinking what the best next step would be. Bucky lifted his eyebrow at the smaller man, prompting Tony to address the pressing matter at hand.

"We have two options here," Tony began, his tone measured yet firm. “First, you can stay in your room and not leave while my Sour Patch is around. I can't guarantee how long he'll be sticking around, but it might be better for you to hide. On the other hand,” he continued, pausing to meet Bucky’s eyes directly, “ You can stay here with me and explain everything to Rhodes. At your own risks.” 

"What kind of reaction should I expect?" he asked, bracing himself for Tony's response.

“Well, he is going to be mad at me since I was once again reckless, yada yada… You? Perhaps a bullet in the head.”

"All right. Fairs." 

Bucky was going to stay. Since waking up from his time as the Winter Soldier, he had decided to stick to the truth no matter what. He was still half convinced that he deserved to be killed for what he had been forced to do. In his heart, Bucky hoped Tony had the kind of friends who would always protect him and stand by him through thick and thin. He would need them for the looming battles ahead.

"Fairs?" Tony questioned. 

"Yeah," Bucky affirmed with a nod. "No need for more lies. Besides, the more allies we have, the better our chances are against Steve Rogers."

Tony thought that after all, Bucky wasn’t wrong and he understood the need for honesty and accountability. That didn't mean he wasn't nervous about that particular meeting. They have been lucky so far. Pepper had not barged in for Tony to sign whatever documents or to drag him to meetings. Their recent breakup had caused some awkwardness between them. 

Pepper was opposed to anything related to Iron Man. She was demanding something from him that he simply couldn’t fulfil. Tony knew he needed the armour to save the world from what was coming for Earth or against the threat posed by Steve Rogers. They would never work together as a couple, and while the idea broke his heart, it also brought a little measure of relief at the same time.

The elevator ding, which it did not normally do. Jarvis was taking care of his creator, warning him of the imminent arrival. Bucky and Tony faced the entryway, both trying to appear cool as cucumbers, bracing themselves for the inevitable confrontation incoming. The doors slid open to reveal Rhodey clad in military uniform. Their presence elicited a raised eyebrow from the Colonel as he swiftly made his way towards Tony’s side.

"Anthony Edward Stark! Tell me, right now, what kind of shenanigans you've gotten yourself into this time!" Rhodey yelled, trying to sound stern.

Tony couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face, knowing full well that despite Rhodey's tone, he wasn't truly in trouble. Rhodey wouldn't initiate a serious conversation in front of a stranger. He also never called him by his full name. Throughout their years of friendship, Rhodey had always referred to him as Tony or Tones. The smaller man smiled broadly at his friend, a hint of mischief in the eyes.

Bucky remained silent as Stark went on to detail his work following the Shield Data Dump and with animated gestures and a hint of his trademark charisma, Tony recounted the discovery of the Winter Soldier's unexpected presence in his home. Some details were forgotten, but nothing particularly significant in the great scheme of things. 

The Colonel listened closely, interjecting only when asking for necessary details. Rhodey did not seem to be judging his friend. His gaze, however, was constantly drawn to Bucky, as if he were tracking a wild animal. The unspoken sentiment was clear. Bucky wasn’t trusted. 

All the better.

"So, let me get this straight," Rhodey began, his voice tinged with incredulity as he processed Tony's revelations. "You're saying that Steve Rogers, the revered Captain America, is actually a psychopath who's responsible for multiple deaths, deliberately allowed his best friend to plummet from a train, and endangered countless lives by dismantling Shield when it wasn't necessary?"

“Rhodey, I’m telling you. I designed those helicarriers. If I wanted to, I could have grounded them in a matter of minutes, with one hand tied behind my back.”

It wasn’t arrogance that fueled Tony’s statement. It was a simple acknowledgement of his own capabilities. Ever since his godfather’s betrayal, Tony always incorporated failsafes into everything he created. People forget too quickly that he was a true genius. 

"I think your friend needs to see for himself." Bucky finally spoke.

Tony's brow furrowed slightly in contemplation. "You mean BARF?" 

“Yes.”

Tony mulled over the suggestion for a moment before nodding in agreement. "Alright," he conceded. "After all, seeing is believing."

Chapter Text

Rhodey settled onto the worn, yet inviting, brown leather sofa nestled within Tony’s workshop. The ting had seen better days, but it was also incredibly comfortable and familiar amongst the chaos that reigned down there. With Tony and Barnes nearby, their expectant gazes fixed upon him, Rhodey felt the enormity of the situation wash over him. They were waiting for a reaction. There was a lot to process.

In his youth, Rhodey had devoured the comics that immortalised Captain America’s legendary battles against Hydra and other threats. Steve Rogers had been a hero to him, and one of the reasons he had enrolled. He wanted to be a hero just like Captain America.

Of course, he knew that those stories were exaggerated versions of reality. Sure, the notion of Rogers single-handedly punching Hitler in the face might have been more myth than reality, but the underlying message resonated deeply with Rhodey. Captain America was always right, and his moral compass always pointed in the right direction. And the bond between Rogers and Barnes, forged in the heart of war, had become stuff of legend, a testament to the enduring power of friendship and loyalty.

Everything was a lie.

“So let’s see if I get the last part right,” Rhodey finally said. “You were the Winter Soldier, against your will of course, sent to kill Steve Rogers. And somehow, you regained control of yourself, reclaimed your memories. Next logical step, you came here to ask help from Tony.”

Bucky nodded in acknowledgment, fully aware that the story Tony had shared was just the tip of the iceberg. Rhodey and Tony had a long friendship behind them. The story behind his parents’ death was for Stark to tell. For now, it was perhaps preferable to allow Rhodes time to digest the initial revelation. Rhodey had not killed him on the spot, which was already more than Bucky expected. Bucky continued to be surprised by the people he was newly meeting in the best manner possible. There was still a part of him that waited for the other shoe to drop.

"Okay," Rhodey finally spoke, breaking the weighty silence that hung between them. "Why do I have the feeling that there is more to this story?"

The Colonel knew his best friend like the back of his hand, what was under the carefully crafted smiles. Stark’s masks were rather good, his ability to conceal his true emotions better than a lot of spies and Hydra personnel. But Rhodey saw through the charade, recognising the same fourteen-year-old boy who was never far beneath the surface, still full of hope and naivety. Rhodey recognised that Tony's kindness and altruism were his greatest strengths and also his greatest flaws. In his effort to help others, the genius often failed to save himself, sacrificing his own well-being for the greater good. 

Rhodey’s face went through a thousand emotions, depending on who he was staring at as the story unfolded. This was something quite incredible to witness. As Tony described the tragic events that had altered his life, the Colonel just looked at his friend with sadness but also a lot of love. Those things only seemed to happen to Tony. Money could not buy happiness. 

But when Rhodey’s eyes fell on Bucky, the true depth of his turmoil became apparent. As he battled with the injustice of Bucky’s situation, there were still flashes of fury and hatred. His rage was directed not only at the guy before him, but also at the awful hand that fate had delivered Bucky and Tony. Life had never been fair, but for these two men, it seemed particularly cruel. 

"What are you going to do then?" Rhodey finally asked, suddenly very tired.

Tony met Rhodey’s look with determination. “First, we need to finish Bucky’s treatment,” he said, his tone firm. “We need to make sure that the words don’t hold power over him anymore.”

“I’ll help any way I can,” Rohodey finally said, his voice full of determination.

Tony’s face lit up with gratitude at Rhodey’s easy support. To have his best friend by his side in this tumultuous time meant more to Tony than words could express. Bucky remained guarded, his expression clouded with apprehension. The prospect of Rhodey divulging their secrets to his chain of command filled Bucky with a sense of apprehension. It was obvious that the military would come for the Winter Soldier. 

If history had taught him anything, it was that those people would undoubtedly want to make use of his abilities in the same way that Hydra had previously done. People were blinded by power all around the world, and others would pay a hefty price for their desire. Bucky couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that their troubles were far from over. 

Bucky found genuinely taken aback when both Tony and Rhodes agreed to remain discreet about everything, at least for the time being. The Colonel even mentioned having some vacation time available. They shared a strange smile, as if it wasn’t the first time they did those kinds of things together. If you asked Bucky, those men were really strange. In his experience, people were rarely so accommodating or understanding, their attitude so very far away from anything Bucky could ever remember. Then again, he was by no means an example of human behaviour to know how the rest of the world should be acting. 

One of the words that triggered the Winter Soldier had already been neutralised, but it wasn’t enough. In an ideal world, every single one of those dangerous commands would need to be disabled. The risk of leaving even one of them active was too great to even think about. Of course, whether they liked it or not, life had a way of pushing events in one way or the other without notice.

Steve Rogers was not the kind to go to Tony Stark without needing something from the genius. After the chaos of the data dump and his hospital stay, Tony hadn't heard a word from the man. The genius was not needed at that time. And truth be told, Tony wasn't exactly eager to welcome Rogers with open arms, not after the countless lives lost for what now seemed like nothing.

Yet, here he was, apparently on his way up to the penthouse. 

Rhodey’s presence was easily explained, but Rogers never behaved entirely like himself when the Colonel was there. Of course, the biggest concern was Bucky. There was no way Rogers could see him, or even think that Tony knew about the Winter Soldier. Thankfully, the penthouse was spacious enough to provide hiding spots, and Jarvis, ever the vigilant AI, would make sure that Bucky and Rhodey had a live fee of everything transpiring in the common area. They didn’t have the time to think about another plan anyway.

“Rogers! To what may I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Tony said, always the showman.

Steve had no traces of the fight against the Winter Soldier anymore. He entered the room as if he was the owner of the tower. The man went directly to the sofa sitting down, his arms spread wide on the backrest. 

“Middle of the afternoon and longing on your soda with no care in the world. Man, you have the good life.” he said, his tone light and teasing. 

The smile on Rogers’ face was meant to be friendly, two colleagues exchanging greetings and a little joke. Tony could see it for what it was now. It wasn’t lost on Tony that part of the team, Rogers included, viewed him as nothing more than an entitled playboy, born in wealth and privilege who had never worked a day in his life.  

Romanov had made enough side remarks about his ego to drive that point home. Even though Tony knew Rogers was a sociopath, the fact that he didn't even greet him before insulting his character bothered him. They had always been at odds, but Tony had hoped that, at the very least, they could be civil. 

"I'm actually taking a coffee break from the workshop," Tony replied casually, trying to sound uncaring, his answer as close to the truth as possible.

The workshop had always been Tony’s refuge, the place to find him between missions and meetings. The bots, the smell of oil and the chaos found down there were his real passion. He was known to spend two many hours down there, forgetting to sleep and eat for days on end. The Avengers had no problem asking for upgrades regularly, and yet Tony spending his time in his workshop was always a problem to them. The genius had learned long ago the importance of maintaining a cool exterior, and if there was one thing Tony excelled at, it was putting on a convincing performance. Now, the question was what had prompted this unexpected visit.

“Of course, of course.”

"You didn't come to talk about my schedule." 

During a fraction of second, the look Rogers gave Tony was nothing short of glacial. The man never liked when someone went against his will, not even about a simple joke. The expression on his face was quickly replaced by a fake smile almost as soon as it had appeared. Tony couldn't help but wonder if he would have picked up on those subtle signs, showing the true nature of Steve Rogers, or if he would have remained as ignorant as he had been before Bucky entered his life. With a heavy heart, Tony realised that he should have known better from the very beginning. 

“I was actually wondering if you knew how to contact Thor or Dr Banner.”

"Thor should be with Dr. Foster at the moment, as far as I know. Bruce is nearby. Why?" Tony inquired, genuine curiosity lacing his voice. 

"I would appreciate it if you could contact them or give me the way to do so. The Avengers are needed," Steve replied, his tone grave and resolute.

"What do you mean?" 

"You know, you should really keep up to speed with the events of the world to be a good hero," Steve admonished, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone. "Anyway, Hydra had infiltrated Shield, but don't worry, Natasha and I dealt with that."

"You don't say..." he murmured incredulously, struggling to keep a straight face. 

"It was quite a fight, let me tell you," Steve continued, his voice tinged with a note of pride. "But in the end, we prevailed as always."

Tony clenched his fists, a surge of anger coursing through him at Rogers's audacity. Tony felt like hitting Rogers in his perfect teeth, but he would only break his hand on the man’s jaw. The gall of that man! 

Putting countless lives in danger and killing innocent bystanders were his idea of dealing with things. That was hardly the words of a hero, either. The truth was, Tony had never pretended to be a paragon of virtue, a beacon of righteousness and moral superiority like the so-called Captain America. He was flawed, imperfect, and he didn't pretend otherwise.

"So we're not needed if you already dealt with it," Tony pointed out, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Rogers's expression remained impassive, his steely gaze meeting Tony's without flinching. "There are still some bases that are not down yet," he replied evenly. "Apparently Hydra has Loki's sceptre. We need to get it back."

Rogers said it as if he were simply ordering tea or something. Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man's cavalier attitude. To be honest, he wasn’t all that interested in joining the Avengers for a mission, but it would be strange if he declined. And besides, with Rhodey by his side, Tony felt a lot more confident that everything was going to be alright, even though Bucky would not be able to tag along.

“And where are those bases exactly?”

"It seems that they have one particularly active base in the area," Rogers explained, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency. "Natasha's intel suggests that there's a significant Hydra presence in the vicinity. Chances are, the sceptre will be there."

“And if not?”

“Then we will hit another and another until we find it.”

“So where are we going?”

“As soon as Thor and Bruce get there, we are going to Sokovia.”

Chapter Text

Tony wasn't feeling especially comfortable with those people anymore. Now that his eyes were open, he was catching up on so many tiny cues that pointed to a bleak picture. Natasha's gaze lingered on him a moment too long, her eyes betraying a hint of curiosity tinged with suspicion. It was as if she could sense that something had changed. Tony was staying close to Bruce. Tony kept close to the one he still considered as a friend, hoping that his proximity would shield him from any unwanted attention. But then again, he knew that it would not be enough.

Natasha’s voice cut through the tension like a knife, her words laced with a note of mockery. “Not happy being here, Stark?” she asked, her smirk grating on Tony’s nerves.

Tony forced a smile but it wasn’t a friendly one. “What gave me away? My silence or the look of disdain on my face? Do tell, I’m trying to get better at this faking game.”

Tony's outburst caught everyone off guard, his sharp tone slicing through the air like a knife. Any semblance of normalcy shattered in an instant. But Tony's anger wasn't directed at Bucky, not this time, even though the weight of his parents’ deaths had not yet been lifted yet. No, his fury burned with a righteous intensity fueled by the weight of countless lives lost and the irreparable damage brought by the data dump.

Steve may have had the excuse of being from another time, and apparently a psychopath, but Natasha should have known better. And yet, she stood right there, acting as if she were the greatest thing since sliced bread, her expression betraying no hint of remorse or guilt. How could she stand there, acting as if she was untouchable? She was going to make a stab at his ego, trying to make him feel less than the dirt on her shoes. 

The rose-coloured glasses had been ripped from his eyes

Natasha's words cut through the air like a whip, her tone laced with a biting sarcasm that Tony found infuriating. “Not happy that this time you are not the centre of attention this time?”

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Tony demanded, his curiosity piqued despite himself. He had thought he was done with the mind games, but apparently, Natasha had other ideas.

“We destroyed Hydra and we didn’t need you.” Natasha continued, her voice laced with a smugness that grated on Tony's nerves even more. “Must have bruised that giant ego of yours.”

Tony looked at her, actually shocked. Anger was boiling within him, but he fought to keep it in check. He refused to let Natasha get under his skin, to allow her petty jabs to unravel him. Were these the psychological prowess of the renowned Black Widow? The same she used on him to write that report? What a joke!

"First of all," Tony retorted, his voice sharp with anger, "you did not destroy Hydra. Otherwise, we wouldn't be heading to Sokovia to dismantle yet another one of their active bases. And secondly, your little hacking job cost the lives of many innocent people, some of whom you personally knew. I’m actually glad not to have my name associated with that fuck up.” Tony concluded.

Natasha's smile vanished fast, replaced by a mask designed to look emotionless. But beneath the facade of indifference, Tony could sense the simmering anger that bubbled just beneath the surface. He had struck a nerve, and it was clear that his words had hit their mark. Fury should not have chosen her to evaluate the value of Iron Man and Tony Stark. There was an animosity, a disdain present from the very beginning. 

She never really got over her preconceived opinions of him. People apparently disliked him even if they didn't know him from scratch. It seemed like Natasha belonged to that group since she never bothered to look beyond what she wanted to see. She had perfected the art of feigning friendship. Tony had made the mistake to believe in it. 

Fury's calculated choice of Natasha for the task was no coincidence. The truthfulness of the report was never the goal. Any competent agent could have reached the same prewritten conclusions, allowing them to manipulate him like a puppet. Natasha was always meant to be part of the team, to influence them from within. In hindsight, it was clear that a conflict within the team had been inevitable. She had been pitting Rogers against him at every corner, making sure that Shield would ultimately stay on top. 

"As if you could do better," Natasha spat, her words dripping with contempt.

“I could hardly do worse.” Tony sneered back.

But before the confrontation could escalate any further, Rogers intervened, "That's enough!" he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We did what we had to do, and we can't always save everybody. Now, concentrate on the mission at hand!"

Tony bristled at the reprimand, but he knew better than to argue with Rogers. Not yet anyway. Natasha gave him a final smirt, as if she had won that particular battle, and turned away from him. Beside him, Bruce placed a calming hand on his arm, a silent gesture of support that Tony found oddly comforting.

His science bro was always the peacemaker, trying to keep everyone happy. The lack of conflict most likely helped Bruce feel more at ease. He was constantly battling to keep his other side under control. Tony was really fond of the Hulk, his jolly green giant, but this was probably not the time to start another argument. 

Something about this mission didn't sit right with Tony. The great Captain America had decided that the original Avengers would be enough to deal with that mission. He wished Rhodey could be there with them. If nothing else, someone would have had his back. Tony only hoped that his uneasy feelings weren’t predicting the future. 

The castle was nearly impossible to find, nestled deep within the heart of a dense forest. Its location made it an ideal place for clandestine operation and plotting to take over the world. It was heavily guarded by what appeared to be the last remnants of Hydra’s forces. As he watched the castle from a distance, Tony couldn’t help but wonder if this was really the end for Hydra or just another battle in an endless war. 

When they worked together, leaving behind their differences, the Avengers could actually be incredibly efficient. They stormed the castle as if they were doing that kind of thing every other day. Tony never forgot his own limitation, the fact that he had never trained for combat or espionage like the others. He was only a man trying to do his best, driven by a sense of duty, striving to make a difference with the little skills he possessed. 

Captain America was the man with a plan, and everyone was eager to follow his lead. Unfortunately, the plan was again and again deficient. Too often, Rogers’ strategies relied on frontal assaults and brute force tactics that perhaps worked just fine during the Second World War. Bucky had explained to Tony that he needed to adapt and innovate to make sure the mission would work out. It was terrifying to think that Rogers had not changed at all, and that the others weren’t seeing the flaws in their leader’s decisions.

Tony was doing his thing, alone, on his side of the castle. The sceptre was their ultimate goal, and every fibre of his being screamed at him to not let Rogers get there first. Who knows what he will do with such an artefact? The very idea sent a shiver down Tony's spine.

Although the sceptre was fascinating for the genius, with enigmatic properties and mysterious origins, Tony couldn’t ignore the uneasiness that was eating at him. If he were brutally honest with himself, he would admit that he had no desire to keep it within their reach. If given the choice, he would be happy to see it sent to the furthest corners of the universe. Thor should take it back to Asgard and keep it there. 

Captain America's authoritative voice cut through the chaos, barking orders. The mission demanded swift action, and every member of the team knew their role. The protective shield surrounding the main parts of the castle needed to come down. With Jarvis's assistance, Stark pinpointed the source of the castle's protective shield. For once, the genius was deemed useful. Jarvis easily detected the room from where the data seemed to come from. Stark wasted no time in getting in. He looked for anything that might be even remotely important. The sceptre may have been their primary objective, Tony knew better than to overlook potential information and proof that were there for the taking. Who knew what could be important in the future?

Tony Stark made a calculated decision, putting Jarvis in sentry mode to safeguard their position while he proceeded with caution. Getting out of the armour was dangerous he knew that, but it would be a lot faster that way. With Jarvis's assistance, he began the process of infiltrating Hydra's servers, his fingers flying across the keyboard with practised precision. Once he would have found anything useful, the data was going to be permanently wiped from Hydra’s servers. 

Tony was not naive. He knew all too well the insidious nature of Hydra, the way its tendrils reached into every corner of the world, infecting minds and hearts with its poisonous ideology. Hydra would never completely die. Some ideas would never die. 

“I know you’re hiding more than files.” Tony muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the room. "There has to be more."

"The wall on your left. I am reading steel reinforcement." Jarvis told him after scanning the room.

Of course, those old castles had hidden doors and secret rooms. Curiosity got the best of him again, and he followed the trail. The discovery that greeted him was both astonishing and unsettling. Hydra kept a Chitauri whale hidden in the castle’s bowels. Many experiments were dispersed across the massive room. The Avengers being here today was a good thing. Tony would have to give Rogers that.

As Tony walked toward the sceptre, ready to grab the prize, a sudden noise shattered the silence just behind him. He quickly turned around in alarm to see the lifeless form of a young woman laying at his feet.

A familiar voice cut through the air, tinged with reproach and concern. "You need to be a lot more careful, Stark."

Tony tapped his comms device, ensuring that his conversation would remain private from the rest of the Avengers. He looked at the figure approaching, noting the predatory grace with which the man moved. It was a demeanour that spoke of anger and deadly intent. The man had a very particular set of skills and he just used them a minute ago.

“Bucky? What are you doing here?”

“Someone had to watch your back and I’m a bit stealthier than War Machine.” Barnes explained simply. 

"Everything was under control," Tony protested.

"She was about to unleash some kind of red powers on you, Stark," Bucky replied matter-of-factly. "You didn't even hear her coming."

Tony sighed. "Alright, fine. Thanks, I guess," he conceded, though his tone remained guarded. "But be careful. We don't need Rogers finding out you're here."

"Don't worry," Bucky's voice floated back from the shadows, a hint of amusement lacing his words. "Five minutes ago, you didn't know I was here."

Tony watched as Bucky disappeared into the darkness. He knew that Barnes would remain nearby, a reassuring presence. The castle held no secrets for the Winter Soldier, one of the benefits of being under Hydra’s control for so long. Rogers would never find him.

Tony rejoined the conversation with the rest of the Avengers. “I found the sceptre,” he announced, his tone grave. "But someone had already killed a young woman here. Brown hair, around twenty. Does anyone recognise her?"

Natasha was the first to speak up. "The female enhanced looked like that," she said, her tone clipped.

"Bring back the sceptre and let's get this mission over with." Steve ordered.

Rogers had never been troubled by the collateral damage anyway. They couldn't save everyone.

Chapter Text

“But Shield does not exist anymore! Who is meant to keep the sceptre?” Tony asked incredulously, his frustration evident in his tone.

"We could keep it at the tower." Natasha tried, always willing to support one of Steve's ridiculous ideas. 

"No," Tony countered firmly, his resolve unyielding.

"Tony," Steve began in a tone one might use on an unruly child. "This is something we could use down the line. You're always the one talking about having the bigger stick."

"How?" Tony retorted, his scepticism palpable. "Do you even know how to use it? Because I sure as hell don't. And in what world would we need to mind-control people?” He carried on, completely disgusted by the idea.  “Aren't we supposed to be the good guys?"

“What if someone needs to have their mind back to themselves? Or control an enemy before something worse even happens?” Steve attempted to point out with the fervour that was legendary in Captain America’s comics. “We need to keep it!”

So that was his idea behind what Rogers did lately. Behind the noble facade of wanting to protect and serve, Steve wasn’t particularly concerned with the fate of the world. He was willing to use any measures to get Bucky Barnes back. It was a realisation that sent a chill down Tony's spine. Two people had died during this mission. Wanda Maximoff had tried to mess with Tony and thanks to Bucky that didn’t happen. Then, Pietro, her brother, had attacked the Avengers with a sort of rage that only grief could explain. He managed to trouble the team a little but ultimately the young man lost his life against the Hulk.

Rogers didn’t seem to have a problem using alien technology on his best friend. Would he stop at simply erasing Hydra’s conditioning from Bucky’s mind, or would he make sure to get a version that would suit Rogers wants and needs? Tony and Bucky had already faced the horrors of Hydra's conditioning firsthand. Barf had done wonders but obviously, Steve didn’t know that. 

To claim that Tony wasn’t curious about the sceptre and its potential would be a lie. His mind buzzed with ideas, envisioning all sorts of experiments that would ultimately bring him and the world at large to new levels. If there was one thing he always did, though, it was to learn lessons from both his and occasionally other people's mistakes. After studying for a long time the Tesseract, Shield was only rewarded by a crazy trickster god, paving the way for an invasion by alien forces. Tony would rather avoid being the reason for another one. The Avengers would not be able to fight off yet another army of Chitauri.

“Do you intend to carry it with you at all times? Otherwise, the sceptre being stored here or on Asgard is all the same really.” Tony argued, getting angry. “In fact, Asgard would be a better option since an army of godlike people would be guarding the dang thing.”

"It's too complicated to contact Asgard," Natasha interjected, her voice calm yet firm.

"Well, work with Thor to find a solution, because it's not staying in the tower, next to my employees in the middle of fucking New York!" Tony insisted.

“Tony is right,” Clint chimed in, almost sounding fearful. “That… thing should stay as far away from us as possible. Nothing good would ever come from it.”

"Listen, Clint..." Steve began, obviously annoyed at being contradicted. 

"No. You don't know what that sceptre did to me, forced me to do to others. I don't even know why you're thinking of using it, ever?" Clint interrupted, clearly bitter about the recent events.

Steve was not too pleased with Clint’s outburst. Tony made a mental note to keep a close eye on the archer, for Clint's own safety. Rogers was not good at dealing with frustration. Bucky had paid a heavy price because of that. Tony couldn't afford to let history repeat itself.

Discretion was important. Tony was trying his best to act the same even if he was failing at it. He would rather not reveal to Romanov or Rogers that something had changed with his feelings toward the Avengers. 

“I’m going to take the sceptre back to Asgard.” Thor simply declared,  like a prince used to give orders and to be obeyed. “Midgard has great heroes ready to fight to save its people without need to use mind magic. The combat needs to stay honourable.”

"There is no honour in defeat." Natasha spoke dryly.

Just as it had on the helicarrier, the sceptre seemed to be toying with their emotions, amplifying the dark feelings they harboured toward each other. Even though he was aware of what was going on, there was little evidence that his mind was being manipulated. It was as if the sceptre had a mind of its own, insidious and malicious, twisting everything.

"The sceptre is playing with our minds. We need to put it away, at least for now," Bruce interjected, his voice calm and measured as always. He was always trying to keep away from any kind of conflicts.

Once upon a time, Tony had offered his tower as a sanctuary for the Avengers, a place where they could regroup and rebuild after the battle of New York. Banner was the only one who had stuck around, and his stay was brief. That invitation was finally coming back to bite him in the ass. No good deed goes unpunished.

Natasha’s gaze bore into Tony with suspicion as he informed the team that the levels designated to them had been moved lower. He wasn't about to tell the truth about Bucky Barnes living just below their current level. When he had to lie, he had learned early on that the closer to the truth the story was, the better.

"I've repurposed the level for a new experimentation focused on the brain and the effects of PTSD," Tony explained quickly.

"Really? And how would that work?"

Natasha had not asked the question out of genuine curiosity about the science behindTony’s latest project, but to gauge his reaction, to see if he would become flustered. The woman was constantly calculating, trying to be one step ahead, searching for any weaknesses she could exploit to her advantage. Whether it was for Fury or herself, Natasha never missed an opportunity to gather intel and gain leverage. 

Unfortunately for her, the technology was real, and Tony had no problem describing the complexities of BARF in great detail, delving into the complex mechanics and applications of the revolutionary technology. But Natasha’s mind was not scientifically inclined, she soon rolled her eyes with boredom, tuning out Tony’s ramblings, calculating her next move. The technology was interessant enough that she would find a way to find the studies and blueprints to bring back to Fury.

On the other hand, while Wilson might not have held a medical degree or a background in scientific research, he had firsthand experience with PTSDs. As a VA counsellor, he dealt with these issues on a daily basis, offering support and guidance to those struggling to cope with the invisible scars of war. If he hadn't been so plainly blinded by the Captain America legend, Tony would have considered enlisting his help in dealing with Barnes’ situation. As it was, Sam would most likely alert Steve to Bucky's presence as soon as he found out.

Jarvis most likely warned Barnes about the Avengers' presence. Keeping Barnes confined to his level of the tower felt like a necessary precaution, but Tony couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the thought of subjecting the soldier to further isolation. Bucky had endured far too much confinement and captivity already, and Tony was acutely aware of the toll it had taken on his mental and emotional well-being. It wasn't an ideal solution by any means, but for the time being, it seemed like the only option to them.

Natasha would certainly try to snoop around. She was predictable that way. A locked door would only increase her suspicions. Thankfully, Tony had taken precautions to increase the security and their privacy. After Bucky’s first incursion, he upgraded his AI. The backdoor that Fury had exploited had been sealed shut, and every aspect of the tower's defences had been tightened and reinforced.

The wisest course of action would be to deal with the threat posed by the sceptre and send everyone on their merry way. The sooner the better. The Avengers agreed to store the artefact in a specially designed container that would neutralise its power and leave for the night. Tony refused to keep it in his workshop. The security system of the tower gave the same level of protection from top to bottom. The common room was as good of a place as anywhere else. 

Tony didn’t want the sceptre to influence his bots. In their eyes, Dum-E, U, and Butterfingers were nothing more than machines, tools at Tony’s disposal. But to the genius, they were his children. He couldn’t stand the thought of the sceptre corrupting his beloved creations. Jarvis, who was watching over the artefact, was already too close for comfort. 

He pretended to go to his penthouse for a while. Despite knowing that Jarvis had likely briefed the former soldier on the situation, Tony felt that he had to explain everything face to face. He didn’t have the time to even take a shower before Jarvis warned him.

"Sir, Miss Romanov is attempting to breach the forbidden level," Jarvis informed him. 

"Of course she is," Tony muttered under his breath, his frustration evident. "Is she making any progress?" 

"It appears she's encountered some difficulty," Jarvis replied, his voice betraying a hint of amusement. "She seems rather annoyed at the moment."

She really believed herself to be the best at everything remotely related to spying. For a moment, he had entertained the idea that their relationship had evolved into something resembling friendship. He was grateful to have his eyes opened to the situation.

“Still trying to steal Stark Industries’ secrets, I see.” Tony said as he exited the elevator.

Natasha rolled her eyes in response, a hint of defiance flickering in her eyes. "I doubt you need a whole floor for what you described," she retorted, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

“So instead of asking me, you decided to break in…”

Jarvis's voice sounded in Tony's earpiece, suggesting that he open the door and allow Natasha to see for herself. James said it was fine. But it irritated Tony to no end. He should not need to prove anything to the other Avengers. After everything he had done for them, after all the sacrifices he had made, he shouldn't have to justify himself to anyone. Not after the recent mistakes they have so publicly made.

“Tell you what,” Tony said, challenging. “I’ll open the door behind you, and you will be able to access each room and look into any cupboard. You will see for yourself. No secrets. You will probably try to find things that aren’t there, or the blueprints for the technology I’m trying to develop. I will give you access to everything on that level.”

"And what will I have to do in return?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

Natasha shifted her approach, using her honey potting techniques. Her voice took on a deeper tone, and her body language became more suggestive, magnetic. If Tony had been more receptive, if he had allowed himself to succumb to her charms, She would have closed the distance between them, pressing her body against his. They had gone through that song and dance before.

“I want you to leave the tower.” Tony said, cold. “Your credentials will be revoked. I can't afford to have someone engaging in corporate espionage under my roof. Stark Industries comes first.”

She hadn't anticipated this level of defiance from him. Her marks were firmly in place, but Tony had learned to see past them. She felt conflicted. There was no trust between them. Her eyes darted over Tony's face, searching for any hint of deception or weakness. Natasha had another surprise in store for her if she believed she could wiggle her way back in later on. 

“So what is it gonna be?”

Chapter Text

Natasha called his bluff, sure about the outcome. Tony was many things, brilliant, charismatic, annoying, but he was also easily manipulated and too mice of the guy. He would never remove her access to the tower. The man longed for connection and wanted friends, a family around him. Natasha held a unique place in his inner circle. She was the annoying sister who saw past his bravado, challenging him in ways no one else dared. They bantered all the time, a constant stream of wit and sarcasm. That was her role. 

Yet, for all their fights and disagreements, Natasha was family. Tony knew that burning bridges with her, or any of his fellow Avengers, was out of the question. So, she accepted his challenge without hesitation.

"Let's have a look then." She responded boldly.

The smile that Tony gave Natasha was cold and calculated. There was a predatory glint in his eyes, like the car that had the mouse cornered. She felt a shiver run down her spine, a primal instinct warning her to Tony’s potential danger. She pushed the unease aside, steeling herself. She knew what she was doing. As a student of the unforgiving Red Room, she had quickly learned that no one could be completely trusted. 

Whatever was beyond those closed doors, Natasha was determined to uncover it. All her instincts were telling her that there was more to the story than the Barf technology Tony had talked about. She needed to know, for her own peace of mind.

The flat was like any other within the tower, its layout and decor the sleek, minimalist decor that Tony Stark seemed to favour. As Natasha stepped into the space, her keen eyes looked over the rooms. The furniture of one of the bedrooms had been removed to repurpose the room into an office. The flat was lived in, Tony’s presence visible here and there. A sweet over the back of the chair, a piece of technology on the desk. The Barf technology was tested in that room. The bed in the other room seemed to have been used, the duvet not being pulled back perfectly. The remaining rooms had nothing special at first glance. 

Natasha wasn’t concerned about the decor. It wasn’t exactly her favourite style. She just liked enjoying the luxury that Tony Stark could afford.

"Why do you take a whole level if you are using just one room?" she inquired, her tone laced with scepticism. Natasha was confident that she had uncovered a flaw in Tony's carefully constructed narrative, a weakness waiting to be exploited.

Stark's response, however, caught her off guard. As he spoke, his voice held a note of solemnity, a rare vulnerability that Natasha hadn't expected. "BARF actually brings back the worst memories upfront and makes you relive it so you can have a semblance of control over it and get over the trauma," he explained simply.

"And?" Natasha pressed, her scepticism evident as she failed to see the significance of Tony's explanation.

"And it's a process. A rather lengthy one," Tony elaborated, visibly annoyed. “The penthouse and the workshop are places I would like to keep as trauma free as possible.”

"As if your life had been that difficult rich boy." 

Natasha shoved him lightly, acting as though she was making a joke, the kind of stupid things family members threw at each other. She didn’t look at him on purpose, knowing fully she had bruised his ego. That was one of her manipulation tactics. Natasha knew that Stark didn’t have a great life from the beginning thanks to Howard and quite frankly she didn’t care. Her own childhood had not been idyllic, far from it and she wasn’t whining about it.

"I'm reliving the night my parents died," Tony responded, his voice tinged with a bitterness that Natasha hadn't heard before. "I always thought the teenager me should have done things differently. At least, tell my mum that I loved her. Nobody knows when it will be the last time we meet. I'm trying to get past that."

The coincidence was jarring, Tony looking into that particular event now. His words resonated with a raw honesty, a man haunted by regrets. For a brief moment, she wondered if Steve had told the truth about Bucky Barnes’ involvement in the Starks’ deaths. For now, it was easier to feign ignorance, to bury the suspicions that would potentially be a problem down the line. She had learned long ago that knowledge was power. She might be able to take advantage of the information later. 

“It won’t change anything,” Natasha remarked, her words delivered with cold precision. “Your parents would still be dead. Whether you like it or not. 

“That’s not the point,” Tony retorted dryly. “I’m not building a time machine, just something to help with trauma and PTSDs.”

Natasha carried on moving through the apartment with practised ease. She opened cupboards and drawers, methodically searching for clues among the day-to-day belongings that filled the space. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary. Some clothes, but the flat always included some. After the battle of New York, the Avengers had nothing but their uniforms, with blood and grimes. Tony had provided them with a shower and a more than welcomed change of clothes. Bruce Banner, in particular, had been left with little more than rags to cover himself. So, Natasha only looked at the stack of clothes in passing, knowing that there was unlikely to be anything of significance there. 

“Why is the fridge full?” she asked, her curiosity piqued by that kind of small detail.

Tony’s response was laced with sarcasm. “So when I miss a meal, it’s bad for me. Eating is apparently suspicious now. Can I ever win with you?” He paused for a second before adding with dry humour. “I should warn you, I slept in the bed too. I know! Shocking!”

Natasha was clearly not impressed with his sarcasm, but then again, nothing ever really seemed to impress her. She was used to his antics. With each corner she inspected, each drawer she opened, Natasha left no stone unturned. Despite her thorough search, there was nothing to be found, not a hint of secrets that Tony seemed so determined to keep hidden. The genius, for his part, made no attempt at following her. He trusted Barnes more than virtually any of the Avengers.

The realisation struck Tony like lightning. Trust had never been his strong suit. Many people have already been used and betrayed for a variety of selfish reasons. Nobody ever approached him with the truth on their lips. Tony had come to expect nothing but lies and treachery. When that didn't happen, he wasn't sure how to react. Rhodey had been the first who had only asked for his friendship. And then Happy. Two against a thousand.

“It’s time to go pack, little Spider. We wouldn't want the itsy bitsy spider to go down the water spout," Tony said, his tone final.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "We both know that you won't throw me away," she retorted, challenging him.

"A deal is a deal, Spider," Tony replied simply, his expression unreadable.

Natasha's lips curled into a sly smile, a hint of satisfaction dancing in her eyes. "Steve won't allow that," she countered, her confidence unwavering.

"You mean won't allow the landlord to do what he wants with his property or else?" Tony shot back, his words laced with a subtle threat.

Natasha flashed him a little smirk as if she had won the battle of wills. She was definitely something. The tides had shifted, but she was blind to it. As Natasha turned to leave, Tony couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction wash over him. His plan may have been risky, with the potential to backfire in spectacular fashion, but in that moment, as he watched Natasha's retreating figure, it was worth every calculated risk.

“Did you record that Jarvis?” Tony asked his trusted AI, still looking at the spider straight in the eye.

"Of course, Sir," Jarvis replied promptly, his digital voice echoing through the room.

"Good. It will add well to the list of accusations. Send it to legal, will you?" Tony instructed.

"Done," Jarvis confirmed.

“What are you on about?” Natasha asked, annoyed.

Tony faced Natasha once again, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “See, little Spider, your reputation is at an all-time low at the moment,” he told her slowly, amused that the renowned spy needed an explanation. “People are not too happy with what happened in Washington, especially the families of the innocent bystanders you killed by dropping the helicarriers on them.”

“We were fighting Hydra.”

"And you did a shitty job at it, considering that we just had to fight a whole bunch of them just to get the sceptre back," Tony spat out, his tone dripping with disdain. The tension in the room crackled like electricity as he levelled a cold stare at Natasha. "The Avengers are walking on thin ice right now. And yet you're still walking in my tower like I owe you anything. Understand this, Itsy Bitsy Spider, I have the power to destroy you right now. Put that on my ego as usual.”

“You are an Avenger too.”

“Wrong. I was a consultant for Shield, but it no longer exists thanks to you. Isn’t that ironic?”

“The world needs us.”

"If there is an event that needs the Avengers to reunite, then the world will have them. Until then, get out of my tower," Tony declared, his voice firm and uncompromising.

The surprised expression on Natasha’s face was priceless. It was swiftly replaced with disdain. Now, she was honest at least. Of course, she wasted no time going for Steve, claiming that Tony was bullying her because she had bruised his ego. Exploiting the empathy of others to serve her own agenda was one of her main tactics. Rogers was never particularly against using his height, force and stature to get what he wanted. Bullying was a problem only when others were doing it. 

Tony raised a hand in a gesture of silence as he entered the common room. "First, before you start with the whole shouting at me, know that you are being recorded," he announced, his voice cutting through the tension that hung thick in the air. "Second, the BARF technology belongs to Stark Industries and has nothing to do with the Avengers. I made a deal with her when I caught her trying to break in. She's lucky I'm only asking her to leave. I have actual proof of corporate espionage there."

“You can’t throw out of her house.” Steve objected, arms crossed over his chest, ever the embodiment of righteousness. 

“Does she pay rent? Do you?” Tony said sharply, his eyes fixed firmly on Rogers. “Because if you're putting my company at risk while I'm generous enough to offer you shelter, then I'm within my rights to protect myself by taking back what I offered in the first place."

There was a pregnant pause as Tony let his words hang in the air, savouring the moment. He was, after all, a showman at heat, and knew the power of each of his words.

"Be glad that I'm not taking back everything I give the Avengers just because of Romanoff's mistakes," Tony continued, a warning in his voice. He could see the cogs turning behind Rogers’ eyes, as he considered the ramifications of going against Tony’s wishes this time.

Bruce observed the scene unfolding before him with a sense of detached curiosity, his usually reserved demeanour giving way to a rare display of interest. Clint was not defending Natasha, which was a surprise considering this usual loyalty to the red haired spy. Thor was the same arrogant god, vaguely bored as always. Natasha was looking at Steve, expecting something. Fairly quickly, she understood, the betrayal evident on her face. Long gone was her signature smirk. 

Steve, for his part, met Tony’s gaze and gave him a nod, accepting that Natasha would have to leave the tower immediately. Greed was not pretty, not even on America’s golden boy’s face.

Chapter Text

Rogers was fuming, his typically composed demeanour melting into simmering rage. All he had carefully planned had gone all wrong. Bucky was supposed to be in the bowels of that base, ready to be rescued. The sceptre was in Steve’s reach, its power whipping any problematic memories inside Barnes’ mind. The plan, in Rogers’ estimation, had been perfectly laid out, a meticulously constructed scheme that should have unfolded without a hitch.

A part of him, carefully buried beneath his carefully crafted facade, wanted to fight the Winter Soldier once more. Their last encounter had not answered the ultimate question. Who was the best enhanced soldier? The comics with that story would sell up to the roof. The drama of Captain America forced to fight his best friend once again, the sob story of Bucky waking up just a little too late. Steve had been surprised to know that he had a whole narrative dedicated to his exploit when waking up from the ice. There was no reason for it to stop now. 

There was only one thing standing between him and what he wanted. One individual, Tony Stark. From the very beginning, Rogers had some reservations about Stark’s involvement, knowing that their relationship would be problematic. Ever the cunning man, Nick Fury had first thought Shield could manipulate Stark for their benefit, and for a while, that had really been the case. With Tony’s financial support and technological expertise, the Avengers had thrived. More than that, they were able to capitalise on the positive reputation they had established following the Battle of New York. 

Rogers refused to allow Stark’s ego and stubbornness get in the way of his goal, not after all he had given up to get to that crucial point. It was a matter of principle. 

A plan was imperative. Attacking Stark straight on was not going to work this time. At least not right away. Natasha has just demonstrated that manipulation was less effective than previously. Steve did not want to waste time faking a friendship with Stark. However, the so-called genius had friends, which could be the key to unlocking the problem at hand. Separating the man from what little moral support he had might be a good idea in the long run. Or Steve could try to use them to convince Stark to help the Avengers in every way possible. Both strategies had their merits. 

Banner was not the kind to stick around and always avoided confrontation. Steve had no intention to go against the Hulk. The mindless beast might be helpful later on anyway.

The Colonel, Steve mused, might be swayed. Their shared history in the military would bring them together. They had both witnessed the grim realities of war. It was brutal, messy and unforgiving. In the middle of a battle, there was no middle ground. Kill or be killed. 

Steve had always found comfort in that kind of clear line, in the distinction between good and evil, right and wrong. As Captain America, he was a beacon of virtue, of hope in a world torn by the darkness of the Second World War. He was part of the good side, and the bad side, those who disagreed with him. 

Stark Senior, with his pragmatic worldview, thought that conflicts were won by the side with the larger stick. He wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t understand the role of Captain America in the world, how Steve was a key player who could change everything. Or perhaps he did, once it was already too late. 

Rhodes knew the importance of men of valour during a conflict. He was far from pleased when Stark had stopped producing weapons for the US military. He had even resorted to extreme measures, going as far as stealing one of the armours to give to his command. As Captain America, Steve had a role to play in every conflict that may come. He also recognised the importance of having allies, and Rhodes, in his War Machine armour, represented a formidable asset. Unlike the hand-to-hand combat expertise of Romanov or the aerial prowess of Wilson with his wings, War Machine offered heavy firepower that could prove invaluable in the face of another alien invasion. 

"Good morning, Miss Potts," Steve greeted, spotting the familiar fiery red hair ahead of him in the queue.

"Mr. Rogers, what a surprise!" Pepper responded with a smile, turning to face him with genuine surprise evident in her expression.

"I had no idea you were a frequent customer here,” Steve remarked casually.

“I’m not,” Pepper replied simply. “Because of my position and the press, I have to change my routine daily to avoid unwanted attention.”

Steve nodded in understanding. He had seen the crowd of journalists demanding the CEO's answers before. The idea of privacy in that century was a lot different than what it used to be.

“And what about you?” Pepper asked as she turned the conversation back to Steve. “Is this your regular place for coffee?”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Steve's lips as he considered her question. "Actually, it's my first time here," he admitted. "I'm still getting used to all the new experiences this century has to offer. One thing at a time, you know? What advice would you give someone who is new to all those different types of coffee? There are so many these days…”

Steve had put forward the clueless but cute image that people had about him. Miss Potts had an air of confidence and authority about her, a woman who liked being in control. He understood that, and he was more than happy to play that part. She would choose his morning coffee and cupcakes, and he would pretend that he had never had anything that good in his life. It would probably be true. 

Modern food was high in sugar and far. People didn’t realise how easy life was for them now. The Great Depression meant unemployment and poverty which made it difficult for many families to afford the bare minimum. Everything was so much easier now.

Little by little he would enter the CEO’s life and become a constant presence, a confidant and ally. Women always wanted to change their men, to save them from themselves, which is why she had ended her relationship with Stark. The genius was unwilling to change for her. 

Steve had no intention of making a real effort for her, but appearances were key here. He could pretend to be the ideal man for her and, that way, gain access to Stark Industries’ limitless wealth. And if, in the process, Steve happened to steal one of Stark’s friends, the woman he was in love with, it would only sweeten the deal further. After all, Tony ought to show more regard to those in his inner circle. It was time to take the genius down a notch or two. He should never have put himself between Steve and what he wanted.

Pepper Potts was very much a woman of her time. While she held herself in high esteem, a deeper look told a different story.  Articles gleaned online and her Shield file suggested that her rise within Stark Industries was due to her close relationship with Tony Stark. In other words, she had slept her way up the corporate ladder. Nothing to be proud of. Women in his time mainly knew where their place was at least.

They had arranged to meet the following morning at a different café, one familiar to Pepper. Despite her busy schedule, she was willing to take some time to help him. Just like Peggy Carter all those years ago, Potts liked to be given attention because of their job, their accomplishments and because of what they already thought of themselves. They shared quite an ego. Since the break up, Tony was obviously not paying attention to anyone other than himself, if he ever did anyway.

"Where were you?" Sam asked as Steve entered the common room. “Natasha called again.”

"That will teach her a lesson in humility." Steve answered dismissively.

Sam wasn’t happy with that answer but did not comment on it. Steve, in turn, felt a surge of annoyance at the situation. Couldn’t they understand that he was working on it? It was not his mistake to fix in the first place, and yet he was trying to find a solution for it. 

Of course, he was going to show his displeasure with Stark whenever at every opportunity. Steve would make it a point to remind the so-called genius of where his place really was. 

The legend of Captain America had painted him as a man who would charge into the heart of the battle and fight as hard as he could. But he was also the man with the plan. Patience was key. He had all the time in the world. He would use that to his advantage.

"You're the leader of the Avengers now. Do you have a say in who joins the team?" Pepper asked one morning as they sat in yet another coffee shop.

“The team members vote actually,” Steve answered, liking already where the conversation was going.

"But surely you have some influence. You are Captain America, after all," Pepper pushed further.

“You want to remove Tony from the team”

"Am I that transparent?" Pepper questioned, her lips curving into a small smile.

"You care for him deeply. It's only natural that you want to shield him," Steve observed.

"I do care for him, yes. But not in the way you might think. Not anymore," Pepper confessed. "However, he's still my friend, and despite what he might think of himself, he's just a regular human being."

It was evident that Pepper would have wanted Steve to just agree with her. Her expression was one of resignation, as if she were fighting a struggle she knew she had already lost. Stark was a selfish and stubborn man after all. Pepper knew that too well.

"That being said... I would prefer to have War Machine on our team," Steve admitted. “Colonel Rhodes has the experience and training, having been deployed before. He understands the chain of command.”

"So why don't you ask for him to join the team?" 

Steve paused momentarily, as if carefully considering his words. His face showed just the right amount of discomfort for his answer to sound extra truthful.

"Well, the Air Force determines Rhodes' assignments. And..." he trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken.

“And?” she pushed. “You can be truthful. I actually would appreciate that more than those fake words I'm usually served.”

“Alright. Please don’t hate me. Tony brings money. As much as I want for things to be free from those considerations when the Avengers have to save people, money rules the world. The equipment, the jets, all those things. The members need a place to live. To have a regular job isn’t easy when you can be called away at any time. There is no insurance that wants to deal with us. The serum helps me with that but I have to think about the others.”

"So, I think there's a way that would benefit us both." 

"Tony would snatch up the money immediately if I were to simply remove him from the team," Steve interjected hastily. "And that wouldn't be fair."

Pepper seemed to snap out of wherever her mind had gone, a realisation dawning on her. She had been contemplating betraying someone she deeply cared for. Steve could see the shame on her face but also a hint of disappointment. Was it really shame or disappointment because she wasn’t getting what she wanted?

He had witnessed women suffering when their men went to war. The greater good was more important than their own desires. The fate of the world hung in the balance. Their lives would be difficult without the main breadwinner. Somehow, they found the strength to persevere, to endure the hardships, come what may.

Iron Man may not have been a hero, but he did help. Steve found Pepper Potts to be incredibly selfish. Sacrificing one life to potentially save thousands seemed like a reasonable trade-off. If Tony Stark died now, it would only be fair. And that would be helpful for Steve.

Pepper left sooner than usual. But the thought was already in her head. He knew she was going to come back to him. She was going to do the dirty job for him, and the Avengers would have everything they needed to carry on. After all, Steve was the man with a plan.

Chapter Text

Nothing was more boring in that world than a board meeting, especially one in which his participation was completely unnecessary. His mind was constantly wandering as the minutes dragged on. The luxury conference room, which included a polished mahogany table and luxurious leather chairs, did little to break up the monotony of the proceedings. He was itching for his phone,  or, better yet, to get out of here.

Pepper had insisted on his presence, pointing out how crucial his advice was, the future of his company on the line. She was a competent CEO, without a doubt, but she still relied on him when it wasn’t necessary. As he listened to the voices around the table, Tony stifled a yawn. That meeting was dragging on, and really nothing of importance was being said.

Tony recognised that by giving Pepper the role of CEO at one of his lowest points, fighting the Palladium poisoning, he had placed a lot of responsibility on her. It had been a decision borne out of necessity, but he wasn’t regretting it. Pepper was more than capable of steering the ship without him, of that Tony was sure. She didn't need him to hold her hand through every decision, and yet, here he was. Pepper needed to have more self-confidence. It was totally her time to shine.

The need to deal with Rogers loomed over them like a storm cloud, each passing day a risk for Bucky and the population at large. Pepper remained blissfully unaware of what was happening in the tower; and that was probably for the best. They had not planned on ever telling her, considering her aversion to all things Iron Man and the Avengers. With the weight of Stark Industries on her shoulders, she had enough to deal with anyway. 

Rhodey, Barnes and Tony were looking for a strategy to stop Rogers. They also shared an obligation to make sure that justice was carried out properly. The last thing they needed was to be implicated in the downfall of an American icon. So far, they only had the word of an international assassin. They knew that without irrefutable proof, their case against Rogers would be too thin to go anywhere. 

"You haven't been listening to a single word that was said during the meeting," Pepper chided Tony once the room had emptied,  clearly exasperated. 

"Can you blame me?" Tony retorted, his voice tinged with frustration. "Nothing of importance was being discussed. It's the same old song and dance, Pepper. Profit margins, shareholder reports. Same things that were being talked about a week ago..”

“Since you are part of the Avengers…”

"Let me stop you right there," Tony interjected, holding up a hand to stop her argument. "I've never cared about those board meetings, and the members know it. They don't care either, as long as I keep making them money."

“Then why bother showing up at all?” Pepper pressed, annoyed.

“Because you asked.”

Pepper’s small smile did little to mask the underlying tension that lingered between them. There was no genuine warmth behind it. He was then told that he would no longer be required to assist those meetings anymore. He just needed to provide updates and innovations that were expected of him anyway. Tony wasn’t going to lie. He found Pepper’s new attitude far from pleasant. Gone was the warmth and camaraderie that had once defined their relationship, replaced by a distance that Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to bridge.

Once upon a time, in the fairytale of his mind, Tony had once believed in a future with Pepper, a future built on shared dreams and mutual respect. He knew the road would be rocky. He wasn't exactly the most accommodating partner, after all. But he had believed that their bond was strong enough to weather any storm. Tony couldn't help but wonder where it had all gone wrong.

These days, it seemed like there was always somewhere the Avengers needed to be, somewhere Hydra might still be hiding. The team was spending more time out of the tower than in. Tony wasn’t going with them. The ambiance within the team was too dark, since Natasha’s departure. 

Tony didn’t mind staying behind, quite the contrary. Truth be told, they were more of a nuisance than anything else. Barnes’ well being was more important than any of the Avengers’. Tony knew that a more suitable solution would need to be found sooner rather than later. After Natasha’s little stunt, he had forbidden access to the penthouse, as well as Barnes’ level and the workshop. The measure could only be temporary before another problem would arise.

Steve hated the new rules, of course. He tried to mask it with a facade of fake smiles and polite nods. He loathed being told no, especially by Tony Stark. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be in the same room as the genius. It was more of the idea that Captain America was above any rule or law because he was always doing things for the greater good. Stubbornness was a defining trait of Steve Rogers, and he refused to back down, particularly when it came to finding Bucky. So he was playing the part of the good team leader. For now.

As Tony rode the elevator back to his penthouse, he couldn’t shake the weariness that hung over him like a heavy cloak. The day had been long, with countless tasks still left unfinished. Tired did not begin to cover it. He wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the couch, grab one of those fluffy blankets Barnes seemed to like so much and drift off to sleep. Unfortunately, there was still so much to do.

As the doors slid open, Tony was greeted by an unexpected sight. Rhodey and Barnes were cooking together, their voices mingling together as they gently argued about one recipe or another. The sight was so domestic that Tony briefly wondered if he was dreaming. The aroma of their cooking floated through the air, enchanting his senses and reminding him that he was actually pretty hungry. Tony tucked his tie in his pocket and made his way to the kitchen, forgetting for a second the outside world.

“Hey guys. What’s for dinner?” Tony asked, making his presence known.

Bucky looked up from the simmering, a small smile gracing his lips. "Beef stew, mashed potatoes, and peas," he answered, his tone casual yet inviting.

"Plus, we've got apple tart for dessert," Rhodey added, his own grin mirroring Bucky's as he gestured towards the oven.

Well, Tony could get used to that, to have people to come back to and share quality time with. As he settled into a chair at the kitchen island, Tony couldn’t help but appreciate that his two friends appeared to be getting along. There was a warmth in their interactions, speaking volumes about the bond they were forming. They still had much to learn about Barnes, about each other, but they were getting there, one shared meal at a time.

Rhodey couldn’t resist joking about who was the finest cook. If Tony wanted to prove himself as a contender, he would have to step up his game, preferably by whipping up a batch of his famous pancakes the next morning. During the years they had shared a room, back in MIT, Tony would always work through the night, a habit he still had. Rhodey would wake up to the tempting aroma of breakfast. The Colonel missed those years a lot. Everything was much easier then.

"Pancakes, huh?" Barnes interjected, his tone laced with amusement. "I thought you were living on nothing but bitter, dark coffee."

Rhodey chuckled, bumping his shoulder playfully against Barnes' metal one. He hadn't expected the wince that followed, and his expression immediately shifted to one of concern as Barnes grimaced in pain. Tony immediately looked concerned.

"Sorry, man," Rhodey apologised, his voice tinged with genuine remorse. "I didn't mean to…"

"It's fine," Barnes interrupted, waving off Rhodey's apology with a dismissive gesture. But Tony could see the tension in his shoulders, the subtle stiffness beneath the stoic facade he presented to the world.

Bucky offered a tight-lipped smile, his eyes betraying a hint of weariness. "No worries," he reassured them, though the strain in his voice was evident. "Nothing I haven't felt before."

Tony's brow furrowed with concern. "You mean your arm always hurts?" Tony asked, visibly upset by the turn of events. 

Barnes nodded, his gaze flickering to the shiny metal that was his arm. “Hydra never really bothered about my well-being,” he admitted bitterly. “As long as I was able to get the mission done, my pain was completely inconsequential.”

"Why didn't you say anything?" he demanded, his voice tinged with a hint of accusation. It wasn’t fair on Bucky. Hydra deserved to burn in flames. 

Bucky's response was surprisingly stoic, his demeanour betraying a resignation born of years spent enduring pain in silence. "I didn't really see the point," he admitted with a shrug. "I am used to the pain. It's become a constant companion of sorts."

Some days were better than others, but that was how it was. Bucky had learned early on to tough it out, to push through the pain without complaint. In his youth, doctors were a luxury his family couldn’t really afford. People tended to wait to seek help, often too late. It was ingrained in him, long before the war. As for Hydra themselves, they had never shown the slightest hint of concern for his well-being. To them, he was nothing more than a tool to be used and discarded at will. Tony had already done more for Bucky than he deserved. At least that's what he believed. 

"Hey, Dum-E," Tony greeted the beeping robot as it rolled over to greet him. “We have guests today so, look pretty!” Tell your siblings while you’re at it!”

Bucky’s eyes darted around his surroundings, worried. The sterile atmosphere of the room sent a shiver down his spine. It reminded him far too much of Hydra. Still, he trusted Tony and Rhodey implicitly. Memories of his past life flickered through his mind. He remembered his love of science and the Stark Expo just before being shipped to Europe. He refused to let Hydra destroy every part of who he was.

"Please, sit here and remove your shirt," Tony instructed, his voice gentle yet firm as he rummaged through his tools.

Bucky was tempted to answer with a flirtatious joke, but he stopped himself. Maybe now wasn't the time for it, if it ever was. There wasn’t a puzzle Stark didn’t want to solve, a problem he didn’t want to fix. And while Bucky appreciated the help, this wasn’t why he had come here. He didn’t know how to feel about the situation. What was right? What was wrong? He didn’t know anymore. Still, something didn't feel right.

"Crude technology but effective, I suppose," Tony muttered to himself as he meticulously examined the arm, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Hydra never bothered upgrading what was apparently working. It's a wonder they've made it this far, to be honest."

Tony had literal sparkles in his eyes. Engineering was really what he loved after all. Somehow, it made Bucly feel a bit better about the whole situation even though the genius was already sharing his enthusiasm at building another arm from scratch.

“We’ll use Starkium for the framework, with a touch of Adamantium for durability.” Tony mused, his mind already racing ahead.” But not too much, otherwise that arm would be way too heavy. And as for the aesthetics, it's all up to you.  If you want to look like metal or skin…”

“Sorry to interrupt your excitement but it appears that Sergeant Barnes is a bit overwhelmed at the moment.” Jarvis intervened.

“Oh god! I’m sorry! Are you alright?”

Bucky’s head was spinning a little. It was unreal to consider receiving a new arm without the accompanying pain. For so long, the metal arm had been tied to the fall from the train, to Hydra, and to far too many victims to count. Bucky wasn't convinced he deserved that kind of kindness. Something Tony seemed to do repeatedly. He had received too much already.

“Hey there,” Tony whispered gently. “You know sometimes I get ahead of myself but I just want you to be pain free.”

Tony placed his hand on Bucly's knees and waited. In exchange, Bucky smiled a little. Whatever happened to Steve, he would have at least experienced what friendship truly meant.

Chapter Text

What was his purpose in this world? Sometimes the question haunted him, especially when Tony was once again too generous to him. A part of him urged them to push forward with their mission. Steve was passing his time playing superhero, but this would not last. He needed to be stopped as quickly as possible, before the consequences escalated beyond control. Was he just a soldier, a pawn in a greater scheme, or was there more to him than meets the eye?

The main part of him was scared really. What would become of him once the dust settled, and the battles were fought? Since waking up from his conditioning, he barely knew what to do with himself. Even though he was capable of surviving on his own, the idea of being alone was frightening. Seventy years of anguish and isolation had left him yearning for connection, and now, having tasted the warmth of friendship and kindness, he wasn’t so sure now that he would be able to do anything alone. The more Tony held out his hand to help, the less confident Bucky felt about how to do that on his own anymore. 

After a restless night, Bucky found himself aimlessly wandering around the penthouse. Jarvis, the ever-watchful AI, would have alerted him if Steve and his team had been on their way. Quite frankly, the soldier didn’t know what he was doing anymore, where he should go. What was drawing him to the penthouse? He couldn’t fully understand it himself. 

Lost in his thoughts, he was startled by the voice of the colonel. "Hey Bucky! You look as rough as I feel," the colonel remarked, offering a faint smile. "How about we indulge in some coffee and complain? It seems fitting, given our circumstances."

Bucky didn’t know if he was accepting the idea of complaining or the coffee, but both would do. Rhodes, sensing his ambivalence, poured him a mug of the dark, bitter liquid before retreating to lean against the fridge, lost in his own contemplation. The taste of the coffee was harsh on Bucky's tongue, but it was warm and helped him feel more energised. 

Perching himself on the central island stool, Bucky and Rhodes fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of their shared burdens momentarily lifted in the tranquillity of the moment. It was a brief instant of calm in the middle of the storm of their lives, a momentary diversion from the chaos that was surrounding them.

Breaking the silence, Bucky eventually spoke, not expecting an answer. "I don't know how to handle Tony's generosity," he admitted, his voice betraying his inner turmoil.

Rhodes offered a reassuring nod, understanding the conflict that Bucky wrestled with. "If it can reassure you, he does it for everyone.” he replied, his tone empathetic. He wants to help anywhere he can. It’s simply who he is.”

"I already owe him too much. The debt... “ Bucky muttered, his frustration evident in his tone evident as he was trying to articulate the different emotions he was experiencing. Words didn’t come easy to him. “I'll never be able to repay him again, yet he wants to give more." 

His mind was a battleground, a big confusion of English and Russian. Other languages that he had no recollection of learning were occasionally thrown into the mix. The Bucky Barnes that everybody knew from the comics and stories around Captain America was supposed to have a Brooklyn accent. It wasn’t there anymore. On the other hand, he did not appear to have a Russian accent either. He was no longer so sure of who he was or where he had come from. Maybe he should consider himself lucky. He was free to start anew, not being shackled by the part of his past.

“Tony doesn’t see things like that,” Rhodes explained, his tone full of respect for his best friend. “When he sees a problem, he tackles it head-on, no question asked until he fixes it. That's just not how he operates. He does not ask for money or anything in exchange. He does not need it.”

Bucky frowned, the notion of such selfless generosity seeming almost unfair in his eyes. "But that doesn't seem right," he protested.

“It’s his choice to make,” Rhodes countered, his words carrying a weight of experience. "You can voice your concerns to him. Tony's open to hearing different perspectives. Just don't ever betray his trust or lie to him. The consequences... Well, they're not something you want to face. Those who do don't get to see another day."

"So, it's okay to get a new arm?" Bucky asked. "Something better than what Hydra made I imagine."

Rhodes hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement. "Well, if we're going to face off against Rogers, it's best to be operating at full capacity." 

Changing Bucky’s arms suited Tony’s abilities perfectly. It wasn’t exactly a surgery, more like building the shoulder piece for the Iron Man armour. Hydra had already laid the groundwork by installing a port in Bucky's shoulder, albeit with some faulty wiring that would need Tony's expert touch to rectify. The prospect of avoiding invasive surgery was a stroke of luck. Tony wasn't particularly good at squishy science. He jumped right into the project, his head full with ideas as he worked to improve Bucky’s shoulder part.  

For Bucky, the process was both daunting and exhilarating. That constant reminder of his time with Hydra was being removed, and it felt like a whole weight left Bucky’s shoulders with it. Stark’s version was actually lighter, but also not linked with seventy years of torture and cruelty. Bucky felt a glimmer of hope that, with Tony's help, he might be able to regain a sense of normalcy in his tumultuous existence.

Bucky's serum would allow for a complete recovery in no time. All they needed was a little peace and quiet to let the magic happen. The Avengers were apparently keeping away from Tony these days. Quite honestly, it was surprising. In the wake of the Natasha incident, the three men braced themselves, expecting Rogers to appear at the penthouse door, claiming that Romanov had made a mistake and should be allowed to return not that she had learnt her lesson. They all knew that she had learnt nothing. But Steve never came. 

Tony made a mental note to look deeper into the reasons behind Steve’s lack of stubbornness. For the time being, the absence of the Avengers afforded Tony, Bucky and Rhodey a welcome break.

For that matter, Pepper did not call him for another dull meeting, or for anything at all. Tony knew he should do something to put things right, even though he didn't believe he had done anything wrong in the first place. He would deal with it later, once he would be done with fixing Bucky’s arm.

The other shoe had to drop sooner rather than later. It came in the form of a telephone call. Tony had known from the start that Rhodey would be unable to stay in the tower indefinitely. The genius had no illusions about that. This wasn’t their first rodeo after all. Their plans were actually getting nowhere, with each passing day bringing them no closer to their goal. Rogers wasn’t making waves that could be exploited to their advantage. 

"I'm being called back to base," Rhodey announced, his words punctuated by the clatter of utensils against plates of half-eaten pancakes. “The higher-ups want to send me somewhere special apparently. Classified and all that.”

Colonel Rhodes had been gone for an hour, and Tony was still suffering from his usual panic attack. Though Tony would never stand in the way of his friend’s duty, he could not help but worry whenever Rhodes was sent to a mission where the genius could keep him safe. The danger came with the work, it didn’t mean that Tony could not worry.

Tony always understood Pepper's point of view when she asked him to stop being Iron Man. Perhaps, she wasn’t strong enough to deal with all the risks associated with being a superhero. She wanted a more ordinary life. There was a sense of responsibility that kept him and Rhodes risking their lives. They were both driven by a sense of duty that went beyond their own personal safety.

After the recent fall of Shield, with War Machine recognised through his own prowess and press conferences and handshakes by the public at large, the military found opportune to solidify their presence within the team. Colonel Rhodes was assigned to the Avengers. Tony had never been an actual member, only a consultant. It was a calculated move, one that promised to provide insights into the inner workings of the Avengers. He was taking a foot behind enemy lines, allowing Tony and Bucky to know more about who they were fighting against. 

The problem, if it was a real problem, was that his little fight with Natasha had created a rift between him and the other Avengers. Despite that, Tony was about to give the team a compound up-state. Not out of the kindness of his cold heart though. First, it would get them out of the tower, which would be much better for Bucky. The man had to hide from Rogers, even in his own home. That wasn’t fair.

It would also give them a false sense of security. Away from Stark Tower, they would think they were free to do as they pleased. Tony had created another AI for the place called Friday in the hopes that the Avengers would completely forget they were being observed at any given moment. Tony was not going to watch their every move. He had other things to do, but if anything odd happened, he would know. 

Natasha would tell the rest of the team that the compound was Tony’s way of apologising to them, particularly to her. She had damaged his ego, and he had thrown a little tantrum like the manchild he was. It truly wasn't the case, and her mistaken idea was working to his advantage. Tony didn't care what others thought of him anymore, but he had to play the part. At least for now.

Rogers scheduled a team meeting before Rhodes had even had a chance to adjust to his new position, having barely moved into the facility. It would not be the first time in his job that he would need to get ready in a matter of minutes.

“We have a new member in our team. This is Colonel Rhodes, in case you don't know him. The Air Force lent him to us, and I'm confident he'll be of great help. He has a lot of experience in the field. Iron Patriot is also an asset.” Rogers told the others as an introduction, a reminder of the Iron Man yes, Tony Stark not recommended. He had also used Iron Patriot on purpose, a way to remind Rhodes that his allegiance should not be with Stark first and the world after.

“Okay, okay the man is a legend. We get it.” joked Wilson.

They had a little conversation, introducing themselves properly to one another. Rhodey had briefly met Natalie Rushman and heard about the other Avengers. He had never seen them face to face before, having been deployed somewhere else each time the Avengers were on a mission. Rhodes had a lifetime of pretending to like the people he had to work with. There always would be someone he would not get along with. That was life. He was obviously biassed. Tony's description of them was not flattering.

Despite his preference to form his own opinions about people, Rhodey had to admit that Tony was often right about people. When the genius had gone against his instincts, it always came back to bite him in the ass spectacularly. Despite his flashy attitude, the genius did not believe in himself very much. 

The Avengers were taking over the compound as if they owned it. Rhodes doubted that Tony had received even a simple thank you. The coming days promised to be really exciting.  

Chapter Text

Thaddeaus Ross despised enhanced individuals with a passion, their very existence representing a threat to the society at large. To him, they were nothing more than ticking time bombs, waiting to detonate with devastating consequences. The failed experiment with Banner had only served to reinforce Ross’ convictions. Once thought a good prospect, when fighting during the Second World War, the idea of a super soldier had become a nightmare come true.

People thought that he was a monster because of his methods, but those people had never been in the heart of war. Ross was a military man through and through. He had witnessed firsthand the horrors of battle, the senseless loss of life that deeply affected him. The critics who condemned him as a monster for his methods had never been in the front lines, never had to consider sending young men and women to their deaths. They had never known the agony of writing those dreaded letters, each word a dagger to the heart as he informed families that their loved ones would never return home.

The super serum was a tempting option that promised improved health, strength and healing abilities for all who dared embrace it. It would undoubtedly save many lives. Of course, this would also keep the United States at the top of the food chain, with General Ross as one of the top sharks in the pound. One stone, many birds.

But there were many challenges in the way to success. The experiment had gone sideways. As a result of the serum gone wrong, The Hulk turned out to be a very strong opponent who was considerably more cunning and resilient than anyone had imagined. The beast was anything but mindless. Dr. Banner, the brilliant mind behind the Hulk, struggled to control the beast inside of him. Still, in the end, the green beast proved to be less of an issue in the long run. 

"Rumour has it that Pepper Potts wants Stark out of the Avengers," one member of the brass confided to another in hushed tones. "I’ve been told that she is talking about a contract with any branch that would help with that goal. That woman is capable of everything."

"She may be the CEO, but Stark is the mastermind behind it all," the other said, a little begrudgingly respectful. "It would be unwise to find oneself on the wrong side of that man."

Ross didn’t like Stark any more than the enhanced he kept around him. In his eyes, the so-called genius wielded too much power and influence as a private citizen. Stark should have shared Iron Man technology for the benefit of his country.  He could use that revelation about Pott’s alleged machinations. In his eyes, she was but a pawn in a larger game, nowhere near as important as Stark. 

Rhodes was a military man and used to follow orders. However, Ross had no illusions about him. The military man was loyal to a fault and supported Stark even during the Congressional hearing. Yet, the situation could be manipulated to Ross’ benefit. The General just needed to find a flaw in that friendship.

More troubling to Ross than even the unpredictable Hulk was the mysterious figure of Steve Rogers. The man, regarded as the embodiment of heroism and virtue, had caused far too many deaths and destruction that couldn’t be ignored. He could not be confronted head-on. Captain America was the golden boy of the comics, and he still wielded too much power over the people, a power that seemed to shield him from scrutiny even in the face of such obvious mistakes.

Ross was not going to intervene directly and give the Avengers the destination of their next mission. He could and would not be directly involved in any of this, preferring instead to manipulate events from the shadows. With calculated precision, he left breadcrumbs here and there, ensuring that the red hair spy would be put on the right track. Nigeria was a beautiful place this time of the year, but unfortunately, they also had a Hydra base that would certainly have piqued Rogers’ attention.

But it was a mission doomed from the start. As always, the diplomatic relations between the two nations were shaky at best, and Rogers wasn't the kind to notify the local government of his whereabouts. And so, when Natasha's sources uncovered Hydra's activities in Lagos, Rogers wasted no time in rallying the team for action.

Situated inconspicuously in the middle of the busy city of Lagos, the Hydra base presented quite a challenge. Surrounded by a labyrinth of buildings, including a hospital and a busy market, the potential for collateral damage was important. It was a volatile environment, where one wrong move might have disastrous repercussions, especially given Rogers's penchant for bold, aggressive tactics.

"Natasha's sources have uncovered Hydra's activities in Lagos," Rogers declared, his voice tinged with urgency. "Suit up, we're going in an hour."

"Shouldn't we wait for Rhodes to come back?" Sam asked, a hint of apprehension colouring his words. "He just went back to base to gather some of his things. Or perhaps call for Banner or Barton to take his place." He didn’t dare mention Stark who wasn’t that far away.

“Banner’s whereabouts are anyone’s guess since Natasha was forced out of the tower,” Steve retorted, his annoyance more than visible as he dismissed Sam’s concerns. “And anyway, we don’t have the luxury of waiting for them. It is Hydra we are talking about. Time is of the essence!”

"Okay, okay." Sam responded by raising his hands in an universal sign of surrender. "I'll go suit up." 

As Sam made his way to prepare for the mission, Steve went to the jet. Natasha was waiting for the team in the cockpit, running meticulously over the checklist before they took off. Despite the tensions among the Avengers and the last events with Stark, Natasha remained focused on the task at hand, determined to see the mission through. 

Tony knew the world needed to be defended, and so he gave the Avengers the tools they needed to fulfil their tasks. He had thrown a little power tantrum against her because she was an easy target and Stark wanted to prove he was the smartest guy in the room. It was disgusting. Natasha would get him back sooner rather than later. 

The journey to their destination was spent in a heavy silence, each member of the team lost in their own thoughts. There was little to be said. The intricacies of their mission would only be revealed after they arrived on location. Their line of work was not an easy one. They had to prepare mentally in one way or another for the challenges ahead.

Sam, as usual, provided aerial support, scanning the area with precision, while Natasha and Steve played American tourists, blending as much as possible into the bustling cafe near the marketplace. They had a clear view of the building that was used by Hydra. There was still no trace of Bucky, but that didn’t mean anything. He was probably detained against his will deep within that base and tortured into submission.

“There’s movements guys. Look pretty!” Sam told them in the comms.

The events unfolded really fast, catching them off guard. Sam only had time to detect a too-heavy truck before it smashed into the entrance of the building they were watching. 

Before they could fully comprehend what was happening, a second vehicle, brimming with armed men clad in tactical gear, pushed its way inside the courtyard. They started heavily shooting in all directions. With the enemy closing in on all sides, Steve knew that he had no choice but to intervene. Who else could stand against them but the superhuman strength and skill of Captain America? Steve charged forward with a fierce determination burning in his eyes. The enemy was not good enough against him. One by one, they fell before him. But in the midst of the chaos and confusion, there was little time for Steve to pause and consider the reasons behind the attack. After all, was this not meant to be a Hydra base? 

Rumlow was present. They didn't expect it, but surprises were part of the job. They had to be able to adapt on the fly. If Bucky wasn't present, they could at least apprehend one of Hydra's top officials. It would be beneficial for the Avengers' image and improve their reputation. Captain America was once again actively fighting the world's worst organisation. The front pages of the next day's newspapers should be glorious. Good enough for Steve.

While Rogers was taking care of the men, Rumlow had made his way to the vault, taking a vial from it, a biological weapon of some kind. He needed to be stopped. That kind of weapon in Rumlow’s hands did not bode well. The world was in danger.

"Rumlow had a biological weapon," Steve shouted over the communications.

"I'm on it," Natasha's response came swift and determined.

But really, she wasn’t on it. Steve had no idea why she insisted on fighting hand to hand against individuals armed with guns. He thought she was wasting everybody’s time, putting the team in unnecessary danger with her impulsive tactics. She wasn't good or significant enough for him to put his goals or even a single mission at risk to save her. 

She had clearly failed to stop the man because Rumlow was now attacking him with artillery. If he wanted something done, he had to do it himself. Meanwhile, Sam reported four Hydra men fleeing through the marking, splitting in two teams. Natasha made a quick decision and chose to go after the two on the left, leaving Steve with no choice but to tackle the remaining threats on the right.  

While he was examining the crowd for his target, a sudden weight settled on his shield, immediately sending a jolt of adrenaline through his veins. Reacting on instinct, he hurled the shield in the air just as the object detonated. The blast sent shockwaves of panic through the innocent bystanders. Hydra never cared about human life. Quite the contrary. Rumlow and his cronies, as usual, were using the local people as shields, taking advantage of their presence to protect themselves from retaliation. In that moment, Steve felt a surge of rage, but he knew he couldn’t afford to give in to the temptation of using his own extreme measures. Even if he hated Hydra and its agents, he had to protect the Avengers’ reputation. At least for the time being.

Rumlow used those seconds after the explosion to attack from behind, like the coward he was. The scene became chaotic around them as terrified residents ran in all directions, seeking refuge from the violence around them. Steve had a score to settle with Rumlow. The battle was brutal, they aimed at killing each other. Each hit was delivered with bone-crushing ferocity. Rumlow’s mechanical gauntlets levelled the playing field and evened the odds between them. Ultimately, Steve gained the upper hand.

Hydra always knew to hit where it hurt and Rumlow was no exception. He used what little he knew about Bucky to mock Steve. Those words cut deep, striking Steve’s ego for not being able to be the best person, saving his friend. In that moment, it became clear that Rumlow was not fighting for his life anymore but to inflict as much pain as possible. 

Nothing remains of Rumlow after the suicidal blast. Steve's shield protected him as he was projected away. Fortunately, he just had a few minor burns. This could not be true for the marketplace, which was now in ruins, leaving a huge crater in its place. Hydra was once again responsible for the death of many innocent people. Would they ever stop?

As the dust settled, Natasha and Sam went to join him. Sam was visibly shaken, his hands trembling uncontrollably,  his eyes wide as he struggled to believe what he was seeing, not knowing what to say or do. His legs gave in. His eyes filled with tears. What did they do? 

For Natasha, however, there was little time for emotions. Her face remained as stoic as ever, her mind already calculating her next move. They had to get out of there quickly. When she told Steve, he agreed with her right away.

"Let's get out of here. Our job is done," Steve said.

Both Natasha and Steve grabbed one of Sam’s arms, providing him support while they made their way through the ruins of the marketplace. They walked away rapidly, already thinking about their next raid on a Hydra base.

Chapter Text

The backlash was immediate and widespread. The news aired on television all day, every day. Half the world was in uproar. This was an act of terrorism, a declaration of war. Why were the Avengers there in the first place? Nobody had warned the local authorities about any mission, great or small. They had no idea how they had entered the country in the first place. The Nigerian authorities had a lot on their plates, with lives to save or at least try to do so, too much to really care about the Avengers.

The other half of the globe still trusted the Avengers. They always did the right thing. Their presence, the fight meant that a bigger threat was present there. Something or someone needed to be stopped. The superheroes came to defend the people as much as they could. Unfortunately, freedom and protection could occasionally result in collateral damage. Steve Rogers was going to look into it and change some of the Avengers’ procedures. They needed to believe that.

The residents of Lagos were now caught between terror and unbelief. Following the loud roar of the explosion, everything was eerily silent. Brothers, mothers, and cousins were searching for a family member who had vanished. They were moving stones after stones in solidarity, like a long chain of hands giving pieces of buildings, bits of pavements hoping to find something, anything.

Once and a while, something was found. It was gruesome. Everything and everyone had been blasted to pieces by the explosion. It looked like a war zone. Reporters from around the globe were coming to cover the crisis. Help would come later.

“We need to send people from the ‘Maria Stark’s foundation’ there as soon as possible.” Tony was saying over the phone as he entered the compound.

“It’s not your problem to fix! You were not even part of that mission!”

“Pepper! It is a human tragedy! Show a little heart.”

He could not believe the way she was acting. Her hate for everything remotely associated with the avengers was clearly clouding her judgement. She needed to put her feelings aside if she wanted to be a competent CEO for Stark Industries. They weren’t a couple anymore, and lately had become less than cordial. They absolutely needed to talk about this. Tony had put that off long enough.

“I’ll come around later this week. We need to speak with PR. Iron Man was still associated with the Avengers not so long ago.”

The conversation trailed on a little bit longer, very formal, and without the warmth they used to have. Tony was annoyed by the turn of events. He had always done what she wanted for the most part, but as long as he was Iron Man she would never be satisfied.

“Tony! Thank goodness you are here,” said a voice behind him.

“Thank god you weren’t on that mission.” Tony answered, giving the other man a hug.

“I just went back to base to get a few things, but also because my superiors wanted a report on my first impressions of the Avengers. The timing is almost too good to be true, but I’m happy I’m not part of that clusterfuck.” Rhodey answered honestly.

"Friday is tracking the jet. They are coming back to the compound. If they try to change course, Jarvis and Friday will make sure they get here anyway," Tony told Rhodey, visibly frustrated with the situation.

"I can't believe they just left the scene like that." 

The abrupt departure of Steve and his team from the scene left a bitter taste in Tony's mouth, an attitude he could not understand either. Even though Steve knew he wasn't the good old boy he seemed to be, he assumed Natasha or Sam would have the intelligence or heart to stick around. But as it turned out, compassion was not in their vocabulary either. Tony had hoped to find a way to stop Rogers and reveal the world who he truly was. But not like that. 

He had left Bucky in the tower, under Jarvis' close surveillance. The man had taken the news far harder than Tony himself. The genius was prone to carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders, but Bucky appeared to be even worse than him. Since he awoke from his conditioning, he has made it his mission to stop Captain America. This felt like a personnel failure. Hydra and the Winter Soldiers' methods were not legal under any circumstances, but they were final. Why did he save Steve from the Potomac? They should have drowned there. The world would surely have been a better place.

Tony hated leaving him behind. He hated the fact that both of his friends were in some form of distress. Rhodey never would have accepted that mission. The colonel had always been the type to follow procedures, especially on his first outing with a new team. 

Thankfully, Rhodey had returned right away, but now they were now stuck dealing with the situation. The US military had to explain why their man had not prevented that catastrophe, and the government would have a lot to explain. After all, most of the team was born and bred in the USA.

The Maria Stark Foundation was the first on-site provider of basic essentials to the people. The main hospital had been damaged severely, menacing to collapse under its own weight. Thankfully, no more people had died during the evacuation. This was nothing short of a miracle, but it also meant that medical care was virtually nonexistent.

"What are you doing here?" Natasha asked Tony as she entered the compound. "I assumed you were too busy for us poor peasants. Is the tantrum over?" 

Her arrogance was irritating him to no end but still he asked incredulously, “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Do you have any idea the kind of mess you left behind? It is not the time to joke.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked.

Captain America was visibly annoyed just seeing Tony. The genius was ready to fight with him, but then he saw Wilson. The man looked as if he was in shock. He was sweating profusely and breathing loudly. Steve was helping keep the falcon up. Something had happened to him, no doubt, but the rest of his crew didn't appear to care. Tony knew Steve was supposed to have no heart, but seeing it would always be difficult. Natasha seemed to mimic her leader in everything. 

"What happened to him?" Tony eventually decided to ask. 

“Panic attack. Nothing major.” Steve answered in a dismissive tone of the man who had never been through one.

“I guess witnessing a bomb go off in the middle of a busy market will do that to people.”

Tony knew he was being unfair. At the very least, Wilson felt something about what had transpired. It should say something about his character. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the others' lack of reaction was worse than anything.

“You are officially benched. The military and probably the CIA, FBI and many others in the alphabet soup will want to talk to you soon. If I were you, I would nicely wait for them and answer all their questions.”

"Who made you leader?" Natasha asked vehemently. It was evident that Steve felt the same way.

“You! When you decided to fuck up again!” Tony shouted back. “What you did is the equivalent of a declaration of war!”

"We stopped Rumlow from using a biological weapon." Steve responded as if Tony was an idiot for not understanding that. "Sometimes we can't save everybody." 

"When you fuck up in another country with the American flag on your ass, it's a declaration of war whether you went there with good intentions or not," Tony replied in a similar manner. "Especially when you don't warn anybody of said mission." 

Tony explained that, of course, he wasn't a cop. They could come and go as they pleased. He was the owner of the building and all of the equipment on the premises. The Avengers were free to violate the law again, but they would have to do so elsewhere. He or his company would not be affiliated with terrorism.

With that he left, going back to the tower as quickly as possible. He couldn’t force people to behave, and quite frankly he wasn’t especially concerned about the Avengers’ fate. If Steve was put in jail because of his own stupidity, all the better. After all, they had been trying to find a way to stop him. Bucky had not left his bedroom since Tony had left for the compound. Jarvis was monitoring him and physically, he was fine. Tony was not well equipped for that kind of conversation. Bucky had no one else to talk to, and things couldn't be easy for him.

"Hey? Are you in there? Tony asked after knocking on Bucky's door. 

"I've been told that eating regularly is healthy. So, I cooked an omelette. I mean, I am more of a pancake kind of cook, but I tried and it looks alright. Perhaps not as good as what you make or Rhodey’s food but it won’t poison you or anything.”

When Tony got nervous, he would ramble. Talking, even to himself, helped him feel less alone. Bucky had no obligation to talk to him or eat the food he had prepared. Tony just hoped he would. Just as he was going to knock again, the door opened. 

Bucky looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept in forever. There was a weight on his shoulder that reminded Tony of the first time they met, when the Winter Soldier had stormed into his living room. It hurt something inside Tony to see the other man like that. He should have done more to stop Steve. Even if the means had not been legal, it would have spared so many lives.

With a faint smile on his face, Bucky replied, "Let's go try that culinary miracle." 

They ate in silence. The omelette wasn’t bad. Tony didn't know how to start the conversation. A sort of guilt was overwhelming him completely. He was definitely not good at saving people.

“Is he going to jail or something now?” Bucky asked, his voice low.

"There is an investigation ongoing. They will be questioned why and how. They are currently benched." 

Now it was out of their hands. That mistake was way too public to do anything. They could only hope that the authorities would do what needed to be done. They were both really septic. Some people always seemed to get away with the worst behaviour and Steve Rogers was one of them.

“It’s not your fault.” Bucky told Tony.

“It’s not yours either.”

“Still feels like it is.”

“Yes it does.” Tony said and god, that was the truth.

“What do we do now?”

“I think we could go there and help. Don’t worry, we will keep your identity a secret. Soon, we need to work on getting you back out there.”

“Not now, Steve is still a threat.”

The photostatic veil was quite handy. Bucky's arm wasn't too hard to hide with a long t-shirt and gloves. No one was looking for him anyway. Tony and Bucky were moving rumbles. They didn't need to use their superpowers to be helpful. There was something soothing in doing something repetitive. To take something here and to put it there in silence.

The press intended to make a spectacle of Tony's presence in Lagos. They had already made conclusions about Stark's role, and none of them were pleasant. It was easier to attack someone who was actually there, doing something, than somebody far away in hiding. The journalists were shouting things at him, asking whether he felt guilty as if he was at the root of the disaster.

"Iron Man was not present. Captain America decided on the mission and its members. At least, Stark is doing something. Do you see Rogers anywhere? And what are you doing instead of just standing there?” The man who came with Stark shouted back at them.

Tony was looking at Bucky completely gobsmacked. People rarely supported him so publicly. It didn't matter that no one but Tony knew the man's true identity. Something blossomed in his heart. It didn't know what it was, but he would be curious and really happy to find out more.

Chapter Text

While in Nigeria, they worked nonstop for several days to get the rumbles removed. Tony's expertise in engineering proved invaluable, especially when it came to putting the hospital building down. It was due to fall any minute, and despite the already bleak surroundings, people were still living here, desperately trying to keep the little they still had. Recognising the imminent danger, Tony and the team of local engineers determined that controlled demolition was the viable way to protect what was left.

During the nights, they slept as much as they could inside makeshift tents on military cots. Generous locals were offering them the little they had in those circumstances, warm and hearty meals, a gesture of gratitude and solidarity that Bucky and Tony accepted without hesitation. They understood the significance of these small gestures. Little by little, life was returning to normal, or as normal as possible in the wake of such a tragedy. Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t do much more. The presence of the Maria Stark Foundation promised that the recovery efforts would not stop with Tony Stark’s departure. 

As they were preparing to leave, Tony called Rhodey on the phone. “How are things back home?”

"They're getting away with everything, Tones. It's unbelievable!" Rhodey's frustration was palpable, his words heavy with disappointment.

Tony didn’t need to ask what he was talking about. He wasn’t really surprised. It would have been too easy. Rogers had this way of getting out of the worse situation unscathed. Tony vaguely wondered how he managed that, but in the end it didn’t really matter.

“The investigation team unearthed video surveillance footage of Rumlow stealing a bioweapon thanks to the security company servers. I don’t even know how they managed that. There's footage of trucks tearing through the laboratory grounds at full speed. Natasha's arguing that the Avengers were only there for surveillance, but Rumlow's actions forced their hand," Rhodey explained, anger lacing his tone.

Romanov possessed a remarkable ability to manipulate any situation to her advantage. The Shield data dump was proof of that. Rhodey elaborated on his observations of what had occurred behind the scenes. President Ellis was a huge fan of Captain America. The Colonel couldn’t prove it, but he was pretty sure that Rogers had gone to the White House for a little friendly conversation. The president had used every resource at his disposal to shield the Avengers from scrutiny.

But everything came with a price, even for the President of the United States. General Ross was to be promoted to Secretary of State, a move that came with its own set of strings attached. 

In return for their support, the military wanted to obtain advantages. Steve Rogers was associated with the Second World War and his rank of Captain. He had never finished training camp but that was a detail nobody remembered. If every branch of the military was to rally behind Rogers, they expected tangible benefits in return.

"Happy! My man! How's the corporate life treating you?" Tony said energetically, answering Happy’s unexpected phone call.

Tony had made the difficult decision to promote Hogan to head of security of Stark Industries, and so to become Pepper’s guardian. When Tony had become Iron Man, it had made Happy’s bodyguard position both useless and dangerous for the man. The Avengers hadn't been particularly kind to Happy, often mocking him. Tony believed it was in everyone's best interest for Happy to step away from that particular fight. Happy had been at his side for a long time. He was more than just an employee, he was a friend, one of the few Tony ever had. The genius deeply felt his absence. Pepper deserved the best though.

Happy had saved Tony’s life on numerous occasions, whether protecting him from external threats, sometimes from his own recklessness. Being a Stark came with its own set of problems. Over the years, many people had tried to use him for their own gain. When their plans didn’t go their way, some resorted to drastic measures, including intimidation and even kidnapping. Happy might not fit the stereotype of a bodyguard with his unassuming demeanour, but he knew what he was doing.

"Are you back in New York, Boss?" Happy asked, his voice warm immediately comforting Tony. It made Tony feel special to hear Happy call him Boss again. 

“Yes, we just got back. Dum-E practically threw a party,” Tony chuckled, his affection for his robotic son evident in his words. “He missed me a lot!”

"Boss... can I swing by for a bit?" Happy's request carried a hint of hesitation.

“Happy, you can come whenever you want, you know that!”

"I'll be there in about an hour," Happy confirmed, the sense of relief palpable in his tone.

"What's the matter?" Tony asked, suddenly worried by Happy’s behaviour.

“One hour.”

Tony wasted no time in making his way to Bucky's bedroom. Introducing Bucky to Happy seemed like a good idea. Barnes needed more people around him, and Tony trusted Happy implicitly. However, Tony understood that meeting new people, especially given their circumstances, could be stressful, if not impossible. So, before doing anything, the genius had to ask if it was okay. Tony was aware that he was a bit impulsive, and that despite his good intentions, situations frequently turned out very differently than what he had planned, and not in a positive way. Pepper had at least taught him that, and Tony always learned from his mistakes.

He was also worried about Happy’s unusual request. The bodyguard wasn't the type to casually drop by, ensuring that Tony was actually present to meet him. Things were not going so well these days. The tragedy in Lagos had taken its toll on him, even if he was not responsible for the tragedy. Was it too much to ask to get some time without any life-altering problems? So, if he was going to visit Bucky because he was feeling anxious, no one needed to know.

“So I have a friend coming in less than an hour. We go way back. He was my bodyguard, you know, before Iron Man. I think it would be good for you to meet more people but it’s up to you of course.” Tony told Bucky once in his bedroom.

Bucky invited Tony to sit down next to him on the bed. “Is he trustworthy?” he simply asked.

“He saved my life many times.”

Tony started to explain how he had nicknamed Harold Hogan, Happy. He recalled how the bodyguard always looked so gloomy and serious. The genius often used humour as a deflection, but giving nicknames to the people around him was something he had always enjoyed doing. 

“What nickname are you going to give me then?” Bucky asked.

"Hmm... Snowflake? Terminator? Buckaroo?" Tony playfully suggested. 

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle at Tony's antics, the sound resonating warmly in the room, and Tony wanted to hear that laugh again. As they sat together on the bed, their legs brushing against each other, they talked about nicknames and friendships. Tony was doing the majority of the talking. Bucky wasn't much of a talker, but he enjoyed listening to Tony. The genius was always apologising for his ramblings, but Bucky found it weirdly comforting. Perhaps he had had enough of silence within the cryotube.

"I apologise for disturbing you, Sir, but Mr Hogan is heading into the lift." Jarvis cut him off.

“Okay,let's go.”

Tony rose from the bed, extending his hand towards Bucky, who took it immediately. There was no hesitation there. With a swift tug, Tony pulled Bucky to his feet. A moment passed as they stood there, hand in hand. It was funny how simple it was, how good and natural it felt. They should have been overflowing with questions, with doubt and perhaps hopes about what the future held for them. Tony was not the kind to second-guess himself, but his experience with Pepper had shown him that he was not good at relationships. It only led to heartache.

Bucky was reluctant to release Tony’s hand, or even move altogether. He didn’t care if it was right or wrong, or if the time was appropriate. During those seconds, which seemed to last forever, everything felt like it was meant to be, as if everything he had gone through from Steve Rogers to Hydra had been nearly worth it since it had led him to Tony. 

And yet, he let go of his hand. Bucky couldn’t ignore the fact that he was a broken man, a mess on a good day. And whether he did it on purpose or not, he had killed the Starks. Tony deserved a lot better than the shell of the  man he had become.

“Happy!” Tony greeted the man who was standing in the middle of the living room.

The bodyguard immediately narrowed his eyes at Bucky. He recognised a soldier when he saw one, the hardened demeanour, the sadness in the eyes. Apparently, he was not the only one with a story to tell. Things had always been hectic around Tony Stark, but lately they were reaching new heights. The bodyguard was about to make the situation even worse.

“Boss, we need to talk, and you are not going to like it.”

“Give it to me straight.” Tony replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil brewing within him.

"Pepper is actively lobbying to have you completely removed from the Avengers," Happy delivered the news with brutal honesty, his words hanging heavy in the air. 

“She’s making many promises to many people. Promises about weapons.”

Tony remained silent, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. The news hit him like a physical blow, leaving him reeling with a mix of emotions. It was difficult to process. Happy would never lie to him or speak negatively about Pepper unless he could back it up. It was hard to imagine that his friend, his ex-girlfriend, would do such a thing to him.

Closing the weapon division meant everything to him. It was the symbol of his new life and his willingness to accept responsibility for all that had happened while he wasn't looking at things properly. Pepper was already working for him as his trusted PA. He had believed she understood how important it was to him. 

Happy explained how Pepper had tried to be discreet, probably overlooking his presence as her bodyguard. The nature of his role demanded to blend in as much as possible with the background. Pepper was good at navigating the complexities of corporate politics, learning the art of manipulation and half truth. Happy wasn’t stupid though.

The bodyguard wanted to be fair, torn by conflicting emotions. He had known Pepper for quite some time. He couldn’t help but understand some of her concerns. It was a difficult thing to watch someone you care about repeatedly put their life in danger. Rhodey, at least, had the benefit of military training and a support network to rely on. These days, Tony was mainly doing his superhero work alone. Natasha has already shown that she was willing to step over anyone's body to achieve her goals. There was no guarantee that Rogers and the others would be any better. 

Every word that reached Tony's ears seemed distant, as if muffled by the depths of water. Panic seized him, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. What was wrong with him? Why was he always betrayed by those he called family? 

A hand felt on his knee, radiating with warmth and an odd sense of calm that soothed his nerves a little. At that moment, Tony realised that in the middle of the chaos and uncertainty, there were still true friends he could count on. Without thinking, he reached out, grasping the hand on his knee, squeezing it tightly. Tony didn’t need to check to know it was Bucky and that he was there for him. He should probably be more cautious about him or anybody else right now. 

But he had Rhodey, Happy, and most importantly Bucky. He had to believe in them. Thinking differently would be the end of him. Everything was going to be alright. It had to.

Chapter Text

Humanity, in Steve’s eyes, could be divided in two categories. People who would never understand, no matter what, and should be discarded immediately, and those who could be influenced into thinking and doing anything he wanted, to align to his own agenda. It had nothing to do with wealth, gender, or nationality. Some people just didn’t have the mental fortitude to face anything. President Ellis stood as a living proof of this principle in action. Despite standing at the top of the world,  the man was still malleable, easily swayed by anyone with the skill and trickery to use him for their own ends. 

Even though he despised it, there were moments when he found being a flying monkey oddly enjoyable. It gave him the opportunity to bask in the adoration of those who saw him for the important person he really was. After all, Captain America's heroic deeds against Hydra and the Nazis had influenced history, and the United States owed a great deal of its strength and influence to him. Without his selfless sacrifice, New York would not even be on the map anymore.

Yet, when Natasha had proposed the idea of a PR tour, he had been against it completely. He saw no need to justify his actions to the masses. Those who doubted him should, at the very least, acknowledge that he always acted with the greater good in mind. And if his contributions weren't readily apparent now, he was confident that history would ultimately vindicate him, proving once again that he had been right all along.

"President Ellis will be delighted to have a meeting with you, Mr. Rogers, at the White House," the aide informed him, her voice laced with a polite yet unmistakable sense of deference.

It was always better to speak with the organ grinder than the monkey. Rogers expected the President to return his call. Despite what some people may have assumed, Steve remained aware of the world around him, if reluctantly. Unlike Stark, Steve had little patience for the theatrics. He preferred to let his actions speak for themselves. He simply wasn’t interested in quoting films at every turn, like Stark. That was incredibly annoying and unnecessary.

A lot of what Stark was doing was frustrating. Steve found a lot of things about Stark's attitude to be irritating. Steve was frequently irritated and upset by Stark's pranks because of his reckless disrespect for authority and his disdain for the consequences of his actions.

The president of the USA, just like many others before, was a fan of Captain America. He had a room, in the actual White House, filled with a carefully chosen assortment of artefacts dedicated to the legendary figure. Ellis not only had the cards Agent Coulson wanted signed, but he also possessed a strange collection of letters, uniforms, and artefacts that were allegedly related to the Rogers family. 

One day, when that old man was no longer of use, Steve would take great joy in dispelling the impression that those things meant anything. Because half of those trinkets had no real connection to his past, while the other half were relics from a time long since passed and too far away to matter in the here and now.

Throughout his life, Steve had never been the type to become attached to anything material or even to people themselves. From a tender age, he had to be resilient and able to adapt to adversity. His mother struggled to make ends meet in an unforgiving world. The meagre wages she earned were nowhere enough to provide for their needs, let alone afford the comforts they deserved. The times were hard for everybody but the Rogers family seemed to be worse for the ware. 

Steve despised the indignity of their circumstances, the pitying glances cast their way by neighbours who offered no meaningful help. Steve's physical weakness made him an easy target for mockery and disdain, which made the sting of judgement even more painful. He hated the idea that he was a burden to others around him, that he was something to be tolerated rather than welcomed. In the eyes of many, his departure from this world would have been met with a collective sigh of relief, a solution to a problem that was thought to be too difficult to handle. People had no heart, frankly.

But he was smarter than all of them, and he always managed to get what he wanted. The Barnes family was unable to resist him. Their kindness was simple to use to his advantage, just like he was using Ellis right now. The art of persuasion was second nature to Steve. He was skilled at deceiving others into believing they were in control of their own destiny while steering them towards conclusions that suited his own goal. He also understood the power of empathy and the subtle art of manipulation. 

"You, of all people, understand the weight of responsibility," Steve remarked, his words carefully chosen to appeal to Ellis's sense of duty. "In moments of crisis, someone must be willing to make the tough decisions, to act swiftly and decisively. There's no time to hesitate. I could either stop Rumlow immediately, before he left to an unknown location, or let him go and..." 

The president finished for him, “and who knows what he would have done with that biological weapon. He could have caused hundreds of thousands or millions of deaths…”

Ellis was genuinely getting to where Steve wanted him to be. Soon after, Steve left the White House. The president was making calls, the machinery of government humming with activity. He went back to the compound, happy with a job well done. Natasha was probably still trying to organise her PR tour, the people of the world needing to know they were still fighting for them. It only showed her inexperience, a weird kind of naivete. Reality could be harsh but he knew Natasha would come to accept this lesson in her own time, experience teaching her to harden her heart and to stand firm in the face of uncertainty.

If the people did not realise how much they were doing for them, if they remained oblivious to the sacrifices that came with the work, did they really deserve to be saved? 

Stark was taking advantage of the situation. He did not really surprise Steve. The colours of the armour alone told everyone that he was doing things for show. While Steve may have reservations about Stark's methods, he couldn't deny the efficacy of his approach. After all, in a world where perception often outweighed reality, Stark’s flair for the dramatic had proven to be a powerful instrument in shaping public opinion. Steve could respect that. It was clearly not his way of doing things, but to each their own. 

Their paths were on a collision course, destined to converge in a clash of ideologies that would leave an indelible mark on history. Steve would come out even a greater figure after that. It was inevitable.

"And as you can see," the news anchor's voice echoed through the room, drawing Steve's attention back to the television screen. "Tony Stark remains on the scene in Lagos, accompanied by an unidentified new friend. While the hospital building has been secured, the situation remains difficult, with the Maria Stark Foundation and the local government working hand in hand..."

Natasha sat in Sam Wilson's room on the medical floor, her eyes fixed on the flickering screen of the small television mounted in the corner. The silence of the floor was only broken by the hum of medical equipment, the news and the shuffle of nurses, relaying at the bedside of the Falcon. 

Sam’s condition was worse than what they thought, his body and mind betraying the super hero. While his vital signs had stabilised, he remained unconscious, his form vulnerable under the sterile hospital sheets. Steve had thought the military man to be stronger than that. It was disappointing. Both spies drifted in and out of the room with well-meaning shows of support, as if it was going to change anything. A soldier was only valuable if he or she was both capable and willing. Being a superhero was not for the weak minded.

At least, Clint had the good idea to leave the compound pretty early.

The archer had slipped away without so much as a word of explanation, leaving Steve to wonder just where he was going. It wasn't the first time, and it became increasingly aggravating. Steve couldn’t shake the idea that Natasha knew where the archer was going and why he was leaving in the first place. A team should not keep secrets, particularly from its leader. 

Steve decided it was time for a serious talk. Steve was going to have his response, one way or another. When lives were on the line, as their leader, he refused to accept anything short than full transparency from every member of his team.

“President Ellis is going to deal with the situation in Nigeria for us,” Steve told Natasha, a hint of pride in his voice. "We can finally get back to work."

Natasha's response, however, was less enthusiastic than Steve had hoped. “How much will that cost him?” She asked, not moving other than reaching for Wilson’s hand.

"It's not exactly our problem," Steve replied, his tone firm and unwavering.

Steve was already frustrated by her distant demeanour. She should actually be happy he had solved their current problems. The Black Widow tried to be more important than she was on any given occasion. He had not followed her idea, big deal. Steve had taken the decision that was best for the team. What mattered was that they could carry on, protected by his country the way Captain America should be. Then again, she was Russian and prone to switching sides whenever it was more convenient for her. Steve should never forget that when placing his trust in someone with such a past. 

“I’m pretty sure it will come back to bite us in the ass sooner or later.” She answered in a hushed voice.

Pretending not to hear her, Steve asked about her sources and if she had new leads for a new mission. He would give her that moment of importance she seemed to crave, a small concession to get the Avengers back on track. 

“I'll go and see what I can find.” she said, not making a move.

"Clint needs to return," Steve asserted firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “The Avengers need to be all hands on deck. We never know when we will be needed. We must be able to count on him and be a team again.”

“He’ll come back when he comes back.”

“You know where he is,” Steve replied harshly.

“It would just be easier if we were operating as a team, particularly now. The world is counting on us. Come on, Natasha, I am not being nasty.  I just don’t want another setback.”

“I understand,” Natasha answered tiredly. “We don’t have a mission yet. Give him some time.”

“Okay you know him best. I trust your judgement.”

Steve hated that he had to cater to her bruised ego. Honestly, he wondered why those people were in the hero business if they weren’t able to do the job when it needed to be done. Steve couldn't help but wonder what had become of the heroes who had once fought alongside him during the war. In those dark days, there had been no room for hesitation or indecision. That team would not have survived the war. They were not cut from the same cloth. It was nothing short of a miracle that Natasha, in particular, had survived the Battle of New York. 

One day, he was going to teach her a lesson, reminding her of her true place. It would most likely be the final lesson she ever received. Steve started to have enough to always be surrounded by mediocrity. His present team was a far cry from the elite fighting force he had envisioned. It certainly made his life more difficult than it needed to be.

Steve reached out, placing a hand on Natasha's shoulder in a gesture of solidarity that felt hollow and contrived. He vaguely wondered if life would always be that frustrating. Perhaps, it would always be a struggle. Nobody else was perfect like he was. One of the kind.

Natasha finally turned her head to meet his gaze with a small smile. Apparently, it didn't take much to reassure her. Wilson waking up soon would certainly make things easier. That or die already. That in-between state was just holding the team back, and when Captain America was unable to function at full capacity, the entire world was in jeopardy. The more he thought about it, the more that solution seemed appealing.

Wilson served in the military. He knew that sometimes sacrifices should be made for the greater good. It was a difficult choice to make but a necessary one. With Wilson's sacrifice, they would be one step closer to achieving their goals. Wilson would understand, Steve was sure of that. 

Chapter Text

Tony struggled against the familiar pull of his old coping mechanisms, the urge to retreat into his workshop and lose himself in building yet another amour to take his mind off things. It was his safe haven, his sanctuary where he could shut out the world and lose himself in the creative process. But Pepper's voice echoed in his mind, a reminder that his way of dealing with things was not healthy or even normal. He couldn't keep running away from his problems, burying himself in his work like a child hiding from the world.

He had to deal with his problems like anyone else. 

Despite his best efforts to keep still, Tony found himself growing increasingly jittery, losing focus to whatever TV show he was meant to watch with Bucky. It was times like these when he felt most vulnerable, most alone. Tony Stark was only good at inventing things. He was a genius, a visionary, but when it came to choosing friends and forging meaningful connections, he obviously wasn’t good at it. Despite everything, he craved connection, acceptance, and love.

"You know," Bucky replied, eyeing Tony."You never showed me what you were doing in the workshop. I mean, I always went there for something you built for me. BARF, the arm. What do you make for yourself? I bet you have a thousand armours down there, and you're always improving them." 

“You're right,” Tony admitted. "Pepper told me I should stop doing that." 

"Well, she doesn't know what it's like being out there, to fight thanks to a mechanical device and to be in constant pain because of it."

Tony's head snapped up at Bucky's simple words, his expression one of shock and disbelief. Since his harrowing ordeal in Afghanistan, Tony had been disguising how he truly felt both physically and mentally behind a mask of wit and sarcasm. Nobody was aware of the full amount of the psychological and physical damage he had suffered while in captivity, including the unbearable pain of an emergency open heart surgery performed without anaesthesia, the constant torture that followed, and the heavy burden of guilt and responsibility that consumed his soul.

On good days, the pain was just a lull in the background, easy to overlook, but good days were few and far between. Most of the days, the pain was a constant companion, a relentless force that felt as though it would consume him from the inside out. Every breath was a struggle, each inhalation sending waves of searing pain coursing through his chest, feeling like a knife piercing through his lungs with each movement. The weight of the arc reactor had become a burden too heavy to bear. 

And when he finally had it removed, he had hoped for relief, freedom from the physical agony that had plagued him for so long. But it didn’t go away. There was a phantom pain now, which could only be caused by a piece of metal embedded there, even though it was no longer present. 

“We can work on some painkillers for you. Because of the serum they will need to be extra powerful…”

"I wasn't talking about me." Bucky stopped Tony's rambling before it even began. "I'm talking about your pain." 

“How do you know?”

“I can see the signs when you think no one is looking at you. Your hands frequently move to your chest. Perhaps you don’t realise that you do this, especially when the pain is too high. How about you make those painkillers for yourself?" 

“No. No drugs for me.”

Tony told Bucky about his less than spectacular history and how easy it was to get lost in the world that drugs brought with them.

Back then, he wished to dull another type of pain, but also stop his always thinking brain. Tony was prone to addictions of many types. Drugs, booze, and even coffee. Building armour was merely another one. He had previously overcome his drug addiction and was now frightened of relapsing. Cutting alcohol out of his life made things more difficult already.

Pepper's concern for Tony's well-being was evident in her unwavering determination to keep him away from alcohol. Of course, she wasn’t wrong. It was not good for his already fragile condition, especially after Afghanistan. It also meant Tony had nothing left to try to dull the pain. Without booze to soothe the pain, Tony was left to deal with the full scope of his misery, the never-ending agony that tore at his body and soul during every waking hour. There were moments when the pain was so bad that he wished he had died from his wounds in that lonely cave so many years ago, only to ease his suffering.

"Sometimes, so many times, I called for death," Bucky confessed, his voice heavy. "Each time they would use the chair mainly. Perhaps there is a reason why we are still here."

“A reason named Steve Rogers.”

"He is maybe part of that, but perhaps there is something bigger," Bucky mused.

“Like fate or the gods? Because I've met a couple that don't think highly of us, mere humans. I doubt they would bat an eye if we lived or died."

"Perhaps you haven't met the right gods. I’ve seen the way Thor acted after all.”

Tony couldn't help but smile at Bucky's retort. He always enjoyed the banter. Bucky, usually reserved and stoic, revealed a hidden depth to his personality that Tony found both surprising and endearing. It almost felt like a privilege to be there when it happened. They shared more similarities than Tony had ever imagined.

Even when he was young, Tony found himself drawn more to Bucky than to Rogers when reading the comics. Perhaps it was a subconscious rebellion against Howard's fervent admiration for Captain America. Still, Barnes was always the practical one, and while Tony could appreciate Rogers throwing himself into battle, even the appearance of a strategy made a big difference. It wasn't lost on him the irony that during the war, the Howling Commandos often relied on Bucky for precisely those kinds of strategic insights.

Tony took Bucky to the workshop simply for fun. It had been a while since he indulged in the simple pleasure of creating and tinkering with science. Even before Banner decided to leave the tower, most likely because he believed the Avengers couldn't protect him, they weren’t doing science for the fun of it. There were always weapons to upgrade, medicines to develop. All for the Avengers. 

Tony explained to Bucky his most recent armour upgrade, using simple words to describe the concept behind everything. To his surprise, Bucky seemed interested in what he had to say, or at least he did a good job of feigning it. Quite frankly, Tony didn't care one way or the other. He only needed the illusion of it for a while, a form of make-believe. 

It was sad, he knew that, and Tony had no reason to doubt Bucky's sincerity. The mere thought of it terrified him. What if Bucky turned out to be just another in the long line of names Tony had placed his trust in, only to be betrayed? Pepper was just the last one to go. Perhaps it was meant to happen. Perhaps he was the problem all along.

"I don’t know what's going through your mind right now, but you need to stop it," Bucky's voice cut through Tony's troubled thoughts.

“I’m sorry.”

"You've done nothing wrong," Bucky reassured him.

"I must have," Tony muttered, more to himself than to Bucky.

Tony turned abruptly, feigning interest in a nearby trinket, unable to meet Bucky's gaze. Shame washed over him, but he wasn’t sure if it was due to the situation with Pepper or the recents thoughts he had about Bucky and his possible betrayal. One moment, he trusted Bucky with his life, and the next he doubted each of his words. It was confusing.

"Hey," Bucky's voice cut through the chaos. "If it helps, my so-called best friend tried to kill me by pushing me off a train. At least Pepper was trying to protect you."

“So, you think I should forgive her?” Tony inquired, seeking advice and assistance in deciding what to do. "No."

That was blunt, and if Tony had to admit it to himself, not the direction he had planned taking. He was a forgiving man by nature, and he had so few people around him in the first place. Yinsen's words echoed in his mind. Tony was meant to have everything, yet in the end, he had nothing.

“I've spent seventy years with people making decisions for me,” Bucky's voice was subdued. "I understand that the situation is not the same, but I wouldn't want people making choices for me, especially not behind my back.”

There was a sort of determination in Bucky’s tone, each word resonating with a depth of conviction that hadn't been there before. It was beautiful to witness once again. Bucky's eyes closed briefly, his breaths coming harder. Tony almost wanted to break the sudden silence. It was something he frequently did when he was uncomfortable. It was rare for him to be able to be silent, to not feel the need to impress or convince the person in front of him.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore, but as weird as it sounds, I would rather be on my own than with people who don't trust me to make my own decisions or judgments. We all seek counsel from friends from time to time, but the final decision is up to us. You taught me that."

“I did?” Tony asked, completely taken aback at the level of trust Bucky could muster.

He should have been the one with the most doubts, but here he was confident in himself and sporting a big, blinding and so beautiful for the first time. 

Tony felt his heart skip a beat.

It might not be recommended for someone who has a pre-existing heart issue. Tony realised then two important things, and somehow he didn’t know what was the worse one. First, whatever he ever had with Pepper was utterly broken. They had tried for a relationship and it had not worked out. Tony used to think that love wasn’t the problem between them, but they were simply better at being friends. That also was not true. There was no trust left on any side, which wrecked everything. Even their business partnership was at risk now.

Because if she was capable of manufacturing weapons again just to get what she wanted, then their ideals were certainly not aligned anymore. Pepper wasn’t the woman he thought she was. 

Somewhere along the line, he had allowed himself to project his own desires onto her, creating an idealised partner who shared his dreams and goals, something that was never there. She had probably done the same. It would simply be preferable for everyone concerned to put an end to everything now before things deteriorated even more.

This also meant hiring a new CEO, which was not something he was looking forward to. SI stocks were going to fall again, and the board would be furious, as if Tony hadn't previously helped them make millions of dollars. Hopefully, there were already future CEOs within the corporation who possessed the necessary skills to lead the company, perhaps even better than Pepper. That would certainly make Tony's life easier.

Because the second thing he had just realised was certainly going to make everything harder for everybody. He couldn’t deny the truth any longer. He was falling for James Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, the man who had killed Maria Stark against his will, Rogers’ not-so-best friend. That made the whole story with Pepper easier to take, but it was definitely not the right time or person to fall for. Tony was not the man Bucky needed anyway.

Did Barnes even like men that way in the first place?

Bucky had been through unimaginable trauma already. He needed a friend, not the added complication of romantic entanglement.

So, for now, Tony would keep his feelings hidden. He would be the friend Bucky needed, offering support and understanding without expectation or demand. For the good of them both.    

Chapter Text

“What are you looking at, Buckaroo?” Tony asked, noticing Bucky engrossed in something on his laptop.

“Have you seen the videos of the Spider hero who's helping out here in New York?” Bucky replied, eyes still glued to the screen, clearly impressed.

Tony leaned in closer, intrigued. “Show me.”

Bucky pulled up a compilation of videos on YouTube showing a figure swinging gracefully from building to building, performing incredible acrobatics while assisting people in need. The agility and speed were astounding, and Tony found himself fascinated by the hero’s capabilities.

“Look at that,” Tony remarked, watching as the figure swung through the city, effortlessly dodging obstacles and apprehending criminals. “The acrobatics are impressive. I’m curious about the material those webs are made of. They’re strong enough to hold his weight and catch bad guys twice his size, but flexible enough to swing from.”

“He’s young,” Bucky mused aloud, a note of concern in his voice. “A teenager, maybe.”

“And he’s doing all that in his jammies,” Tony added, shaking his head in disbelief. “He is not protected at all.”

Bucky nodded. “No armour, no support. Just him and his webs.”

Tony and Bucky exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. They didn’t need words to know that they had to find this kid, whoever he or she was, and offer their help.

"Jarvis, gather everything you can on this new superhero," Tony commanded.

"Of course, sir," Jarvis responded smoothly, his digital presence already sifting through vast amounts of data to find the young vigilante. Tony knew that it would be better for everyone if they found the kid before Rogers and his team did. That would not be a good idea for Rogers to be able to influence the young hero.

The kid had made efforts to keep their identity hidden, but Tony had confidence in Jarvis. Nothing and no one could resist the AI’s thorough search capabilities for long. As they waited, Tony and Bucky continued to watch the videos. The kid was good, really good. But the lack of proper gear and protection was concerning. The streets of New York were dangerous enough without adding supervillains and high-stakes crime to the mix.

Within minutes, Jarvis had compiled a dossier. "Sir, I have identified the individual. His name is Peter Parker, a high school student from Queens."

Peter Parker, at just fourteen years old, had already faced more hardships than many experienced in a lifetime. Orphaned by a tragic plane crash that claimed the lives of his parents, Peter found comfort and support in the loving arms of his Aunt May and Uncle Ben. They did everything they could to be there for him, but the pain of losing his parents would never totally disappear.

Without a question, the boy was intelligent. He was not just a bright student, he was a prodigy. Local newspapers and school newsletters frequently highlighted his achievements, celebrating his academic prowess and his innovative projects. Peter's intellect was matched only by his curiosity and passion for science. His exceptional abilities earned him a place at Midtown School of Science and Technology, an elite institution known for cultivating the brightest minds in New York City. It was a privilege to study there, and it would undoubtedly help me get into a top institution later on. His favourite subjects hinted at a future in biophysics, possibly leading to MIT.

And then, something terrible happened. Ben Parker, Peter's beloved uncle and a guiding figure in his life, was tragically shot to death outside a local shop. Not long after this devastating incident, Spiderman was born. It didn't take long for Bucky and Tony to suspect a connection between the two events. The timing was too coincidental to ignore. There was more to the story that met the eye no doubt. 

Jarvis could have dug deeper, uncovering the missing pieces of Peter's story, how he got his powers, for instance. But some tales were best told by the person who lived them, and that would only happen if Peter decided he could trust Tony and Bucky.

Spider-Man was swinging through the familiar streets of Queens, his senses finely tuned to the city's rhythm. He moved with a fluid grace, revelling in the freedom and thrill that came with each leap and web-sling. Today felt different, lighter. The weather was perfect, with a clear blue sky and a gentle breeze that carried the sounds of the city to his ears.

He landed on the rooftop of a tall building he had grown fond of, a personal perch where he often paused to take in the view, staring down at the people passing by. The city was alive with energy, and for once, peaceful. Peter loved days like this, when he could simply enjoy being Spider-Man without the pressing need to prevent a robbery or stop a mugging. He knew better than to believe that crime would ever completely disappear. Somewhere in the vast expanse of the city, someone was likely up to no good. But today, at least for now, it felt like he could take a breath.

He wasn't naive. He understood that his fight against crime was a never-ending battle. There would always be challenges, dangers lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike. He could do his best toward that goal anyway.

Everyone in the world knew that sound by now, the unmistakable whir and hum of Iron Man's armour. It was as familiar as the flash of red and gold that accompanied it. Everyone loved Iron Man. Yet, Peter Parker wasn't expecting the armoured Avenger to land on the same rooftop he was perched on.

“Jarvis, please ensure the area is protected from view,” Peter heard Tony Stark command, his enhanced hearing picking up the conversation from within the suit.

"Done, Sir." Another voice spoke from inside the metal amour.

“It’s about time we met,” Tony Stark's voice said, slightly distorted by the layers of technology.

“Umm… Hi!” Peter managed to respond, feeling a bit awkward and tongue-tied in the presence of his hero.

“Quick question of the rhetorical variety: That’s you, right?” Tony asked, the suit projecting a holographic display of articles and footage showcasing Peter Parker’s achievements.

"Um, no. What do you mean...?" Peter began, feeling flustered.

Tony cut him off, "Yeah, look at you. A genius already."

"That's not me. I mean, I'm not him," Peter stammered, trying to clarify.

The armour opened with a smooth, mechanical hiss, allowing Tony Stark to step out. Peter was momentarily awestruck. He wasn't sure which version of Tony was more impressive, the man or the super hero. The scientist had always been Peter’s hero, even more so than the armoured Avenger. Iron Man was undeniably cool, but the real marvel was the man inside the suit.

Tony Stark was a living legend. His arc reactor technology alone was revolutionary, a beacon of hope and innovation. To Peter, Iron Man was incredible, but Tony was irreplaceable. Not just anyone could do what Tony did, both inside and outside the armour. The sheer intellect and ingenuity required to create and operate the Iron Man suit were beyond extraordinary. Peter dreamed of achieving even a fraction of what Tony had done. If he could manage to do that, he would be immensely proud of himself.

"You are scaring him, I think," said another voice, approaching from the shadows.

Tony turned, feigning mock offence. "What do you mean, Bucky? I'm the nicest person on Earth!"

The man approached, cool as a cucumber, with a slight smile on his lips. His presence was undeniably impressive. Clad in black leather, he gave off an air of quiet strength. Peter's eyes were drawn to one part of his jacket that seemed different, and upon closer inspection, he realised it was the man's arm, made entirely of metal. And wasn't that all that fascinating?

"Hi! My name is Bucky," he said, waving with his non-metal hand. "We've seen your videos on YouTube, and we want to help."

Tony rolled his eyes playfully. "A lot less funny way to introduce yourself, but do go on."

“Help?” Peter asked, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity, hope and distrust.

“Yes!” Bucky replied, a small smile on his face as he glanced between Peter and Tony. “The man in the can here thought you could use a better suit, and I figure I can teach you a move or two.”

Tony nodded, his eyes appraising Peter's outfit. “That’s quite the pyjama set you’ve got there,” he said with a teasing smirk.

Peter glanced down at his homemade suit, a mix of pride and self-consciousness washing over him. “I made it myself.”

Tony's expression softened slightly, recognizing the effort. “It's nice pyjamas, then, but not really protective,” he said. “You need something that can handle the kind of action you’re getting into, something durable, flexible, and, well, cooler.”

Peter eyed the two men with suspicion. First, he didn’t know that Bucky. The only person he vaguely knew by that name was Bucky Barnes, and he was supposed to have been dead for seventy years. His spider senses weren’t activated. And why would the great Tony Stark be interested in helping him? Peter was just a nobody, doing his best to help his neighbourhood. It didn’t make sense. Peter didn’t want to be impolite, but his mind raced with questions. Did this mean he’d have to go to Stark Tower? Was this some kind of test or a joke?

Sensing Peter's hesitation, Tony stepped forward, his tone gentle. “Listen, kid, you don’t have to decide right now. Whenever you’re ready, just swing by the tower. I’ve already given your name at the front desk, so you won’t have any issues. Or, if you prefer, just land on the pad. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

“Don’t tell him I told you…” Bucky stage-whispered, not discreetly at all, “but Tony already has four suit blueprints ready to be built whenever you ask for it.”

“Bucky! Way to ruin the surprise!” Tony exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation.

Bucky pressed a button on the side of his face, and his features changed instantaneously to something completely different. Peter's eyes widened in surprise and curiosity. He gave Peter a nod and then, to Peter's astonishment, leaped from the roof onto another one nearby. The jump covered an impressive distance, and the other roof was at least three stories below. If the metal arm hadn’t already been a giveaway, this display of agility and strength confirmed that Bucky was indeed enhanced.

“I know you understand the importance of keeping your identity hidden,” Tony said. “Me? Everyone knows who I am, but Bucky showed you his real face. We found out who you really were, and he wanted to be straightforward with you. I give you my word that we just want to help you. Think about it.”

With that, Tony climbed back into his armour. In a flash of red and gold, he was gone, leaving Peter standing there, awestruck. He almost wanted to pinch himself. His life had been crazy ever since that spider had bitten him, but Tony Stark inviting him to the tower was the cherry on top of a massive sundae.

As surreal as it felt, Peter knew he was going to take Tony up on his offer. The chance to work with Tony Stark, to learn from him, and perhaps even become an Avenger was too incredible to pass up.

On his way back, Tony tried to spot Bucky but found it impossible. The man was skilled at hiding in the shadows. With his holographic veil, Bucky could easily blend into the crowd, but his cautious nature kept him out of sight. Tony knew they would reunite soon in the penthouse, but he couldn't help but worry. Tony would never dictate Bucky's actions. The decision to reveal his true face to Peter had been entirely Bucky's. It was a significant step for him, one that Tony respected immensely.

The tower wasn’t meant to be a prison. The whole goal of the BARF therapy, new arm, and everything else was to allow Bucky to go back to the big, wild world. Of course, they had not exactly dealt with Rogers just yet, but they were hoping that the Avengers were already in enough trouble that they would lay low for a bit.

Jarvis had compiled a list of names, people who were doing well at their jobs and deserved a promotion. Pepper was still the CEO, but Tony was already thinking ahead. He wanted to find her successor before having the difficult conversation with her. Anything to make the situation easy for him perhaps. He had a feeling Pepper wouldn't step down without a fight.

Once upon a time, Tony had admired her combative spirit, the way she once pepper sprayed a bodyguard to tell the big boss he was making a mistake. But now, it was a different story. 

Tony should probably enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasted. In his experience, those moments were few and far between. He thought about getting Happy and Rhodey together for a good meal and a movie. Maybe Peter would come around that day and finally meet the whole gang.

That would definitely be nice.

Chapter Text

Peter Parker had passed by Stark Tower countless times, each visit mixed with awe and anticipation. Though he would never admit it aloud, he often hoped to see his hero from a distance. To Peter, Stark was more than just a brilliant scientist and inventor, he was a symbol of what could be achieved through intellect and innovation. The Iron Man suit was really spectacular of course, but Stark was the one who really mattered. Nobody could deny Tony Stark’s scientific accomplishments.

Peter's memories of the Stark Expo were as clear as if it had happened the day before. It was a memorable night, a rare occasion when his bedtime was extended quite a bit. His parents were still alive then, and the outing had been a special treat, a reward for Peter being a good boy and doing extremely well in school. He remembered the excitement of seeing the latest technological wonders, the electrifying atmosphere, and the sheer spectacle of it all.

“Nice job, kid!” Stark had said, his voice cutting through the cacophony of the robots that were attacking during the Expo.

Peter doubted that Mr. Stark remembered the small boy wearing an Iron Man toy mask and gauntlet, who had stood bravely in the path of danger, believing he could take down one of those menacing robots. It had been a fleeting moment in the chaos of the Stark Expo, but for Peter, it was a defining experience. Peter could still remember that moment vividly. He had felt a surge of adrenaline and courage as he faced the enemy, his childlike determination convincing him that he could be a hero just like Iron Man. His heart had pounded with excitement and fear, but he had stood his ground, ready to defend the people around him.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Iron Man had landed behind him with that particular sound that came with the repulsors. The real hero had quickly and efficiently dispatched the robot, neutralising the threat in a matter of seconds. Yet, instead of taking all the credit, Tony Stark had looked at the small boy with the makeshift armour and had given him a word of approval.

It might have been a small gesture to Tony, a brief exchange in the middle of countless heroic acts. But to Peter, it was monumental. It was the moment when he felt seen and acknowledged by his idol, the moment when his dreams of becoming like him seemed within reach.

The lobby of Stark Tower was an expansive, meticulously designed space where everything and everyone seemed to belong seamlessly. The polished floors gleamed under the soft, ambient lighting, and the modern, sleek furniture exuded an air of both efficiency and unexpected warmth. Businessmen and women moved with purpose, their faces reflecting a mixture of determination and focus as they walked in and out, engrossed in their tasks.

Peter stood near the entrance, a wave of apprehension washed over him. He felt very much out of place and lost. Peter was now sceptical of Mr. Stark's claim that he had left his name at the front desk. 

Everywhere he looked, people seemed to be on a mission, their destinations clear and their roles defined. In stark contrast, Peter felt lost, his usual confidence as Spider-Man replaced by the insecurities of Peter Parker. He wondered if he had made a mistake coming as his civilian self. After all, it wasn’t good old, insignificant Peter Parker that had captured Tony Stark’s attention. It was Spiderman’s extraordinary abilities and heroism.

He stood in the lobby, his nerves evident in the way he shifted from one foot to the other. Every second that ticked by increased his urge to flee, to retreat to the safety of his familiar life and forget this opportunity had ever presented itself. Self-doubt whispered that such good things weren’t meant for him. Just as he was about to give in to his impulse and turn towards the front door, a voice cut through his thoughts, stopping him in his tracks.

"Mr. Parker, I presume?"

Peter spun around to see a tall man in a dark suit standing before him. The man’s expression was serious, almost stern, and he didn’t offer a welcoming smile. Yet, there was an aura of strength and competence radiating from him that made Peter feel oddly safe. The teenager did not need protection really since his powers made him certainly stronger than anybody around those parts. Still, it was a pleasant feeling. Peter guessed that the man was part of Stark Tower’s security team. He seemed slightly familiar.

"Humm… yes?" Peter replied hesitantly.

The man raised an eyebrow, a hint of humour sparkling in his otherwise steely gaze. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Peter said, more firmly this time, feeling a bit more confident.

The man’s lips twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile. "Come on, kid. Mr. Stark is waiting for you."

Peter followed the man to an elevator tucked away to the side. There were no visible buttons or controls, and the doors slid open automatically as they approached. The interior was sleek and modern, a testament to Stark Industries' advanced technology. The elevator ride was swift and smooth. The man was definitely used to it all, but Peter felt a surge of giddiness that he struggled to suppress. He was about to enter the heart of innovation, the epicentre of creativity and cutting-edge science that he has always dreamed of experiencing. Miracles were certainly happening there all the time.

"Mr. Hogan," a voice announced as they reached their destination, "Sir is in the workshop with Mr. Barnes."

Peter looked around frantically, trying to locate the source of the voice. Rumours had circulated about Tony Stark developing advanced AIs since the creation of Dum-E, but nothing this sophisticated. And no one had concrete proof. This was incredible.

"Thank you, Jarvis. Have you met Mr. Parker before?" asked the man in the suit. Peter suddenly realised this was Happy Hogan, Tony Stark’s famous bodyguard, and felt a wave of embarrassment for not recognizing him immediately.

"I have," Jarvis replied, "but the same cannot be said for him. I am Jarvis, Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, Mr. Stark’s personal AI. I’m here to assist in any capacity you may need."

"Hello, Mr. Jarvis. It's nice to meet you," Peter said, his excitement getting the best of him. "I have a thousand questions about your code, when you were created, how you work. Are there others like you?" His words came out in a rapid-fire stream before he blushed furiously and apologised. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jarvis. I'm being impolite."

“I am sure that Mr Stark will be glad to answer your questions Mr Parker.” Jarvis said with humour in his voice which surprised Peter even more. “If you’d like to make your way to the workshop.”

As the elevator doors slid open, Peter's eyes widened in awe. 

The workshop was a thing of beauty, looking both like home and like a place from an unknown future. This was Tony Stark's sanctuary of innovation, and Peter felt an overwhelming sense of privilege just to be there. No matter what happened next, the memory of this moment would stay with him forever. That was already a miracle.

"Peter! Come on, kid!" Tony called from within the workshop. "Happy! Come and taste Bucky’s cookies. I’m definitely saving one for Rhodey. With a bit of luck, I’ll start a cooking war between those two and reap all the benefits."

"Whatever gets you to eat regularly, Boss," Happy replied with a resigned smile.

Peter moved forward within the workshop, looking around him in wonder. The room was bathed in a blue glow from the multitude of holograms displaying various blueprints and data. As he walked, he passed by parts obviously belonging to the Iron Man armour. There were other inventions in different stages of development, from the latest Stark Phone to an advanced prosthetic arm. Peter knew he should follow Happy, who wasn’t far ahead, but he couldn’t resist taking in everything around him.

Suddenly, something hit his left foot, followed by a series of beeps and boops. Peter looked down to see a mechanical claw mounted on a metal arm, seemingly asking him a question. Intrigued, he bent down to get a closer look.

"This is Peter, Dum-E. With a bit of luck, he’ll be around a lot more soon, so you’ll have someone new to play with," Tony said, suddenly appearing beside them.

Peter hadn’t been paying attention, lost in all the marvels around him. His spider senses hadn’t even tingled, though he didn't believe Tony Stark would ever harm him. That sense of peace was rare since the spider bite had changed his life.

"I’ve read everything about Dum-E! How you created him in the basement of MIT and won an award for it. You were only sixteen years old. I wish I could build a robot too," Peter said, his enthusiasm bubbling over.

"Let’s make one then," Tony replied casually.

"What?" Peter blinked in astonishment.

"Yeah, why not? You’ve got the brains and the drive. Let’s build a robot together," Tony said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Consider it your first Stark Industries project. And we've been thinking. Whether you accept our help with your... extracurricular activities or not, you can still come around for science!"

Tony led Peter over to Bucky and Happy, who were engaged in a surprisingly detailed discussion about the ingredients for the cookies. Bucky handed Peter one, and he took a bite, finding it delicious, much better than anything Aunt May could make.

Tony then began showing Peter the designs he had envisioned for his suit, and Peter was awestruck by the innovation and detail.

"I've kept the colour theme," Tony explained. "Although it's not exactly stealthy."

"Because red and gold blend right into the background," Bucky interjected, not without humour.

"But my suit is so pretty. Not everyone can pull off the broody guy in black leather," Tony pouted.

"It's an art, I'll give you that," Bucky replied with a smirk.

Peter watched the two adults bicker like children, hardly believing his eyes. This Tony Stark was so different from the one he had seen on television. Suddenly, the genius seemed more approachable, more human, like someone Peter could relate to. It made the idea of working with him feel a lot less intimidating.

"Are they always like this?" Peter asked Happy, smiling.

"Wait until Rhodey comes around. That's when the real fun starts," Happy answered completely seriously.

Peter turned his attention to the holograms of the suits Tony Stark had designed for him. Tony had anticipated so many scenarios and challenges, ones Peter had not even considered might be problems he would have to face somewhere down the line. Tony's experience as Iron Man was evident in every detail, years being a superhero that Peter had to go through. Those little improvements screamed that Tony had faced many unforeseen situations and found solutions for them.

Perhaps Peter wasn’t as prepared for the superhero business as he had thought. Most days he was totally winging it, if he was honest with himself. It wasn’t a path he had chosen. Powers came with a hefty dose of responsibility, and Peter wanted to do things right.

"Okay, you can help," Peter said, not bothering to check if the others were listening.

"Good!" Tony replied. "First thing to do, though, you're not gonna like it."

Peter's head snapped toward Tony, who was smiling at him with an almost apologetic expression. Happy remained stoic as ever, while Bucky had a paternal look about him, a silent assurance that whatever was being asked of him was for Peter's own good. Peter knew that everything came with a price. He should have seen this coming.

"You have to tell your aunt about Spider-Man," Tony said, his tone serious.

A look of horror spread across Peter's features. It was all too good to be true.

Chapter Text

Thanks to his new position within the U.S. government and his newfound influence on the United Nations, General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross was revelling in what could only be described as the time of his life. The sheer volume of information from the SHIELD data dump had presented a treasure trove of opportunities. He had assembled a specialised team dedicated solely to decrypting those files as soon as possible. Though they hadn’t managed to transfer everything onto a secure server before Tony Stark shut down access, what they had retrieved was more than enough to open a lot of possibilities.

The process was taking longer than Ross would have liked, but the general was nothing if not patient. 

Some of the information stretched back to the Second World War. One report, in particular, caught General Ross's attention, a detailed dossier on Dr. Abraham Erskine's super-soldier serum. That would have been really helpful a couple of years ago, before Banner ruined the experimentation on recreating it. The report also included notes on Rogers’ activities during the war, his missions, numerous attempts at psychological evaluations, and even some things he was meant to have said to his teammates. Ross's team uncovered documents related to Operation Paperclip, the covert program that brought former Hydra and Nazi scientists to the United States. 

Ross wasn’t surprised by these revelations. The military had always been meticulous in its record-keeping, ensuring that every detail, no matter how small, was documented and archived. 

Ross was now aware, thanks to Rogers and his idiotic plans in Washington, that Sergeant Barnes was not as dead as originally believed. Better yet, Hydra had brainwashed and manipulated the man. After being discovered at the bottom of the mountain, they had seized the opportunity to exploit him. Hydra would never let a good opportunity slip through their fingers. They had shaped Barnes into the perfect killing machine, an instrument who had carried out countless covert operations over the years, leaving a trail of deaths in his wake.

In the middle of that deluge of data, there were hints, small statements concerning trigger words that would ensure complete control over the deadly assassin. Regretfully, none of the files they had contained the words themselves. 

There were very few and cleverly hidden bread crumbs along the trail leading to those words. Ross, with his determination and vast resources, had the capability to track down nearly anyone on the planet. He was an unexpected player in this high-stakes game, someone Hydra hadn't anticipated. When Ross finally positioned his own knight on the chessboard, the game would certainly become more entertaining.

While awaiting results on the investigation into the elusive trigger words, Ross was forced to play diplomat.

King T’Chaka of Wakanda, a small nation in Africa, was presenting a new set of regulations for enhanced individuals before the United Nations. These regulations, known as the Lagos Accords, had been prompted by the tragic incident in which several Wakandan citizens were killed during a catastrophic explosion caused by Captain America. Ross recognized that his objectives and T’Chaka’s goals were aligned. 

These regulations could provide a legal framework for monitoring and controlling enhanced people. The prospect of using those Accords as a tactical weapon was more than engaging, which made all the diplomatic work more palpable.

Wakanda was a small and reclusive nation in Africa that had spent the majority of its history in deliberate isolation. The country was notoriously secretive, with almost no one allowed entry and only a few, primarily members of the royal family, permitted to leave. As a consequence, Wakanda had remained largely insignificant on the global stage, maintaining a low profile and avoiding international affairs.

It was quite surprising that King T’Chaka had decided to be involved in the enhanced people problem. The loss of a handful of citizens seemed far from enough to explain such a dramatic change in Wakanda’s long standing policy of isolation. Sensing that there was more beneath the surface, Ross had already issued orders, both officially or otherwise, to monitor the country and its King. 

After the debacle of the Avengers' last mission, implementing stricter rules and regulations for enhanced individuals would not be too difficult to implement. 

General Ross envisioned a future where mandatory registration for all superpowered beings would be the rule. He wanted to know every single detail on every enhanced person, to understand their abilities, vulnerabilities, and find a means to control or eliminate them if necessary. Even though the opportune moment had not yet come, Ross was smart and patient. Time was on his side.

"That was quite a powerful speech, Your Highness," Ross told T'Chaka after the king addressed the UN assembly, his tone almost complimentary. It seems you have a profound understanding of the situation around the enhanced and the dangers they present, perhaps even beyond the events in Lagos.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of grief, General. The people who died in Lagos had families and friends who are still mourning their loss. The enhanced, as you call them, can indeed be dangerous. I won’t deny that. But they can also be a formidable force when used correctly.” The king simply answered.

Ross responded, “You have the vote of the United States, no doubt about that.”

T’Chaka raised an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed. “Is that so? It seemed to me that your president was more than eager to defend your Captain America and used his power to swiftly absolve him and his Avengers of any blame.”

“The measures were primarily to prevent things from escalating into yet another conflict. War is the last thing my country wants,” Ross responded, trying to sound truthful. “The Avengers are back in America now, and hopefully, they no longer pose any immediate danger. I am a military man first and foremost. I understand the necessity of laws and regulations.”

T'Chaka's gaze remained steady as he replied, "Isn't Steve Rogers a Captain in your military? Shouldn't he have known the importance of rules and regulations as well?"

Ross didn’t like T’Chaka one bit. He had always harboured a deep-seated disdain for royalty. To him, those people were handed their positions of power without the need to earn them, unlike those who had to claw their way up through hard work and determination. T’Chaka was a prime example of what was wrong with those royals, that air of superiority, and that entitlement that came from a life of inherited privilege.

It wasn’t the first time he had to work with incredibly obnoxious people, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. His career in the military and government had often asked him to collaborate with egotistical politicians, obstinate bureaucrats, and other irritating figures. For the time being, T’Chaka was useful, and Ross was willing to play the part of the cooperative diplomat.

In the back of his mind, Ross had a bigger plan that should soon come to fruition, eliminating not only the annoyance posed by T’chaka but also the little influence Wakanda had gathered. The small African nation had the potential to become a thorn in his side. Because T’Chaka was the one presenting the Lagos Accords, he thought he was the one to decide everything about them. The king was new on the world stage. Wakanda’s influence would not last.

“Even the most beautiful orchard might have a few rotten apples. It doesn’t mean you’re going to burn the place down because of it,” Ross replied, trying to maintain an air of calmness despite the irritation simmering beneath his surface.

T’Chaka responded only with a serene smile, one that seemed to radiate the wisdom of an elder who held all the answers to the world's complexities. They were playing a game of chess and they both knew it, each move calculated, each word a potential manoeuvre. 

T’chaka felt certain of his superiority. This unshakable assurance suggested that the king believed little Wakanda could stand toe-to-toe with the might of the United States, that he had the best strategy ahead thanks to his country’s possibilities, some hidden strength or resource that gave him such bold assurance. Ross would have not become a general without thinking ahead. He was a man of action and strategy, and he had no intention of allowing Wakanda to come between him and his plans. 

Whatever it was that T’Chaka thought had over him, Ross was determined to uncover it. He would bide his time, gathering intelligence and building alliances. Ross looked forward to the day when he could dispense with pretences and strike T’Chaka and his country to death. Wakanda was going to have a harsh awakening.

One nation after another, the world rallied in support of the Lagos Accords. People were always terrified of what they did not know, what they couldn’t control, and the presence of superpowered beings only amplified these anxieties. The Avengers, despite assuring that their intentions were noble, had demonstrated their potential for destruction. What was the point of being rescued if, in the process, their lives were left in shambles? Innocent people had died only because others were saved. It wasn’t fair on anyone. For many, the Avengers’ interventions felt like a relentless hurricane, tearing through their lives and leaving devastation in its wake.

The Accord offered the people a semblance of agency in a world increasingly out of control. They were shouting their pain and struggle against destiny. For once, their government was listening to their call. They welcomed it. 

The paperwork moved swiftly, an unusual occurrence in the administrative behemoth that was the UN. It was rare to have so many countries agree on anything these days. As the requirements for the enhanced were becoming more and more demanding, General was very aware that Steve Rogers would never accept them. He was not one to obey the rules, especially when his pal Barnes was involved.

"General!" A sharp voice interrupted Ross's thoughts. One of his men approached briskly, snapping a crisp salute. "We found the man, Vasily Karpov."

Ross's eyes narrowed with interest. "Where?" he demanded.

"Cleveland, Ohio," the soldier replied.

It seemed everything was falling into place for General Ross. The Hydra operative being on American soil was a fortunate turn of events. It would allow Ross to do whatever he wanted with that man. Karpov would be made to talk, one way or another. And if he refused, he would simply vanish without a trace.  No one was going to miss him anyway. Ross wasn’t typically one to get his hands dirty, but this time, he might make an exception. 

The idea of personally handling Karpov provided Ross with a grim sense of satisfaction. A thorough interrogation could be just the release he needed. All this acting nice was getting on his nerves. He needed to unwind a little, blow off some steam. It wouldn't be a good idea to explode in rage in the middle of the UN assembly, now would it? 

Hydra men were well trained but more than that, they really believed in their cause. It didn't matter if the cause was good or not. For many, Hydra had provided a sense of purpose and belonging, something to fight for, filling the void in their otherwise insignificant lives. Those kinds of people were beyond reach. Ross was using every method of interrogation possible, but Karpov would never talk.

“Find anything of importance. I want you to search every inch of that place twice.” General Ross ordered.

"Sir, yes, Sir!" His men responded in unison before dispersing swiftly throughout the premises. 

They didn’t need to be cautious about the mess they might create. They were well aware that any evidence of their search would be erased by an accidental fire, ensuring no traces of their presence remained. There would be no one left to question or complain about their intrusion. As they meticulously combed through the hideout, they discovered various documents scattered throughout the rooms. A red notebook with a black star on the middle of its cover particularly stood out. The Winter Soldier Manual. How nice of Hydra to let that behind.

Despite the severe beating General Ross had inflicted, Karpov remained steadfastly silent, refusing to divulge any information. Thadeus felt a lot calmer now. Anybody who believed in Hydra’s message deserved to die anyway. Ross was not the type of man who felt awful that the bad person of the day had to be killed. This was the nature of the game.

And he was going to win no matter what.

Chapter Text

Despite his increased strength and spider-like abilities that warned him of threats, Peter was no match for Bucky Barnes. Bucky was not just any adversary. He was a highly trained operative, skilled in many martial arts and proficient with a wide range of weapons. As Spider-Man, Peter preferred to incapacitate his enemies swiftly using his webbing, often neutralising threats before a confrontation could escalate into a full-blown fight. The strategy had worked well so far, or perhaps he had been lucky. Tony with all his experience had advised Peter with that simple phrase, “better safe than sorry”. He wasn’t wrong.

Peter had trouble concentrating if he was honest with himself. Too much had happened lately, and his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. First, he was bitten by a very special spider. Waking up with newfound powers was a surreal experience. It was as if destiny had told him that he could redeem the wrongs of his past. The death of Uncle Ben was his fault and Peter knew he would carry that guilt for the rest of his life. These new abilities felt like a second chance, an opportunity to do some good in the world. He couldn't erase his past mistakes, but he could strive to tip the scales towards justice, even if only a little.

“Concentrate, Peter!” Bucky’s voice broke through his thoughts as Peter once again found himself sprawled on the mat..

“I’m trying!” Peter responded, frustration evident in his voice. 

"You know, you've already done the hardest part," Bucky said, his voice steady and reassuring. "Your aunt knows you're Spider-Man, and she took it pretty well. So, what are you nervous about?"

Peter sighed, remembering the nerve-wracking conversation with Aunt May. Tony had advised him to be honest with his aunt. Peter had tried everything to avoid it, bargaining, arguing, even begging, but Tony remained resolute, talking about the value of trust and honestly with those closest to him. He had learnt that the hard way, and hoped that Peter would avoid those kinds of mistakes.

Tony had always been open about his identity as Iron Man, confronting the world and its scrutiny without hesitation. Peter preferred anonymity. And even with Aunt May’s acceptance, the fear of putting her in harm’s way, of the potential repercussions of his enemies discovering his identity scared him more than anything. He wanted to protect her, to shield her from the chaotic world he navigated as Spider-Man.

His secret identity would remain just that, secret. Especially because he was still so young. His aunt adored him and was responsible for him. She deserved to know the truth. If she ever asked him to stop risking his life as Spider-Man, he would have no choice but to respect her wishes.

But Bucky, Happy and Tony trusted him to explain his feelings properly, to explain why being Spiderman was so important to him and to assure Aunt May that he would take every possible precaution to stay safe. When the moment came, he spoke from the heart, sharing his conviction that he could make a difference, that he could help people and save lives. It had worked flawlessly and lifted a weight off his shoulders that he was unaware he was carrying.

But Aunt May wanted to have a 'friendly word' with Mr. Stark, as she put it, and wasn't that a terrifying thought! Aunt May had been invited for dinner at the Stark tower, and she insisted on bringing dessert. The problem was, Aunt May wasn't exactly known for her culinary skills.

"Aunt May is going to grill you guys. We'll see who’s nervous then!" Peter tried to joke, but there was an edge of genuine concern in his voice.

“The truth is the best remedy to everything.” Bucky replied.

“But you were the Winter Soldier!”

Bucky's expression softened as he asked, "Are you scared she won't understand?"

"Yes! No!" he blurted out, and then, after a moment of reflection, admitted, "Maybe?"

When Peter first came around, Tony and Bucky decided to talk to him like an adult who could understand the difficult part of life. The kid certainly had had a hard life so far, and was no stranger to difficulties. They asked him to tell his aunt first, and then came the big explanation about Bucky’s past, which was something else entirely.

Peter had trouble deciding what was more shocking: Bucky Barnes still being alive and his time in Hydra against his will, or Steve Rogers being a psychopath. Quite frankly, Peter had no problem believing that Captain America was that kind of man. The events in Lagos didn’t suggest he was someone who genuinely cared about others. And then Bucky had explained how Rogers had let him fall on purpose.

Peter's brain completely froze. Peter had always admired Iron Man more than anyone else, but Captain America was meant to be a hero. The data dump had seriously tarnished the Captain's reputation, yet Peter had somehow been willing to believe it was just a terrible mistake. Nobody was perfect, not even Captain America.

“Do you want me to hide my past? I understand, you know. It won’t bother me.”

Peter shook his head vigorously. "No, Bucky, that's not it. It's just... hard to process everything. I mean, you’re a hero too, despite everything you’ve been through. But Aunt May might not like it."

Bucky gave a small, appreciative nod. "Thanks, kid. But remember, everyone has their baggage. You can’t let it define you."

Peter took a deep breath, trying to focus. He knew Bucky was right, and he also knew his aunt wasn't the type to judge. Anxiety wasn't always rational. He needed to concentrate, not just on the training mat but on the bigger picture. He had new powers, a fresh start, and he had to make the most of it. Aunt May had always been supportive, but he could see the worry in her eyes when he had been telling her about Spiderman. She probably just wanted to reassure herself.

“Let’s go again,” Peter said, determined.

“That’s the spirit.” Bucky smiled slightly, raising his fists. “Focus, Peter!” Bucky’s voice broke through his thoughts as he landed another hit, sending Peter sprawling to the mat again.

Peter groaned, picking himself up off the ground. “I am focused, just... distracted.”

Bucky laughed heartily, offering a hand to help Peter stand. “Well, get your head in the game, kid. You’re improving, but you need to be fully present.”

Peter nodded, taking a moment to steady his breathing. “Right, present. Got it.”

As the evening descended, Happy drove off in one of Stark’s sleek cars to pick up Aunt May after her long shift at the hospital. This was part of the Stark experience, apparently, having personal chauffeurs and all. Meanwhile, Bucky and Tony were in the kitchen, cooking together. Peter was always surprised to see the heroes doing such mundane things. 

Peter busied himself by setting the table, trying to keep his nerves in check. He knew Aunt May well enough to anticipate the barrage of questions and concerns she would have. It was only natural, Tony had reassured him. After all, she had every right to be concerned about her nephew’s safety and well-being.

“You look like you’re going to a funeral,” Bucky remarked, watching Peter fidget with the hem of his T-shirt for the hundredth time.

“Ready for the inquisition?” Tony asked with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Peter laughed nervously. “It’s just dinner. How bad can it be?”

Tony clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Better you than me.” He laughed.

Bucky gave Peter a reassuring nod. “We’ve got your back.”

Just then, the elevator door opened with a soft chime, and Peter's heart skipped a beat.

“Aunt May!” he greeted, his voice suddenly taking on a high, weird pitch.

The dinner began awkwardly, with everyone feeling the initial tension, but it gradually warmed up. The food was incredibly good. Tony was effortlessly charming, keeping the conversation lively, while Bucky was making a sincere effort to engage. Peter understood the soldier was probably as scared as he was, but getting a new life would be far harder than a conversation during a dinner. This dinner felt like a test. If Bucky could win over Aunt May, perhaps the people outside the tower might also accept him.

Happy, usually a stoic presence, actively participated in the conversation tonight, adding his own dry humour and insights. It was clear that everyone was trying to support Peter in their own way, creating a warm, perhaps unconventional, sense of family around the dinner table.

Aunt May asked questions, some of them pointed, but Tony and Bucky answered with honesty and patience. Peter watched the interactions, feeling a mix of pride and anxiety. His aunt was tough, but she also had a big heart and wanted what was best for him. When Bucky gave her the short version of his past, May immediately looked horrified. 

Bucky hesitated for a moment, unsure if her reaction was in his favour. There was sudden tension around the table, but she simply reached her arm and placed her palm on his in a comforting gesture. Bucky responded with a small smile and continued with his story, feeling a bit more at ease.

They didn't talk for a while after that, the weight of Bucky's story settling over the table. It was a lot to take in. Eventually, Aunt May asked Peter to fetch dessert, and he was pleased to see it was a cake from their local bakery. Aunt May’s cooking could be lethal, but the molten chocolate cake was one of his favourites. It was a small gesture that showed how much she cared.

"Mr. Stark," Aunt May began, but Tony held up his hand.

"Please, call me Tony," he said with a charming smile.

"Alright, Tony," Aunt May continued, "I just want to make sure that Peter is safe. He's stubborn about helping people, but he’s so young and..."

“He’s incredibly capable,” Tony interrupted gently. “I’ve seen what he can do, and I believe in him. We all do. We’re here to support him and keep him safe, just as much as you are.”

May seemed to soften at Tony’s words. She turned to Bucky. “And you, Bucky, are you sure you’ll be okay going out into the world now?”

Bucky took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not easy. But having people who believe in you makes a huge difference. I have that. Tony helped me a lot. And now Peter has it too. He has us, and he has you. He’s stronger than you know.”

Of course, Tony made a special coffee for everyone. He was proud of that machine and always claimed it was the fuel of his genius. He had a way of making people laugh even after an evening with a lot of ups and downs. Peter felt the last of his anxiety go away. His aunt’s concerns were valid, but he knew she trusted him. With Tony and Bucky by his side, he felt more prepared than ever to face whatever challenges lay ahead. Not having to hide things from his aunt made everything even better. Now, Peter was seriously considering telling his best friend. Ned would never believe it.

“I’ll help you as much as I can. I’d rather not be called, but I’m a nurse, so don’t hesitate,” Aunt May said as parting words.

As they were leaving, Tony pulled Peter aside. “You did good, kid. Keep up the training with Bucky. You’re going to be great.”

Peter smiled, unable to hide his excitement. “Thanks, Tony. For everything.”

With a final enthusiastic wave, Peter and Aunt May departed, driven back by Happy, of course. 

Tony and Bucky stood in front of the elevator, feeling a kind of happiness they hadn’t experienced in a long time. They couldn’t wait for the kid to come back and Tony was already making plans to hire May Parker as a permanent nurse for their little team, or any other position she would find interesting really, a job that came with a lot of perks of course.

Chapter Text

Steve had reached his limit. He had humoured their investigation for the sake of appearances, but now that the President of the United States had weighed in, it should be more than enough. The world needed protection, and Steve was ready to step up. It wasn’t like somebody was picking up the slack. Everybody seemed to be in awe of Iron Man, and even more so of Tony Stark, even though he wasn’t doing anything for them. The Avengers had already been benched for way too long. 

Steve's own team wasn't proving particularly helpful. Wilson had eventually woken up from his little nap, but he wasn’t the same man. He didn’t want to go back on the field, haunted by the memories of what had happened in Lagos. He was greatly exaggerating the events of that day. For a military man Sam was oddly fragile, weak minded. War meant casualties. It was a harsh reality, but one that served the greater good. Steve knew that more than most, but doing nothing would be even worse.

“Is Clint coming back soon?” Steve asked Natasha, his patience thinning.

“He’s not answering my calls. I’m starting to worry,” Natasha replied, her tone betraying no real concern. “But before that, we need to prepare for something else.”

“And what’s that?” Steve asked, already irritated by the conversation’s direction.

“The actual Secretary of States, Thaddeus Ross but also the Lagos Accords.”

The global community had grown increasingly vocal about the need to impose restrictions on enhanced individuals. Steve understood the people’s desire to regulate enhanced individuals. He had encountered many of these so-called heroes during his time with the Avengers and beyond. While they possessed various extraordinary abilities, most lacked the experience and discipline necessary to handle their powers responsibly. Many were ordinary civilians who, despite their best intentions, were ill-prepared for what it meant to protect the little guy from Brooklyn or anywhere else in the world. Their powers, though remarkable, often led to more chaos than order.

For example, the Hulk was definitely useful when it came to using raw power. His unmatched strength and resilience made him an ideal ally in conflicts that required overwhelming force. But not every mission called for such a heavy-handed approach. The Hulk's transformations were driven by raw, uncontrollable rage. The beast had no finesse, no restrain. Bruce Banner, the man behind the monster, seemed increasingly resigned to his fate and was making no effort to control that part of himself. Given the Hulk's unpredictable and often catastrophic behaviour, it was understandable that people would feel uneasy.

Then there was Thor. The Asgardian god of thunder thought himself to be superior to the petty, tiny humans. Steve saw through the facade. Thor was an alien with a few extra powers. Big deal. Sure, Thor's powers were impressive, but Steve had powers too. On another world, perhaps even on Asgard, he might be seen as a superior being himself the way it should be.

Thor's strength, his command over lightning, and his near-immortality made him a formidable ally. Yet, these same qualities also fueled an ego that could be difficult to manage. He was reckless, assuming that everyone had the same capacities he possessed.  Thor needed to learn that even gods must be answerable for their actions. For Thor to truly realise his potential, he needed to temper his ego and embrace humility. He needed to accept that Steve was the leader, and accept to follow orders. Rogers doubted that those accords could effectively help with Thor.

Clint and Natasha were competent enough for baseline humans. They did as they were told. They would have been better with some special capacities quite frankly. Honeypotting and archery were not exactly that useful in times of war.  

Then there was Sam Wilson, the Falcon. Despite his military background, he wasn’t cut out for this line of work. His reluctance to return to action and his exaggeration of past events made him a weak link in the chain. The stakes were too high to afford that kind of weak mindset. The Falcon’s aerial prowess and combat skills were very helpful only if he wasn’t the kind to break under pressure. That was not the case quite obviously. 

The Lagos Accords were fundamentally flawed, missing a critical element. The bureaucrats drafting these rules had never thought of asking pointers from the most experienced, the first of the heroes, Steven Grant Rogers himself. Those pin pushers had never faced real danger, hiding behind their desks, letting others risk their lives. They didn’t know what it was like to risk everything to save others and realistically couldn’t draft effective regulations. Steve hated those kinds of people.

“Ross has called for a team meeting to discuss the accords,” Natasha continued, her tone steady, breaking his train of thought.

“I’m the only one who can call for team meetings,” Steve snapped, his frustration mounting. He despised being told what to do, especially by those who didn’t understand the stakes.

“He’s the Secretary of State, Steve. He can do whatever he wants, and we better be there.”

“Or what? The President is on our side,” Steve retorted, his voice tinged with defiance. 

Natasha sighed, understanding his irritation but knowing the broader implications. “Well... Probably nothing good. Even Ellis won’t be able to do anything against the rest of the world.”

Steve knew Natasha would attend the meeting. She was a survivor, always calculating her next move. It was better to understand the enemy and their tactics, to know precisely what they were up against. Anything to be able to do their jobs without too much interference. Natasha might find some leverage points and for once be helpful for the Avengers. 

Stark would without a doubt make an entrance, no doubt. Steve could almost hear the genius shouting on those pin pushers, using his technology to prove to the world how stupid they were, just like he had done during his Senate hearing. Stark had never been one to shy away from confrontation, often looking for it. 

Natasha had done a psychological evaluation on Stak in the past, but perhaps she had forgotten the kind of man he was. Stark was flamboyant, obnoxious, inflexible, and fiercely independent. In an ideal world, Iron Man would have a better pilot, someone with formal Air Force training like Colonel Rhodes, someone who could bring military discipline to the suit. But for now, Stark’s refusal to back down might prove useful. Steve would be able to deal with him later on anyway. 

He asked when and where the meeting was going to be held. It was closer than what Steve had thought, but that was for the best. The sooner they met, the faster the problem would be dealt with. As the team’s strategist, he needed every possible advantage. This wasn’t the first battle he had faced, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Clint glanced at his phone once more, ignoring Natasha’s attempts to reach him. He had always trusted Natasha implicitly, more than anyone else in Shield, even more than Fury or Coulson. Clint had been the one to give her a chance to turn her life around, to join the side of good. Together, they had completed countless missions, changing the course of history. 

But Shield was gone now, and part of that downfall was due to Natasha. The revelation of its dark secrets, the exposure of Hydra within its ranks, all that had led to the organisation’s collapse. The data dump had put so many lives in danger that Clint couldn’t help but feel betrayed, despite understanding her reasons. She had always been a wildcard, but she should have done better.

Laura and the kids were all that mattered to Clint now. He had skipped the mission in Nigeria to spend time with them and ensure no enemies were tracking them. The farm, their safe haven, should never have been in the Shield database. This was a crucial part of the deal Clint had made with Fury and Coulson. Despite all those precautions, the infiltration of Hydra within Shield had caught everyone off guard. No one had seen the betrayal coming, and Clint couldn’t be sure now that the farm was still a secure location.

When all his leads to ensure their security ran dry, he reached out to Tony. Clint’s ego wasn’t so inflated that he wouldn’t ask for help in desperate times. Stark’s AI possessed unparalleled capabilities, able to comb through vast amounts of data to check for any mentions of Clint or his family. Stark made no comment regarding that particular secret. Even though they weren’t the closest of friends, Clint knew without a shadow of a doubt that Tony would never use that information against him. More than that, Clint trusted Tony to do everything in his power to protect Laura and the children.

Laura couldn't believe that Natasha had participated in the disastrous mission in Lagos. Natasha was a friend who had spent time with the Barton children, a trusted figure in their lives. The idea that Natasha could be involved in something that caused so many casualties was shocking and disheartening. Laura knew what it meant to be an agent of Shield. Agents were trained to follow orders without hesitations, to suppress their emotions, and never distrust Shield. But this mission had crossed a line. It was too much.

Clint, too, was deeply troubled. Having been a killer for most of his life, he thought he had seen it all, but even he was shocked by what had transpired in Lagos. Captain America was supposed to be the best of them. Meeting his hero had been a mistake. The data dump that had exposed Shield.’s secrets and now the tragedy in Lagos, this wasn’t what Clint had signed up for. So, he chose to distance himself, wanting only news about Wilson. But even the Falcon had been involved in too much now not to be problematic.

“Hey, Clint!” Tony said pleasantly over the phone.

“Hey, Tony! What’s up?” Clint replied in the same upbeat tone. He knew Tony well enough to recognize that this wasn’t a call bearing bad news. Despite what people thought, Tony could be serious when the situation demanded it.

“I just wanted to give you a heads-up,” Tony began. “After Lagos and the whole Shield fiasco, the UN felt the need to answer the situation with something. They’re rolling out what they’re calling the Lagos Accords, a set of regulations for people like us.”

“I’m not surprised,” Clint said, a note of resignation in his voice. “So, what are you planning to do about it?”

“I don’t think the accords are entirely a bad idea,” Tony admitted. “If the people we’re supposed to protect don’t trust us, we’ve got a problem.But I'd rather have one hand on the steering wheel. From what I’ve seen, what has been written so far isn't terrible. There are a few things that need tweaking. The real issue is Ross. He’s pushing for some really dumb stuff.”

“So, we need to find a way to stop him?” Clint asked, already anticipating the answer.

“Pretty much. Legally, of course,” Tony replied. “I’m planning to talk to Bruce and see if he’s willing to go up against the General who’s made his life a living hell. But honestly, it’d be better if we could dig up more dirt on Ross. The guy’s bound to have a career full of skeletons.”

“I’m on it,” Clint said without hesitation.

“Great. Ross will want a meeting with the Avengers soon. Whatever you find, be there,” Tony instructed.

General Ross was good at covering his tracks, but not that good. Clint had already uncovered plenty of dirt that could cause significant trouble for Ross. Whether it would be enough to hold up legally was uncertain, but the optics alone could be damaging enough to get him removed from power, especially with his own daughter willing to testify against him. Clint just needed to get to Stark Tower, and then to that crucial meeting, knowing the conversation with Natasha would be interesting and Steve’s reaction to the Lagos accords even more so.

Chapter Text

Tony had never truly visited the compound. Sure, he knew every corner and possibility. After all, he had designed and built it. It had once been his dream, a place where the Avengers would actually be one as a team, able to put their differences behind them. In a way, that dream had become real. Tony was just not part of it.

As he wandered through its walls, he felt an odd sense of nostalgia for something that had never really existed. He didn’t exactly regret it. Had he gone down that path, Steve and the others would most probably have used him until Tony would have nothing left to give, money or otherwise.

Now, Tony had found a new family, people who genuinely cared about him and wanted nothing but his happiness. Each day, he felt increasingly grateful for Barnes' presence in his life. It was a pity that he couldn't yet flaunt his friendship with Bucky in front of Rogers. If Tony were honest with himself, he wanted much more than just friendship with Bucky, regardless of whether Steve was around. But those were fantasies for another time, a much later time.

“Mr. Stark! So nice of you to finally join us,” Ross greeted as Tony entered the designated conference room.

Everybody was already there. Steve sat at the head of the table, looking as though he were presiding over the proceedings, always the leader. That man always needed to be the centre of attention, even when he was clueless about the situation. And people were always talking about Tony’s ego. Go figure.

“Some of us actually have a job in real life, Mr. Secretary. I’m sure you understand more than most,” Tony replied, his tone as diplomatic as he could muster. 

Besides Rhodey and perhaps Clint, there was no one in that room he particularly appreciated. Natasha and Steve had done nothing to make themselves endearing. He already knew Steve would oppose the accords anyway. Quite honestly, this meeting was just a waste of everyone’s time.

“Five years ago, I had a heart attack. I dropped right in the middle of my batting swing,” General Ross began, addressing the room. Tony took a seat behind Rogers to get a better view of everyone.

“Turned out, it was the best round of my life because after thirteen hours of surgery and triple bypass, I found something forty years in the army never taught me : Perspective. The world owed the Avengers an unpayable debt. You’ve… fought for us. Protected us. Risked your lives. While a great many people see you as heroes, there are some… who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes.’”

Ross paused, letting his words sink in. Tony glanced around the table, noting the varied expressions, scepticism, concern, defiance. Their dislike of the General was written all over their faces. Tony was almost impressed by the General's attempt at a diplomatic approach. Forty years in the army must have taught Ross a thing or two about dealing with people, especially trigger happy ones. Still, Tony had a gut feeling that this facade of civility wouldn’t last long.

“And what word would you use, Mr Secretary?” Natahsa asked, her voice seductive.

‘And there goes the end of playing nice,’ Tony thought, preparing for the inevitable clash.

“How about dangerous? What would you call a group of US-based enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders, and inflict their will wherever they choose, and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave being them?”  Ross's tone was pointed and unyielding.

A little hypocritical coming from Ross. He had caused plenty of destruction himself while hunting the Hulk, but the General’s speech was well put nonetheless. Tony couldn’t have articulated it better for once. Unfortunately it was bound to go down to hell pretty quickly. The General chose that moment to show them footage of their past battles starting, beginning with the New York invasion. Tony thought it was a bit unfair to use an alien attack against the Avengers. That event had been out of their control, and they had done their best with the resources available.

The screen filled with scenes of chaos and devastation. The Stark Expo, Washington D.C., and Lagos. Tony knew they all could have been handled better. More people could have been saved or at least better protected from the chaos caused by their attempts at heroism. Tony would always regret not taking the Hammer bots away from the crowd at the Expo. He should have done more, but at least, each time, he learned from his mistakes, acknowledged his wrongdoings, and tried to do better, to be better.

Ross quickly explained that those events couldn’t be tolerated anymore. He explained that many governments around the world had agreed on this point. He then pushed a heavy stack of papers toward Steve, emphasising the Lagos Accords and the need for compromise to ensure people felt their voices were heard. Rogers turned to look at Tony, who was seated behind him, as if he was asking him to do something, to rise against that particular challenge. Tony didn’t particularly like Secretary of State Ross, but for once, he acknowledged that Ross had a point.

The General left the room, instructing them to discuss the matter among the team. Either they signed the accords or they retired. They had three days to make a decision before the summit in Vienna. Silence hung heavily in the room as each of them processed what had just been said. Tony was just waiting for the shouting to start. His decision was already made.

“Tony,” Natasha began, her voice soft and intentionally alluring, “you are being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.”

“It’s because he’s already made up his mind,” Steve answered, his tone laden with bitterness and a touch of disgust.

“Boy, you know me so well,” Tony retorted with his usual sarcasm. “Actually, I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache.”

Tony took a deep breath and then launched into his argument, describing the lives that had been ruined while they were busy saving the world. He spoke about the families they had inadvertently destroyed, the countless orphans they had made. He laid it on thick, talking about children to tug at their heartstrings, but it was no less true. As he spoke, anger simmered within him. He could see his words affecting everyone except the two who needed to understand the most. Tony had no illusions about Steve, but he had hoped Natasha would get it, or at least want to save her own skin, as was her usual modus operandi. Apparently, she was doing her best to prove him wrong.

Just then, Steve’s phone beeped. That was some antic piece of tech he had there but it was better than nothing Tony supposed. At that moment, Jarvis informed Tony through his earpiece that Peggy Carter had just passed away. Steve stood abruptly and left the room without an explanation, the news apparently hitting him hard.

Natasha looked torn, glancing at Clint as if she wanted to say something. Or perhaps, more accurately, she wanted Clint to say something to her, to automatically take her side as he had done so many times before, to follow her lead without her needing to ask. She wanted him to follow, taking Steve’s side against the red tape the governments wanted to put around them.

But Clint didn’t move. He didn’t even look at her.

Tony watched the silent exchange, his frustration growing. He had hoped for more support, more understanding. Instead, he felt the team fracturing around him. “Look,” he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “This isn’t about choosing sides. It’s about doing what’s right. We’ve all seen the destruction we leave behind. We can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter.”

Rhodey stepped forward, nodding in agreement. “Tony’s right. Accountability doesn’t mean giving up our freedom. It means being responsible for our actions.”

Natasha stayed silent. She was looking at them with her chin high as if to tell them she had the high ground in that fight. If Natasha hadn't realised something was broken between them since the data dump, that wasn’t exactly Clint's problem. His family would always come first. She should have done better, protecting the children she had called nephews and nieces before. Clint felt a sting of betrayal thinking about it, but he pushed it aside. He had more pressing matters to deal with.

Tony had no plans to attend Peggy Carter's funeral. He wasn’t particularly close to her. Peggy had likely worked to keep the Starks' assassination hidden, to protect Shield from any investigation. During his childhood, she was always off on some mission, and when she was around, she was usually locked in his father's study with Howard, having no time to spare for the kid he was back then. 

His presence at the funeral would only detract from the family's grief. The press would turn his attendance into a spectacle when they should be celebrating the life of an extraordinary woman.

Besides, despite the already difficult situation he was in, Tony had other issues to address. He needed to deal with Pepper. He had pushed that problem aside for as long as he could, but he knew it couldn't wait forever. Rhodey and Happy had offered to be there for him, understanding the weight of the situation. At least he wouldn’t be facing it alone.

He flew back to the tower in the armour, Rhodey following close in War Machine. They should do that more often, just being in the sky for the fun of it. They had always been a bit competitive, enjoying the speed and racing one another. Too bad the distance between the tower and the compound was so short, but it was enough to take Tony’s mind off the situation for a while, and that was already good.

Sometimes, Bucky was even more of a mother hen than Rhodey could be. He was waiting for Tony to come back, leaning casually against a wall but with an alertness that Tony had come to appreciate.

“Hey, I’ve got an evening planned once your next meeting’s over,” Bucky said as Tony walked down the path, the bots removing his armour. “The kid’s coming over, and I’m cooking, obviously.”

Tony knew they were all doing their best to be there for him, and he appreciated it more than he could express. The conversation with Pepper was bound to be a hard one.

“I can’t wait!” Tony answered with a smile, and that was so true. 

Spending time with his newfound family was all he ever wanted these days. Life had a way of being harder than it ought to be, perhaps it was inherent with being a genius, billionaire, philanthropist, and superhero.

“Boss?” Happy asked as he stepped out of the elevator. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Tony replied, his tone steady.

Rhodey folded in line with them, and the three men went down a couple of floors to the office where Pepper had set up her CEO desk. They needed to surprise her there, just to be sure she wouldn’t take anything from the company with her once officially fired. Tony never thought he would have to do this, ever. His decision to put her in that CEO position had been made during a difficult time in his life, and maybe, now that he thought of it, it was the Palladium poisoning talking more than him. He had believed in her in ways that clearly weren’t reciprocated.

As they approached the office, Tony felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. Pepper had been more than just a colleague. She had been a confidante, a partner, someone he thought he could trust implicitly. This confrontation felt like a betrayal of everything they had built together. But it needed to be done, Tony knew that. It didn’t mean that he would enjoy it. 

He was a forgiving man, and he knew that he could be swayed by Pepper’s explanation. Thankfully, Rhodey and Happy were there for him. He would not falter.

Chapter Text

The files were piling up on Pepper’s desk, a mountain of paperwork that seemed insurmountable. She had always been quite organised, classifying everything depending on urgency. The demands of her role as CEO made every matter seem more critical than the last. She had worked alongside Tony for years, absorbing as much knowledge as she could.

Tony had always been an enigma, even in his approach to business

Pepper didn’t always understand his decisions, but she couldn’t deny his genius when it came to Stark Industries. He knew what he was doing. Even at his most reckless, with his erratic lifestyle and bouts of heavy drinking, he had propelled the company to unprecedented heights. She had admired him for that, seeing in him a man working tirelessly for his country, far from the "merchant of death" his detractors painted him as.

Pepper was not a genius, just a hardworking woman. She poured herself into her job, often working late into the night to keep the company running smoothly. It would have been more than enough if Tony had been doing his fair share. Quite frankly, the man had never been able to do what was expected of him. After years of being his personal assistant, she should have known better.

Entering a relationship with Tony had perhaps not been the best idea she ever had. A good businesswoman needed to be ruthless, sharp, and almost devoid of personal feelings. Yet, despite her better judgement, she had fallen for him. Tony had made promises, grand gestures of commitment, even going so far as to destroy some of his armours for her. Pepper had chosen to believe him then, hoping against hope that he could change.

She glanced at a photo on her desk, one of the few personal touches in her office. It was of her and Tony at a charity gala, both of them smiling and looking carefree. It felt like a lifetime ago. The warmth she felt then was now overshadowed by the constant stress and the nagging feeling that she was fighting a losing battle. Not against Tony but against Iron Man.

Iron Man. That was the root of the problems in their lives. Tony wasn’t a hero, far from it, and it would be better for everyone if he finally realised that. Steve knew it, and the rest of the world knew it too. Tony had gone down his latest obsession, but it was time to return to normalcy. This wasn’t the life Pepper had signed up for. Love wasn’t always enough. Sometimes, one has to make things happen by any means necessary.

Pepper tried to concentrate on the latest sales report, though she wasn't particularly interested in the details as long as the numbers were good. She couldn't care less if the hot red finish for the latest Stark phone was in high demand or if customers were demanding Avengers-themed cases for their tablets. People were never happy anyway. Suddenly, someone knocked on her office door and, without waiting for a response, entered the room.

She looked up, already annoyed. "Tony, whatever you need, it will have to wait. I'm quite busy right now."

Pepper returned to her report, completely dismissing him. She was not his assistant anymore, and she certainly was not his mother. He could handle whatever it was on his own for once. Perhaps then he would realise how much she had been doing for him all this time, and understand that he needed her more than he thought.

"Tony, I said not now," Pepper repeated, her voice dripping with annoyance when it became clear he was still there.

Someone who didn’t sound like Tony cleared his throat to get her attention. When she finally raised her head fully, Pepper was surprised to see not only Tony standing there but also Rhodey and Happy. Tony was dressed to the nines in a sharply tailored dark suit, which meant business. Hopefully, they weren’t wasting her precious time to talk about anything related to Iron Man. She was not in the mood for that. She looked at them without saying anything, her expression expectant but stern. If the boys wanted to talk, she was not going to hold their hands along the way.

Tony sat down in one of the guest chairs, exuding confidence, acting as if he owned the place. Technically, he did, but it would also do him some good to remember that she was also, in a way, his boss. Quite frankly, the head of R&D should spend more time in the lab with the other SI scientists. Of course, he was meant to invent the next generation of products they were already selling, but also to create what they didn’t know they needed yet. Someone in Tony’s position should also be there for the rest of the department, to guide those scientists, to encourage them when they doubted themselves, and to discipline them when they weren’t following the rules. Tony was supposed to be a team player. It was naive to think that he would do his part.

Tony leaned back in the chair, his gaze steady on her. "I’m going to be straight with you. No point in beating around the bush. I’m a busy man," he began, and Pepper just wanted to roll her eyes. As if she was so obviously doing nothing all day.

"Okay," she said simply, her tone clipped.

"You’re fired."

For a moment, Pepper just stared at him, her brain trying to catch up with what he had just said. Fired? Her? The woman who had kept Stark Industries running smoothly while Tony was off playing hero? The nerve! Pepper didn’t move, thinking this was yet another one of Tony's schemes to make her do something she didn’t have the time or simply didn’t want to do. Tony was never realistic with his demands and would always try crazy schemes to get what he wanted. After all those years by his side, Pepper should have been used to that behaviour, but he was taking things too far this time.

“Then my last act as CEO will be to fire you too,” Pepper replied in the same cool tone.

Tony looked her straight in the eyes, not smiling at all. His face was completely blank. She thought it was some kind of a joke, but suddenly she doubted it. He wouldn’t have come with Rhodey and Happy just to get back at her.

“Well, she’s taking it well,” Rhodey said, clearly speaking to Tony.

“Almost with humour,” Happy added.

“Unless she still thinks it’s a joke,” Tony pointed out.

"Excuse me?" she finally managed to say, her voice icy, her previous annoyance returning in full force.

Tony didn't flinch. "You heard me. You’re fired. This isn’t working out, Pepper.” He answered matter-of-factly.

Pepper's eyes narrowed. "Tony, you can't be serious. I’ve given my life to this company, to you. You can’t do that,” Pepper said, her voice rising slightly.

Rhodey and Happy exchanged uneasy glances, clearly uncomfortable with the confrontation but standing their ground. Pepper had always prided herself on keeping her cool, a trait that had served her well in the business world but wasn’t always pleasant in their daily life. There were so many things to say about their relationship, but now was not the time for that.

“You will understand pretty soon that I can,” Tony responded, his tone unyielding.

Pepper's heart pounded in her chest, a mix of anger and betrayal coursing through her veins. “The board will be against it,” Pepper tried again, desperation creeping into her voice.

Tony leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. “Pepper, I am the board. I hold the majority shares. This isn’t just a power play, it’s a necessity.”

“Why, Tony? Stark Industries has been doing well since I’ve been here. You were the one who gave me this position, who said you believed in me.” Pepper’s voice was a mix of disbelief and bitterness.

“Crazy what a heavy dose of palladium poisoning can make you do and think,” Tony replied with a bitter irony, a slight smirk on his face that didn't reach his eyes.

Pepper felt a lump forming in her throat. She had given so much to Tony and Stark Industries, and now it felt like it was all being ripped away. “And what about us, Tony? What happens now?”

“There is no us,” He answered sharply.

Pepper’s face tightened. “So, was everything between us just because of the palladium? Or was it all about Iron Man? “

The idea that Tony could just remove her from the company she had helped build was unthinkable. But here he was, serious and resolute. Her life and livelihood was linked to the armour even if not directly. She would never win against Iron Man and Tony playing the hero. Pepper had tried her best but now with hindsight, she should have left Tony and only concentrate on Stark Industries.

For a moment, there was silence. Rhodey and Happy stood by Tony, looking uncomfortable but resolute.

“You’ve never been able to even remember your social security number, yet alone to go to a board meeting. You’re making a mistake,” Pepper said finally, her voice breaking.

Her whole body was vibrating with anger and frustration. Tony and her had their problems of course. She had put some distance between them lately for their own good, but that never meant the separation was definitive. Everything was crumbling down. That wasn’t the reaction she had been expecting at all.

Pepper’s frustration boiled over. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve done for you over the years? I’ve been your assistant, your manager, your caretaker, everything. Without me, you’d be lost. I took over your life not because I wanted to, but because you left me no choice. And now, you have one more of your crazy ideas to fire me? Fine. Do it. But don’t expect me to come back when everything falls apart. You’ll regret this, Tony,” she finally shouted. 

“Tony made this company what it is long before meeting you!” Rhodey exploded, his voice echoing through the office. “Stark Industries will continue to flourish long after you’re gone!”

Pepper was taken aback by the vehemence in his words. The anger in the room was palpable, and she felt a surge of confusion and frustration. With Rhodey and Happy standing beside Tony, she realised she had lost whatever leverage she thought she had. Talking about their relationship had been the wrong move. The game she had been playing was over, and she was losing.

“You know,” Tony began, his tone icily calm, “I was happy to keep you as CEO whether we were together or not. But you betrayed me, Pepper. Telling people you could get me to make weapons again if they worked to remove me from the Avengers?”

“I just wanted to protect you from yourself,” Pepper retorted, desperation creeping into her voice.

“You just wanted to have it your way,” Rhodey interjected flatly, his disappointment evident.

“Anyway,” Tony continued, his voice regaining its composure, “Jarvis did a little investigation. I’m sorry to break it to you, but the employees don’t particularly like your style of management. Far from it, in fact. And I don’t do well with betrayals. Happy will escort you out. Your personal belongings will be sent to you along with a generous severance package.”

“I live in the tower,” Pepper said, her panic rising.

“I have booked a room for you in a hotel, all expenses paid for the next two weeks. After that, you are on your own.” 

Tony stood up, straightening his suit with a finality that left no room for argument. He gave Pepper one last look, a mix of sadness and determination in his eyes. He would never regret falling for her or the time they had shared, but it was time to move forward, to focus on the future and the good people who stood by him.

“You did what you thought was right,” Rhodey said quietly, as they walked toward the elevator.

Tony nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. “Yeah, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”

The Colonel clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this. One step at a time.”

Tony’s mind was already shifting to the evening ahead. Bucky had promised a home-cooked meal, and the kid would be there too. It was these moments, spent with his newfound family, that he cherished most. Life had a way of being harder than it should be, but with the right people by his side, Tony believed he could face anything.

Chapter Text

Tony had visited many great cities in his life but rarely for fun. Even when he was still that idiot who drank too much, he had always been there for work one way or another. Whether it was a presentation, a conference, or a business deal, he was always there because Stane had wanted it or because Stark Industries needed it.

Being who he was didn’t allow for spontaneous fun. Like anyone else, he would love to go places just for the joy of it, to explore landmarks and visit iconic spots with the people he loved. The city of Vienna, with its stunning architecture and rich history, would have been an ideal place for a leisurely visit. He longed for the simple pleasure of experiencing new places like any other family, but that life wasn't meant for superheroes, or maybe just not for him.

And there he was again. This time in Vienna. The accords were officially being presented to the world, and some of the superheroes were set to sign them in front of journalists from a myriad of countries. It was a gesture of goodwill, a show that they had heard the cries of the people and were now responding in kind.

But of course, the one they really wanted to see wasn’t there. Rogers was in London, parading like a flying monkey and diverting attention from the actual funeral. Tony wondered for a moment if the Sousa family was really happy to see him there. Peggy had lived a long and fulfilling life after the apparent death of Steve. She had a career, a family, and children. Yet now, everything about her was reduced to that one small part of her life.

“Our people’s blood is spilled on foreign soil. Not only because of the actions of criminals, but by the indifference of those pledged to stop them. Victory at the expense of the innocent is no victory at all.” T’Chaka’s voice resonated through the hall as he read his speech, standing at a podium. His words were a powerful reminder of the stakes involved and the responsibilities they all had on their shoulders.

The dignitaries around him nodded solemnly at T'Chaka's speech, their faces a mix of solemnity and resolve. Tony had seen firsthand the devastation the Avengers’ battle could cause, but he also knew the importance of their mission. 

Tony sat on the front row, slightly off to the side. He was doing his best to look interested, but he really wanted the proceedings to be over already. Who would have thought that even in the superhero world, there would be so many boring meetings? T’Chaka wasn’t wrong in his speech, of course, but everyone there already agreed with his sentiments. They should move on with the program and get those papers signed pronto. Politicians always loved the sound of their own voices.

As T'Chaka continued his speech, Tony's mind wandered. He glanced around the room, looking at the serious expressions on the faces of the other attendees. Despite the gravity of the situation, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was all just a formality. They were all here to make a statement, to show unity and resolve, but Tony knew that the real work would begin after the cameras were turned off.

Nothing seemed amiss, nothing to suggest the calamity that was about to unfold. Jarvis had done a sweep of the venue a couple of hours before, but obviously, someone else had come by since. The explosion, when it came, was localised, killing one person. But the damage was still too much.

The suddenness of it all left Tony momentarily stunned. One moment, he was listening to a speech he had barely been paying attention to, and the next, the room was filled with chaos. Smoke filled the air, and the acrid scent of burning materials assaulted his senses. He instinctively ducked, his training kicking in as he scanned the room for immediate threats.

People were screaming, scrambling to get out of the way. Tony's eyes darted to the stage where T’Chaka had been standing. The podium was shattered, debris scattered across the floor. The explosion had been precise, targeted. Whoever had set it off knew exactly what they were doing.

Most people in the first rows were injured one way or another, some worse than others. Though none of the injuries appeared to be life-threatening, the sight was still quite terrifying. Blood trickled down Tony's face where something had clipped his cheek. He didn't even know what had hit him. The bleeding wasn’t important. The ringing in his ears was worse, throwing off his equilibrium. The smoke was making his vision blurry.

How was that attack even possible?

“Sir!” Jarvis’ voice sounded almost distant despite coming from the comm in Tony's ear. “Sir! Are you with me?”

“Jarvis?” Tony's voice was hoarse, struggling to cut through the fog in his mind. “How many dead?”

“One, Sir. King T’Chaka on the podium. Thirty-six injured. I’ve alerted the authorities and emergency services. I’m also in the process of gathering all the security videos of the area. Should I call home?”

“Might as well…” Tony's response was automatic, his mind still reeling from the shock.

Jarvis was really on top of everything. He had evolved far beyond what Tony had originally envisioned, a long time ago. The AI's capabilities never ceased to amaze the genius, who regarded Jarvis almost like a son, though at times it felt more like Jarvis was the father figure. Tony didn’t know what he would do without him. Friday, too, was learning and growing, slowly but surely. Tony had stationed her back at the tower to keep an eye on Stark Industries during this difficult period. He hadn't even had time to appoint a new CEO. It was funny, the stupid thoughts that crossed his mind during such dangerous moments. He really needed to get his head back in the game.

“Tony! Tony! Are you alright?” Rhodey's voice broke through his reverie, bringing him back to the present.

Rhodey was there, worried for Tony. Rhodey was always there. He was one of the few heroes about to sign the accords. The fact that he was a colonel in the US Air Force was an added bonus, lending more credibility to their cause. As people began to recover their senses, the panicked shouting intensified, adding to Tony’s already mounting headache. Could they not consider his pounding head? Or their own?

Thankfully, the emergency personnel arrived swiftly, some having already been on-site. With the professionals handling the immediate crisis, Tony could focus on what was truly important: finding out who had orchestrated the attack fast. At that moment, his phone buzzed, connecting him to a worried-looking Bucky Barnes and a very scared Peter Parker. What time was it in New York anyway?

“Guys! Before you say anything, I’m okay. Rhodey is okay. The casualties are minimal. And I already know what you both think. Don’t! You stay put and I promise if I need help, I will call you first!” Tony was rambling as usual, his words tumbling over each other in his rush to reassure them.

“Actually, we were only worried about Rhodes,” Barnes replied in the most deadpan delivery ever.

Rhodey seized the moment, waving brightly and flashing a grin. “Hey, guys! I’m fine. Just a scratch.” 

Tony rolled his eyes in good humour, feeling a warm surge of gratitude for his friends. Family was like that, full of jabs and jokes, but always there when it mattered. He wouldn’t change any of them for the world.

Yet, beneath Bucky’s sardonic comment, there was an unspoken question in his eyes, a mix of worry and a promise. Tony recognised it immediately. It was the look of someone who had seen too much, knew how it really went, the lies they had to tell, and still cared deeply. Tony just smiled, giving him the tiniest nod that only Bucky would notice.

Everything was moving faster than Tony had anticipated. T’Chaka wasn’t supposed to die. Tony was a genius, but that never meant he could predict the future. A lot of possibilities were opening up right now, and none of them were good.

“I’m expecting the best meal ever when I get back, guys,” Rhodey said, trying to keep the mood light. The banter was helping break the tension. “Or the best you can do without me helping.”

“At least, we don’t put pineapple on pizzas over here.” Barnes answered quickly. 

“That’s because you don’t know what’s good. Right, Tony?” Rhodey shot back, grinning.

“Oh no, Platypus, I won’t even go there. Pineapple is a fruit, and that’s a dessert. Full stop.” Tony replied, laughing at the mock offence on Rhodey’s face.

“You know, guys…” Peter intervened shyly, “technically, tomatoes are fruits, so really pizza is a dessert anyway…”

"Peter!" Bucky and Tony exclaimed in unison, both half-impressed by the kid’s clever comeback.

“You know it, kid!” Rhodey approved, grinning. “I knew somebody in that house had taste!”

They bantered a bit more on the phone, the light-hearted exchange serving both to reassure themselves and to reinforce the bond they shared. Despite the chaos around them, that simple conversation brought a sense of normalcy. Despite the chaos around them, the camaraderie brought a sense of normalcy. Unfortunately, Tony and Rhodey were soon called back to the grim reality. They were needed to investigate the explosion.

A certain silence fell over the scene, the aftermath of the blast like the eye of a storm. The area buzzed with activity, as frenzied and purposeful as a beehive, but there was an underlying tension, a stunned quietness that hung in the air. The explosion had left everyone on edge, promising more trouble ahead.

Jarvis was diligently scanning through the security footage from the hours leading up to the explosion, his processing speed unmatched.

“Sir?” Jarvis’s voice came through Tony’s earpiece, laced with urgency. “I believe I’ve found something, but it’s... impossible.”

“Are you trying to think about six impossible things before breakfast? Or lunch maybe?” Tony tried to joke, though his weariness was clear. He had already had enough of that day.

Jarvis, ever efficient, decided to project a video feed into the special glasses Tony was wearing. These days, Tony had his HUD on at all times, a constant stream of information filtering through. Yet, he regretted not having installed an alert system for bomb threats. He needed to be better and anticipate these dangers. Who else could do that? Heroes had to face every eventuality.

The video showed someone installing a bomb just under the stage.

The person didn’t seem bothered by the cameras installed all around the place. Worse still, he actually looked directly into one, as if to tell the world he was responsible for all of it. The man, whoever he was, wore Bucky’s face. Jarvis was right. This was simply impossible.

The video was going on repeat before Tony’s eyes. He knew Bucky like the back of his hand now. Those weren’t his strong shoulders, his narrow waist, or even his perfectly toned bottom. Tony had perhaps ogled the soldier a bit too much, but at least it gave him confidence that this imposter wasn't him. Besides, they had just been on the phone. The journey from New York to Vienna took more than a couple of hours, even in the latest mark of his Iron Man armour.

Somebody knew Bucky was alive and was using that to stir up trouble. Rogers would undoubtedly become a bigger problem soon. Ready or not, the Winter Soldier was about to be at the centre of a global issue. Tony hoped to get ahead of that part, heading back to New York to prove Bucky’s innocence.

But then Tony saw General Ross marching toward him, his face a mask of fury, as if all the world's problems were Tony's fault. Tony quickly shot a text to Bucky. They had no time for subtil PR stunts. The world needed to see the real Bucky in action in New York now! Peter could help.

Tony knew Ross was going to be a pain, no doubt. That day couldn’t end fast enough.

Chapter Text

The funeral was a boring affair. The eulogies for Peggy Carter were filled with half truths, portraying her as more formidable than she had ever been. Her role during the war was little more than that of a glorified secretary to Colonel Phillips. Yes, she knew how to procure resources and coordinate logistics, ensuring that people and supplies were where they needed to be. But it wasn't as if she had been an active soldier, facing the enemy on the front lines.

And then there was her legacy with Shield. While many praised her as a co-founder of the shadow agency, Steve couldn’t ignore that she had invited Hydra into its ranks. The very organisation she helped create had been infiltrated by their most insidious enemy, leading to decades of espionage and betrayal. How could anyone see that as something to be proud of?

As another speaker took the podium, Steve glanced around the room. The faces were sombre, eyes glazed with a mixture of genuine sorrow and social obligation. They all had the real deal standing among them, a living legend, and yet, the crowd at Peggy Carter’s funeral seemed indifferent to his presence. Captain America, Steve Rogers, was there, a symbol of their history and heroism, but the people there appeared more focused on their handpicked memories and polished narratives than on the man who had lived through it all.

Peggy had built her legacy on the notion that she was Steve’s first and only love, a myth perpetuated by romanticised stories and embellished wartime accounts of the comics. Yet, she had married someone else quite easily, and rather quickly, after Steve’s supposed death. It was as if she had moved on without hesitation, constructing a new life and family, while Steve remained frozen in time, a relic of her past.

Peggy’s children, standing at the front, a sombre expression on their faces, barely knew anything about Steve. They barely knew anything about him and they didn’t seem to want to know more. The same went for the descendants of the members of the Howling Commandos. They didn’t seem interested in learning more about the man who had once been so important to their mother.

The same sense of detachment was evident among the descendants of the Howling Commandos. They were gathered in small groups, exchanging polite smiles and hushed conversations. Their connection to the past seemed fragile at best. These were the children and grandchildren of heroes, but the stories they had inherited were just that, stories. Here was Steve, the embodiment of their shared history, and yet, they treated him like a museum exhibit.

Sharon stood on the podium in the church, her voice steady as she read her speech about all the lessons she had learned from her formidable aunt, Peggy Carter. Her eyes, however, were locked on Steve. There was an intensity in her gaze, a silent plea for something more, something romantic.

Steve remembered how Nick Fury had placed Sharon in his life, disguised as his very normal next-door neighbour, before the tumultuous events in Washington. Even then, he had found her quite annoying. She was efficient, professional, and undeniably beautiful. That didn’t mean she was good enough for him. Sharon was meant to be grieving, and yet she was flirting openly with him. That attitude was quite disgusting. Then again, they maybe could have some fun. He always had a thing for blondes. Life was meant to be enjoyed after all. It wasn’t like he was promising a future together.

“Margaret Carter was known to most as the founder of S.H.I.E.L.D. But I just know her as Aunt Peggy. She had a photograph in her office: Aunt Peggy standing next to JFK. As a kid that was pretty cool. But it was a lot to live up to, which is why I never told anyone we were related. I asked her once how she managed to master diplomacy and espionage at a time when no one wanted to see a woman succeed at either. And she said, ‘Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say, 'No, *you* move'.’” Sharon was telling the family members and friends gathered there.

Steve struggled to suppress a yawn. The last thing he needed was a photo of him looking bored at Peggy Carter's funeral plastered all over the news. Journalists were swarming the church, their eyes and cameras trained on him. Instead, he bowed his head, feigning an emotional moment, a trick he had learned a long time ago, during his school years. Clearly, he couldn’t care less.

As soon as the service ended, he made his way out of the church, only to be immediately surrounded by a horde of journalists. They fired questions at him, their voices blending into an unintelligible cacophony. They were asking him to share his thoughts about the incredible news that had just dropped. Steve frowned, caught off guard. He had no idea what they were talking about. Keeping his expression neutral, he gave the standard response one of the PR people from Stark Industries had drilled into him: "No comment."

The journalists looked disappointed, but Steve didn’t care. He bet the PR guy, who had insisted on this response for such occasions, was smugly satisfied now. But Steve wasn’t doing it for him. He was just too tired and not interested to engage with the media circus.

His hotel room was a welcome hideout. After the privations he had endured during his childhood and then during the war, he felt he deserved a bit of luxury now. The plush carpets, the crisp linens, and the view of the city skyline all spoke of a world far removed from the hardships he had known. This was one of the rare things Stark was good for. The so-called genius might not have earned his money in ways Steve approved of, but spending it on Steve was at least righting a massive wrong.

First, he would order a good dinner. A warrior needed to be in peak condition at all times, after all. He picked up the room service menu, scanning it for something hearty and satisfying. The idea of a perfectly cooked steak, accompanied by a mountain of mashed potatoes and fresh vegetables, made his mouth water. Only the best for the only real hero there was.

For a simple order, the hotel staff was taking their sweet time. Steve Rogers wasn't just anybody. They should prioritise him over the other less reputable clients. Frustrated and impatient, he had no choice but to wait. He sank into the plush sofa and switched on the giant TV screen, hoping to distract himself from the growing irritation.

What he saw made his blood run cold.The news was dominated by reports of James Buchanan Barnes. Not only was Bucky alive, but he was being labelled a terrorist, accused of bombing the Vienna conference. Steve had always found that conference unnecessary, a waste of time and resources. Now, it was a catastrophe, and Bucky was at the centre of it. Steve’s mind raced. Bucky was many things, but a terrorist was not one of them. His instincts kicked in. He needed to act fast.

Grabbing his phone, he speed-dialled Natasha. “Natasha,” he said urgently as soon as she picked up, “we need to get to Vienna ASAP. Find a way.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. “You should sit this one out, Steve. Trust me,” Natasha’s voice was calm but firm.

“It’s Bucky. I need to be there.”

Natasha sighed, recognising the futility of arguing with Steve. He was right. Steve had faced the Winter Soldier’s conditioning before, and if anyone could reach Bucky, it was him. Despite all their efforts, Hydra was still lurking in the shadows, and the Avengers were the ones to confront such threats. But he needed to go get his shield and gather his team. Sam didn’t want to be part of the Avengers anymore but Steve was sure to find the words to change his mind. 

Reaching out to Sam was a gamble. Steve knew that. Sam had distanced himself from the Avengers, disillusioned by the events of Lagos. It took several rings before Sam finally picked up the phone.

"I can’t come, Steve. I’m not a superhero. I’m not made for that life. Those accords you fear won’t apply to me. The best I can do is give you a name, someone who can help if you call him," Sam explained, his voice tired and disillusioned. "Don’t call anymore. Goodbye, Steve."

Sam was really such a disappointment. He had believed in Sam, bringing him onto the team during the conflict against Shield and Hydra. This was the thanks he got. Maybe it was better for Sam to stay away, to never face Steve again. Actually, the ex falcon deserved a good punishment of the definitive kind.

At least Sam had given him a name: Scott Lang. Steve made the call, and the man, with his Ant-Man suit, was more than willing to help. Next, he dialled Clint. Whatever the archer was doing was nothing in the face of that global problem that the Lagos accords would become.

It wasn’t totally a lie. Quite frankly, Steve didn’t care one bit what kind of rules those people in suits thought they could force him to obey. It wasn’t as if they could actually stop him or do without him when faced with threats like aliens or Hydra. But for Clint, it would be a better excuse than saving, or killing, depending on where the situation led, the infamous Bucky Barnes.

“Clint! I’m so glad you answered your phone. We have a situation, and I really need your help.”

Steve knew how to manipulate people. It was always better to make them believe they were essential, that without them, Steve wouldn't be able to accomplish the mission. Heroes often acted out of a need to stroke their massive egos, after all.

“What’s the problem?” Clint answered, his tone not showing much interest.

If anything, Steve was passionate and stubborn. He made an impassioned speech about the dangers of bureaucrats, those pin pushers who had never seen the front lines, making decisions that could cost innocent people, like Clint’s wife and children, their safety and freedom. In the end, the archer reluctantly agreed to come and help. He also promised to ensure Scott would join them.

Sharon might be useful after all. After the fall of Shield, she had secured a position in the CIA. Considering the state of Hydra, Steve doubted they were behind the bombing in Vienna. Controlling superheroes with the Accords actually worked in Hydra's favour. This left two possibilities: either Bucky was acting on his own volition, which Steve found highly unlikely given his knowledge of Bucky's capabilities and mindset, or someone was framing him.

The real question was who was pulling the strings behind the scenes and why. But first, Steve had to find Bucky. God knew what Bucky might reveal to whoever caught him first. There were secrets, truths buried deep, that should remain hidden, even if the general public might dismiss them as unbelievable. Since waking up in this century, Steve had learned that people were ready to believe almost anything as long as it was packaged nicely on social media.

Natasha had a lead, somewhere in Germany. It was almost poetic, how things seemed to come full circle for him. The country had changed a lot, though it didn’t matter to Steve. He had fought there before, and he would fight there again if necessary. Steve Rogers, Captain America, was willing to go wherever he was needed, or wherever he needed to be for his own good.

Chapter Text

“You’d better find him soon. Otherwise, it’s going to be shot on sight. I don’t know why you want to protect the Winter Soldier of all people, but I’ll play nice, Stark. You have twenty-four hours.”

General Ross’s words hung in the air like a storm cloud as he left the room, his smug demeanour grating on Tony’s nerves. Tony watched him go, seething inwardly. The arrogance, the disdain, Ross embodied everything that was wrong with the current administration. President Ellis was an idiot and had made a mistake appointing such a man as Secretary of State. The decision was already creating unnecessary tensions with the UN, a delicate relationship strained further by the disastrous events in Lagos.

Tony knew in his gut that Bucky wasn’t responsible for the bombing, but proving it was another matter entirely. The clues were scarce, and time was running out. The grainy video surveillance footage, even with Jarvis’s best efforts to enhance it, was too grainy to really help. The remnants of the explosive device were being analysed, but there wasn’t much left to scrutinise. 

Rhodey was on the ground, coordinating with local police forces in Vienna. His friend’s calm, military efficiency was a small comfort in the chaos. But even with everyone pulling their weight, the international pressure was mounting, and they needed results fast.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, willing his mounting headache to disappear. He missed the days of camaraderie at the tower, the sense of a newfound family that had brought him so much joy. If he couldn’t find the real bomber, those moments might be done for good. That was something he couldn’t let happen.

The United Nations had deployed their resources, integrating the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre (JCTC) into the mix. This elite unit, headquartered in Berlin, had the authority to intervene in any country that had signed the accords, albeit with local authorization. The scope and efficiency of the JCTC's operations were impressive, and both Tony and Rhodes were committed to helping their efforts as much as possible.

Meanwhile, Tony had reached out to Bucky and Peter, urging them to act quickly. Their response was immediate. In New York, Spider-Man had been spotted stopping the bad guys of the day with the help of that new guy with a cool metal arm. The press, always quick to coin nicknames, was still scrambling to label this new hero. Tony couldn't help but smirk, recalling how inaccurate yet catchy 'Iron Man' had been. He suspected they'd come up with something equally memorable soon.

This was not enough. That piece of evidence might help prove that Bucky couldn’t possibly be the bomber, but General Ross wouldn’t stop there. Even after all these years, Ross was still obsessed with finding Banner, and if it hadn’t been for Tony’s interventions, he probably would have succeeded by now. Their last encounter had been anything but subtle or safe for the bystanders. Their last encounter had been anything but subtle or safe for the bystanders. 

Tony's day was already spiralling into chaos, and it seemed like it couldn’t get worse. Yet, here was Steve Rogers, marching toward him with determination etched on his face.

“Tony, we need to find Bucky. He didn’t do that!” Steve demanded without so much as a greeting.

“Jarvis is on it,” Tony replied, his wariness evident.

“I don’t care about your computer! We need to get him!” Steve’s voice was rising.

Tony’s patience was wearing thin. “Where? How? Do you know where he is? Do you know how to prove that it wasn’t him? Do you even know how he survived all this time? Was he frozen next to you and you didn’t tell us or something? So let Jarvis do his job!”

"He's been seen in New York with that spider vigilante. We could start there!" Steve insisted, his eyes filled with determination.

Tony sighed, shaking his head. "That won’t remove the charges from the bombing. He could be anywhere by now. Besides, I can’t leave. The Accords are still being signed, and now more than ever, we need to be seen operating within the law."

"The Accords are just red tape they want to put on us! They're proving that right now!" Steve's frustration was palpable.

"Why? Nobody stops you if you want to go around and look one place after another, as long as you ask nicely and don’t destroy the place, that is…” Tony said, his irritation building. “Aren’t you the man with a plan? Now is the time to plan!”

Steve’s face hardened, but he didn’t back down. "Tony, we need to act. Every minute we waste, Bucky is out there alone, probably being hunted. We can’t let them catch him first."

Tony leaned back, trying to temper his frustration. "Steve, we are acting. Jarvis is analysing every piece of data we have. We’re coordinating with the JCTC and local authorities. Rushing out without a solid plan won’t help Bucky, it’ll just get us all in deeper trouble."

There was hatred in those baby blue eyes, but Tony didn’t care. Despite Steve's obvious contempt, Tony genuinely wanted to save Bucky, not just play pretend. Steve was going to be a problem more than anything. It was a pity that the Lagos incident hadn’t put a stop to Steve’s self-righteous crusades.

Jarvis was projecting on his glasses the news feed. The fallout from Lagos was still fresh, the images of devastation and loss of life playing on a loop. Ellis had pulled strings to save the Avengers this time.  it felt so wrong to have to wait for another of Rogers’ mistakes to be able to act, especially when those tended to be incredibly destructive. The world was losing patience.

If Steve was here, Natasha was likely close by. Tony wondered if they had already asked for help or if they thought they could handle this on their own. Just then, his phone rang. It was Clint.

“Hey!” Tony said, walking a bit away from Steve to get some privacy. “How are things?”

“Steve called for help,” Clint replied.

“Yeah, Rhodey.. I told you something like that might happen.”

“You're not alone?” Clint asked, catching on the name.

“Nope,” Tony said, glancing over at Steve, who was pacing impatiently.

“Okay. Steve wants me to fetch a guy who can help. I’m going to have to brief him so he doesn’t do something stupid. Is that okay with you, or do you prefer we stay out of it?”

“No, go ahead. The more the merrier. Where are you headed?”

“Last I heard, Germany. But with those sightings of Bucky in New York, things might have changed.”

“You should confirm that. Keep in touch, sugarplum!” Tony said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice to lighten the mood.

“Will do, Tin Man. Over and out,” Clint replied before hanging up.

The conversation ended there, Steve still pacing the room, his mind obviously racing. “Fine, if you don’t want to help, I’ll do it myself.” He said, before leaving the room in a fury.

Steve leaving was both a relief and a concern. Tony was almost impressed that Natasha, undoubtedly her doing, already knew about the task force. A thousand scenarios were running through Tony’s mind, and none of them were promising. 

At the beginning of their strange alliance, it had always been a question of facing justice for Bucky. Tony would have proven that he wasn’t of his right mind, and therefore, Barnes would not have gone to jail. This way, the families of the people the Winter Soldier had killed would find a sense of closure.

Doing that now, though, might land Bucky in jail for a very long time. Why would anyone care that he had been manipulated by Hydra when the shadow agency was supposedly dead and a crime had been committed against the will of the people? Bucky would be the perfect scapegoat for whoever was behind this plan.

But on the other hand, could they risk Steve and company gallivanting around the world in search of Bucky, potentially leading to another catastrophic event like Lagos? Barnes wouldn't take that well, feeling responsible for every death done in his name. They were between a rock and a hard place. No solution was fully satisfying, and Tony knew that ultimately, it wasn’t his decision to make anyway. With each passing hour, the stakes grew higher. But Tony knew one thing for sure: they couldn’t afford to fail. Not this time. Not ever.

Bucky Barnes wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knew what needed to be done. It felt harder to leave now that he had found a real family. Yet perhaps it was because he cared about them that he needed to go. Tony had tried to protect him, and Bucky had followed his directive. Now it was his turn to protect the others, those people he had come to care so much about.

He was packing his few belongings, his mind set on his next steps, when a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Wherever you’re going, I’m coming too!" Peter declared, standing in the doorway of Bucky’s room, determination written all over his face.

Bucky turned to face him, a frown creasing his forehead. "Peter, it’s better if you stay here."

"No, I'm coming, and that’s final!" Peter crossed his arms, his stance resolute.

At that moment, Happy Hogan appeared, his usual stern expression firmly in place. "The jet is ready. Let’s go," he announced.

Bucky hadn't planned for this, but he knew better than to question them. They piled into the sleek car that Happy was driving, headed straight for the private airport. Peter, in stark contrast to Bucky's brooding silence, was bubbling with excitement. His phone was out, capturing videos and snapping photos like a tourist on a vacation trip.

Happy glanced at Peter through the rearview mirror, a hint of irritation in his voice. "You know you can’t show those videos to anyone, right? This isn't a field trip."

Peter, unfazed, shrugged with a grin. "It’s my first time on a plane. I want to remember it."

That ended the conversation right there. Even Happy couldn't completely hide the fondness he felt for Peter, the stubborn kid who somehow managed to bring out the best in everyone. They all had a soft spot for him. 

Tony was going to be mad at them, especially with Bucky, for taking such a risk. There were so many things Bucky wanted to tell Tony, feelings he hadn’t fully come to terms with, moments they could have shared. But that wasn’t in the cards right now. Tony had already given him more than he had ever imagined.

Perhaps, with a bit of luck, they would have time for goodbyes, the whole family together one last time. That would be nice. A small part of him hoped that Tony would once again free him from the shackles put on him, especially now that he was actually innocent of what he was accused of. But really, he was just tired of running all the time. All that because he had wanted to help a small, sickly guy back then.

“It’s going to be alright, Bucky,” Peter said, giving him a big reassuring smile. “Mr. Stark is going to fix everything. I’m sure of that.”

“You know, kid,” Bucky replied with a smile, masking his inner turmoil one last time. “It’s about time you call him Tony. He’s like your dad anyway.”

“What? No... He’s not my dad. I mean...” Peter stammered, a flush creeping up his cheeks.

“Totally your dad!” Happy chimed in from his comfy chair on the other side of the aisle. “And so is Bucky!”

“What?” Bucky and Peter said in unison, their expressions mirroring each other’s surprise.

Happy chuckled, enjoying their bewildered looks. “Come on, think about it. Tony’s always looking out for you, Peter. He’s got that protective dad vibe. And Bucky here, well, he’s like the grumpy dad who’s always got your back.”

Bucky shook his head, though he couldn’t suppress a small smile. “I’m not grumpy,” he grumbled, half-heartedly.

“Sure, you’re not,” Happy teased, rolling his eyes. “You two are more alike than you realise. Both stubborn as mules and always ready to jump into trouble.”

“Hey, I’m not that bad,” Peter protested, but his grin gave him away.

Bucky felt a warmth spread through him, a rare moment of lightness amidst the chaos. He glanced at Peter, the kid’s enthusiasm and spirit reminding him of why he was doing all this. “Alright, alright. No need to be all smug about that.”

Happy’s rare smile was giving him away, proud of the point he had just made.

Chapter Text

Everett Ross had not exactly envisioned himself working for the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre (JCTC). He had spent years in the CIA, climbing the ranks little by little, honing his skills in covert operations and intelligence gathering. When the Secretary of State decided to promote him to his new position, he had no choice but to accept it, despite his initial reluctance. His new task would be to ensure the Lagos Accords were being strictly followed by any and all groups of American vigilantes and enhanced individuals, including the Avengers.

In the past few weeks, the world had been demanding for more oversight and accountability, especially after the catastrophic events in Lagos. The destruction and loss of life had sparked global outrage and fear. The demand for stricter regulations on enhanced individuals and superhero activities wasn’t unfounded. Governments and civilians alike wanted assurances that those wielding extraordinary powers were being monitored and held accountable.

Everett Ross had never imagined that his first actual mission would involve accepting the surrender of James Buchanan Barnes, the infamous Winter Soldier. As he prepared for the task ahead, he couldn't help but feel the gravity of the situation weighing on him. The world was watching, and any misstep could have severe repercussions for international relations and the credibility of the Lagos Accords.

Barnes' alleged involvement in the Vienna bombing was just the last in a long line of massive and deadly events. The only piece of evidence against him was a grainy surveillance video showing a figure resembling Barnes placing a bomb at the conference. The footage, while compelling to the uninformed eye, was far from conclusive. Ross had to proceed with extreme caution.

The JCTC building was a fortress, designed to hold the most dangerous individuals securely. Ross walked through multiple layers of security, each checkpoint reinforcing the seriousness of the task ahead. Inside a bland interrogation room, Barnes sat alone. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow on his tired face, and his hands were cuffed to the metal table in front of him. Despite his reputation, Barnes looked more like a man haunted by his past than a cold-blooded terrorist.

Ross knew better than to rely on a grainy surveillance video to accuse someone of a crime, especially in an era where digital manipulation was common. He needed more solid evidence before making any concrete accusations. He entered the interrogation room with a determined expression, ready to get to the bottom of this.

"Mr. Barnes," Ross began, taking a seat across from the Winter Soldier. "Thank you for coming here on your own accord. I have to say I wasn't expecting that."

Bucky met his gaze steadily. "I have nothing to hide. I am innocent."

"We'll see," Ross replied, his tone neutral but firm. "Can you tell me where you were in the last thirty-six hours?"

Bucky nodded. "I was in New York, helping Spiderman, and then I was on a plane coming here, basically."

Ross leaned back in his chair, considering Bucky's words. "Helping Spiderman, you say? Doing what exactly?"

"There was a situation," Bucky explained. "A robbery at a tech warehouse. Spiderman needed backup, and I was there to assist. There are probably witnesses who saw us working together."

Ross nodded, making a note of this information. "We'll need to verify that. Do you have any proof of your whereabouts during the time of the bombing in Vienna?"

For the ride here, I was on a Stark Industries plane. You can ask the crew, as well as Harold Hogan, Mr. Stark’s personal bodyguard," Bucky explained, his voice steady and measured.

Everett Ross nodded slightly but remained silent, choosing to continue his line of questioning. "Why would Tony Stark help you in any way?" he asked, his tone probing for more information.

Bucky's expression remained neutral. "You would have to ask him for his reasons," he replied.

Bucky answered every question as best he could, striving to be as honest as possible. His instincts told him he could trust Everett Ross, at least to some extent. The years spent under Hydra’s control were still difficult to talk about, and some details were left out, but it wasn’t hard to read between the lines. Ross didn’t hide his awareness of the events in Washington either.

Bucky recounted the short version of his side of the story, focusing on the key moments up to saving Steve Rogers from drowning in the Potomac. He spoke about the fragmented memories that kept resurfacing, gradually painting events in a very different light than what the public knew. Bucky understood that explaining Steve Rogers wasn’t entirely the hero everyone believed would be a hard pill to swallow for many, but he pressed on. However, before Ross could ask another question, a knock sounded on the two-way mirror, interrupting their session.

He excused himself, keeping things as polite as they had been so far. Once on the other side of the door, he was met by a man who introduced himself as Theo Broussard. General Ross had decided to send a psychiatrist to help with the interrogation of Barnes without going through the official channels. Everett was not particularly happy with the turn of events.

Of course, a psychiatrist wasn’t a bad idea per se. That specialist was actually completely unknown to him. Everett didn’t even know about his credentials or anything. The last name they shared was the only thing Thaddeus and Everett had in common. This was not the way Everett liked to do things.

Everett prided himself on his meticulous nature. He believed in vetting every aspect of an operation, knowing every detail, and ensuring all participants were thoroughly checked and double-checked. The unexpected involvement of Broussard threw a wrench into his well-oiled machine, and Everett couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

On top of everything, Everett had the representative of a certain nation breathing down his neck. The stern-faced envoy from Wakanda had made it abundantly clear that their prince, T’Challa, the future king, had demanded Barnes be handed over to them. T’Challa wanted Bucky to be punished for the murder of his father, T’Chaka, and his anger was as palpable as his grief.

This was not how things were supposed to be done. The world was watching, scrutinising every move made by the JCTC and the Avengers. The pressure was mounting, a veritable powder keg ready to explode if not handled with the utmost care. One misstep, one wrong decision, and the ramifications could be catastrophic for everyone involved.

Tony Stark was there, visibly unhappy but keeping his distance, not interfering. At least someone was following a semblance of protocol here, and Everett was thankful for that. He knew Stark could be a handful, but his restraint now was crucial. Colonel Rhodes was on his way to join them, bringing with him a level-headedness that Everett desperately needed. The CIA and the JCTC might not be the best equipped to deal with enhanced individuals, but at least Stark and Rhodes had experience in this area. Everett hoped Stark would intervene if things went south.

As Everett mulled over the situation, he heard a commotion down the hallway. Steve Rogers was striding toward him, his face a mask of determination and frustration. "Bucky is innocent! He didn’t do anything!" Rogers shouted, his voice echoing through the corridor.

Everett took a deep breath, preparing himself for the confrontation. "Mr. Rogers, unless you have actual proof of what you are saying, I would appreciate it if you calmed down and let the procedure carry on," he said firmly, his eyes meeting Steve's.

The flash of anger, hatred even, that Ross saw in Rogers’ eyes gave some credence to what Barnes had been trying to tell him. Steve's fury wasn’t just about friendship; it was about something deeper, more personal. Everett shouldn’t have been playing babysitter to these overgrown boys, but there he was, caught in the middle of a conflict that seemed more suited for a soap opera than an international crisis. Everett sighed inwardly, rubbing his temples. 

While Everett Ross had been otherwise occupied with Rogers, Theo Broussard seized the opportunity to slip into the interrogation room unannounced. Bucky, ever the soldier, noticed the new presence immediately. His eyes flicked up to meet Broussard's, but his expression remained impassive. Years of conditioning and survival instincts had taught him to hide his emotions well, even when alarm bells were ringing in his head.

There was something off about Broussard. It wasn’t just the unexpected intrusion, though that was enough to set Bucky on edge. No, it was something deeper, something in the way Broussard carried himself and the intensity of his gaze. Bucky felt like he was being measured, evaluated, and judged all at once. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong, but his instincts were screaming at him to be wary.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes. My name is Theo Broussard. I’ve been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you." He paused, looking around the sterile room before his eyes settled back on Bucky. "Do you mind if I sit?" Without waiting for a response, Broussard took the chair opposite Bucky and said. "I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?"

Bucky didn’t respond immediately. He studied Broussard, trying to read the man’s intentions. There was something too smooth, too practised about him. Sensing Bucky’s hesitation, Broussard continued, his tone gentle but probing. "I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James."

"My name is Bucky," Bucky finally said, his voice firm.

Broussard's smile was sharp and unsettling, a stark contrast to the polite demeanour he had tried to present. As he stood up and moved toward the door, he turned back, locking eyes with Bucky. There was an intensity there, a sinister gleam that sent a shiver down Bucky's spine.

"Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One, Freight Car. Soldier?" Broussard's voice was cold and precise, the words hanging heavily in the air.

Bucky's mind raced. The activation words. They no longer had power over him, thanks to the deprogramming he had undergone in the tower. But this was an opportunity. Broussard thought he was still the Winter Soldier, a puppet ready to be controlled. Bucky could use this to his advantage, to unearth the truth behind the bombing and everything else. It was a dangerous game, but he had been the Winter Soldier for a long time. He knew how to play the part.

“Ready to comply.”

Bucky transformed his demeanour instantly, his posture becoming rigid, eyes blank and unresponsive, like a puppet waiting for commands. Broussard's quiet laugh echoed in the small room, sinister and filled with dark satisfaction.

"Get out of here and get to Leipzig airport," Broussard ordered, his voice dripping with authority. "Further instructions are waiting for you there. You have authorization to kill anyone who gets in your way."

The man turned around and walked out, leaving the door open behind him. The message was clear: Bucky needed to follow the order, or at least pretend he was, while finding a way to warn someone trustworthy about his plan.

Bucky took a deep breath, steeling himself. The instant he stepped out of the interrogation room, chaos erupted. Agents began shooting at him, and the building filled with the sound of alarms and panicked screams. Bucky knew he wouldn't be able to escape without a fight, but he was determined not to kill anyone. He would use his years of training and the super serum coursing through his veins for the actual greater good.

He moved swiftly, disarming the first agent who approached him and knocking him out with a precise strike. Using the surprise and panic around him, he incapacitated two more agents with quick, calculated blows. Each movement was deliberate, minimising harm while ensuring they couldn’t follow him.

Bucky's mind raced as he navigated the maze of corridors. He needed to get to the outside and find a way to communicate with Tony. They had to know about Broussard and the hidden enemy orchestrating everything from the shadows.

Hopefully, this was the right thing to do.

Chapter Text

As Bucky navigated the corridors that had taken him to the interrogation room not so long ago, he constantly checked his surroundings. Every turn and shadow held potential threats, and he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. He moved with practised stealth, slipping through the dimly lit hallways like a ghost. The facility’s alarm system had been activated, its blaring sirens echoing off the walls, adding to the chaos of his escape.

Red emergency lights flashed, casting ominous glows across the sterile walls and adding an urgency to his movements. Bucky knew he had to move quickly, relying on his training to guide him through the labyrinthine hallways. Every footstep echoed with a sense of impending danger. He slipped into an alcove as a pair of guards rushed past, trying to avoid confrontation as much as possible. 

Surprisingly, Steve was not behind him, shouting his innocence to anyone who would listen. Bucky had half-expected him to burst through the door at any moment, ready to take on the world for him or at least, pretend to. It was their dance, a familiar routine they had done before, until Buck had fallen from a speeding train. Perhaps, Steve was changing strategy for once.

Bucky needed to get out of the facility and find a way to communicate with Tony. His thoughts raced as he formulated a plan. He knew the layout of the building well enough to identify a few potential escape routes, but each came with its own set of challenges. For once, Bucky agreed with Steve. Sometimes a frontal attack was the best approach. But he needed to be strategic, using the element of surprise to his advantage.

Luck was on his side, or perhaps it was just Tony believing in him. They met in a small cafeteria near the entrance, a room full of chairs and tables. Bucky had no choice but to keep incapacitating anyone who crossed his path. He moved swiftly and efficiently, ensuring that his actions were non-lethal but effective.

As soon as he spotted Tony, he knew he had to maintain the facade. 

Tony, ever the quick thinker, seemed to understand immediately. He had on his right hand a light version of his armour gauntlet, a sleek piece of tech that, despite its diminutive size, packed a punch. Tony activated the gauntlet, and a focused blast of energy shot out, causing a short wave of pain to ripple through Bucky's body. It was more for show than harm, a strategic move to keep up appearances.

Their eyes met across the room, and Bucky gave a slight nod. It was a small gesture, but he hoped it was enough for Tony to grasp his intentions without drawing suspicion. Tony's eyes flickered with understanding. They had to continue this dance, this carefully orchestrated deception, to buy time and gather information.

Tony used the light to blind him slightly, immediately engaging in hand-to-hand combat. They both knew he would not come on top of that fight. Despite Tony’s extensive training and skill in martial arts and close combat, far more than people typically gave him credit for, he was still a baseline human. The fight was inherently unfair, but Tony needed to hold his ground at least until he knew more.

“Bucky?” Tony whispered urgently between blows.

“That man was Hydra. I’m pretending. Need to find the top guy,” Bucky replied, his voice barely audible amidst the chaos.

Tony's mind raced, processing the information swiftly. He was known for his ability to think fast in the most intense situations. They danced around each other, their movements a choreographed blend of real and feigned combat. Tony used the fight to subtly fetch a pair of earcoms he always carried just in case.

Like a magician who honed his art, Tony knew everything about misdirection and sleight of hand. They fought with the intensity of mortal enemies, each blow looking brutal but calculated to avoid serious harm. Tony faked a stumble, using the opportunity to slip one of the ear coms to Bucky. The exchange was smooth, hidden by the flurry of their movements.

The choreography of their battle continued seamlessly. Punches and kicks flew, each one more convincing than the last. Tony's gauntlet flared again, sending a burst of light to temporarily blind Bucky, who responded with a forceful push that sent Tony crashing into a cluster of tables and chairs.

Bucky seized the moment, bolting toward the nearest exit. Tony watched him disappear around a corner, then turned to face the incoming agents. "He's heading for the east wing! Move, move, move!" he shouted, playing his part to perfection.

As the agents rushed past him, Tony quickly moved, blending into the chaos, his mind racing with the next steps. Thanks to the ear com equipped with a GPS, he could now track Bucky's movements, ensuring he could follow him wherever he went. However, Bucky's mention of a Hydra operative demanded immediate attention. Tony needed to find and identify this threat.

He sprinted back to the interrogation room, dodging agents and weaving through the confusion. He scanned the room for any clues, finding nothing of note. 

Who could he trust? Rogers was nowhere to be found, but even if he had been, Tony knew he wouldn’t have turned to him. The fracture in their relationship ran too deep, the wounds still too fresh. Steve had his own agenda, one that didn’t necessarily align with Tony’s. Sometimes, when everything was on the line, the future depended on a leap of faith. Tony preferred calculated risks. But now, he found himself in a situation where calculation and planning couldn’t provide all the answers.

He didn’t have another choice anyway. Bucky’s life hung in the balance, and so did the tenuous peace between superhumans and the rest of the world. The wrong move could ignite a conflict of unimaginable proportions. Tony’s mind raced, weighing his limited options. He knew the road ahead was fraught with danger, but he couldn’t afford to hesitate.

“Ross!” Tony called out, interrupting the man's orders to his agents to capture Bucky. “We need to talk in private. Now!”

Normally, Everett Ross would have not-so-diplomatically told the billionaire off. Time was of the essence. But something in Stark’s demeanour gave him pause. Maybe it was the urgency in his voice or the seriousness in his eyes. Whatever it was, Ross decided to listen. After all, Stark might have something valuable to contribute to the situation.

Broussard had vanished amidst the chaos, and in the rush to apprehend Bucky, he had been forgotten. Ross knew nothing about the psychiatrist’s credentials, and Hydra agents were notoriously good at blending in. The Hydra data dump had done considerable damage, but it hadn’t rooted out every operative. Stark’s points were valid, but Barnes was still the prime suspect in the bombing.

“Come on!” Tony insisted, his frustration palpable. “Bucky didn’t kill any of your agents! Think!”

“What would you have me do?” Ross asked, his voice a mixture of scepticism and curiosity.

“Listen, I understand your position, and I’m not asking for special treatment,” Tony said, his tone earnest. “I just want us to go to where Bucky is heading with some of your men, but instead of going in guns blazing, we wait to see who shows up and what happens.”

“And if that means arresting Barnes, you will back down and let us do it?” Ross asked, willing to compromise.

“Absolutely. You have my word.”

Ross studied Tony for a moment, then nodded. It was always better to have a superhero or two on his team, and Tony’s cooperation could be an asset. Colonel Rhodes was already on his way, adding to their tactical advantage.

Everett turned his attention to the footage of the interrogation room. Broussard had acted with a brazen confidence, not bothering to tamper with the cameras or obscure his actions. He had triggered the Winter Soldier almost immediately and ordered him to make his way to Leipzig with authorization to kill. The situation reports Everett was receiving confirmed that Barnes had not killed anyone during his escape, he had only incapacitated the agents in his path. Everything added weight to Stark’s argument.

Ross nodded thoughtfully. "Alright, Stark. Let's do it your way. But understand, if Barnes is involved in any way, we're taking him down."

Stark nodded in agreement. "Fair enough. Let's move."

Rhodes had joined them, and they were about to leave the facility when Tony’s phone rang. It wasn’t exactly the right time, but Tony would never deny anything to Peter. The kid understood the difficulties superheroes faced, so telling him that Tony couldn’t really talk would be enough to cut the conversation short.

“Hey kid! We are having a bit of a situation here so…”

“You talked to Bucky?” Peter interjected.

“What do you know about Bucky?” Tony asked, his curiosity piqued despite the urgency of the moment.

Peter sounded a little awkward as he explained the situation. "We took a plane here with Happy after we saw the news. Bucky said he was going to talk to you before doing anything."

That was a lie. Bucky had gone directly to the JCTC. They obviously had a problem of communication in that family they would need to sternly talk about once that whole mess will be done and over with.

"So where are you now?" Tony asked, trying to keep his irritation in check. The kid had done nothing wrong, after all.

"In the plane," Peter replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Happy wanted to get us a room in a hotel and all that, but I said we should talk to you first. I tried to call earlier, but Jarvis told me to try again later."

Tony took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "Where did you land?"

"Leipzig," Peter answered, sounding like he was in trouble, even though he wasn't.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture that had become all too familiar. It felt like the universe was conspiring against him, placing everyone he cared about in harm's way at the worst possible moment. The stakes were impossibly high, and every decision carried the weight of potential disaster. He wanted to save everyone, but so many variables were out of his control. He was only reacting to someone else's attacks.

"Peter, Happy, stay in the plane and lock it up," Tony ordered, his voice tight with urgency. "Make sure no one gets near it. That’s your mission."

“Got it, Mr Stark.” Peter replied, relieved.

"I’m on my way, kid. Hold tight!"

When he had left the building, Bucky was totally in survival mode. He quickly stole a motorbike, knowing it was his best shot at staying ahead of the authorities. Captured on surveillance cameras or not, he had to keep moving. He couldn’t afford to be caught now, not when he was so close to exposing the truth behind the bombing and clearing his name.

Weaving through traffic, Bucky chose small roads and back alleys, areas less likely to be monitored by the extensive surveillance grid. The city was a maze, but his training had honed his ability to navigate such environments with ease. He glanced in the rearview mirror, scanning for signs of pursuit. So far, he was clear. But he knew it wouldn't last. Tony would be following him, and he needed to trust that Stark’s resourcefulness would help them both get out of this mess.

Meanwhile, Theo Broussard was also making his way to the airport in Leipzig. He wasn’t looking like the man who had triggered Barnes a few moments ago. The military had accessed many trinkets and goodies after the fall of Shield, and those veils were certainly very helpful. With advanced disguise technology, Broussard had seamlessly changed his appearance, blending into the crowd with ease. His General used methods that were frowned upon in the military, but when facing enhanced individuals like the Hulk, there were no rules of engagement. Even Captain America was a deception.

“I love it when a plan comes together,” the General had said with a big smile on his face, watching the pieces move according to his design.

This was nothing more than a game of chess. Each piece had its place, each move calculated to bring him closer to his goal. General Ross was a master player.

Chapter Text

Bucky stopped the motorbike long before reaching the airport entrance. The Winter Soldier had always operated in the shadows, slipping past the world's most trained security operatives with an ease that had made him nothing more than a ghost, a whisper in the corridors of power. He knew the value of stealth and misdirection, and he wasn't about to abandon those principles now.

As he approached the perimeter of Leipzig Airport, Bucky's mind wandered to the moment Tony had first activated Barf. Despite his efforts to keep his hopes grounded, Bucky had allowed himself to envision a future where he would no longer have to rely on the skills that had made him a living weapon. He wasn't naive enough to think he could ever lead a completely normal life, but he yearned for a time when the darker parts of his past would no longer define him.

It was better this way. 

The only thing he was sure of these days was that he wanted to stay close to Tony. The life of a superhero was dangerous, and the particular set of skills of the Winter Soldier would obviously be quite useful. Bucky should not want to forget. Those years were a nightmare, but he was awake now. They would serve as a reminder of the things that were and could never be again.

From his vantage point on top of the roof of one of the hangars, Bucky was surprised to see the strange array of people who seemed to all have found their ways here. 

The hangar housed the Stark Industries aircraft they had flown in not long ago. The sleek, high-tech jet stood to one side, ready to take off at any moment. Bucky hoped that Peter and Happy were somewhere safe. The last thing he needed was for them to get caught up in the chaos that was sure to follow. He should have warned Peter, but he worried that Hydra might have followed him. Besides, the kid was too stubborn. He would have stayed to help no matter what.

The hangar was mostly quiet, the occasional hum of machinery the only sound breaking the silence. Bucky scanned the area, looking for any signs of movement or threats. That was when he spotted military men hidden in one corner of the building. General Ross stood at the back, a knowing smile on his lips.

“Put the veil back on,” Ross ordered one of his aides, almost snickering. “The Soldier is probably here already. A friendly face might be helpful.”

The aide nodded and adjusted the device on his face once again. A moment later, his appearance shimmered and changed, taking on the face of Broussard. It was a tactic straight out of the Hydra playbook, using technology to create deception. He slipped silently through the shadows, moving closer to the hidden soldiers. His senses were on high alert, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to strike.

On the other side of the hangar, the Black Widow crouched behind a large piece of equipment, her sharp eyes scanning the area. She was clearly waiting for someone, and Bucky would bet that Steve wasn’t far behind. Soon enough, Tony and Rhodey would likely join the fray, completing the tense tableau.

Without a sound, Bucky made his way towards General Ross. His mind raced, trying to piece together why the Secretary of State had attempted to trigger him. The Lagos Accords were being signed, which was precisely what Ross wanted. The assassination of King T’Chaka, a prominent figure in the accords, had the potential to destabilise global politics and ignite another World War. Even though Bucky’s memories weren’t always reliable, the fragments he retained from his time as the Winter Soldier were enough to fuel his determination to prevent such a catastrophe.

Bucky moved with the silent precision of a shadow, slipping through the dimly lit hangar until he was right behind Ross. “Ready to comply,” he said, his voice a low, menacing whisper. The satisfaction of seeing the seasoned general jump slightly was a small but gratifying victory.

“Great, great,” the General said, regaining his composure with a neutral expression. “A friend of yours is on his way. Captain America, remember? I want you to kill him.”

The general’s smile broadened, a smug expression spreading across his face. He looked like a cat who had just cornered a particularly juicy mouse. He was clearly enjoying this moment, relishing the power he believed he held over the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s mind raced. Steve was coming. He had to think fast. The mental conditioning that had once controlled him was broken. But the general didn’t know that.

“Understood,” Bucky replied, his voice devoid of emotion. He maintained the facade, keeping his face blank and his posture rigid, just as he had been trained to do. Every second counted now, and he needed to play his role perfectly.

He moved to the centre of the hangar, positioning himself strategically. Confronting General Ross directly was not an option. He had no tangible proof of Ross’s involvement, just his own testimony. And who would believe the words of an assassin who had just escaped custody?

“Bucky!” Steve shouted, running toward him. “Are you alright? Do you know who I am?”

Steve’s performance was impeccable. He really should have pursued a career in acting. If Bucky didn’t know any better, he might have been fooled by the fake sincerity in Steve’s voice. Even his expression was full of worry and something that almost looked like hope. Really, the whole performance deserved an oscar.

Bucky remained still, his face a mask of indifference. The General watched the scene unfold, anticipation etched on his features. He was expecting a show, and Bucky intended to deliver.

Steve continued to approach, his steps careful and measured. “Bucky, it’s me, Steve. Do you remember?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to the General, who was watching with a mixture of amusement and expectation. He couldn’t let Ross suspect anything. Every move, every word had to be calculated.

“Bucky, listen to me,” Steve said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he closed the distance. “We’re here to help you. We know you’re innocent.”

“He’s not Bucky. He’s the Soldier,” Romanov declared, stepping out from her hidden vantage point. Her voice was steady, but Bucky detected an edge of something else, perhaps recognition of the gravity of the situation.

Bucky briefly wondered if she had realised that General Ross was there. The Widows’ reputations often exceeded their actual capacities. Their area of expertise was in seduction and manipulation. It was already impressive for her to have lasted that long in that cutting throat world. Bucky was not going to underestimate Miss Romanov’s abilities to survive. Even if she didn’t have the full picture now, she would find a way to turn the situation to her advantage.

But there was no time to ponder her motives. It was the time to fight, to give time for Tony to get there. Right now, he had to fight, to buy time for Tony to arrive. Then, they would find a way to get a situation under control. 

He also had to admit, the thought of kicking Rogers’ ass was more than a little appealing. A real pleasure. Vengeance was a dish best served cold, and Bucky had been waiting seventy years in a cryo tube. If anything, Bucky would have this moment. If everything went down the drain, he would at least take that with him on the other side.

Steve approached cautiously, still trying to reach the part of Bucky that wasn’t the Soldier. “Bucky, you don’t have to do this.”

The fight was brutal. Bucky wasn’t holding back, each blow landing with a force driven by adrenaline and the need to survive. Steve stopped pretending to care pretty quickly after getting hit in his precious teeth one time too many. Rogers was prideful. He had already pretended once to lose to the Winter Soldier. He would not let that happen again.

Romanov, watching the escalating violence, decided to intervene. She moved with lethal grace, attempting to use her Widow's Bites on Bucky. She had forgotten, or perhaps underestimated, the fact that the Winter Soldier had taught her everything she knew about fighting. Hydra had not left him any other choice but to do his worst on the girls. 

Steve, locked in his battle, noticed her approach and shouted, “Stay out of this, Natasha!”

But Natasha Romanov wasn’t one to follow orders blindly, especially when she believed she could turn the tide. She hesitated for a split second, torn between helping Steve and trusting his judgement. 

“Natasha!” Clint shouted as he arrived in the building.

Despite their recent fallout, Clint couldn't help but care about the woman he had decided to save all those years ago. He ran toward Natasha, not really knowing what he was going to do exactly, but he had to try something. Natasha was more annoying than anything to Bucky, who had no problem fighting Rogers despite her feeble attempts.

But Steve wasn’t a patient man. He pushed her away so hard that her body went flying, landing in a gas tank nearby, leaving a dent into it. Romanov didn’t stand back up again.

Clint reached her, his heart pounding. He knelt beside Natasha, trying his best to put her in a position that would protect her spine. He could see the pain etched on her face, and his stomach churned with worry. The worst damage was already done. Natasha would never be the same Widow ever again.

“Nat, hang on,” Clint murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He carefully checked her injuries, his hands trembling slightly. “You’re going to be okay. Just stay with me.”

“Clint, stay out of it!” Steve warned. 

At first, both enhanced soldiers seemed pretty equal in strength and techniques. Rogers was mainly relying on brute force, his movements powerful but lacking finesse. Despite his super-soldier serum, Steve had never learned past the basics, his combat skills honed more by experience than formal training. A week at training camp hadn’t made him a true soldier. Another man, wiser and less imbued with himself, would have taken the opportunity to learn and refine his skills over the years. Not Rogers.

“You’re Bucky, right?” Steve said between blows, more a statement than a question.

“Of course, it’s me,” Bucky replied, his voice steady, eyes locked on Steve’s.

Rogers smiled, but there was no humour in it. They both knew this fight was about more than the present conflict. It was about revenge, about everything that had happened between them in the past.

“I’m going to finish what I started all those years ago then,” Steve snarled, his eyes cold and determined.

Steve was making a promise he wasn’t going to keep. Last time, Bucky had been caught off guard, not expecting betrayal from someone he had once considered a friend. Now he knew better. Steve’s words held no weight, and Bucky was prepared for whatever might come next.

In the chaos of the hangar, Bucky's heightened senses caught the distinct whine of repulsors. That unmistakable sound signalled Tony's arrival, and likely Rhodey's as well. Despite the turmoil, a flicker of relief washed over him. Reinforcements were here, and with them, the hope of turning the tide in their favour.

As the side door of the plane opened, Bucky's peripheral vision caught a glimpse of Peter, dressed in his Spider-Man suit, waving frantically at Tony. Happy stood behind Peter, holding him back, ensuring the eager teenager didn’t rush into the fight. Bucky appreciated the gesture. He didn’t want the kid getting involved in this mess. Tony, he hoped, would be able to explain everything.

The sight of Peter and Happy, along with the knowledge that Tony and Rhodey were here, fueled Bucky's determination. The whole family was present, and that gave him an unexpected surge of strength. He wasn't going to fail. Not now, not with so much at stake.

Chapter Text

Peter had promised Bucky he would stay back and wait for his call. The kid wanted to be a good person, the kind who would hold on to their word and do the right thing. Waiting in the plane, though, was too stressful for him. Peter had always been too full of energy to stay in one place for long. His mind was constantly overthinking everything, and there was a lot to think about these days.

Ever since Tony and Bucky had offered their help, his life had changed yet again. The superhero gig was not as easy as he initially thought it would be. Sure, his spider powers were incredibly useful, but he could now admit that he had been in over his head. Bucky and Tony had already taught him so much, each man contributing in his own unique way.

Spiderman always preferred to incapacitate his enemies rather than relying on brute force. He believed in minimising harm, using his agility and webs to neutralise threats without causing serious injury. Unfortunately, his enemies didn’t always play nice and fair. Some were ruthless, pushing him to the brink and forcing him to make tough decisions. 

Bucky had once told him after training, "It's better to know a skill and never use it, than to be ignorant when you're in dire need." 

This advice echoed in Peter's mind, emphasising that while he might not want to use more aggressive tactics, it was essential to be prepared. Ultimately, it was up to Peter to decide what to do when faced with such danger and choices.

Tony often joined them during sparring sessions, though he would joke about being "the tech guy." His presence was a mix of banter and invaluable mentorship. The new Spiderman suit Tony had designed was totally awesome, a marvel of technology and ingenuity. 

However, Tony had explained that not all its features would be available to Peter just yet. It wasn't a matter of trust in Peter's abilities, it was about honing those abilities. 

Tony had started with a relatively simple armour himself, gradually adding more features as he realised that he needed them. Even the simplest Iron Man armour was complex and challenging to manoeuvre. There was no reason to run before walking.

Peter paced up and down the aisle, occasionally tapping one of the seats just to keep his hands busy. He checked his web shooters, adjusting them with meticulous care, even though they were already in perfect working order. Every now and then, he would move to glance out the small windows, his eyes scanning the darkened hangar for any sign of movement or trouble. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat, every noise a potential crisis.

"How about you give Mr. Stark a call, kid," Happy suggested, noticing Peter's mounting anxiety.

Despite his best efforts to hide it, Peter's unease was palpable. He fidgeted as he pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers trembling slightly. The call connected quickly.

"Mr. Parker. I'm sorry, Mr. Stark can't answer right now. If you could try again in a while..." Jarvis' calm voice came through the speaker.

"Is there something wrong happening?" Peter asked, his worry evident.

"Don't worry, Mr. Parker. Everything is under control," Jarvis reassured him.

"Okay, Mr. Jarvis," Peter replied, but the reassurance did little to ease his mind.

The call disconnected. Despite the AI's reassuring words, Peter couldn't shake his worry. He smiled timidly at Happy, quickly explaining what Jarvis had said. He had made a promise to wait, and he intended to keep it, but the thought of being stuck in that plane while his friends were potentially in danger was excruciating. It was as if every second he spent there was a second too long.

Happy, trying to keep himself and Peter occupied, busied himself with finding rooms in the hotel where Tony was staying. The name Stark carried a lot of weight, and the staff were more than willing to accommodate them, even if it meant giving them a smaller room on another level. Happy didn't really care about the size of the room. They just needed a place to sleep. A good meal wouldn't be a miss either, considering the stressful day they already had.

Peter, meanwhile, kept looking through his phone, pretending to check his social media, but in reality, he was just waiting for a message or any sign that would let him know what was actually happening. The silence was unbearable. He wanted nothing more than to get out there and help, but he had no idea where to go or what to do.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jarvis gave Peter the okay to call Tony. The conversation was brief, but it was enough to ease some of his anxiety. Now he knew Tony was on his way.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approaching made him jump. Since the spider bite, Peter's senses had been heightened to an almost unbearable degree. He gestured to Happy, signalling that someone was outside. His heart pounded in his chest as he started to make his way to the cockpit, but Happy stopped him, indicating they should stay silent.

The plane was top technology. With a swift motion, he revealed a hidden panel on the side wall. It unfolded to reveal an array of screens, a keyboard, and all the equipment Tony might ever need for his business or inventions. Peter watched in awe as a hologram flickered to life with just a touch from Happy. The hologram displayed a live feed of the hangar, capturing every detail without them needing to leave the plane. The clarity was astounding, showing even the smallest movements.

And more importantly, they recorded it all for prosperity.

The general certainly liked the sound of his own voice. He barked orders to a small group of military men surrounding him. They meticulously placed equipment around the area, some pieces looked like weapons, while others resembled cameras and microphones.

Suddenly, Bucky appeared out of nowhere, moving with the eerie precision and fluidity that Peter had seen only in videos of the Winter Soldier. A chill ran down his spine. What was happening? Tony had successfully removed the trigger words. So whatever was happening now was all wrong.

Everything happened in a blur. Rogers appeared, launching himself into a fight with Bucky. Under different circumstances, it would have been incredible to watch. The clash of titans, both heroes in their own right, was a spectacle of raw power and skill.

Bucky fought with a ferocity and precision that showcased his years of training and experience as the Winter Soldier. His movements were calculated, every strike meant to disable and overpower. Rogers, in contrast, relied on brute force and sheer determination, but it was clear he was struggling to keep up. Each blow he landed seemed to be met with twice the intensity from Bucky.

Peter's eyes widened as he watched the intense battle unfold. His fingers itched to jump in and help, his instincts screaming at him to do something. He glanced at Happy, who put a calming hand on his shoulder, silently urging him to stay put. This was Bucky’s fight, one he needed to see through, no matter the outcome.

Steve seemed to hold back at first, pleading for Bucky to remember who he truly was. The two men exchanged a few tense words, but then a sinister smile replaced the fake concern on Rogers’ face. In an instant, the fight became brutal and relentless.

Within minutes, chaos erupted. Clint Barton arrived on the scene. Natasha Romanov was thrown violently against a tank, her body crumpling to the ground, unmoving. The situation grew even more dire as the unmistakable hum of arc reactors filled the air. Tony was closeby.

The general overseeing the operation watched the unfolding chaos with growing frustration. He attempted to slip away unnoticed, but his path was blocked by individuals in tactical gear, apparently waiting for him to make his move.

"You arrive just in time, Ross. The Winter Soldier is in there, fighting Captain America," The General told the apparent leader of the tactical team.

"So it seems..." Everett Ross replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Peter could hear the general’s heartbeat quicken, a sign of his rising panic. Ross was smart and quickly realised that he wasn't getting the reaction he had expected. But he hadn’t risen through the ranks by being slow to adapt. Without needing to voice his orders, Ross sent a sharp, commanding look to his men. Instantly, they surged forward, launching an attack on the opposing team. Peter watched in disbelief, trying to make sense of the chaos around him. Were they all crazy? 

The general's voice cut through the din, barking orders to his men. "Move forward! Don’t hold back!"

On the other side of the hangar, Bucky was still locked in fierce combat with Rogers. His fist connected with Steve’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward.

"You always underestimated me, Steve," Bucky growled, his voice dripping with resentment. "Back then too, when I thought we were friends. Not anymore."

Steve recovered quickly, his face a mask of anger and disgust. "You shouldn’t have interfered with my position. You never understood your real place. You were never the smart one."

Bucky laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that echoed through the hangar. "Smart enough to save the commandos' asses more than once. You have no idea how to draft a plan that involves more than barging in like a bull in a china shop.”

Peter watched the exchange, his heart pounding. He had had enough of staying idle. He might not understand everything that was happening, but he knew Bucky was important to him. Bucky was his mentor, his guide, and in many ways, the father figure he had never expected to find. Just like Tony.

War Machine landed in the middle of the general’s battle, repulsors blazing as he unleashed a barrage of stunning blasts. The military guys scrambled, their organised formation falling apart under the onslaught of Rhodey’s formidable armour. The general, realising his escape was now a futile endeavour, tried to flee but found himself quickly outmatched by the superior speed and strength of War Machine.

Tony landed near Bucky, his own repulsors dimming as he touched down. He assessed the situation, noting the intense struggle between Bucky and Steve. Choosing not to interfere, he turned his attention to Clint Barton, who was crouched beside the unconscious Natasha Romanov.

“How’s she doing?” Tony asked.

Clint glanced up, his face grim. “Not brilliant, to say the least. She needs medical attention ASAP.”

"Hang on, Jarvis is calling emergency personnel," Tony reassured him. "They’ll be here soon."

As the chaos continued around them, Steve’s voice cut through the noise. He was still fighting fiercely, but there was a desperate edge to his tone now. “Clint! The Accords will destroy your family! Don’t choose the wrong side! Everything depends on you now!”

Clint couldn’t believe the gall. Not only had Steve injured Natasha right in front of him, but now he was making half-hidden threats toward his family. The audacity was staggering. To think that once upon a time, Clint had looked up to that man. It was disgusting.

Steve, realising he was losing the upper hand, unhooked his shield from his back. His eyes glinted with a desperate determination. If he was going down, he would take some of his enemies with him. The sentiment was written all over his face. With a powerful throw, he sent the shield hurtling towards Clint, clearly aiming for it to rebound and strike Bucky in the back.

The shield flew through the air with deadly precision. Clint's eyes widened, and in a split second, he shoved Natasha further behind cover, bracing himself for impact. Tony’s first reaction was to fly toward Hawkeye as fast as he could, trying to protect the baseline hero. The genius would always try to save the innocents before even thinking of catching Rogers. 

Peter's spider senses were nearly overwhelming him. Acting purely on instinct, he shot his web shooters towards the fight. With pinpoint accuracy, he snagged Steve's shield mid-air, yanking it towards him to neutralise the immediate danger.

Seeing that, Tony pivoted sharply to go back toward Rogers. Bucky, who had briefly turned his back to Steve, stood firm in his resolve. He wouldn't be the reason Rogers, or anyone else, crossed a line they couldn't come back from, and was ready to do his best to, at least, cause the shield to deviate from its trajectory. Seeing that Peter got that covered, Bucky was ready to go back to his fight.

But despite their remarkable reflexes, by the time they were ready to engage again, Rogers was gone.

Chapter Text

Tony was overwhelmed by the sheer number of tasks demanding his attention. There was so much to do, so many loose ends to tie up, that he hardly had time to dwell on anything else. And perhaps that was for the best. Beneath the surface, anger simmered, tinged with disappointment and a tangled mess of other emotions. The genius had never been good at dealing with feelings. As usual, he drowned himself in work to try to clear his mind.

It was no surprise that Steve Rogers had become the world's most wanted man. The JCTC, Interpol, the CIA, and a host of other international agencies had all placed him at the top of their most-wanted lists. 

They were confident, maybe too confident, that it was only a matter of time before Rogers was caught. After all, his face was recognized globally, a symbol of the Avengers and the fallout from the disastrous Lagos mission. Tony couldn't shake the feeling that their optimism was misplaced, that capturing Rogers wouldn’t be as easy as they assumed. But for now, he had to let them believe it, trusting that they would do their part while he focused on what he could control.

General Ross was a much bigger problem at the moment, one that demanded immediate attention. Thankfully, he was now in the hot seat, facing interrogation by members of the United Nations. The lawyer assigned to him was the type who charged astronomical fees, known for their ability to manipulate the law to serve their client's interests. Even if this high-priced attorney managed to get Ross off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist, the damage to the General's reputation was irreparable. His name was already tarnished beyond repair in the eyes of the public and the international community.

President Ellis found himself in a precarious position. His decision to back Captain America had backfired spectacularly, costing him the political capital he had hoped to gain. Now, with a high-ranking member of his administration being very publicly arrested, his approval ratings were plummeting, and the upcoming election loomed dangerously close. Desperation set in as he scrambled to contain the fallout, knowing full well that this scandal could cost him his presidency. This time, Tony Stark wasn’t going to bail him out. Ellis had made his choices, and now he would have to deal with the consequences on his own.

“Mr Stark. Thank you for your time.”

The voice jolted Tony from his thoughts, bringing him back to the moment. He looked up, realising that one of the many officials he had been dealing with was still speaking to him, waiting for his attention. He forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and gave a curt nod. “Of course. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

The official returned the nod and left, leaving Tony alone once more with the heavy silence and the thoughts he had been trying to escape. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. There was no time to dwell on what could have been or should have been. There were still too many fires to put out, too many moving pieces to keep track of.

Natasha had been rushed to the nearest hospital, her condition critical but stable. The doctors had been working around the clock, employing every bit of their expertise and the most advanced technology available. But despite their tireless efforts, the prognosis was far from encouraging. Natasha was going to live, but the damage was severe. The reality was harsh. She might never walk again.

The injury had been the outcome of a brutal confrontation with Steve Rogers, a man who had once been her ally, someone she trusted with her life, her friend. But in that fight, there had been no feelings, no hesitation. Rogers hadn’t held back. Rogers had used his full strength, hurling her against a gas tank with the kind of force that few could survive. Natasha hadn’t landed right, and the impact had been catastrophic. The result was a spinal lesion so severe that it threatened to paralyse her for life. This wasn’t how she had envisioned things ending, not for her, not in this way.

Tony received the news in the middle of yet another briefing with high-ranking officials. The room had been filled with tense discussions about Rogers, Ross, and the global fallout of their recent actions. He forced himself to remain composed, even as the weight of the news settled in. Natasha had known the risks, just as they all had. Tony couldn’t afford to stop everything for her. Tony didn’t wish her ill, but they had all made their choices and now they had to live with them.

For Clint, the news hit like a knife to the heart. He had been through so much with Natasha, weathered so many storms by her side. They had had their falling out, sure, but deep down, he had always hoped she would come around. Despite everything, Clint had never given up on her, never let go of the bond they shared. Clint had always looked at Steve as a friend, a brother, someone who shared his values, his sense of duty, and a vision for a better future. But now, that brother had betrayed them in a way Clint could never have imagined. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Still Clint was going to stay by her side for now. Her future was unclear. Where would she go now? Natasha didn’t have a family, and quite obviously, he was her only friend left. Clint was, once again, going to be there for her when no one else would.

As for General Ross, the situation was rapidly escalating. He was to be escorted back to the United States, a move that was bound to strain international relations even further. President Ellis, already under immense pressure, would have no choice but to make an example of the fallen Secretary of State. The world was watching, and a message needed to be sent. Everett Ross’s team had been tasked with bringing the General back, with War Machine providing additional support to ensure there were no complications.

"Mr. Stark," Everett Ross said, turning to Tony with a tone of authority that matched the gravity of the situation, "I trust you to take Mr. Barnes into your custody and ensure his appearance at any future interrogations we may need to conduct."

Thanks to General Ross's ill-advised villain speech caught on camera, Bucky was officially exonerated of the Vienna bombing. The evidence was clear, the man bragging about having killed the King of Wakanda on purpose. Bucky’s involvement in that tragedy had been proven to be a fabrication. His past as the Winter Soldier still needed to be explained. There would be a thorough investigation, possibly followed by a trial. Countless families were still seeking closure, demanding answers for the pain inflicted on them.

Tony knew he should feel relieved that everything was being handled the proper way, through the legal channels that would hopefully bring justice and closure. Even if Bucky faced trial, the likelihood of a not-guilty verdict was high given the extraordinary circumstances surrounding his past. The truth was finally coming to light, and that was supposed to be a good thing.

Meanwhile, the Accords were evolving to address new concerns. A small committee had met with Spider-Man, and after a tense discussion, they agreed that his identity would remain a secret. But no one could deny that the young hero was, well, very young. The revelation of his age had sparked an entirely new debate about underage superheroes, leading to proposed amendments in the Accords to protect kids like him. Could this situation repeat itself, with another teenager bitten by a radioactive spider or exposed to some other unknown force? The possibility was both thrilling and terrifying.

Tony couldn’t help but feel a swirl of emotions when it came to Peter. There was pride, of course, in how well the kid had handled himself, even going so far as to speak to the UN about his past and his current role as Spider-Man. But there was also a deep sense of worry, and more than a touch of anger. Peter had been thrust into a world of politics and power struggles far beyond his years, and Tony had promised to protect him from that. He had vowed to guide him, to be the mentor Peter needed, but how much protection could he really offer when the world seemed so intent on pulling the boy into its darkest corners?

Peter should never have been there in the first place.

The same went for Bucky. Both he and Peter had risked everything, their lives, their freedom, their futures, all when it was completely unnecessary. Didn’t they trust him? Didn’t they believe in his ability to protect them? When push came to shove, Bucky had chosen to go alone, to fight his own battles on his terms, leaving Tony in the dark. It felt like a slap in the face, a reminder that, despite everything they had shared so far, Bucky still didn’t see him as someone he could rely on when it truly mattered.

They had been lucky this time. Things could have gone horribly wrong. General Ross and Rogers were not to be underestimated. Both Peter and Bucky were strong, with incredible resilience and faster healing capacities. Tony knew that. Yet all he could think about was the terrifying possibility, however small, of losing them both. 

Even now, there was still a chance that Bucky could end up in prison for the rest of his life. All that time they could have had together, all the moments that could have been shared, had almost been lost in the blink of an eye.

The thought stung more deeply than Tony cared to admit. It wasn’t just his ego that was bruised, though that certainly played a part. It was about the deeper implications. If they didn’t trust him now, what did that mean for the future? How could they continue to work together, to save the world, be together if there was this fundamental lack of trust between them?

Tony didn’t want to be angry. He didn’t want to let this fester into something that could drive an even bigger wedge between them. What he wanted was to talk things out, to find a way back to how things were before everything went sideways. He knew he should listen to Bucky, to understand the reasons behind his actions. Maybe there was something Tony was missing, something that could help bridge the gap that had formed between them.

Yes, Tony had feelings for Bucky, feelings that had only grown stronger over time. But he had never asked if those feelings were reciprocated, never dared to find out if Bucky felt the same. Perhaps he had been expecting things that were never really there in the first place. 

Tony Stark had always been a master at keeping his emotions under wraps, locking them away behind layers of sarcasm and wit. But when it came to Bucky Barnes, those carefully constructed defences had begun to crumble. 

But as much as Tony’s heart had begun to open up to the idea of something more, he had never mustered the courage to ask Bucky how he felt. The thought alone was terrifying, and Tony had always been more comfortable with machines, equations, problems he could solve with his hands and his mind. Emotions were an entirely different beast, one he had never quite learned to tame. He could build a suit of armour capable of withstanding a missile strike, but he had no idea how to protect himself from the vulnerability that came with exposing his soul to another person.

He and Bucky had formed a tentative bond over their shared experiences, over the guilt and the need for redemption that haunted them both. But was that enough? Did Bucky feel anything more for him, or was Tony simply projecting his own desires onto a relationship that might not exist outside of his own mind?

That anger was against Peter and Bucky for having risked it all so easily, against Ross and Rogers who thought they could manipulate people like puppets but, more than anything, against himself. He had tried to keep his feelings to himself, burying them deep down where they couldn’t hurt him, or so he hoped.

But it wasn’t working. Every time Bucky walked into a room, every time their eyes met, Tony felt that same rush of emotions, surging to the surface like a wave crashing over him. No matter how hard he tried to push those feelings down, they kept coming back, leaving him confused and vulnerable. He was walking a fine line, balancing on the edge of heartache, and he knew it.

Perhaps it would be better to keep some distance between them, at least until the anger was gone.

Chapter Text

“Mr Stark? Are you mad at me?”

Peter stood in the centre of Tony's workshop, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Tony had been unusually distant ever since his return from Vienna, burying himself in work, particularly in the search for a new CEO for his company. In the end, the choice of the person who would be at the helm of Stark Industries had been a lot easier than Tony expected. 

Larry Forster, a key member of the R&D department, was an excellent scientist and an even better director, setting the vision of the department. The man was good at all those things Tony didn’t particularly enjoy doing. Planning, budgeting, coordinating with the other department, all those administrative tasks that were really important but also so boring.

In all honesty, if Tony had not promoted Pepper out of the blue, Larry would already have been the logical option. But love and the Palladium poisoning had certainly clouded Tony's judgement. He even took a brief tour around the company, gathering opinions about Mr. Forster.

The feedback was overwhelmingly positive. 

Larry was admired for his patience, optimism, and respect for others. Some employees didn't hesitate to mention that Pepper had none of those qualities and had been quite difficult to work with. Tony had been completely oblivious to all of it.

The CEO role was a significant shift from what Larry had been doing, so Tony took it upon himself to guide him through the transition. He was determined not to repeat the mistakes he had made with Pepper. In truth, mentoring Larry also gave Tony an excuse to spend some time away from Bucky, and by extension Peter. His anger had subsided, but it left behind a mix of disappointment, sadness, and a deep sense of awkwardness that Tony didn’t know how to handle.

But today was a rare day off, and Peter, ever clever, used it to confront Tony.

"I'm not mad, kid," Tony finally said after a heavy sigh. "Just a bit disappointed."

Somehow, it made things worse. Peter's shoulders slumped, and his expression turned to one of utter defeat. This wasn’t the outcome Tony had hoped for. He felt like a miserable excuse for a mentor.

"Peter, listen," Tony said, deciding to be honest for once, dropping his usual sarcasm. "I didn’t even know you guys were there. When I showed up, you were right in the middle of one of the worst situations imaginable. So many things could have gone wrong…"

"But they didn’t," Peter quickly replied. "Everything turned out okay, even better now. And Bucky said he would talk to you. I stayed on the plane with Mr. Happy most of the time. Besides, I can take care of myself with the healing factor and all that..."

"I’m not saying you can’t fight or make your own decisions, Peter. But as your teammate, as part of your family, I’d like to know about these things. Spare your old man a heart attack."

Tony had intended to say *this old man*, but the words slipped out as *your*. He wasn’t Peter’s father. He wasn't cut out for parenting. Howard had certainly not been a great role model.

But Peter’s face lit up with the biggest smile Tony had ever seen. There was no taking it back now. Doing so would break the kid’s heart. And no matter how disappointed or conflicted Tony felt, he could never do that to *his* kid.

"Yeah, yeah, you heard me," Tony said with mock annoyance. "Now promise me you’ll behave and not pull a stunt like that again."

“Of course, Mr Stark.”

"Really? Still with the ‘Mr. Stark’? I thought we just had a moment here. Can I at least get a 'Tony'?"

"Okay... Tony," Peter replied, a bit shyly.

They spent the rest of the day working on various projects. Peter slipped back to calling him "Mr. Stark" once or twice, but by the end of the day, they were closer than ever. Tony was relieved to feel like he had finally moved past whatever had been bothering him about the kid. Sometimes, he wondered who was the adult between them.

That also meant it was probably time for Tony to talk to Bucky. He had no idea how to approach it. They had been avoiding each other since the incident, mostly Tony dodging, but Bucky hadn’t made any moves either. That meant that the feeling was mutual, right?

"Jarvis, where’s Bucky right now?"

“Sergeant Barnes is actually in the kitchen, cooking.”

This was as good a time as any. Tony took the elevator up to the common area. When he walked into the kitchen, Bucky didn’t even look up. To be fair, the soldier had memorised the way each member of their odd little family walked. He knew it was Tony who had entered the room. It didn’t change the fact that the lack of acknowledgement hurt a little. Perhaps it was fair payback.

Tony lingered for a moment, unsure of how to break the silence. He didn’t want to ruin the relationship more than it already was. But this was Bucky, and despite everything, despite all the confusion and the unspoken feelings, Tony cared too much to let the distance between them grow any wider. He took a tentative step forward, ready to face whatever was waiting for him.

But before Tony could find the right words, Bucky caught him off guard. Without saying a word, Bucky turned from the stove, carrying a plate of food, and placed it down at Tony’s usual spot at the kitchen table. It was a simple gesture, but it hit Tony harder than any speech could have. 

The quiet act was Bucky’s way of saying that he was still there, still willing to be present in this moment with Tony, even if neither of them knew how to navigate the complex emotions between them. Tony took another step forward, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t sit down right away. Instead, he stood by the middle aisle, staring down at the plate of mouth watering food as if it held the answers he was desperately searching for.

“Thanks,” Tony finally murmured, his voice softer than he intended.

Bucky nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Figured you might be hungry.”

Tony chuckled, the sound awkward but genuine. “You figured right.”

He lowered himself into the chair, feeling the tension ease just a bit as he picked up the fork and took a bite. The food was good, comforting in a way that only a home-cooked meal could be. It grounded him, giving him something to focus on besides the uncertainty that lingered between them.

Bucky stayed by the stove, his back turned to Tony as he busied himself with cleaning up. Tony watched him for a moment, the way his shoulders moved, the familiar precision in his actions. It was so easy to get lost in the details, to let the moment slip by without saying anything. But Tony knew he couldn’t afford to let that happen, not anymore.

“Bucky,” Tony began, the name feeling heavier on his tongue than it should. “I’ve been… thinking a lot about everything that happened.”

Bucky didn’t turn around, but Tony noticed the subtle stiffening of his posture, the way his hands slowed in their work. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tony echoed, setting his fork down with a quiet clink. “I’m not gonna lie, I was angry. Still am, if I’m honest. You and Peter went behind my back, heading off to Vienna without a word to me. You didn’t tell me anything about your plans. It felt like you didn’t trust me.”

Bucky finally turned to face him, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was guarded, a mask of calm, but Tony could see something else flickering in his eyes, regret, maybe, or hurt.

“It wasn’t about trust, Tony. Not the way you think,” Bucky replied, his voice steady but soft.

“Then what was it?” Tony asked, his frustration seeping into his words despite his best efforts to stay calm. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell felt like you didn’t think I could protect you. Like you thought I wouldn’t help.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture so familiar it almost made Tony smile. It was something Tony often did when he was stressed, and seeing Bucky do it now felt like looking into a mirror.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you, Tony. I just didn’t want to burden you with my mess. You’ve already got enough on your plate, and I… I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

“Bucky, that’s bullshit,” Tony shot back, his voice sharper than he intended. “You were ready to lose it all. You should’ve let me in. I would’ve done whatever it took to help you because I lov—”

Tony froze, the words catching in his throat. He hadn’t meant to go that far, hadn’t meant to let those emotions slip out. It was as if the words had escaped without his consent today, truths he had kept buried for so long finally pushing their way to the surface. He had always been careful, always kept that line firmly drawn. But now, it was out there, and there was no taking it back.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. Tony could see the shock in his expression, but he wasn’t ready to face it. He wasn’t ready for whatever Bucky might say next, possibly rejecting him. He wanted to backpedal, to say he meant “care about you” or anything else that would soften the impact. But the words wouldn’t come.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken emotions. Tony’s heart pounded in his chest, every second feeling like an eternity as he waited for Bucky’s reaction. His mind raced with possibilities. Had he ruined everything? Was Bucky going to push him away? 

Bucky’s gaze softened. There was something in his eyes between happiness and incredulity. A small smile spread on his lips. “Tony…”

Tony stared down at the plate, the food growing cold as his thoughts spiralled. He started to ramble, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Look, I just… I needed you to know that I would’ve been there for you, no matter what. That’s what this is supposed to be about, right? Trust. Not just in what we can do, but in each other, period.”

Bucky had moved quietly around the kitchen island, his footsteps soft on the tile. Tony was fidgeting in his seat, his nerves betraying him as he tried to keep his composure. Bucky reached out, his hand hesitating for a brief moment before he gently grasped Tony’s chin, tilting his head up so their eyes could meet again.

Tony’s breath caught at the contact, a jolt of electricity sparking through him. Bucky’s touch was warm, grounding in a way that both startled and comforted him. The soldier’s smile spread wider, a genuine, heartwarming expression that melted away the last of Tony’s defences.

“Yeah, we’re idiots,” Bucky said, his voice low and filled with a quiet affection that made Tony’s heart pound in his chest.

Bucky moved closer, inch by inch, closing the distance between them with a deliberate slowness that was almost torturous. There was a question in his eyes, a silent request for permission, and when Tony didn’t pull away, when he didn’t even flinch, Bucky took the final step. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Tony’s.

The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative brush that sent a thrill through their bodies. It was as if they were testing the waters of something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. There was a tenderness in the way Bucky held his face, his hand now cradling Tony’s cheek with a care that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

In that moment, everything else faded away. The world outside the kitchen, the worries, the fears, they all disappeared, leaving just the two of them in a bubble of quiet intimacy. The kiss lingered, deepening as they both gave in to the emotions that had been bubbling up for so long. There was a tingling sensation that spread through Tony’s body, a reassurance that they were meant to be. That they were meant to be here, in this moment, together.

In the back of Tony’s mind, he thought that they were in for another emotional conversation. Later.

Chapter Text

Things could have easily turned awkward between them. There was a lot of unspoken tension, the kind that only a real, honest conversation could untangle. Their past, whether they wanted to admit it or not, was going to be a problem they would have to overcome. Steve was out there somewhere, off the grid, and that alone was enough to complicate things. Chasing leads, following rumours, and piecing together his trail could have sent them spiralling around the globe, chasing ghosts.

Rogers needed to be caught, for the good of the world and for them. 

Bucky and Tony found themselves in a bubble, a space just for them, where the past couldn’t touch them. It was as if the universe had finally decided to give them a break, allowing them to enjoy the simple pleasures of finding each other. There was a giddiness between them, like two teenagers experiencing their first taste of love. The world outside might have been chaotic, but within their bubble, everything was falling into place as if it was always meant to be.

They were taking it slow, savouring each moment. A stolen kiss here, a brush of hands there, small, intimate gestures that spoke volumes. Tony Stark’s days as a playboy were long behind him, and he didn’t regret a single minute of it. He had found something real, something worth holding onto.

Peter was simply over the moon. The idea that the two people he admired most were finally finding happiness together filled him with a warm, bubbling excitement. He had always looked up to Tony and Bucky, not just because they were heroes who had fought alongside him, but because, despite everything life had thrown at them, they remained at their core, good people. Seeing them happy made Peter feel like everything was right in the world, even if just for a moment.

Peter's heart swelled with joy as he watched his dads finally find happiness. Of course, he would never say that out loud. The mere thought of calling them his dads in front of anyone was far too embarrassing. Just imagining the look on their faces if he did made his cheeks flush red. Bucky and Tony would tease him about it endlessly, milking it for all it was worth. But deep down, that was exactly how he felt.

They were his family, the closest thing to father figures he had since Uncle Ben. And now, seeing them together, knowing they were building something real, made Peter feel like everything in his life was finally falling into place. 

But, of course, Peter being Peter, he couldn’t resist teasing them a little when he saw them being affectionate. Walking into the common room, he froze in mock horror as he caught Tony and Bucky sharing a kiss on the sofa.

“Ewww!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in a dramatic gesture that would have made even the most seasoned actor proud. “Child here! Keep it PG, you two!”

Tony, ever the mature adult, merely grinned and stuck out his tongue at Peter. With a mischievous gleam in his eye, he pulled Bucky closer, as if to double down on the teasing.

“You’re lucky we’re keeping it PG, kid. Don’t push your luck,” Tony shot back with a playful smirk.

Rhodey entered the room just in time to catch the exchange, and with perfect timing, he joined in on the fun. “The kid’s right. That’s gross!” he quipped, his voice dripping with mock disgust.

Bucky chuckled, leaning into the banter without missing a beat. “Aww, don’t worry, guys. You’ll find someone soon, I promise,” he teased, his tone thick with good-natured sarcasm.

Peter and Rhodey exchanged glances, rolling their eyes in unison, but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at their lips. As much as they joked about it, seeing Tony and Bucky like this, so at ease and playful with each other, filled them both with genuine happiness. It was a rare and precious thing to witness, a sign that after all the battles, all the heartache, and all the loss, things were finally starting to fall into place.

Unfortunately, Rhodey's presence signalled that it was time to get back to business. As much as Tony cherished these rare moments of levity, he had long since accepted that true vacations were a luxury he could never fully indulge in, no matter how much he had earned them. Even a few days of peace seemed too much to ask in his world.

Not that Tony was planning on taking a break anytime soon. There was always too much at stake, too many fires to put out. The world didn’t stop spinning, and neither did Tony Stark.

Rhodey, the constant voice of reason and practicality, cleared his throat, effectively signalling the end of their lighthearted banter. “Hate to break up the lovefest, but we need to talk about Ross,” he said, his tone a blend of seriousness and the usual camaraderie they shared.

“Of course we do,” Tony replied, a note of resignation creeping into his voice. 

The easygoing atmosphere that had filled the room moments ago evaporated as they shifted gears, discussing the latest findings from the investigation, more gritty details that painted a real horrible picture. General Ross had become a looming threat, one that Tony had been aware of for some time. Ross’s obsessive pursuit of Bruce Banner was well-documented, driven by his belief that the Hulk was a menace that needed to be eradicated. But it wasn’t just Banner’s alter ego that Ross was after. He was determined to get his hands on the Hulk’s blood, hoping to replicate the serum that had created the green giant in the first place.

The situation was far worse than any of them had initially imagined. He had a bone to pick against anybody with a special power, a vendetta that went far beyond what any of the people present had imagined. Banner had managed to evade capture, staying hidden for years before eventually becoming too publicly known for Ross to move against him overtly. But others hadn’t been so fortunate. 

Some were imprisoned in a nightmarish, ever-moving fortress known as the Raft. It was a prison unlike any other, isolated in the middle of the ocean, constantly shifting locations to ensure that escape was impossible and that the outside world would never learn of the horrors within. For those unlucky enough to be confined there, hope was a distant memory. Their basic rights were violated at every turn, no trial, no contact with the outside world, no one even knew they were there. And in that darkness, they were subjected to unspeakable experiments.

General Ross and his men had no qualms about their methods. Enhanced individuals, mutants with the X-gene, anyone who posed what Ross perceived as a threat to the established order, all were fair game. Many had died under his watch, their lives snuffed out in the name of so-called "science" or "national security." And yet, it seemed that it was never enough. 

“He may be in jail now,” Rhodey said with caution, “but he still has influence. We need to be careful. Ross isn’t the type to go down quietly. He’ll try something, I’m sure of it. There’s a reason he’s managed to slip through the cracks for so long.”

Tony nodded, his eyes scanning the holographic display that floated before him, filled with every piece of intel they had managed to gather on Ross. The information painted a chilling picture, but Tony knew it wasn’t the full story. “What else do we know?” he asked.

“I need Jarvis or Friday to sift through Shield’s Data Dump again,” Rhodey replied. “There’s something we’re missing.”

“You think Ross is Hydra?” Bucky asked, surprised.

“Well…” Rhodey hesitated, clearly unsure. “I can’t prove it just yet, but it would explain a lot.”

“I thought Hydra was finished after Washington?” Peter chimed in, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Bucky’s expression darkened, his voice grim as he answered, “If a head is cut off, two more shall take its place.”

The room fell silent as the implications of Bucky’s words sank in. The idea that Hydra might still be lurking in the shadows, pulling strings and manipulating events, made the whole situation even more disturbing. But that would explain a lot. The pieces were starting to fit together, but they formed a picture far more disturbing than any of them had anticipated.

After the incident at Culver University, where General Ross had unleashed an uncontrollable force in the middle of a crowded campus, logic wanted that there should have been severe consequences. It was a reckless act that had put countless innocent lives at risk on American soil, a transgression that under normal circumstances would have warranted at least a demotion, if not a full court-martial. But instead, the military had turned a blind eye. No formal inquiry, no public reprimand, just silence, as if the entire incident had been quietly swept under the rug.

The fact that Ross had not only evaded punishment but had steadily climbed the ranks until he reached the position of Secretary of State spoke at a much deeper level of complicity. It was as if someone, or a group of someones, had decided that Ross’ actions were not just acceptable but necessary. He was protected, helped. That kind of backing didn’t come without a price, without strings attached.

The troubling part was that Ross’s views on superheroes and enhanced individuals aligned disturbingly well with Hydra’s ideology. The parallels were too close for comfort. Hydra had always sought to control or eliminate those with powers, viewing them as either tools or threats. And Ross, with his obsessive need to neutralise any perceived dangers, seemed to be walking down a similar path.

The data dump from Shield had already exposed numerous names, identifying individuals deeply embedded within the organisation, some of them high-ranking agents who had been secretly working for Hydra all along. Those people primarily seemed to be within Shield. Tony knew that if Hydra had infiltrated Shield, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine they had made their way into the military and government as well.

Tony and Jarvis had worked tirelessly to save as many Shield agents as they could. The problem was, they couldn’t be sure who was genuinely loyal and who was simply playing the part of a dutiful agent while secretly serving Hydra’s interests. But he had to save them no matter what. 

All the while, Tony had been fighting a different kind of battle: trying to scrub the data from the internet. Once the data dump had been released, it had spread like wildfire, and Tony had scrambled to contain it. But he knew the odds were against him. Even if he managed to erase it from most of the internet, all it took was one person saving a copy on a personal server for all his efforts to be for nothing. Still, he couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. He had to try something.

In a strange way, the thought of Ross not being connected to Hydra would almost be a relief for Tony. It wouldn’t change the monstrous things Ross had done. Nothing could ever erase that. But it would simplify the narrative, make it easier to understand, and perhaps easier to fight against. If Ross were just a rogue military man, then the world wouldn’t be forced to face the uncomfortable reality that Hydra still had its claws deep within the government. 

For the public, though, if Ross *was* Hydra, it would become yet another twisted chapter in Captain America’s never-ending battle against the organisation. People would see it as proof that Rogers had been right all along, that he had been fighting the good fight against a Hydra infiltrated government. And in the court of public opinion, that would be enough to forgive him, to see him once again as the golden child, the first superhero who had always fought for justice. Bucky, meanwhile, would be cast once more as a victim of circumstance, a man controlled and manipulated into doing Hydra’s bidding.

“Rogers is going to use that for his defence,” Tony said, his voice suddenly heavy with exhaustion. 

“Yeah,” Rhodey confirmed, his tone equally weary. “It’s also going to undermine the US government, especially Ellis, who appointed Ross as Secretary of State.”

Tony nodded, his mind already racing ahead. “And we know Ellis follows the political winds. The little he did to distance himself from Rogers, he’ll walk back in a heartbeat if he thinks it’ll win him some votes.”

Peter, who had been quietly absorbing the conversation, suddenly looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. “Does that mean Mr. Rogers will get away with everything?”

“Yes,” Bucky answered, his voice sharp and tinged with bitterness. “Somehow, Steve always finds a way to be the hero of his own story.”

Chapter Text

People never paid attention to what was truly happening around them. They were too consumed by their own lives, too self-absorbed to notice the deeper, darker currents at play in the world. It was this general indifference that allowed organisations like Hydra to flourish in the shadows, manipulating events and bending the world to their will. Captain America  was going to be needed for a long time to come, even if the people didn’t yet realise that uncomfortable truth just yet. They went about their daily routines, blissfully ignorant of the battles being fought on their behalf, unaware of how close they were to the brink of chaos.

Leaving the airport was easier than Steve had anticipated. Security was tighter than usual, with men positioned strategically around the perimeter, but none of them posed a real threat to him. They were just doing their jobs, but Steve knew he couldn’t afford to be slowed down by them. He didn't want to hurt anyone, but they had a habit of getting in his way, forcing him to act with more force than he intended. They made him act a lot harsher than he really wanted to but they could only blame themselves for his reaction.

Somebody was following him.

Steve could sense it, an almost imperceptible presence moving through the shadows just out of his sight. He didn’t need to turn around to confirm what he already knew. His tail was good, too good in fact. The movements were precise and calculated, each step a careful, deliberate act that spoke of training, of someone used to the hunt. 

Whoever it was moved with a predatory grace, a fluidity that was unnervingly efficient, as if their very steps were an art form honed over years of practice. This was no amateur. Their footfalls were barely audible, as if they were gliding over the ground rather than walking on it, as if the shadows themselves welcomed their presence. The air around them seemed to shift subtly with their approach, like a breeze bending around an unseen force. 

This wasn’t Bucky or Stark. 

Bucky’s steps were somewhat heavier even if silent. Perhaps he didn’t think he needed to hide when running after Steve. Tony lacked the patience or subtlety for this kind of approach.

No, this was different. The presence trailing him held a unique blend of power and elegance, a sense of refined danger that felt almost… feline in its precision. It was the kind of confidence that came from experience, from knowing you could strike without hesitation when the time was right.

The realisation set his instincts on edge.

Steve quickened his pace, making his way into the city nearby, weaving through the crowded streets with practised ease. He moved like a shadow, slipping between groups of pedestrians, dodging past a street vendor who shouted half-hearted protests at his hurried passage, and cutting through narrow alleyways that twisted like a labyrinth. The serum coursing through his veins made him faster than any normal man, his movements fluid and almost effortless, a blur to anyone who might have been watching. But no matter how fast he moved or how many sharp turns he took, the presence remained.

He could feel the eyes on his back, a steady, unblinking gaze that tracked his every motion without hesitation or uncertainty, never faltering. Steve's heartbeat quickened, but not out of fear, it was a rising awareness, a sharpening of his senses, like an animal sensing a predator lurking just beyond the treeline. Under different circumstances, this might have felt like a game, a challenge he would love to play. But now, it was a distraction he couldn't afford considering the circumstances. 

He ducked into another alley, its narrow walls closing in around him, and pressed himself against the rough brick. His breath slowed, barely a whisper in the dark, his ears straining to catch any hint of movement behind him. For a brief moment, there was nothing. Only the distant noise of the city, the cacophony of car horns, people chattering and the faint hum of life carrying on around him.

He had no choice but to confront them, to force them out of the shadows and into the open. It wasn't ideal. The timing couldn't be worse, and he might just be inviting more trouble than he was already in. But Steve could feel his options narrowing with every step. Whoever was following him wasn't just skilled, they were relentless, and their determination was starting to wear on his patience. Steve was not the kind of man who kept running forever. Sooner or later, he would need to know who was on his trail and why they were so intent on catching him.

His eyes swept the surroundings, scanning for a suitable spot to make his stand. Steve needed somewhere he could control, an area that gave him the advantage of space to manoeuvre yet wasn't so public that it would draw unnecessary attention. There were too many people around, too many civilians who wouldn’t understand what was happening. He might have to take things to extremes, and the people didn’t need to see that, didn’t need to see what Captain America sometimes had to do to protect them.

The public liked to believe in a simple narrative: heroes and villains, right and wrong, the good guys putting the bad guys behind bars.But the truth was far more complicated, far more brutal. The fairytale was a comforting illusion, one he had to maintain, especially now. If people saw the reality, the choices he sometimes had to make, the lines he sometimes had to cross, it would shatter the image they had of him. Steve was going to need his reputation intact to fight what was coming for him.

Steve darted down the side street, letting his pace slow just enough to send a signal to the person following him. He was no longer running, he was ready for anything, a fight if needed. Behind him, he could hear the faint but unmistakable sound of footsteps quickening, closing in with a new urgency, sensing the shift in his posture and intent. Good, he thought. Let them come. 

As he reached the end of the street, pivoting on his heel to face his follower. His breath was calm and controlled, his senses sharp, every fibre of his being poised for whatever might come next. The air felt thick with anticipation. He watched the mouth of the alley, waiting. The seconds stretched out like minutes, and then he saw a shadow shift, a figure moving with that same, unnerving fluidity.

A man in a black, impeccably tailored suit with intricate embroideries stepped into the light, his movements measured and deliberate. Steve looked intently, trying to place the face that seemed vaguely familiar, a flicker of recognition sparking in the back of his mind. But the memory remained elusive, staying just out of reach. The man stood tall and composed, his expression calm but alert, giving nothing away. Steve didn’t speak; he simply waited, muscles coiled and ready, prepared to spring into action at a moment’s notice. There was a tension in the air, an unspoken promise of violence, and Steve knew this encounter had the potential to be something extraordinary, a real challenge for once.

But if this stranger believed, even for a second, that he had a chance of winning, he was gravely mistaken. Steve was already calculating his next move, preparing for the inevitable clash. He had faced gods and monsters, the most ruthless enemies the world had to offer. One man, however skilled, was not going to bring him down.

“I’m just here to talk, Mr. Rogers,” the man announced, his voice smooth, with an accent that Steve couldn't quite place. There was a certain elegance to his tone, a calm assurance that only added to the mystery.

Steve’s eyes narrowed, his stance remaining guarded. “You have a strange way of introducing yourself,” he replied, his voice full of aggressivity. 

The man gave a slight nod, a hint of a smile touching his lips as if acknowledging the truth in Steve’s words. "My apologies,” he said. “My name is T’Challa, son of T’Chaka, the king who was killed during the Vienna bombing. I seek justice... I want revenge."

“I did not kill him,” Steve replied, already feeling a wave of impatience washing over him. His tone was flat, disinterested. 

This was a conversation he had no desire to entertain any longer. So what if the king of some remote country had been assassinated? It wasn’t his problem. People with power and money always seemed to think their problems mattered more than anyone else’s. Steve wanted to turn around and leave the country altogether. He had bigger fish to fry.

“I know you didn’t,” T’Challa replied calmly, unfazed by Steve’s lack of interest. “But from what little I’ve seen, you seem to have some scores to settle with those who are responsible for it.”

Steve paused, a flicker of curiosity sparking beneath his frustration. He could defend Bucky, try to explain Stark’s involvement, or go into the messy details of the entire affair, but he quickly decided against it. The story was complicated, tangled in half-truths and betrayals, and he didn’t know how much T’Challa understood, or what version of the story he believed. For all he knew, the man might be working off incomplete intelligence or his own biases.

At that moment, Steve knew he needed allies, not enemies. He had to keep a low profile for a while, to regroup and rethink his next move. And maybe, just maybe, there could be an advantage here. T’Challa was a prince, after all, and a prince likely had resources. A palace, perhaps? Somewhere warm and secluded, out of sight and out of reach? If Steve had to hide for a while, might as well do that in style.

“So, you want to send me out there like some attack dog, ordering me around,” Steve said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “Sorry, Prince, but I don’t follow anybody’s lead.”

T’Challa’s expression remained calm, unyielding. “I was thinking more of a partnership.”

T’Challa had barely finished speaking when something unexpected happened. A shimmering wave seemed to wash over his body, rippling like liquid shadow. In an instant, a new suit enveloped him, hugging his frame like a second skin, dark and sleek, accentuating every muscle, every sinew. The transformation moved up his body with fluid precision, the final piece clicking into place as a mask covered his head. Now, Steve stood face to face with the Black Panther.

Things were about to get interesting.

"Action can’t happen right now," Steve warned, his voice low but firm. "Hydra’s behind all of this, and they’re turning their sights on me."

If the mention of Hydra surprised T’Challa, he didn’t show it. His stance remained resolute, his eyes sharp and focused behind the mask, revealing nothing of what he might be thinking. Steve continued, sensing an opportunity to keep the conversation on his terms.

People always assumed Tony Stark was the one with the silver tongue, the one who could charm or negotiate his way out of any situation. Steve had never tried to prove them wrong. It worked in his favour to be underestimated, to be seen as the soldier from another time, a bit too naive, a bit too old-fashioned. It gave him a lot of room to do things his way.

“Hydra,” Steve continued, his expression hardening at the name. “They’re always in the shadows, using whatever means they can to get what they want. And they never play fair. They’ve been using my friend against me for years.” His voice grew tighter, the anger barely contained beneath the surface. “During the war, they took Barnes from me. Twisted him into something he wasn’t, something he never wanted to be. They made him fight against me on the train. His fall… that was because of them. If I hadn’t been stuck in the ice for so long, I would have put the record straight.”

Steve could see T’Challa listening intently. He could only hope that the Prince believed his version of the events. 

“In Washington,” Steve went on, his voice steady but intense, “they sent Bucky after me again, this time as The Winter Soldier. I tried to reach him, tried to break whatever hold Hydra had on him. Almost got myself killed in the process. The serum kept me alive, but it didn’t spare me a long stay in the hospital. My hope that I could save him… it nearly cost me everything.”

Bucky was still Hydra.

And Stark... Stark was another story altogether. Few men reached the heights he had without making deals in the dark, without getting their hands dirty. Maybe he wasn’t with Hydra, but he had certainly brushed shoulders with them, sold weapons that ended up in their hands. Stark Industries tech was everywhere in Shield, at every level, and the world had already seen how well that went down.

Steve’s words were working their way into T’Challa’s mind. The Wakandan prince stood still, absorbing everything, his face hidden behind the mask of the Black Panther. But then, with a soft hiss, the helmet retracted. T’Challa looked at Steve in horror, completely believing the story. 

T’Challa had probably been raised to become king at some point but he was far from ready. It was a weakness Steve could sense, an opening he might exploit if necessary. Steve would use that to his advantage against both T’Challa and Stark with delight.

Barnes had clearly not learned his lesson yet. Stark would understand his place pretty soon. They had forgotten that Steve was a strategist, a warrior. He was going to come on top in the end. He deserved that much.

Chapter Text

Everything seemed to be falling into place, just as Steve had hoped. T’Challa was buying into every word of his story, and now they were on their way to Wakanda. The jet they were flying in was nothing short of remarkable, its technology far more advanced than anything Stark had ever managed to produce. Steve had always known that Tony’s reputation was built more on ego than on any real leap forward in innovation. Sure, the armour was impressive, but at the end of the day, it was just a modern update of something that had existed since the mediaeval times, heavy, cumbersome, and far too obvious.

In contrast, T’Challa’s technology was discreet, efficient, and perfect for their needs. The jet had whisked them away from Germany without a trace, the stealth systems so advanced that not even the most sophisticated radar could have picked them up. This, Steve thought, was how things should be done. Heroes should have the freedom to move unnoticed, to strike when necessary and disappear just as quickly. After all, Hydra wasn’t the only form of corruption lurking within governments. There were plenty of others who needed to be brought down, and often, surprise was their best weapon. Stark should have thought of that.

“I think we will need to lay low for a while, Mr. Rogers,” T’Challa said, settling into the seat across from Steve. His expression was calm, but there was a seriousness in his voice. “We need to see how things play out with the press.”

Steve leaned back, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Or we make them see things our way.”

He knew Wakanda was a mystery to most of the world. Isolated for centuries, it had barely interacted with its own neighbours, let alone with the global community. T’Challa’s father, T’Chaka, had made the decision to step into the light, writing the accords to bring Wakanda out of the shadows. Steve sensed they were perhaps a bit unprepared for what was to come, but there was opportunity in that.

Steve understood the power of perception better than most. During his war-bound tour, he had been reluctant to play the role of the propaganda puppet, being paraded around in a ridiculous costume to sell war bonds. Still, it had been an eye-opening experience.Before, he had known how to sway a person or two with reason and charm. Afterward, he learned how to manipulate entire crowds, commanding their attention, bending their emotions, making them believe in whatever story he was selling. Bucky’s capture had been the perfect excuse to step away from it all. He had learned everything he needed by then.

Honestly, Steve didn’t care much whether Bucky had been captured or killed. This was war. People died, that was the reality of it. Dying a hero in the middle of a major conflict wasn’t a bad end. In fact, it might even be the best one could hope for. Bucky didn’t have anyone waiting for him back home, no family that would mourn him. 

Bucky’s sisters and mother had passed away long before he was drafted. It was harsh, but Steve had grown accustomed to such realities. There were always bigger stakes, and sometimes, people were simply part of the price that had to be paid.

Shifting his focus back to the present, Steve broke the silence. “I know someone perfect for the job,” he said, a thoughtful smile touching his lips. He paused, choosing his words carefully. "That is, if you think it's necessary," he added, his tone measured, leaving space for T’Challa to weigh in.

T’Challa’s eyebrow arched slightly, intrigued by Steve’s suggestion. “And who would that be?” he asked, leaning forward, curiosity evident in his eyes.

Steve leaned back, weighing the impact of his next move. “Pepper Potts,” he replied, his tone confident but cautious, testing the waters.

T’Challa nodded slowly, immediately recognizing the name. “Stark’s former CEO. Why her?”

Steve’s smile widened just a fraction. “Pepper’s got a sharp mind and experience managing crises in the public eye. She kept Stark in line for years, even managed to make him look sympathetic at times. If she can do that for someone like Tony, imagine what she could do for Wakanda. She’d help your people reintroduce themselves to the world without breaking a sweat.”

T’Challa considered this for a moment, his expression thoughtful. He knew of Pepper Potts, of course. Anyone who paid attention to global corporate politics would know her name.She was not just Tony Stark’s assistant or his lover. She was a force to be reckoned with in her own right. And with Stark out of the picture for now, her involvement could provide the image of a neutral party, someone who understood how to manoeuvre in the delicate balance of politics, public relations, and power struggles. 

Stark had likely discarded her when their relationship hit a dead end. From what T’Challa knew, the only mistake Pepper Potts had ever made was getting personally involved with her boss.

“Do you think she would accept?” T’Challa asked, still sceptical but clearly interested.

“She might,” Steve replied, his voice filled with a quiet confidence. “We just need to present our case the right way. Helping Wakanda would certainly look good on anybody’s resume.”

Steve suspected that Pepper was probably having trouble finding a new position. Stark had a long reach, and he would not hesitate to use it to make things difficult for her. Steve hated Stark and everything he represented, the arrogance, the recklessness, and the way he used his money for self-indulgence rather than genuine good. But Steve had never been a fool. Stark had likely done everything he could to ruin his ex-CEO’s reputation, dragging her name through the mud, using every dirty trick in the book. While Steve could acknowledge that Pepper might have contributed to her own downfall, sleeping with her boss was not her smartest decision, a gentleman would have protected her, or at least shown her some respect. But Tony was no gentleman. He was the kind of man who would sink to any low to get his way.

T’Challa’s lips twitched into a faint smile, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “A bold suggestion, Mr. Rogers. Very bold indeed. But I will consider it. Wakanda needs friends right now, and perhaps she could be one worth having.”

Steve nodded, pleased with this small victory. “That’s all I ask. Give her a chance. You might find her to be an unexpected ally.”

There was a brief silence between them, the hum of the jet filling the space. Steve did his best to maintain a calm, composed expression, but inside he felt a surge of satisfaction bubbling up. He wanted to laugh at that new turn of events. He could hardly keep the grin from his face. People were so gullible. Even a prince raised to rule could be swayed with the right words. Steve knew how to frame things perfectly, how to guide someone’s thoughts just enough to make them think it was their idea all along.

He could hardly wait to see the look on Stark's face when he discovered who was working for him now. It would be priceless. Tony always thought he was the smartest guy in any room, convinced he could outmanoeuvre anyone with his tech, his charm, or his wealth. But Steve had made a life out of beating down bullies, whether with his fists or his mind. Captain America wasn’t just a symbol, he was a tactician. His enemies often underestimated how good he was at subtlety and strategy. All that time Steve had spent with Pepper was about to pay off in ways Stark would never have seen coming.

Steve gazed out the window, imagining the moment Stark would learn the truth. Suddenly, the scenery shifted, revealing a vibrant city that defied all expectations. Sleek skyscrapers fused with elements of African architecture, a seamless blend of tradition and futuristic design. Rogers had always heard Wakanda described as a poor, underdeveloped third-world country, but this reality couldn’t be further from the truth. The jet itself had already hinted at the truth, but seeing the city laid out before him confirmed it.

Once they landed, T’Challa led Steve through the corridors of the royal palace, moving with quiet authority until they reached a set of tall, intricately carved wooden doors.

With a subtle gesture, he motioned for Steve to enter. "This will be your room for the time being," he said.

Steve stepped inside and felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him. The room was luxurious but tasteful, each detail reflecting the richness of Wakandan culture and its sophistication. The walls were adorned with elegant patterns and tapestries, and the furnishings were made from exquisite materials, blending modern aesthetics with traditional craftsmanship. Soft, ambient lighting bathed the room, while a gentle breeze carried the scent of fresh flowers from a private balcony that overlooked the capital, Birnin Zana. It was nothing like the sterile, impersonal quarters he had known at Stark Tower.

"Please, make the call," T’Challa instructed, his voice steady, almost casual, but with a note of clear expectation.

For once, it was an order Steve was happy to follow. T’Challa handed him a new phone, and Steve transferred the numbers from his own. The prince had insisted he leave his old phone behind for security reasons, which was fair enough. T'Challa left immediately after, giving Steve a bit of privacy. 

He dialled Pepper Potts' number. It rang a few times before she answered, her voice groggy and annoyed.

"Steve? Do you have any idea what time it is?" Pepper muttered, her voice thick with sleep. "I've seen the news… You were there, weren't you?"

“Yes, and we need your help,” Steve replied, his tone urgent yet polite, trying to convey a sense of urgency without sounding desperate.

"We?" Pepper asked, clearly wary.

Steve took a deep breath and launched into his explanation. He painted a vivid picture of the current situation, skillfully highlighting the importance of the role she could play in their plan. He described the complexities they were facing, the delicate balancing act of global politics, and how crucial her expertise would be in managing Wakanda’s emergence onto the world stage.

"Hydra has been manipulating Tony," he added, layering his voice with concern. "Helping T'Challa means helping Tony too. We need someone who knows how to handle both the media and the big players."

Pepper listened in silence, and Steve could almost hear her mind working through his words, weighing his motivations, scrutinising every nuance. She had to have some brains to have made it that far. He knew she was analysing his offer, searching for the catch.

Steve poured on the charm, careful to mix in just the right amount of sincerity to make his story not only believable but appealing. He needed her to think she was getting the inside track on something big. She did not need to know that his concern for Tony was nonexistent. It was a lie he could use to pull her in. That truth would come later, at the right moment, when it would cut deepest.

For now, all that mattered was getting her on board. Once she played her part, Steve looked forward to the moment he could reveal the real game, the twist in his plan that would leave her reeling. But that day wasn’t today. Even the rook was important on the chessboard, even if it could be sacrificed easily.

There was a long pause before Pepper spoke again. "Alright, Steve," she finally said, her tone softer, but still cautious, guarded.

Steve allowed himself a small smile, one she could not see but that was filled with satisfaction. “Thank you. T’Challa will send a jet for you. Be ready. It’s faster than anything Stark Industries ever made.”

She huffed in response, probably sceptical of that particular claim, but did not argue further. Steve ended the call and set the phone down, feeling a rush of anticipation. He left his room to find T’Challa to tell him what needed to be done now. 

Inside he was already savouring the next step. Barnes and Stark were about to pay the price of their foolishness and they did not even know what was coming for them.

Chapter Text

The press was having a field day, sparing no one. They eagerly highlighted every minor misstep, conveniently overlooking the countless good deeds the heroes had performed since taking up the mantle. Even Captain America, in his own twisted way, had saved lives. Tony despised the press with every fibre of his being. They had made his life miserable since he was four years old. Not that the media cared.

Fortunately, Stark Industries had a formidable PR team. Tony had to admit he had not done his reputation any favours over the years. He had been reckless, brash, and, at times, downright irresponsible. His playboy lifestyle, coupled with his struggles with alcohol and drugs, had only fueled the media’s insatiable appetite for scandal, giving them endless material to tarnish his name again and again.

He was used to it, and had learned very early on to wear the mask of indifference. Since Afghanistan, Tony had been striving to do better, to make amends, and to clean his act. Now, every harsh word, every snide comment, every public crucifixion cut a little deeper than he cared to admit. Tony had come to realise that no matter how many lives he saved, how many villains he defeated, or how many times he stood in the face of danger, he would never be enough. Not for the press. Not for the world. And maybe, not even for himself.

But he would not let them attack the people he loved like that. Peter, Rhodey, and James did not deserve the vile words that were sent their way. Tony could handle the backlash. He had weathered it for years. But watching the same ruthless machine tear apart those he loved was unbearable.

Peter was just a kid, for God’s sake. A bright, earnest kid with a heart far bigger than was good for him. The press had no right to drag him into their games, calling him foolish for thinking he could stand up to Captain America. They had no idea about the countless hours Peter spent patrolling New York, stopping even the smallest crimes without resorting to violence.

Rhodey, on the other hand, was a seasoned soldier, a man who had given more to his country and the world than those journalists could ever dream of. And yet, they had the nerve to call him a puppet, to question his loyalty, to insinuate that he crossed any line for Tony, even break the law.  They didn't see how much he cared, how deeply he wanted to make the world a better place.

And James… Bucky Barnes had suffered enough for a hundred lifetimes. The media painted him as a villain, a relic of a darker era who could never be redeemed. Tony had seen the pain in Bucky’s eyes, the way he fought against the shadows of his past. He needed a chance now.

The truth would set them all free.

“Do you have a minute, Larry?” Tony asked politely, knocking on the door of the office that had once belonged to Pepper. 

Larry glanced up from his desk, his expression calm and welcoming. “Of course, Dr. Stark. What can I do for you?”

Tony’s lips twitched slightly. He still wasn't used to being called by his title, even though he had earned more doctorates than he cared to count. Larry, however, was nothing if not professional, and he had insisted on maintaining a certain formality between them, at least for now. Maybe it was his way of setting boundaries, or perhaps he simply didn’t want to get too comfortable with the man whose company he now managed.

“Just call me Tony,” he replied almost out of habit.

Larry smiled politely. “I’m afraid not, Doctor Stark.”

Tony sighed, realising it wasn’t worth the argument. “Alright, fine. So, I’m guessing you’ve seen the news…”

Tony almost expected to be scolded once more. Pepper never approved of anything that could tarnish Stark Industries’ reputation. In her eyes, Iron Man caused more trouble than good. Her life would have been much easier if Tony had just stopped pretending to be a hero.

But Larry's smile remained steady, unfazed, as if this was just another typical day at the office. “Yes, I have,” he replied. “The PR department is already working on it. I was actually about to send you a proposal on how we could address the situation, but since you're here, we might as well talk it through now.”

Tony leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, trying to hide his relief. “So, what’s the plan? Spin some good press, release a statement, pretend it’s all sunshine and rainbows?”

Larry chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Not quite. We need to tackle this head-on. The public needs to see that you’re taking it seriously, that you’re aware of the concerns and criticisms. We could arrange an interview, something controlled but candid. Let them see the real you. It would help if Bucky Barnes did the same. We need to humanise you both again, Dr. Stark.”

Tony tilted his head, considering it. “So, a charm offensive?”

“Something like that,” Larry agreed. “But more importantly, we remind them why they trusted you in the first place. Why they believed in Iron Man and everything he stands for. We show how both of you acted with the accords in mind. We don’t shy away from the dark parts of both your pasts. The public needs to see you both as flawed, yet fundamentally good people who genuinely want to make a difference."

Tony was silent for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Alright, I’m in. Set it up. And Larry... thank you."

“Dr. Stark, no offence, but I will need Sergeant Barnes' actual consent,” Larry said, his tone calm but firm, his eyes never leaving Tony’s. “I have no doubt you can handle your part, but this isn’t just about you. The press is going to pick apart every word, every expression, every slight hesitation. He needs to know what’s coming for him.”

Larry was right. As much as Tony hated to admit it, he couldn’t just charge ahead and make decisions for everyone like he always had. Not this time. Not with Bucky. He was worried for a whole new reason all of the sudden.

“Look, Bucky isn’t exactly media-savvy,” Tony argued, trying to keep his tone measured. “He’s not great with crowds or interviews. He’s still getting used to... well, everything. The last thing he needs is to be thrown in front of cameras and reporters who just want to make a spectacle out of him."

Larry nodded, a look of understanding in his eyes. "I get that, Dr. Stark. And I’m not suggesting we put him in front of a firing squad. But if we try to handle this without his explicit consent, without his full understanding and agreement, it will backfire. And you, of all people, know how quickly these things can spiral out of control."

Tony let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. A PR push had always been on the table for them, but not like this, not under these circumstances. He had imagined something different, something more controlled. He had hoped they would have time to prepare, to ease Bucky down that particular road. 

They could have rehearsed the questions, crafted the perfect narrative, maybe even done a couple of low-stakes interviews first to get Bucky comfortable. But life had a way of tearing up the script just when you thought you had it all figured out.

Tony felt a tightness in his chest at the thought of what lay ahead. Bucky had fought so hard to reclaim his life, to break free from the shadow of the Winter Soldier. The idea of him being dragged back into that darkness was unbearable.

Larry continued, sensing Tony's hesitation. "I understand your concern for him, but think about it. Bucky's been vilified by the press, painted as a monster, a threat. If he's willing, and if we do this the right way, it could be an opportunity for him to reclaim his story. To show the world he's more than just a haunted past. But he has to want that for himself. And he needs to know we all are behind him, supporting him, not exploiting him."

Tony nodded slowly, feeling a wave of conflicting emotions wash over him. “Alright. I’ll talk to him. I’ll explain everything, make sure he understands. But if he says no…"

Larry cut in, his voice steady. "If he says no, we find another way. We adapt. That's what we do, Dr. Stark."

Tony sighed, a reluctant smile playing at his lips. "You're a real pain in the ass, Larry, you know that?"

Larry grinned back. “Part of the job description, sir.”

Tony headed directly to find Bucky while he still had a shred of courage left, determined not to let doubt creep in and cloud his judgement. He knew himself well enough to recognize that if he let even a moment pass, he would overthink the entire thing, second-guess every word, and likely make the wrong call. He was not always the best at these sorts of conversations.

"Hey, Buckaroo," Tony began as he found Bucky in the common room, trying to keep his tone light, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Bucky nodded slowly, a hint of wariness in his expression, and Tony motioned toward the couch in the corner of the room. They sat down, and Tony launched into an explanation, about the media storm brewing around them, the PR nightmare they were facing, and the need to get ahead of it before it became an avalanche they could not outrun. He didn’t sugarcoat anything or dress it up in optimistic language. Bucky deserved the truth, straight and unfiltered.

Bucky listened intently, his face a mask of neutrality, his stormy blue eyes never leaving Tony’s. There was a moment of silence when Tony finished speaking and the genius immediately felt a surge of anxiety. What if Bucky felt trapped? What if he thought Tony was forcing him into something he was not prepared for?

But then, to Tony’s surprise, Bucky reached over and placed his hands on top of Tony’s, a gentle, steadying gesture. The irony was not lost on Tony. Here he was, worried sick about how to protect Bucky from a world that still saw him as the enemy, and it was Bucky who was trying to comfort him.

“I’ll do it, Tony,” Bucky said softly, his voice steady, his tone almost soothing. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle it.”

Tony blinked, caught off guard by how easily Bucky had agreed. “Are you sure?” he asked, searching Bucky's eyes for any sign of hesitation or doubt. "You don’t have to do this, you know. We can figure out another way.”

Tony started rambling about Bucky not needing to do that, almost talking himself out of the whole idea. The PR team would find another way. There was no reason to be thrown into an uncomfortable situation because Rogers was an idiot and was making their life harder than it ought to be. Tony was finding any reason to cancel the PR tour, persuading himself that it was really not a good idea.

And then, he was silenced in the most unexpected way. Bucky leaned forward and kissed him, softly, a gentle press of lips that was more about reassurance than passion. It was effective, the best, most unexpected way Tony had ever been told to shut up.

When Bucky pulled back, his face was just inches from Tony’s. “Together,” he murmured, his breath warm against Tony’s skin. “We’ll just do it together.”

For a moment, Tony was stunned into silence, his thoughts racing. But then, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. They could do it together. And not just this PR tour, so many other things, too.

Tony felt a smile spread across his face, his heart suddenly lighter. “Yeah, Buck,” he whispered. “Together. We’ll face it all together.”

Chapter Text

It was a different kind of battle, but a battle all the same. Every time they were scheduled for an interview or a photoshoot, some other outlet would have already scooped them with a story from the legendary Captain America's perspective. Somehow, despite being a man displaced from time, Steve Rogers had adapted remarkably well to the modern media landscape. 

He navigated through it with the same precision and strategy he brought to any battlefield, always managing to stay one step ahead. His ability to charm reporters and spin headlines in his favour was impressive, as if the world of soundbites and photo ops were just another mission to him. 

It was as if the world had conveniently decided to forget the recent past. 

The man had been responsible for the chaos in Lagos, an event that had left a nation in shambles. Not so long ago, the public was calling for his downfall, demanding accountability, with cries for his head on a platter echoing from every corner of the media. And yet, in a baffling turn of events, people were now captivated by him once again, their outrage replaced by sympathy.

They were hanging to his every word, swept up in the narrative of his tragic life story. That same story that had been told countless times since the Second World War. It was nothing new. The tale of the man out of time, the soldier who had lost everything and everyone, had become something bigger than life. But somehow, despite everything that had actually happened in front of the eyes of the world, that very same story was being retold, rebranded and repackaged as though it were fresh and an explication of everything. 

And the world, with its short memory, was buying everything. 

"I did everything I could to catch Bucky when he fell from the train," Steve began, his voice heavy with the weight of old wounds. "In that moment, it felt like the world slowed down, and all I could think about was reaching him, grabbing hold of him before it was too late. But he slipped through my fingers, and I watched him fall into the abyss. To be honest, every instinct I had screamed at me to jump after him. Bucky was my brother in arms, my best friend since we were kids on the streets of Brooklyn. Losing him was like losing a part of myself.”

On the screen, Rogers looked every bit the image of a man shattered by his past. His normally stoic demeanour had crumbled, revealing the vulnerability beneath. His voice quivered at all the right moments, trembling under the weight of the memories he was sharing. There were cracks in his composure, his breath hitching as if he were holding back tears. His eyes, usually so sharp and focused, darted away from the camera, as if he was unable, or perhaps unwilling, to meet the audience in the eyes. He looked like the pain of revisiting those dramatic events was too much to bear, his shame and grief almost palpable in the way he struggled to maintain his composure. 

Every pause, every glance to the side, seemed to tell its own story of regret and loss. He was not just recounting facts. He was reliving the trauma, letting the world see the scars that never truly healed and never would. To anyone watching, it was crystal clear. This was not the unbreakable Captain America they used to know. This was Steve Rogers, a man haunted by his failures and the ghosts of those he could not save. His vulnerability made him all the more human, and for a moment, it was hard not to feel sympathy for him, to see him as something more than the symbol he had become. He seemed like a man on the verge of breaking, and the world was watching every painful second of it.

“But then... I thought about the mission. About the millions of people who were depending on me, on us, to stop Hydra. I knew the stakes. Hydra had already taken too much from the world, and I couldn’t let them win again. Not after everything. So, I had to make a choice. As much as it tore me apart, I couldn’t let my personal grief derail the mission. I carried on, pushing forward with every ounce of strength I had left.”

Rogers’ greatest superpower was not just his physical strength or stubbornness. It was his words. He had a remarkable ability to inspire, to make people trust everything that got out of his mouth. When Steve spoke, it was not just the content of his message, but the conviction behind it that made it impossible not to believe him. His voice carried a rare, magnetic sincerity that could lift spirits from the depths of despair. He had the power to turn doubt into hope, and hesitation into action.

When Rogers said the war would be won, you could see it in the eyes of every soldier around him. They did not just hear him. They believed him with every fibre of their being. It was more than words, it was a promise. A promise that no matter how impossible the odds seemed, victory was inevitable because Captain America had said it was. In the heat of battle, when fear and uncertainty clouded judgement, his words became something they could hang on even if it was all a lie. 

His speeches were never grandiose or over-the-top. They were grounded, direct, and personal. Rogers had a way of speaking to each person as if they were the only one in the room, making them feel seen, valued, and crucial to the mission. His belief in others made them believe in themselves. 

It was difficult to wrap one’s mind around the possibility that it had all been a lie. After reading his exploits in comics for so long, people trusted him, looked up to him, even idolised him. But the picture was actually really different. Rogers was nothing of the selfless hero he portrayed himself to be. Every moment he had convinced the world he was fighting for them was actually a calculated move. He was not guiding people for the betterment of the world. He was guiding them for the betterment of himself. Each carefully chosen phrase was not meant to inspire a collective cause, but to advance his own hidden agenda, a series of small steps that all led to his own personal victory.

It was far easier to cling to the comforting lie than to confront the brutal truth that everything they had held dear for so long was nothing more than an illusion. The lie, after all, was reassuring. It provided a sense of order and purpose, a clear narrative where heroes were noble and virtuous, and their actions could be trusted without question.

But to accept the truth, that Rogers had been manipulating them all along, was to admit that they had been deceived, that the very foundation of their trust was built on falsehoods. It was not just about Rogers’ betrayal. It was about the shattering of an ideal. They were not only losing a hero, but somehow a part of themselves. The world was already hard enough to navigate as it was. They could not do this, living this life on their own, without something, someone to believe in.

“That’s why I stayed on course. I kept fighting until the very end, all the way to the Valkyrie. When it came time to crash that plane into the ice, it felt like the only thing I had left to give. I sacrificed myself because that’s what the world needed. And… really..” His voice trailed off, haunted by that particular memory, as though reliving every painful second of that choice. “I thought that maybe I would see Bucky again.”

He did not need to spell it out for them. With a few carefully chosen words and the weight of his silence, he let the audience come to their own conclusions.

The raw emotion in his voice, the subtle pauses, and the faraway look in his eyes did all the talking for him. Rogers did not have to say directly how much he was meant to have suffered. It was in the way he spoke, the way his words hung in the air, inviting the viewers to fill in the gaps with their own understanding. He was pulling on the heartstrings of anyone watching the interview, and it was impossible not to feel the gravity of what he had endured.

Steve had lost so much. The death of his friends, his comrades, his entire way of life. He had given everything in the fight against Hydra, only to be rewarded with loss and sacrifice. When he crashed the Valkyrie into the ice, he had not expected to survive. In that moment, he was ready for it all to end, to let his story fade into the annals of history along with everyone else from his time. But fate had other plans. Instead of finding peace, he awoke in a new century, where everything he had once known was gone. The world had moved on without him, changing in ways he could hardly comprehend.

In the interview, he did not have to go into the painful details. The audience would have understood the broad strokes of his suffering without him ever needing to say more. But he did anyway. Steve disclosed it all, down to the most shocking detail. He recounted moments that most would have preferred to keep buried, to never even remember. The way he described it was almost too much, with too many gory details and not enough emotions. 

It was unsettling to watch, almost surreal. There was Steve Rogers, the man who, for so long, had been the embodiment of heroism and virtue, someone who seemingly could do no wrong, not on purpose anyway, recounting the darkest, most painful moments of his life, and the lives of his friends and comrades. And yet, he seemed strangely detached, as if the gravity of his words did not weigh on him at all. For someone who had lived through such unimaginable loss, the way he relayed these events felt almost clinical, as though he were discussing someone else’s life rather than his own.

He described moments that should have been impossible to relive without breaking down, Bucky’s fall from the train, the countless lives lost in the war, the heart-wrenching isolation of waking up in a world that had moved on without him. Where anyone else might have struggled to hold back tears, might have asked for a moment to recompose themselves, Steve smiled.

That fleeting smile was what truly sent a chill through the audience. It was not just the smile itself, it was the nature of it, unsettling and out of place, almost as if it carried a hint of happiness. The kind of smile one might wear while recalling a cherished memory, a moment of warmth or fondness. But here, in the context of Rogers recounting the most tragic, painful events of his life, the smile felt deeply wrong.

Steve’s eyes began to grow distant, unfocused. It was as though he was no longer fully present in the room, his mind slipping away to another time, another place. And as the smile tugged slightly wider at the corners of his mouth, the tension in the room thickened. The audience shifted in their seats, a sense of unease rippling through them. It was not just that Steve was smiling, it was the growing sense that, somehow, he was reliving those moments in his mind and, disturbingly, finding pleasure in them.

It was subtle, just beneath the surface, but unmistakable. His smile was not the hardened, battle-weary expression of a man resigned to his pain. No, it was almost a smirk, as if he were savouring the memory of whatever moment was replaying in their head. There was no regret or sorry, but something far more disturbing. A kind of longing.

It was even palpable for the people watching in the comfort of their home. It was difficult to find a reason behind that attitude. Was Steve Rogers finding satisfaction in the suffering people close and dear to him had endured? Could it be that he missed the battles, the war, even the deaths in this brand new world? At that moment, the recent events in Lagos seemed to come back in the collective mind with a revenge.

Suddenly, a red-haired woman burst onto the stage, her entrance abrupt and unexpected. Without missing a beat, she quickly apologised for her intrusion, trying to explain that Steve was in the middle of a PTSD episode. The audience barely had time to process what was happening. But the real shock came when they recognized who she was. Pepper Potts. Tony Stark’s former right hand, now standing beside Rogers, shielding him from the fallout.

She was the last person anyone would have expected to intervene on Rogers’ behalf. But she had just been fired. It spoke volumes, and not necessarily in her favour.

Chapter Text

Tony sat in the tower, watching the interview unfold on the massive screen in front of him. The room was filled with people, his closest friends, his chosen family, the ones who really mattered in his life. Their chatter had slowly faded to silence as soon as Rogers began speaking. Now, the only sound was the low hum of the television, as all eyes were locked on the screen. The air was thick with tension, every word Rogers spoke hanging in the air like a weight no one could ignore.

They were not friends, not anymore. Hell, they barely even qualified as coworkers at this point. Rogers was not just an old ally turned stranger. He was becoming something far worse. He was becoming an enemy.

Yet, nothing had prepared Tony for what happened next, when Pepper Potts, his once-fiancée, his closest confidante, and the person who had stood by his side through the worst of it, suddenly appeared on stage. She moved quickly to Rogers, offering a hasty apology to the crowd before explaining that Steve was having a PTSD episode, his behaviour not his fault but a symptom of the trauma he had endured. It was an excuse like any other. Rogers was acting weird to say the least. The sight of her rushing to help him, defending him in front of millions, hit Tony harder than he expected.

It stung. He was not going to deny that. Watching Pepper rush to help Steve, explaining away his behaviour as part of a PTSD episode, hurt in a way he had not anticipated. But the pain was not sharp like a blade cutting through him. It was not the kind of raw, seething anger or jealousy that would have flared up in the past. No, this was different. The hurt was muted, a dull ache that lingered in the background, one he had grown used to over the years. He had felt betrayal before, plenty of it, and he knew what that particular sting felt like. This was not the same.

In another time, Tony might have seen Pepper’s actions as a betrayal, adding her to the long list of people who had disappointed or abandoned him. But now, as he sat there, he realised it did not cut as deep as he thought it would. It hurt, yes, but it did not consume him. There was no fire, no overwhelming need to lash out. Just a quiet, steady ache.

Seeing Pepper defend Rogers forced Tony to confront something he had not been willing to acknowledge for a long time. There was a part of her that he had overlooked. For years, he had been so caught up in his own feelings for her, in the whirlwind of their relationship, that he had not seen that part of her. 

It was not that he had not admired her strength and intelligence. He had. There was a reason he had promoted her to CEO of Stark Industries, and it was not just because of his own palladium poisoning. Pepper had always been capable, and fierce when she needed to be. But her stubbornness, that same quality he had once loved in her, was now a painful reminder of the gulf between them. It was a trait she shared with Rogers, a belief that she knew what was best, even when it ran counter to Tony’s needs.

She had always been determined that Iron Man was bad for him, that his obsession with his suits and the superhero life was self-destructive. And no matter how much he argued, no matter how many times he tried to show her that he could balance both lives, she had remained immovable. 

Since Afghanistan and becoming Iron Man, Tony had accomplished a lot, more good than most people could ever hope to in a lifetime. He had turned his life around, shutting down the weapons division of Stark Industries, saving countless lives, and dedicating himself to protecting the world in ways few others could. But none of that seemed to matter to Pepper anymore. She was always fixated on the bad times, the moments when things went wrong. To her, it was as if every mistake, every failure, rested solely on his shoulders. No matter how many lives he saved or how much good he did, in her eyes, it seemed like the bad outweighed everything else.

It was not the weapons themselves that had ever been a problem for her. She had worked for him when Stark Industries was the top supplier of advanced technology to the military. His decision to stop building weapons and change the company's focus was a shock to her, not the moral victory it had been for him.

She wanted a normal life, a conventional one. A nine-to-five job, a nice house with a white picket fence, a sense of routine that made sense in her world. That was her idea of a couple, the kind of life she had imagined for them. But that was never Tony’s life. Even before he became Iron Man, Tony had always thrived in the chaos, the uncertainty, the edge of innovation. 

In hindsight, Tony suspected Pepper had believed she could change him over time. That maybe, if they stayed together long enough, she could mould him into someone more like what she had envisioned, someone less reckless, more grounded, more “normal.” But Tony knew, deep down, that was never going to happen. He had tried to meet her halfway, to balance his life as Iron Man with the relationship they had, but there was always a part of him that she could not quite understand or accept.

"Are you alright?" Bucky asked softly, his voice low, meant just for Tony, a little bubble of privacy in the crowded room.

Bucky had been sitting next to him the entire time, his presence steady and grounding. His hand was warm in Tony’s, their fingers loosely intertwined, his thigh brushing against Tony's leg. There was concern in his voice, genuine but not insistent. He was not demanding reassurance or pushing for answers. He was just... there. It was normal, after all, for Tony to feel something negative, especially given the circumstances. But the truth was, Tony was okay. And for once, he was not just saying it to put on a brave face or to avoid dealing with his emotions. This time, he meant it.

Maybe it was because he finally understood where he stood with everyone. Maybe it was because the people who mattered most to him were still here. Or maybe it was because his growing relationship with Bucky had already been better for him than anything he ever had before. The fact that they had something real, something solid, made everything easier. Tony did not feel like he was spiralling or lost in his own emotions like he used to. He did not have to pretend. 

“I’m fine,” Tony answered, his voice calm and steady. He could feel Bucky’s eyes on him, though, and when he glanced over, Bucky was raising an eyebrow, clearly sceptical.

“No, really, Bucky. I’m fine,” Tony repeated with a slight smile. "She made her choice, and that’s fine. We’ve been over for a while. She already showed her true colours." He paused, squeezing Bucky’s hand gently, finding a kind of peace in just being honest. “Plus, Steve really looked like a psycho at the end. Did you see him? That unhinged smile? It's going to work for us, trust me. No one’s going to rally behind Captain Psycho after that little performance.”

Bucky’s lips twitched upward, amusement flickering in his expression, but there was still a lingering shadow of concern in his eyes. "You sure? You don't have to pretend with me, Tony."

Tony sighed, leaning into Bucky slightly, the weight of everything lessened just by having him there. “I’m sure. I mean, I’m not saying it didn’t sting a little, seeing her take Steve’s side like that. But in a weird way, it’s kind of a relief. I know where I stand with her now. And honestly, that clarity? It feels pretty damn good.”

“So, you’re telling me we’re gonna have to do more of those dreadful interviews?” Bucky asked, his tone dripping with mock annoyance, though the smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

Tony glanced at him, amused, knowing full well that Bucky did not hate the attention as much as he pretended. “You love those,” Tony said with a grin. “The people are fawning over you every time. It’s only a matter of time before I have to start batting them away from you.”

Bucky chuckled, the smirk on his face growing. “What can I say? It’s that forties charm. You can’t hide perfection, Stark. No matter how hard you try.”

Tony rolled his eyes but could not help the warmth spreading through him. “Forties charm, huh? So that’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Exactly, that’s what we’re calling it,” Bucky replied, his smirk turning into a full grin. He shifted closer to Tony, their shoulders brushing. “You should try it sometime. Maybe you could learn a thing or two about old-school class.”

“Oh, please,” Tony shot back, his voice playful. “If I wanted to go for ‘old-school class,’ I’d put on a bow tie and break out the black-and-white movies. You, on the other hand, get to sit there looking broody and handsome, while I do all the talking.”

“Broody and handsome, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this more than he should. “Guess I’ll take the compliment, then.”

“Take it while you can,” Tony teased. “Because once we’re done with these interviews, the whole world’s going to be at your feet. I’ll have to hire a whole security team just to keep the admirers from breaking down the door.”

Bucky let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, I think I’m good with just you handling that. You’re a genius, right? Should be easy enough for you to figure out. Worst case scenario, I’ll just tell them that I’m already taken.”

Tony smirked, nudging Bucky with his elbow. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Bucky’s smile softened slightly, a warmth in his eyes that made Tony’s chest tighten just a little. “Yeah, well… you’re not so bad yourself.”

For a moment, the banter faded, leaving behind a quiet sense of ease between them. It was still strange sometimes, this connection they had. But in moments like this, it felt natural, like they had been doing this for years. And Tony would not change it for anything.

Tony smiled warmly. “I think I’ve created a monster.”

Bucky grinned, leaning back against the couch, his hand still comfortably in Tony’s. “And you love it.”

“Yeah,” Tony muttered, a small smile on his lips. “I really do.”

At that moment, Rhodey, who had been quietly observing the back-and-forth with a smirk, decided it was time to chime in. “You see that, kid?” he said, nudging Peter’s arm as he leaned in, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “That right there, this little display of affection?” He gestured toward Tony and Bucky. “It’s so sweet, I think I’m gonna be sick. Might want to call an ambulance now, just in case.”

Peter, sitting across from them, blinked and stifled a laugh. “An ambulance? Really, Mr. Rhodes?”

“Oh yeah,” Rhodey continued, deadpan. “We’re talking about a serious sugar overload here. If it gets any cuter, I’m pretty sure I’m going into diabetic shock. Better be ready.”

Bucky chuckled, not even bothering to hide his grin. “Come on, Rhodey, don’t be jealous just because no one’s holding your hand.”

Rhodey shot him a look, raising a finger in mock warning. “Oh, don’t start with me, Barnes. I could’ve had someone holding my hand if I wanted to. I just don’t need to flaunt it like you two lovebirds over here.”

Tony smirked, leaning back against Bucky, obviously enjoying Rhodey’s playful jabs. “Flaunt it? Please. We’re just doing our thing. Can’t help it if the rest of you can’t handle a little love in the room.”

“Little?” Rhodey scoffed, shaking his head. “This isn’t ‘a little.’ This is full-blown rom-com territory, Stark. Next thing we know, you two will be slow-dancing in the kitchen while it rains outside.”

Peter snorted at that, finally letting out a laugh he had been holding back. “I mean, Mr. Stark, you *do* kind of have the whole ‘dramatic love story’ vibe going on.”

Tony looked at Peter, faking the hurt. “You too, Brutus?”

Bucky, still grinning, gave Tony’s hand a squeeze before turning back to Rhodey and Peter. “Hey, don’t hate just because you’re not the star of this particular rom-com. You’ll get your moment.”

Rhodey pointed at Bucky, eyes narrowed in fake seriousness. “Oh, don’t you worry. When my moment comes, it’s gonna blow your ‘forties charm’ right out of the water.”

“Can’t wait to see that,” Tony quipped, smirking. “Just make sure to let us know so we can get front-row seats.”

Rhodey shook his head, leaning back in his chair with a grin. It was good to just laugh at that moment. Potts, Rogers and all the others would get their karma in due time.

Chapter Text

With the ongoing PR war dominating the headlines, General Ross had all but faded from the public's mind. The media frenzy surrounding the larger-than-life conflicts between superheroes had conveniently pushed his crimes out of focus. For the average citizen, Ross was just another villainous figure who had been swiftly dealt with, now locked away in some high-security prison where he could not harm anyone else. As far as they were concerned, he might as well have been behind bars in a place so secure no one would ever escape. His name barely surfaced anymore, a ghost the world had already moved past.

The authorities, for their part, did not seem too concerned with rushing toward a trial. Ross' eventual day in court was somewhere in the distant future, a formality at best. After all, the man was already guilty in the eyes of anyone who knew his history. A trial would be just for show, a spectacle of legal process no one really needed. The idea of Ross sitting in a cell, awaiting a trial that may or may not come, seemed like karma for someone who had spent so much of his career bending the rules to suit his agenda.

There was, however, a certain poetic justice in the thought of General Ross being treated the way he had treated so many others during his long career. The man who had hunted down superhumans, imprisoning them without due process in places like the Raft, might very well find himself trapped in the very same circumstances. The Raft, after all, was still operational, still capable of housing dangerous individuals. If the authorities decided that Ross belonged there, locked away for the rest of his life, cut off from the world and stripped of his basic human rights, few would shed a tear. 

But Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross was not the kind of man to go quietly into the night, nor was he the type to fall alone. He was not some common criminal. He was not going to give up. Defeat was never an option. He had spent a lifetime manoeuvring his way through the darkest corridors of powers. He had made a lot of connections, sincere or forced, that did not vanish because he was behind bars. 

Hydra was not completely gone. And perhaps it never would be. Like a stubborn weed, Hydra had a tendency to reappear when least expected, its roots dug deep into international politics and shadow operations. Ross had never formally aligned himself with Hydra, at least not publicly, but he understood their methods, admired their reach.

But beyond Hydra, Ross had his own following. Throughout the years, he had inspired loyalty in more than a few people. Some were fellow soldiers who had fought at his side, who respected his ruthlessness and commitment to American security, others were political figures who owed him favours from one shady deal or another. And then there were the scientists, and the researchers who had been part of Ross’ many covert projects, including the numerous attempts to recreate the Super Soldier Serum. These people were not just loyal to Ross, they were indebted to him. 

And some, who believed in his vision of a world without the threat of the superhumans, a world tightly controlled by military might and scientific supremacy, would do anything to help him reclaim his power.

Ross was a man of strategy. Every decision, every action was calculated, deliberate. He put all his pieces on the chessboard, always three moves ahead of everyone else, anticipating outcomes before his enemies even knew they were in the game. While the world outside thought him powerless, locked away in a cell, Ross was quietly making moves. He knew how to work the system, how to pull strings in the dark. 

Piece by piece, Ross began replacing the normal guards with men loyal to him. It did not happen overnight. It was a slow process, almost imperceptible to anyone not paying close attention. But that was exactly how Ross liked it. His influence crept in like a virus, spreading through the ranks of the prison staff with quiet efficiency. Some of the guards were men he had worked with before. Others were bribed, offered incentives that would change their lives forever if they played along. And for those who could not be bought, Ross had other methods, subtle threats, blackmail, leveraging family secrets they thought were buried. Everyone had a weakness, and Ross knew how to exploit them all. 

And if they could not be persuaded, well, their lives held no value to Ross. They just became insignificant pieces on the board, collateral damage.

With each new guard loyal to him, Ross’ control over the prison grew. Soon, he had control over every critical aspect of the facility, the communication, surveillance and security systems. He could see every corner, hear every conversation, and control every lock and gate. Ross had transformed his confinement into a chessboard where he controlled every piece.

The time for his escape was approaching. He had waited patiently, biding his time as the world outside grew more chaotic. People were not looking at him anymore, and Ross knew that there would be no better moment to strike. His enemies had grown complacent, believing him contained. If only they knew.

The plan was brutal in its simplicity. Ross was not just going to escape quietly. That was not his style. He would leave chaos in his wake, the kind of chaos that would paralyse the authorities long enough to ensure his disappearance. He was going to unleash the entire prison population, turning the facility into a war zone. All it took was the flip of a few switches. The ones who would try to go after him would be outnumbered, overwhelmed, and definitely unprepared for that kind of gorilla war. Revenge was a dish best served cold, but for Ross, it was also sweet. 

“Boss?”

“What’s up, Baby Girl?” Tony replied, his focus still on the intricate mechanics of the new arm he was building for Bucky. He was always tweaking, always innovating. Just like his armour, there were endless improvements to be made.

“You asked me to keep an eye on things…” Friday’s voice chimed in again, but this time there was something different. A hesitancy that did not quite match her usual efficiency.

Tony paused, catching the uncertainty in her tone. “Is there something wrong with SI?” he asked, shifting his attention, concern creeping into his voice. Stark Industries was a well-oiled machine, but Tony had learned the hard way to always be vigilant.

“No, Boss. Everything is more than fine on that front. Never better, actually,” Friday reassured him. “I just took the liberty of doing a broader sweep... for security purposes.”

That piqued his interest. Tony was always proud when his AI systems grew beyond their programming, evolving in ways that made them more intuitive, more independent. Friday was clearly thinking ahead, taking initiative. He loved that. She was learning to question, to act without waiting for orders. He had designed her to be assertive, and it looked like she was finally stepping into that role, even if it made her uncertain at times.

“What’s wrong, exactly?” Tony asked, giving Friday his full attention now.

She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before launching into her explanation. “I’ve been monitoring wider systems, and I’ve noticed some irregularities at the prison where Ross is being held. Small things, isolated at first, but they’re starting to add up.”

Tony’s brow furrowed as he listened closely. Friday’s voice grew more confident as she detailed her findings, guard rotations that did not match up, strange lapses in surveillance feeds, comms logs that suggested unauthorised communication, and subtle changes to the prison’s security protocols.

The more she spoke, the clearer the picture became. Friday had been tasked with keeping tabs on anything that could pose a threat to Stark Industries, and she had taken that directive to heart, interpreting it in the broadest sense. Ross had always been a potential threat, even from behind bars, and now it seemed the man was making moves.

Tony stood up from his workstation, wiping his hands on a rag as he processed the implications. Friday was right to be concerned. These were not just random blips. They were coordinated, deliberate, the signs of something bigger brewing beneath the surface.

“Damn it,” Tony muttered under his breath. His mind raced, calculating the possibilities. Ross was not the kind of man to stay passive, not for long. 

Friday’s initiative was impressive, no doubt about that. She had seen the warning signs before they had become a problem. And that meant they had a chance to act before things spiralled out of control. Tony could not help but feel a surge of pride. His mechanical children were more than just programs, they were growing, evolving, and helping him see things in ways even he could not have anticipated.

“Good work, Friday,” Tony finally said, his tone serious but clearly approving. “You did the right thing.”

Friday’s voice softened, almost proud. “Thank you, Boss.”

Tony's mind was already working on the next steps. “Alright, let’s call Rhodey,” Tony said decisively, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “Jarvis, pull up everything you’ve got on Ross’ connections to Hydra. It’s time to shine some light on all this, and end it all.”

Jarvis, ever-efficient, responded immediately. “Colonel Rhodes on the line.”

“Tony, what’s up? I was just about to…."

“No time, Rhodey,” Tony cut in sharply. His mind was already racing ahead, formulating a plan. “We’ve got a situation. It’s Ross, he’s making his moves. Friday picked up some disturbing signals coming from the prison where he’s being held. He’s about to escape.  We need to move before something goes sideways.”

“I’m on my way,” Rhodey said, his voice focused. “Let’s bring the whole team. Better safe than sorry. I’m calling the UN to get authorisation, just in case something goes sideways.”

Tony nodded, though Rhodey could not see it. “Good call. We need that official green light if things get messy. Last thing we need is another shit show like the airport.” Tony replied, already setting the next phase in motion. “Friday and Jarvis are compiling everything they’ve dug up on Ross. They’ll forward the whole package to them in case they have a change of heart. Let’s make sure we’re ready to bury him this time. The jet will be ready when you arrive. We’re going in fast, and we’re going in fully loaded.”

As soon as Rhodey disconnected, Tony moved into action. He did not need to waste time with long explanations. This was one of those moments where instinct and trust took over. He headed straight for Bucky, who was in the training room, quietly going through some drills.

“Suit up, Barnes,” Tony said, his voice carrying the urgency of the situation without needing to spell it out. Bucky stopped mid-movement, wiping his brow with a towel, and met Tony’s eyes. He did not ask any questions. He did not need to. The look on Tony’s face was enough. Bucky’s years as the soldier kicked in instantly. In one fluid motion, he tossed the towel aside and put his jacket on. He could tell something big was happening, and if Tony was calling on him specifically, that meant there was no time to waste.

“Who are we taking down this time?” Bucky asked as he finished getting dressed.

“Ross. He’s planning an escape, and it’s going to be ugly if we don’t act now. I’ve already called in Clint,” Tony said, glancing at Bucky as they made their way toward the landing pad. “The jet’s going to pass by the farm, so we might as well pick him up. Could use an extra set of eyes.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Hawkeye, huh? Guess we’re going for the subtle approach then,” he remarked, a hint of dry humour creeping into his voice.

“Something like that,” Tony replied, with a hint of a smile. “As arrows can be.”

By the time they reached the jet, everything was already prepped and ready, with Friday running final checks on the system. Rhodey’s War Machine armour was visible inside, next to Tony’s. 

“Good to go?” Rhodey asked.

Tony nodded. “Clint’s joining us. We’ll pick him up en route. Shouldn’t take long.”

Rhodey gave a thumbs up. “The more the merrier,” he said. 

Tony and Bucky followed him inside, their minds already shifting into mission mode. The jet’s engines roared to life as it lifted off the pad, slicing through the sky with precision. His AIs were keeping an eye on Ross just in case he would start to act, or that his plan was bigger than just an escape. 

Minutes later, they landed next to the Barton farm. Clint was already outside, bow in hand. With his usual nonchalance, he hopped aboard the jet, giving Tony a nod as he strapped in.

“Looks like we’re in for another fun one,” Clint remarked. 

“Yeah, fun isn’t exactly how I’d put it,” Tony replied, flashing a wry smile. “But let’s get this over with.”

Chapter Text

The prison was completely under the control of General Ross. Every aspect of it was under his influence. The prisoners, surprisingly, had started to align themselves with him, but not out of loyalty. Whatever Ross was about to do would at the very least be synonymous with some action, and potential freedom. As for the guards, they were no longer the original wardens who had once overseen the facility. Ross had managed to have them all replaced with individuals who were either loyal to him or had reason to fight for him, willingly or not.

Despite all the troops Ross had managed to gather around him, and despite his influence, the advantage he hoped to have through the element of surprise, the battle was short-lived. His forces were prepared for everything, and yet they were no match for the Iron man’s team.

Iron Man, War Machine, Hawkeye, and the Winter Soldier were the first to arrive on the battleground. They did not immediately engage. Instead, they were standing on the edge, silently assessing the situation. Jarvis and Friday were scanning the area with their advanced sensors, and the help of the SI satellites, mapping out enemy positions, gauging the numbers, and searching for any hidden threats. The AIs also hacked into any feed they could find.

The moment Ross’ troops caught sight of their silhouettes on the horizon, the tension on the ground escalated sharply. Seeing the four superheroes standing there made everything more real, more dangerous. This was not just another battle. It was as though time itself paused for a brief, heavy moment, the air thick with anticipation and fear. They shifted uneasily, their confidence faltering a little.

A significant portion of the men on Ross’ side made the decision to put their weapons down rather quickly. The ill prepared scientists, the soldiers who had been blackmailed into fighting realised that there was no point in fighting a battle that could only end in their death. They looked visibly relieved. It was clear they had no desire to become casualties in a war they did not believe in. 

Happy Hogan, as always, was right where Tony needed him, managing the situation on the ground better than anyone else. Thanks to him, the local authorities were able to move swiftly, acting with precision to contain the situation as best they could. They were ready for this. Armoured vehicles lined up in an orderly procession, creating a constant back and forth, driving those who had surrendered to nearby detention centres. Everything was going smoothly. 

But General Ross had no intention of letting himself be captured alive, not this time. He would not be paraded as a defeated man when all he tried was to defend his people. There was a kind of steely determination on his face when he retreated with a small band of his most loyal men, the ones who would follow him no matter what. They moved swiftly deeper into the heart of the building, leaving a labyrinth of hallways and reinforced room behind them. They were armed to the teeth with rifles, explosives, and whatever heavy weaponry they could manage. The odds were against them, but that did not matter. They had made peace with their fate. If they were going to fall, they would make sure they did not go alone.

"My fellow Americans,

I’m speaking to you directly from the prison where I was unjustly sent. But let me be clear. Everything I have done, every decision I have made, has been in your best interest, to protect you. Make no mistake about that. This land, this great country of ours, was not handed to us. It was built on the backs of patriots, men and women who believed in the promise of freedom, justice and unshakable strength. 

There are those who want to take that from us. They are hiding in the shadows, both abroad and within our own borders, plotting to see this country divided, weakened, and brought to its knees. They want to strip us of our power and our values. 

America doesn’t flinch. We have never backed down from a fight, no matter the odds, and we’re not about to start now.

You might not realise it yet, but the stand I make today, I make for you. No matter the odds we face, no matter the enemy standing in our way, we will overcome. Some of us will fall in this quest, and I may very well be the first of many. But that’s the price we pay for freedom. That’s the cost of standing up for what’s right. We don’t ask for permission to be strong. We don’t seek approval to defend what is ours.  Because that is what it means to be free. That is what it means to be American. It’s not about waiting for someone to tell us when we can act. It's about knowing when to take a stand, knowing when to say, "Enough." 

You are the sword and shield of America, and I am honoured to stand with you even for a short while.

Don't let them fool you. 

The likes of Iron Man and Captain America are *not* your friends. They wear the symbols of justice and freedom, claim to fight for the people, but they're only looking out for themselves. They’ve built their own empires, their own worlds where they hold all the cards and answer to no one. 

America's strength comes from its people. Let me ask you this: what happens when power goes unchecked? Chaos. Destruction. Lives lost. 

Look at them! The Hulk levelled cities in minutes, entire blocks reduced to rubble because of him. No one could stop him. And Iron Man? Starks has more firepower in his little finger than entire countries, and doesn’t answer to the very people he claims to protect. Even Captain America, once one of our brightest symbols, has gone rogue. He refuses to follow orders, and leads others into rebellion. 

Who gave them the right to act as judge, jury, and executioner?

They might claim to fight for freedom, but it is definitely not for yours. I’m not here to demonise these individuals. I know their abilities, their strengths. I've fought alongside some of them. I’m not blind to what they can do. But that's precisely why we cannot afford to let that kind of power go unregulated.

What happens when foreign countries start to manipulate enhanced individuals like them? What happens when those powers fall into the hands of people who don’t care about us, about our nation, our security? Suddenly, we’re no longer in control. Suddenly, it’s not America making the decisions. 

We will not, we can not, allow a handful of super powered individuals to decide what’s best for the rest of us. They must be held to the same standards as every other soldier, every other citizen. And if they refuse, if they think themselves above the law, then they must be stopped before their power spirals out of control and we all pay the price.

I’ve done my part. I’ve stood against them, pushed back with every resource I had. I tried to warn you, tried to put safeguards in place. But now, it’s your turn. Take a stand. 

God bless you, and God bless the United States of America."

The General knew his time was up. The prison was now surrounded, a swarm of authorities and agents from every one of the alphabet soup of agencies closing in. It was only a matter of time. But General Ross had one final card to play. Thanks to this speech, he was going to spill the superhero civil war into the public and simply turn Americans against Americans. 

The Avengers could not be trusted, he believed that to his core. They were nothing more than time bombs waiting to go off, and it was time for the good people to take matters in their own hands. Ross was not entirely wrong. Tony himself knew that his past was not painting him under the best of light.He had made more than his fair share of reckless decisions, battled his own demons under the public eye. He hoped, maybe even prayed, that his recent actions would show the world the man he had become since Afghanistan. A man who, despite his flaws, was trying to do better. But Tony knew all too well that for some, it would never be enough. 

Romanoff and Barton were another kind of complication. They were spies, assassins. Everything about them was talking about deception, shady loyalties and blood on their hands. Sure, Banner had a giant anger management problem. And Bucky, though forced into his role as an assassin, still had the blood of countless innocents on his hands.It was his face those people saw in their final moments, no matter the circumstances, no matter the mind control.

As if things were not difficult enough, the media arrived in a flash, summoned by an anonymous tip. Was it Ross who called them? Or had someone on their own side leaked the news? In the end, it did not really matter. What mattered was that the press was there, cameras rolling, broadcasting everything to the world. It was annoying of course, and added a layer of danger. Reporters never wanted to be moved for their own safety, always eager to catch the most dangerous moments on tape. It did not take long before some clever engineer managed to hack into the prison's security feed, putting the entire standoff on live television.

Tony could have easily had Jarvis or Friday shut it down, but he did not. He, and the people on his side were all about transparencies after all, when it made them look good or otherwise.

For a second, everybody was at a stand still. The moment of calm before the storm. 

"Hey, guys!" Tony’s voice boomed through the air, amplified by his Iron Man suit. "How about we put our weapons down and call it a day? I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be at home right now, doing literally anything else."

As always, he attempted to defuse the tension with humour, hoping to lighten the atmosphere just enough to avoid a full-on battle. Unfortunately, it rarely worked out his way. The situation felt like a powder keg seconds from exploding. His jokes were not enough to stop what was coming. 

Suddenly, a shot rang out, echoing through the air. It was the spark everyone seemed to be waiting for. Chaos erupted. Bullets flew from every direction. It was as if both sides had been looking for an excuse to prove Ross right.

Tony and Rhodey, both in the air, swooped down toward the prison grounds. Their repulsors were set to stun, trying their hardest not to escalate the situation any further. Tony tried calling out, his voice amplified again, "You’ll only be knocked out! Nothing more!" 

Perhaps they should not have.

Before they could even reach them, men began shouting ‘Hail Hydra!’ Their loyalty was not to Ross. Almost immediately, they began convulsing and collapsing, one after the other. Cyanide pills. They had chosen death over capture. They believed in Hydra's message more than everything, more than they own life. They hoped that their deaths would make them martyrs for the cause. One head cut off, two would grow to replace them from the people watching the live feeds.

“No!” Tony’s voice cracked with desperation. “We need to stop them! We can’t let them die for this!” He couldn’t stand the thought of these people throwing their lives away for something so senseless. He knew what Hydra was capable of, how they manipulated and twisted the minds of the vulnerable.

On the ground, Bucky and Clint entered the fray, moving with precision and speed, trying their best to incapacitate these men enough before they could take their own lives. There was no time to check who was Hydra, who was just a soldier, or who might have been a prisoner. Neutralising them was all that mattered. It was brutal, but also the only way to prevent further senseless deaths.

Slowly, the team advanced deeper into the building, the tension thickening with each step, toward the room where the general was retreating with a handful of his most loyal soldiers. These men were not just prepared to fight. They were prepared to die. They were hellbent on taking as many people down with them as possible. Armed to the teeth and with the advantage of knowing the building’s layout, they were dangerous. Every corner, every narrow hallway could be a trap.

Ross knew Tony and his team would be hesitant to use lethal force. Ross was thinking about the optics, Tony just wanted to save lives. Till the bitter end, Ross’s view of the Avengers would be diametrically opposed to Tony's.

Tony had tried, as always, to reason with Ross, to find a way to defuse the situation before it spiralled into further bloodshed. Rhodey stood nearby, his eyes scanning the situation. He had seen enough battles to know when a fight was hopeless. Instead, he asked Jarvis to give the video feed from the War machine suit to the journalists.

“Come on Ross! Don't do this. This is not the way to prove your point.” Tony urged.

But Ross’s voice cut through the air, cold and defiant. "You still think you know better than anyone else, Stark. You’re showing the world why it was better before you lot came around, before all of you with your powers decided you could play god. Those men out there died because of *you*."

Tony's heart tightened at Ross's words. "I tried my best to save them," Tony replied, his voice full of frustration and desperation. "I didn't want any of this!"

A sudden shout pierced the air. It was lucky, his voice full of tarot. “Tony! Move!”

Tony barely had time to react. Bucky was running toward him, his face twisted in panic, his eyes wide with fear. Everything slowed down for a moment, confusion clouding Tony's mind. He could hear voices shouting in the distance, but the words did not make sense. He did not understand what was happening until it was too late.

A massive explosion ripped through the building, the force of it throwing everyone backward with violent intensity. The shockwave hit like a freight train, sending Tony and the others crashing into the hard concrete floor. His ears rang, his suit’s sensors blared with warnings, but all Tony could focus on was trying to check on his team. His heart raced as he scanned through the dust and smoke to find Rhodey, Clint and Bucky. Were they alright? 

But then, dizziness overwhelmed him. The edges of his vision blurred, the world around him spinning out of control. The pain in his head grew sharper, and before he could grasp what was happening, everything faded to black.

Chapter Text

“Tony and his team did the best they could,” Rogers said, his voice firm yet burdened as he faced the sea of journalists. The flashes of cameras and murmurs of questions filled the air, but Steve held his ground, his expression unwavering. “The situation was difficult. Ross was the one who put us in that rift in the first place. That’s why they needed a tactician, a captain.”

His words carried weight still, but this time, his explanation was stirring more unease than understanding. Steve’s insistence on reminding the world of the divide that Ross had helped build was not sitting well with everyone. Rogers was not making more friends with his take on the recent events. He kept drawing parallels between what had just happened at the detention centre and the tragic events in Lagos.

“Sometimes, our enemies push things too far,” he said, his voice taking on a darker edge. “But that’s what makes them villains. They cross lines, take lives, and leave devastation in their wake. And it’s our job to stop them, no matter the cost.”

Rogers went on talking directly to the people of the world, pledging himself to the cause once again, to fight for the little guy, the powerless, with everything he had. For as long as he had strength, he would stand against tyranny, corruption, and the dark forces that would inevitably come their way.

“Maybe we don’t always get it right,” Steve admitted, glancing down for a moment, before meeting the eyes of the journalists again. “But we fight. And we’ll keep fighting. I’ll keep fighting, for all of you. For everyone who can’t.”

In his office in the Wakandan royal palace, T’Challa watched the broadcast on a sleek holo-screen, deep in his thoughts. As the last of Steve’s words echoed through the room, the young king let out a deep, weary sigh. He reached out and turned off the screen with a sharp flick of his fingers, plunging the room into silence. He wished that the Captain would stop talking.

Opening Wakanda’s borders, inviting Steve Rogers into his country, had seemed like the right move at the time but now, the king was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake. Accepting Pepper Potts’ involvement had made everything worse. He regretted the attention it would bring to Wakanda. So far, they had not mentioned the small hidden country, but T’Challa knew now that it was just a question of time.

T'Challa pressed his hands against his temples, feeling the familiar throb of a headache building behind his eyes. He missed his father with an intensity that caught him off guard at times like this. There were still so many lessons he needed to learn, so many words of wisdom he had not yet received. He had been arrogant to think he was ready to be king.

When T'Chaka had been alive, T'Challa had admired him for his strength, his unwavering wisdom, and the way he navigated the immense responsibilities of both king and father. T’Chaka had always seemed to carry the weight of the crown with ease, never faltering under its burden. But now, he was gone, taken from him too soon, and the full weight of leadership had fallen to T'Challa, before he was prepared to bear it.

In his youth, he had assumed the title of king would fit him as easily as it had his father, that the mantle of Black Panther was his birthright, something he was entitled to without question. He had been certain that he was ready, that all he needed was the crown and the suit, and the rest would follow. But standing now at the crossroads of decisions that would shape Wakanda’s future, decisions he alone had to make, he realised how much he still had to learn.

Now he needed to get his country out of the situation he had himself created. 

As these thoughts went through his mind, Shuri’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and clear. “He’s not wrong,” she said, her voice sharp with the mixture of frustration and amusement that often accompanied her observations. "Stark, for all his supposed genius, should have seen that coming."

T'Challa glanced at her, eyebrows raised. Shuri shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips as she added, “Ross has played everybody, it seems. He’s been two steps ahead this whole time.”

Shuri had that bored attitude most teenagers have. She was used to being the smartest person in the room. With that intelligence often came a certain arrogance, one that T'Challa was familiar with in his sister, but she never had any interest in global politics.

"Americans really don’t know how to be careful, do they?" she remarked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "So busy fighting each other or puffing out their chests, they didn’t realise someone was pulling the strings from the shadows. They focus so much on their own power struggles, that they don’t see the bigger picture. It’s always about who’s on top, who’s in charge, who has the biggest weapon.”

T’Challa was not impressed by her statement. He could see where Shuri was coming from. She often viewed the world outside Wakanda as lacking in everything, technology, brain and common sense, constantly thinking Wakanda was superior. She was not entirely wrong, but to dismiss the importance of strength, the necessity of having that bigger stick, seemed naive. Of course, it mattered. In a world constantly teetering on the brink of chaos, power was both a shield and a weapon.

“Our technology, our resources, they’re not just for show. They protect us, keep us safe from the chaos outside, and make our lives better," he responded.

Shuri folded her arms, raising her chin in that familiar defiant way. She was not one to back down easily, especially in debates where she was used to being right. T'Challa could almost see her mind working through his argument.

“The difference between us and Stark,” T’Challa added after a beat, “is that we were never directly implicated in the fight. We have the bigger stick, yes, but we don’t use it. We’ve stayed hidden, kept ourselves apart. Stark… Stark puts himself in the middle of it all, because he feels he has no choice. At least, he is trying something.”

T’Challa’s tone softened, and there was a trace of admiration in his words. For a long time, he had seen Tony Stark as nothing more than an arrogant showman, driven by ego and spectacle. That was why siding with Rogers had been easy for him at first. T’Challa wanted for his country to open to the rest of the world, but he had not realised what would come with that. 

Once other nations fully understood the technology and potential Wakanda held, things would undoubtedly go sideways. Some would stop at nothing to take what Wakanda had. Their neighbouring countries might feel betrayed, angry that Wakanda had the means to avoid wars, famine, and disease but had kept it hidden for so long. And now that Wakanda was stepping into the light, would these nations accept their help? Would they want revenge?

“I get it,” Shuri finally replied, her voice more thoughtful but still laced with defiance. “But that doesn’t mean we have to dive in headfirst like Stark, throwing punches without knowing who the real enemy is. Stupid white coloniser.”

T’Challa wondered for a moment if Shuri’s disdain for Stark had more to do with the fact that, in some ways, Stark was, at the very least, as smart as her. Their father had kept her from studying abroad, and perhaps that had been a mistake. There was nothing more humbling than to meet others that were, at the very least, at the top of their own game. Perhaps she needed to meet more people her age, and do normal things teenagers would do instead of staying in her lab all day long. 

T’Challa nodded. “No, it doesn’t mean we should follow Stark’s path. But it does mean we need to start planning our own. And there’s something not right with Rogers. Letting him into Wakanda may have been a mistake.”

“You can’t undo that now. Your honour’s on the line,” Shuri said, her tone solemn.

T’Challa wrestled with the dilemma that was now placed before him. His heart raced, his mind buzzed with the enormity of the situation. He considered the gravity of what had been just said. The idea that his honour, his reputation as a king, as the Black Panther, could be tied to this moment, this one decision, weighed heavily on his soul.

Honour. There was no honour in helping a criminal, no matter the circumstances. To help someone who had betrayed everything Wakanda stood for, everything T'Chaka had fought to protect, would be a betrayal not just of his people but of himself. It was a violation of the sacred duty toward his country he had sworn to uphold when he took the throne.

The criminal in question was once a beacon of hope, a symbol of heroism the world could rely on. Captain America had embodied all that was good. He was, for the longest time, someone who had shown that even in the darkest time, light could be found. But that was all a lie.

They had all seen the cracks in the façade during that interview, and what lay beneath was nothing short of terrifying. Rogers had chosen a path paved with violence, manipulation, and selfish ambition. Worst of all, the man seemed to enjoy the chaos he was leaving behind him, reliving each little moment with twisted pleasure. There was no defending his actions now, no matter how much T'Challa wished things were different. The thin red line had been crossed long ago.

“Honour,” T’Challa murmured under his breath, the word bitter on his tongue. He thought of his father, of the wisdom T'Chaka had tried to pass down to him. "The mark of a great king is knowing when to show mercy and when to stand firm," his father had once told him. T’Challa straightened, his back rigid with determination. He had made up his mind.

Stark and his team, for all their flaws, had at least tried to be transparent, to submit themselves to scrutiny. The world demanded accountability. People needed to believe that those with extraordinary powers were held responsible for their actions. It was the price of wielding such influence openly. Stark, despite his ego, had realised that trust could only be earned through honesty, and he had placed himself and the Avengers under the microscope, despite the challenges that came with it.

Wakanda could not open itself to the world on yet another lie. They had never needed to justify their actions to the outside world. But now, in a time when their involvement was inevitable, he needed to tell the truth, all the truth and nothing but the truth. 

T’Challa was going to talk to the UN, fully aware of the gravity of the situation. After the incident at the airport, he had granted Steve Rogers sanctuary, despite the world labelling him a fugitive. Now, T’Challa had to take responsibility for that decision. As a king, he had made the mistake of trusting Rogers, believing in the nobility of his cause. Rogers had claimed he was fighting for what was right, that he had been framed, and T'Challa had been moved by that conviction. But the time for second-guessing was over. Now, T'Challa would stand before the world and ask for understanding, not to punish a whole nation for the mistake of one man.

But T’Challa saw a potential silver lining in this difficult situation. Wakanda had people who could actually match Rogers in strength, and actually stop him if necessary. Wakanda's warriors, the Dora Milaje, were fierce and unwavering in their loyalty. They would ensure that the threat posed by Rogers, if unchecked, would be neutralised. As part of his atonement, T’Challa would promise to personally oversee that Rogers remained under strict watch, with his trusted warriors guarding him at all times.

There was no going back now. Wakanda’s time in the shadows was over. It was time to face the world, truthfully, and without fear.

Chapter Text

"We need to stop having dates at the med bay," Bucky tried to joke, his voice softer than usual as he sat beside Tony's bed, worry all over his face. He let out a small, nervous chuckle as Tony's eyelids fluttered open, his body still recovering from the latest battle. "The sterile atmosphere is not romantic, you know."

Tony, pale but clearly fighting his way back to his usual self, tried to smile despite the discomfort. His throat was raw, his body heavy. He recognised the tell tale signs of a concussion. Despite the circumstances or maybe because of it, he tried to respond in kind.

"I thought you would love playing doctor," he croaked, his voice raspy, but the glint in his eyes was unmistakable.

Bucky snorted, shaking his head, though the relief was plain on his face now that Tony was awake. "I’ve had enough of that role," he muttered, glancing at the various monitors around them, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the quiet hum of medical machines filling the room. "Next time, let's aim for a dinner that doesn’t involve nearly losing you... again."

“Oh, and here I was thinking you loved playing the knight in shining armour, saving me at every turn," Tony quipped, leaning back against the pillows with a smug grin. His body might still be battered, but his mouth was as sharp as ever.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. "Should I remind you that you are the one wearing the metal suit of armour?" he shot back with a deadpan expression, though the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Tony chuckled, wincing slightly as the action tugged at a sore muscle. He waved a hand dismissively, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Details, details," he murmured. "So, you mean you’re the princess, then?"

Bucky’s mouth twitched, as though he were fighting the urge to laugh, but instead, he just raised an eyebrow with an exaggerated air of patience. "Yup," he replied smoothly, his voice taking on a mocking tone of seriousness. "With the long hair and all." He even ran a hand through his shoulder-length locks for effect, smirking as he did.

Tony grinned wider, barely containing a snort of laughter. "Ah, yes, Princess Barnes. Regal, deadly, and waiting for some poor sap to rescue him from his tower," Tony teased, thoroughly enjoying the banter despite the dull ache that radiated through his body.

Bucky leaned down slightly, his gaze never leaving Tony's as he spoke in a low, amused voice, "Who said anything about waiting for a rescue? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Stark."

Tony’s eyes followed Bucky as he moved around the med bay, adjusting his IV and checking the monitors like he had some unspoken duty to look after him. After a few moments of silence, Tony’s lips curled into a familiar smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Can I at least get the kiss the hero gets after the battle is won?" Tony asked, his voice smooth and playful. He tilted his head slightly, giving Bucky an exaggeratedly hopeful look. "You know, for the sake of recovery. It'll help me heal faster, I'm sure."

Bucky stopped mid-step, turning slowly to face Tony with an amused, almost exasperated expression. “So needy…” he murmured moving toward the bed.

Tony’s grin widened, not backing down. "Hey, I’ve always been needy. It's part of my charm. Besides," he gestured to his body, still bandaged from the fight, "I think I earned it this time. Took a few hits, tried to save the day, and I’m lying here, tragically injured. It’s practically tradition."

Bucky rolled his eyes, though the smirk on his face betrayed how much he was enjoying this little exchange. He took a step closer to the bed, slowly, his expression both fond and amused. "You sure you're up for that, Stark? Might be too much excitement for someone who's ‘tragically injured.’"

Tony’s eyes lit up with the challenge. "Oh, I’m pretty sure I can handle it," he said, his voice dropping to a mock-serious tone. "In fact, it might be the only thing that’ll save me from this terrible, terrible state."

Bucky chuckled softly, his breath ghosting over Tony's skin as he leaned just a fraction closer. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

Tony shrugged, his smirk unwavering. "I prefer irresistible.'"

There was a pause, the playful banter melting into something a little more tender, a little more real. Bucky’s eyes softened as he looked down at Tony, a warmth there that had not been spoken aloud but had been building between them for a while now. i

Without breaking eye contact, Bucky leaned in, his lips brushing against Tony’s in a soft, gentle kiss. It was quick, almost tentative, but the warmth it brought lingered, settling in the space between them. When he pulled back, his face still closed, Bucky smiled, a small but genuine one that reached his eyes.

"There," Bucky murmured, his voice softer now. "Satisfied, hero?"

Tony blinked, momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence. Then his smirk returned, but it was a little softer, his usual bravado tempered with something deeper. "I mean, it’s a start," he said, his voice lighter than before. "But I might need a few more to make a full recovery, you know. Doctor’s orders."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head again, but there was a tenderness in his eyes that had not been there before. "Well, we can’t argue with doctor’s orders, can we?"

Tony grinned, the tension in his body easing as he relaxed into the pillow. "I knew you'd see it my way." 

"Are you decent?" Peter's voice echoed through the room before he even fully stepped inside, his hand comically placed over his eyes. His fingers spread just enough to peek through, but it was clear he was not taking any chances. "I'm not getting scared for life, am I?" he added with a slight mocking cringe.

A mischievous smile instantly crept across Tony’s face. "Define 'decent,'" he said, his voice dripping with fake seriousness.

Peter groaned dramatically, keeping his hand firmly over his face as he edged into the room. "Come on, Mr. Stark, I don’t need nightmares. I’m too young for more trauma. Aunt May will have a heart attack if I start screaming in my sleep."

Tony chuckled, his grin widening. "Relax, kid. I’m fully clothed. For now.”

"Anyway," Peter said, clearly changing the subject, "how are you feeling? You look... okay. Like, not about to pass out or anything."

Tony shrugged, leaning back in the bed. "I've had worse," he said casually. “It’s not a little explosion that will take me down. Nothing I can’t handle, kid.”

Peter’s expression softened, his teasing demeanour fading as he glanced at the man who looked small in the hospital bed. "You really scared us all, you know," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I mean, to watch that on live television…”

Tony's smile softened at Peter’s concern. For all the jokes and bravado, moments like this reminded him just how much the kid cared. "Hey, I’m not going anywhere," Tony said reassuringly. "Takes more than a few bruises to get rid of me."

Peter nodded, clearly relieved, though his brow was still furrowed with worry. "Yeah, but maybe next time... less of the 'throw yourself into danger' stuff? I think we’ve all hit our limit on near-death experiences for a while."

Tony raised a hand in mock surrender. "Scout’s honour, kid. I’ll try to tone it down."

Peter raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but let it slide. "Good. Because if you keep this up, I’m going to have to web you to your lab chair so you won’t move.” He crossed his arms, trying to look serious, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

Tony let out a bark of laughter, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh really?" he said, raising his own eyebrow in response. "Web me to my chair? I’d love to see you try, kid." He leaned back in the bed, clearly enjoying the banter. "Do you mean like that time you got stuck in your own webbing? Because, you know, that was quite the show."

Peter groaned, face flushing instantly at the memory. He rubbed the back of his neck, his embarrassment painfully obvious. "Why do you always bring that up?" he muttered, unable to meet Tony’s eyes.

Tony feigned innocence, his grin betraying him as he leaned forward slightly. "Hey, it’s not every day I walk into my lab and find New York’s friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man hanging upside down from the ceiling like a piñata, cocooned in his own web. I could’ve charged admission."

Peter shot him a look, his posture becoming defensive. "It was a malfunction. I didn’t expect my web-shooters to jam like that!" He was clearly trying to defend his dignity, but Tony’s laughter was not making it easy.

"Malfunction, huh?" Tony smirked. "Sure, sure. But let's be honest, that ‘malfunction’ lasted a good twenty minutes before you finally let me cut you down. I think I took at least ten pictures before you noticed."

Peter groaned again, burying his face in his hands. "You didn’t need to take pictures," he muttered through his fingers, mortified. 

Tony shrugged, utterly unbothered. "Hey, a moment like that? It’s once in a lifetime. Had to immortalise it. Come on, kid, you know you’ll laugh about it one day."

Peter snorted, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "Yeah, sure. In like twenty years when you finally stop reminding me about it every other week."

Tony held up his hands in mock surrender, but his grin remained. "Fine, fine. I’ll give it a rest... for now." He paused, and then his eyes sparkled with mischief again. "But you’ve got to admit, it was a classic."

Peter couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "Maybe," he relented with a sigh. "But if you ever bring it up again, I’m definitely webbing you to your lab chair."

Tony’s smirk returned, cockier than ever. "Bring it on, Parker."

“Jarvis will definitely give me a hand. And Dum-E, U and Butterfinger too. You won’t see us coming before it’s too late.”

Tony froze for a second, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You wouldn’t involve them."

Peter’s grin was positively devilish now. "Try me."

“Bucky!” Tony whined, drawing out the name like a petulant child. “The kid is nasty to me in my moment of need!”

Bucky, who had been quietly leaning against the headboard with his arms crossed, raised an eyebrow but didn’t bother moving. He sighed, shaking his head, though there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "You deserve every moment of it." His voice was dry, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "It’ll serve you right for staying in the blast zone like some reckless…"

"I wasn’t in the blast zone," Tony interrupted, huffing. "I was just… close by."

Bucky gave him a flat look, not buying a second of Tony’s excuse. "Close enough that you got blown off your feet," he shot back. "The armour’s nice and all, but we don’t need to test its durability every single time we go on a mission."

Tony opened his mouth to retort, but the stern look Bucky gave him shut him up instantly. For a moment, Tony fidgeted under Bucky’s piercing gaze, like a kid caught sneaking out past curfew. "Okay, fine," Tony grumbled, “I’ll be more careful next time. Happy?"

Bucky’s lips twitched, a small, reluctant smile threatening to break through this time. He was not one to show it often, but there was a softness in his gaze, the kind of protective instinct he could not quite shake when it came to Tony. 

"I’ll be happy when you stop making me drag your unconscious body out of craters. Until then, I’m reserving judgement."

Peter shook his head, clearly enjoying the scene. "I’m just saying, maybe next time don’t stand in the middle of an exploding jail, Mr. Stark. You would be mad if I did that."

Tony sighed dramatically again, looking between Bucky and Peter with an exaggerated expression of defeat. "Oh great, I’ve got the Spider-kid and the Winter Soldier ganging up on me. This is cruel and unusual punishment."

Peter grinned wider. "You’ll survive. You always do."

Tony groaned, "I’m never gonna live this down, am I?"

"Nope," Bucky and Peter answered in unison, both grinning like they were thoroughly enjoying the moment.

Tony could not hide the fond smile tugging at his lips. He was going to make an effort for his family.

Chapter Text

These days, Natasha had little to occupy her time except her own thoughts. Being hurled into a metal gas tank by a super soldier had left her body battered and broken, the impact fracturing several bones and severely bruising her spine. Only years of brutal training and honed reflexes had saved her from a far worse fate. But for one brief, terrifying moment, she had come closer to death than she ever wanted to be, closer than she had ever been before.

Clint, despite their recent falling-out, had stayed by her side, guarding her from further harm during the chaos. She did not know the full outcome of the battle, what had happened to Steve or Tony. When she had finally regained consciousness, it was in a hospital room, sterile and cold, that looked like any other. The only thing she knew for certain was that she was alive, though the pain radiating through her body made her question whether that was a blessing or a curse.

Her spine could have been shattered. The years she had spent in the Red Room had at least taught her how to fall, how to land in a way that minimised damage, but even that small mercy could not change the reality. The injuries were still severe, and her recovery, if there would be one, would take time. Walking? That was out of the question for now. The damage was too extensive, and her body was too fragile.

The road to recovery stretched before her, long and painful. This was not something she could rush, no quick fix or shortcut would get her back on her feet this time. Any attempt to push her body too soon, too hard, could backfire disastrously. The stakes were higher than they had ever been. If she tried to force herself into action before her body was ready, she risked permanent damage. She could lose the use of her legs forever. 

Up until now, Natasha had been lucky. Her injuries had never been more than temporary setbacks. But this? This was different. She could not brush it off. For once, her body demanded patience, and patience had never been her strong suit. The choice was out of her hands. 

Days blurred together in the monotony of her hospital room, each one identical to the last as she lay there, immobile, staring at the same cracks in the ceiling. Her mind refused to rest. She replayed her moves, each and every one of her choices since escaping the Red Room and sometimes, even before that.

A Black Widow was not supposed to have regrets because she should not have any attachment of any kind. Natasha had failed that part of her training. She had allowed herself to care, to feel.

Her downfall, if she was honest with herself, had started the moment she crossed paths with Tony Stark. That mission at Stark Industries had been the beginning of everything going wrong. Fury had initially tried to approach Stark himself, but that had not worked. Coulson had been tasked with keeping the billionaire genius in line, making sure he stuck to the narrative Shield had constructed to explain who and what Iron Man was. Shield was in the business of tracking every enhanced individual in the world, keeping tabs on them, and more importantly, keeping them in line.

So, Fury had sent her. 

But Tony Stark was just a baseline human. He was not a super soldier; no serum coursed through his veins. He was not born with alien DNA or blessed with mutant powers. He was, in many ways, just a man. No formal military training, no background in command or strategy. Stark’s only real connection to the military had been through selling weapons. But the suit definitely set him apart. 

The Iron Man suit of armour was more than just advanced technology. It was a game changer. 

With the suit, Tony could do what most could only dream of. He could fly, withstand incredible damage, and unleash devastating firepower with perfect precision. He was able to go where few could, use his complex targeting system to defeat even the cleverest of enemies, and survive incredible encounters. The suit was not just a tool, it was an extension of the genius, making him nearly unstoppable.

Shield had no other choice but to take him seriously. They could not overlook the potential danger, or opportunity, that Tony and his armour represented. Fury had been naive, in her view, to believe Stark could truly understand what Shield stood for, or the work its agents were doing. Stark was far too self-absorbed, too reckless, to ever fully grasp the larger picture. But Fury had to try, she supposed. He gave one of his speeches, hoping it would bring Tony around. Naturally, it did not work.

So Fury had sent her, the world’s best spy, to babysit a sometimes-brilliant, but mostly arrogant, manchild. Natasha found it beneath her skills, a waste of her talents. She should’ve been assigned to missions that required precision, infiltration, and real danger, not this. Coulson, usually so dependable, had miscalculated as well. It was the first time Natasha had seen him stumble in his handling of an asset. Now, with hindsight, it should have been some kind of warning of what was to come for them.

Fury and Shield never directly told her what they expected her to write in her psychological report. They were too smart for that, too strategic. It was all about maintaining plausible deniability. If things ever went wrong, no one could be directly blamed. But even without explicit instructions, the message had been clear enough. Shield needed leverage over Stark, a way to subtly manipulate the subject so that, in the end, he would come to them. Not coerced, not forced but willing. Eager, even. They wanted him to believe it was his choice, that joining the team was something he desired.

That was where she came in. Her psychological report would be the key. She would be in a position to nudge Tony in the right direction, something she was going to enjoy immensely. Stark thought he was clever, this playboy genius who saw the world as his personal playground. But Natasha was curious to see just how clever he really was. She wanted to watch him crack, to see how long it would take before the weight of his own insecurities, and her subtle influence, brought him to his knees. She imagined him going from resistant and defiant to desperate, until he was begging to be part of the team.

And if she pushed a little too far, who would know? The palladium poisoning was already preying on his mind. All she had to do was add a little more pressure, a few more doubts, and let the cracks widen.

The truth was, Natasha despised everything Tony represented. His life had been one of privilege and indulgence, marked by wealth, fame, and the effortless adoration of others. He had grown up spoiled, constantly surrounded by luxury and affection. He represented a world that had never been within her reach, a life of comfort and security that she had never known. 

Natasha had only known deception from the very beginning. The majority of her childhood had been spent playing the perfect family, while already being a spy. It had been easy, for a time, to believe that the love and warmth in that fabricated life were real. It has been an important lesson to learn. Love had nothing to do with anything.

And Stark had done nothing to change her mind. Piloting a Formula One car for fun, throwing an extravagant birthday party, and getting into petty fights with his best friend whenever things did not go his way. He was the embodiment of immaturity and recklessness. Every day, he only reinforced what she had already concluded about him.

Stark was not hero material. He did not belong in Shield. The organisation thrived on secrecy, careful planning, and discipline, and Stark was the opposite of all those things. His presence was a threat to everything Shield stood for, a walking disaster waiting to happen. The man was a walking publicity stunt, his ego shining brighter than any spotlight. Fury might have wanted Stark’s money, but to Natasha, that was not worth the inevitable chaos.

Did she regret what she had written in her psychological report? Not for a second. Her evaluation had been thorough, objective. Stark was impulsive, emotionally stunted, and far too self-absorbed to be part of any team, let alone one as critical as the Avengers. If Tony could not handle a few pages of constructive criticism, it only proved how right she had been. It was not a personal vendetta. It was a fact.

Steve Rogers, on the other hand, had seemed like the perfect fit for Shield. He had been forged in the fires of real war, a man who understood what it meant to fight for something greater than himself. He had experienced loss, sacrifice, and the brutality of a global conflict. Rogers understood the stakes in a way Stark never could.

Steve trusted Natasha, valued her insight. He asked for her opinions, listened carefully to her well-reasoned advice. He knew how to build a team, how to create bonds that felt like family. Steve’s warmth, his integrity, made her feel like she belonged somewhere. She had wanted that recognition, that sense of camaraderie, so badly.

But now, lying in the hospital, pain gnawing at her body and fury burning inside her, Natasha had to face the bitter truth. She had been wrong. Not about Stark, but about Rogers. The sense of family she had felt with Steve? It had been an illusion, no different from what she had in her childhood. Steve’s ideals, the feelings were just a facade, a script he played out like an actor on stage. Rogers was only thinking about what was best for him, following his own agenda. In the end, he had betrayed her, throwing her on the sidelines, leaving her disillusioned and more alone than she had ever been.

She should have stuck with Stark.

Natasha did not like Stark, but she understood him. He was easy to manipulate. He would never offer her warmth or approval, never give her that comforting pat on the back, but that was fine. Natasha did not need any of that. Survival was not about affection.

The situation was complicated, but it was not desperate. Natasha had been in worse spots before, and if there was one thing she was good at, it was adapting. She could still turn this around, twist the narrative to her advantage. Stark, despite his ego and sarcasm, had a few weaknesses, tiny cracks in his armour that she knew how to exploit. He was not completely heartless, especially when it came to people who had a personal connection to him. And she could become that person again, if she played her cards right.

All it would take was a message full of calculated vulnerability. She would send something that tugged at the few emotional strings Tony still had, the ones he tried so hard to bury under his iron masks. 

She would tell him that everything she had done, every report, every decision, had been for his benefit. She could spin the story so that it looked like she had been his secret ally all along, keeping a close eye on Rogers, making sure Steve did not do anything stupid. She could frame it as though her only goal had been to protect Tony’s interests, for his own good.

And then, with a carefully timed pause, she would hit him with the guilt. "Where were you when I needed protection?" she would ask, her voice steady but laced with just enough hurt to seem genuine. "I was left vulnerable, Stark. You were supposed to have my back, but you weren’t there. I took the blows to protect you from Rogers, and in the end, I was the one left out in the cold."

Tony had a complicated relationship with guilt and responsibility. He might project indifference, but deep down, the weight of being a hero gnawed at him, no matter how hard he tried to escape it. Natasha could make him feel like he owed her something, like he had a debt to repay. And that now was the time to make amends.

If she played this right, Stark might just fall for it. He did not need to trust her completely, just enough to believe, for a moment, that they were on the same side. That she had been looking out for him all along.

She was not finished yet. The message was crafted swiftly and sent directly to his personal number. The game was still on. She could still win, still come out on top. Stark’s resources, his influence, they could all be hers to use if she played her hand correctly.

And Natasha Romanoff was nothing if not a master of the game.

Chapter Text

"I knew you were here," Natasha said, her voice low but steady.

"I wasn't exactly hiding," Bucky replied, stepping further into the hospital room until he stood in front of her. 

She seemed smaller than usual, but Bucky knew she was not playing on it. If it had been Tony standing there instead of him, her attitude would have been quite different. But with him, it was something else. He had seen firsthand how the Black Widows were trained, how their conditioning went far beyond martial arts and espionage.

“You remember me now?” she asked, her tone betraying no emotion, although her eyes searched his face.

“I don’t forget anyone.

And he never did. But some memories were sharper than others. The faces of those girls, too young to comprehend the darkness that awaited them, still haunted him. Hydra’s plan to use the Winter Soldier to train them had sickened him, even when he could barely form coherent thoughts. The Red Room should never have existed, and Dreykov, with his perverse ambition, was a stain on humanity. Those girls had already lived through more than most people ever would, more than anyone should.

Bucky understood what it meant to survive, to do whatever it took to make it to the next day. He had been there. But Natasha... She was different. Even the part of him that had been Winter, the part that had been stripped of empathy, of humanity, had recognized something unique about her. Back then, he hadn’t been able to analyse it. The Winter Soldier did not feel. But even in the depths of his programming, he had tried to protect her in small, imperceptible ways. To anyone else, it might not have looked like help at all, but to him, it had been the only way he knew how.

He had not forgotten that, either.

Now that Bucky had regained most of his mind, the memories took on a different shape. The events were clearer, sharper, but the feelings surrounding them had shifted. Natasha had always stood out in the Red Room, but not in a particularly positive way. She was not like the other little girls. She was colder, more detached. He remembered overhearing the details of her mission, how she was to be sent to America, part of a perfect family, to extract classified information. Hydra and Dreykov had chosen two girls for the task, each for a different reason.

Yelena had been selected because of her youth, her naiveté. She was still young enough to believe in the illusion of family, and her innocence would lend authenticity to the ruse. Natasha, on the other hand, was chosen because even at her age, she had already been stripped of any real emotion. There was a darkness about her, a survival instinct that bordered on ruthlessness.

Bucky recalled how Natasha had formed bonds with some of the other girls in the Red Room. They almost looked like normal best friends if not from their weird environment. Dreykov, always eager to crush any remaining humanity, had ordered a test. One girl would have to kill the other. He watched as a child hesitated for just a fraction of a second too long. It was not Natasha. She had done what she was told, no questions, no emotion, and when Dreykov commended her, she almost seemed to preen under the praise.

"So Tony’s sending his new pet because he can’t face his mistakes again," Natasha said bitterly, her words cutting through the silence.

Bucky let out a low chuckle, though it held no humour. "I'll give you that, you’re bold. I could kill you right now, and no one would ever know."

Natasha did not flinch. Instead, she raised her chin, her eyes defiant. There was little she could do in her current situation, and they both knew it. She had been hoping to catch Stark in her web once more, to manipulate him like she had so many others. But it was not going to be that easy.

“Tony won’t come,” Bucky said, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. He was not taunting her, just stating the truth. “You must realise that by now.”

She narrowed her eyes, the sting of his words showing in the slight tightening of her jaw. “You haven’t changed one bit,” she replied, her voice low and measured. “Only your master has.”

“At least I aim higher,” Bucky shot back. “You’re still following the same rules, and they were worse than Hydra’s even then.”

Bucky’s body language oozed disinterest, his posture almost lazy. He knew exactly what she was doing, probing, trying to find cracks in his armour, attempting to get under his skin. But so far, it was not working. She was not nearly as effective as she thought she was. Shield really did not know how to pick their agents sometimes. It was a miracle the organisation had lasted as long as it had.

“I’ve done what I needed to survive,” Natasha muttered, almost defensively, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I did too,” Bucky replied, his voice growing colder, “but that’s not enough. Not when everything I’ve done still haunts me. “Bucky took a moment, his gaze hardening as if fighting off memories. “All I wanted was peace, to live my life finally what had been stolen from me. What about the red in your ledger?”

His question hung in the air. Natasha was calculating, searching for a way to spin his words into something she could use against him. She was always on the offence, always pulling strings. She had been trained to manipulate, to turn any situation to her advantage, and it was clear she was already planning her next move.

“Your message never reached Tony, by the way,” Bucky continued, breaking the silence. “And don’t bother trying again. It never will. Even if you manage to get to him, Tony won’t help you. You pushed things too far. Even a Widow knows that sometimes the truth is the best weapon.”

“I only followed orders,” Natasha said, her voice tight.

Bucky’s laugh was bitter, his eyes hard. “I did that too. The difference is, I didn’t have my own agency. I know what I did as the Winter Soldier was wrong. But Natasha Romanov? She can’t ever be wrong, right?”

“I did what I believed was best at the time,” Natasha responded, still so sure of herself.

“And how did that work out for you?” Bucky asked, his words dripping with disdain. “I’ve only been free of my programming for a short time, but even I know that the ‘I was just following orders’ excuse hasn’t worked since Nuremberg. You might want to come up with a better defence for when your trial comes.”

“There won’t be any trial,” Natasha said, her eyes flashing with a dangerous certainty. “I’m an Avenger. They need me.”

Bucky studied Natasha’s face, searching for any sign that she truly believed her own words. She had always been defiant, unyielding, but there was a flicker in her eyes now, a subtle worry that had not been there before. Once upon a time, her strategies might have worked, but not anymore. She had prepared for this encounter, meticulously crafting her arguments for Tony, ready to exploit his guilt and manipulate his sense of responsibility. She had even anticipated that Tony might send Rhodey to face her, and she had calculated her approach accordingly.

But Bucky was not supposed to be here.

He was the wild card she had not expected, and that threw her off balance. 

He was still in a weird position. The public was warming up to him but one wrong move and everything could crumble back down. Natasha had not expected Bucky to be there. In her mind, Stark would not have let Bucky out of his sight, not until his freedom and legal position were more secure, until the world was ready to accept him fully as something other than the Winter Soldier. She assumed Tony would be overprotective, controlling Bucky’s every move, keeping him under lock and key until all the loose ends were tied up.

But here Bucky stood, free and completely in control of his own actions. It was a stark reminder that she did not know Tony Stark as well as she thought. He actually had done the opposite of what she expected. He had let Bucky make his own decisions, proving Natasha wrong.

Stark had never been the type to strip someone of their autonomy. He knew what it felt like to have decisions made for him, to have his life dictated by external forces. Natasha had not accounted for that. In her mind, Stark was self-absorbed, driven by his own guilt and ego, too wrapped up in his own problems to care about what Bucky truly needed or wanted. But she had underestimated him.

Tony had chosen to trust Bucky’s judgement, to give him room to breathe, to make his own choices. He was not micromanaging Bucky’s every step or trying to control his fate. That was something Natasha had not seen coming. She had expected Tony to be a jailer of sorts, someone who would keep Bucky on a short leash for the sake of public image, but instead, Stark had done the opposite. He had let Bucky take control of his own path.

Bucky saw the uncertainty in her eyes she tried so hard to suppress. Maybe she could manipulate Tony, maybe even twist the rest of the team around her finger, but Bucky? He was a different beast. He understood the way Black Widows worked, how they were trained to find weaknesses and exploit them. But he was not a mark she could easily outplay. This was going to be a whole new level of difficulty for her.

He crossed his arms, his gaze locked on hers. “You think this’ll work?” His voice was low, calm, but there was a sharpness to it, a coldness that cut through the space between them. “You really think I’m going to let you get anywhere near Tony?”

Natasha could feel the weight of his words, the protective stance he was taking. There was more than friendship there, or even the need to repay some debt. She kept her composure, but inside she was recalculating. Tony might be Bucky’s only weakness after all. 

“You really think I’m a threat to him?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral, but Bucky was not having it.

“Not anymore. If you ever were.” His tone was cold, but steady, each word hitting with quiet finality.

There were two unspoken truths in that statement. Tony was not some princess who needed saving, but on the other hand, Bucky would not let him be in any danger of any kind ever again. 

Bucky was a man built on loyalty, something Natasha had counted on. She had anticipated his loyalty to Steve and had come to the conclusion that somehow, the soldier being on Stark’s side was not real, perhaps built on false circumstances created by Tony. Probably a kind of twisted revenge on Steve for whatever crazy reasons that were floating in the so-called genius mind. But now, she realised that Tony had earned Bucky’s trust in ways that ran deeper than she had understood.

“I’m not trying to manipulate anyone,” Natasha said, shifting tactics, her voice softening as if trying to sound genuine. “Not this time. Steve betrayed me. I don’t owe him anything. I’m trying to help.”

Bucky’s expression darkened, his eyes hardening. “Don’t lie to me. You never cared about Steve, not really. I know exactly what you’re trying to do. And this time, no one’s going to protect you. You think Stark’s too blind to see through all of this?”

She did not flinch, but there was a brief hesitation before she responded, and Bucky caught it. That slight pause told him everything. She had expected the situation to turn in her favour, but she had miscalculated.

Natasha straightened, forcing herself to regain her composure. “It doesn’t matter if Tony sees through it. This isn’t about fooling him. It’s about making him realise he needs me against Steve.”

Bucky almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “What do you think you’re going to do against Steve? You’re outmatched, both physically and with whatever tricks you think you still have up your sleeve.”

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “You should spend more time thinking about your next move because from where I’m standing, there’s a lot of people who want a word with you. All those betrayals you’re so good at? They’ve caught up with you.”

“Is that a threat?” she asked, her voice low, controlled.

Bucky’s lips curled into a grim, humourless smile. “It’s not a threat. It’s just a fact. I’m not the one who needs to watch my back.”

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving her behind, stuck in the hospital bed that confined her. The irony was not lost on him. She was vulnerable, something Natasha Romanoff hated to be. He had struck a nerve, and they both knew it. He was not nice. He did not need to be. Not anymore. His loyalty now was to the people who had earned it, his new family. And that meant he would do whatever it took to protect them.

Chapter Text

He was on his fifth cup of tea in just a couple of hours. From his seat by the window, he could watch the steady stream of people coming and going from the tower, as well as a clear view of the building itself. This was ridiculous. He did not regret his decision to leave. He was doing what he had to in order to protect those he cared about. The Hulk was extremely dangerous, and Bruce knew this was the best way to keep his loved ones safe.

After the battle in New York, Bruce had stayed in that very tower for a short time. Tony had been a generous host,  not afraid of the green monster, and enthusiastic about their shared time in the lab. Bruce had wanted to stay. Stark Industries offered possibilities beyond imagination, with more funding for research than he had ever dreamed possible. It was a paradise for any scientist with big ambitions.

Bruce sat quietly, cradling his tea, though the warmth of the cup did little to dispel the chill he felt deep inside. He rarely allowed himself to linger on thoughts like these. He had spent years perfecting the art of suppressing emotions that might trigger something dangerous. But here, alone in the quiet hum of the café, his thoughts crept up on him, unguarded.

He felt lonely, if he was honest with himself, truly and painfully alone. He missed the late-night conversations, the excitement of discovery, the rare camaraderie he had tasted in the place he had once dared to call home. And if he let himself go a little further, he could even admit he missed the laughter, the easy banter with Tony that had softened the sharper edges of his life, if only for a while.

He had been a terrible friend. Tony had done more than just open his home to him. He had invited Bruce into his life, knowing full well the risks that came with it. Living with the Hulk, an unpredictable, destructive force that could surface at any moment, was no small thing, and yet Tony had shrugged it off with his characteristic nonchalance. 

But it was not just a home that Tony had offered him. It was trust, a rare and precious gift. Bruce was used to wary glances, to people keeping a safe distance, to scientists treating him like a lab experiment rather than a colleague. But Tony had seen him for who he was, even beyond the monster, and had treated him like an equal. He had trusted Bruce to be responsible, to handle his own inner demons. Tony never flinched, never looked at him with fear. Instead, he met Bruce with genuine curiosity, empathy, and a shared hunger for knowledge.

And how had he repaid that? By leaving. He had told himself that he was doing it to protect everyone around him, that distancing himself was the right thing to do. But looking back, it felt less like an act of nobility and more like an excuse, a betrayal. He had run at the first sign of trouble, at the first glimpse of his own fears. He had walked away, leaving Tony with nothing but unanswered questions.

He would always wonder what might have been, especially after watching everything that unfolded soon after his departure. 

He had not been there to help any of the Avengers. Things might have gone differently if he had been there to fight alongside them. He had kept his distance, observing from afar, especially once Ross entered the picture. The general was still hunting him, determined as ever to track him down. Tony had once promised to protect him, yet now he was working with the very man who had spent years trying to capture the Hulk. Each new headline, each development, seemed to widen the gap between them until Bruce wondered if that distance could ever be bridged again. 

The waitress was watching him again, casting quick glances in his direction as she cleared nearby tables. He was painfully aware that he had been nursing this single cup of tea for far too long, and soon he would need to make a choice: either order something else or face the real reason he had come here. Sitting here, caught in the endless loop of his own thoughts, he felt a wave of embarrassment for hiding out like this. Facing the idea of seeing Tony again felt monumental.

He knew he could walk right up to the front desk of Stark Industries, politely ask for an appointment, and reach out to Tony with a few simple words. Or he could just turn around, slip back into his quiet, anonymous, carrying the weight of his regrets as he had for months. The idea of speaking to Tony stirred up conflicting feelings, relief, shame, and a stubborn hope that perhaps Tony would understand, that he might forgive. That maybe, despite everything, there was still a place for him.

Bruce took a breath, steeling himself to stand up and head toward the counter, ready to make that choice. But just as he gathered his courage, a sudden surge of noise shattered the café’s calm. What began as a low rumble quickly escalated into screams and shouts from outside. He turned to the window and saw people flooding the streets, running frantically away from the direction of Stark Tower. Fear was written on their faces, and his instincts took over.

Without a second thought, Bruce started running through the café and out the door, slipping into the chaos beyond.

The moment he stepped onto the street, Bruce felt an electric tension crackling in the air, a sure sign that something was terribly, unmistakably wrong. His eyes lifted toward the end of the street, and there it was, a massive, hovering spacecraft, looming in the sky like a predator sizing up its prey. The ship was colossal, almost as tall as Stark Tower itself, and its alien design left no doubt that it was from another world. Its rounded, metallic body had a polished, reflective sheen that caught the afternoon light, creating an ominous gleam. Intricate patterns were carved into its surface’ perhaps for the aesthetic of it, perhaps some sort of language, Bruce did not know.

At its core, a circular segment spun fast and purposeful. Bruce could not help thinking that it had to do with the propulsion system, though alien engineering was beyond his expertise. He knew that whatever this ship was, it was not here for peace. 

Unsure of his next move, he began walking toward the ominous shift, moving against the tide of panicked civilians flooding past him. His pulse quickened, and an old, familiar mix of adrenaline and dread surged through his veins. He had not felt this way in a long time, the quiet thrill before everything changed, the beast stirring just beneath his skin, waiting to emerge.

He stood frozen in front of the massive spacecraft, his heart pounding as he waited, unsure of what might happen next. Then, four figures appeared by his side.

Tony was the first to approach, looking exactly as Bruce remembered, brimming with confidence and already three steps ahead, as though he had a plan before the ship even arrived. Clad in worn jeans and a faded rock band T-shirt, Tony walked forward with his usual swagger, eyes sharp and focused. To him, this seemed like just another day on the job, as though those kinds of things were happening every other day. He had handled events this strange a hundred times over.

Beside Tony, Rhodey appeared, his heavy armour moving with a quiet hum, powerful yet agile. War Machine was visibly scanning every angle, taking in the situation. He was ready for action. The shoulder cannon shifted, ready to fire, his focus unwavering. Rhodey was always prepared, ready to have Tony’s back no matter what.

But then, just to the left, Bruce spotted two unfamiliar figures. Their monk-like attires looked totally out of place in the middle of New York. One wore a flowing red cape that seemed to ripple in an invisible wind, adding an otherworldly edge to his presence. Both of them stared at the ship with steady, determined gazes.

Bruce couldn’t help but think, “As if today couldn’t get any stranger.”

Through the smoky haze surrounding the spacecraft, two figures gradually appeared, their forms slowly taking shape as they descended somehow from the alien ship. The first was an enormous being,  nearly as massive as the Hulk, with muscles that looked as dense and unyielding as stone. Each step it took reverberated through the ground, a heavy, deliberate force that made the asphalt tremble beneath its feet. It stopped a few metres from the ship, fixing its cold, calculating eyes on the man with the cape, gaze intense and laced with cruelty.

Beside it stood a second alien, smaller but no less menacing. Tall, with a gaunt, elongated face and a slightly hunched posture, it gave an  eerie appearance, almost looking like a ghost come to life. Its skin was a pale, ghostly grey, smooth but marked by faint lines that added a sinister, ageless quality to its features. Moving with unsettling confidence, it cast a smug, disdainful look over the small group of heroes gathered below.

Together, the two aliens stood before the group, silent yet radiating a powerful hostility, an unspoken promise that they were prepared for battle. Their eyes swept over Tony, Rhodey, and Bruce, sizing them up before dismissing each one as inconsequential. But when the smaller alien's gaze settled on the monk-like figure with the cape, its thin smile widened, as though it had found exactly what it was looking for. The tension grew thick, every second stretched thin as they braced themselves. Then, the smaller alien spoke with perfect English , his voice smooth and chilling.

“Hear me, and rejoice.” The smaller alien began to say. “You are about to die at the hand of the children of Thanos. Be thankful that your meaningless lives are now contributed to the balance…”

Tony took a confident step forward, his gaze firmly on the towering figures before him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone dripping with mock politeness. “Earth is closed today. You better pack it up, and get out of there.”

The alien sneered, ignoring Tony as his eyes shifted to the man in the crimson cape. Bruce looked at him a bit more, and immediately thought that he looked a lot like Tony, especially in their choice of their neatly trimmed facial hair. His expression remained stoic even though the alien was looking at him with piercing eyes. His clothes were definitely unique, a deep blue tunic adorned with mystical symbols and of course the cloak that seemed weirdly alive. Around his neck hung an amulet that looked powerful in and of itself, even to Bruce, who knew nothing about those things.

“Stonekeeper,” The alien addressed the wizard, his voice strong. “Does this chattering animal speak for you?”

Tony huffed loudly, vaguely offended to be called an animal by an ugly alien and was about to retort when the monk answered. “Certainly not, I speak for myself. And you’re trespassing in this city and on this planet.”

"He means, get lost, Squidward," Tony added, unable to resist.

The genius walked forward, removing his sunglasses with a flick of his wrist, his eyes sharp and calculating. He tapped twice on the arc reactor embedded in his chest. A sleek, metallic sheen began to ripple across his body, transforming his appearance in seconds. Bruce recognised nanotechnology even if the scientific world thought its existence was not quite possible yet. It spread like liquid steel, shaping into the famous Iron Man suit. Tony’s exposed face became shielded as the helmet snapped into position, completing the transition. 

Meanwhile, the monk figures raised their hands, tracing complex gestures that summoned glowing golden mandalas into the air a few inches from their hands.

So, they were wizards of some kind. Great. The more the merrier. Bruce sighed, shifting his attention back to the aliens. A familiar surge of adrenaline pulsed through him, and his skin began to turn a familiar shade of green. Another battle was about to erupt in New York.

Chapter Text

After Barnes' recent visit, Natasha realised that pulling the ‘Stark card’ was not an option she could play, at least not yet. The door was not completely closed, despite Barnes' attempt to discourage her. It would just take more groundwork, the kind that she was clearly in no position to do herself right now. But Natasha was not out of moves. Not by a long shot.

With Ross still acting as a liaison to the UN, he was accessible to her. The infamous General Ross, with all his red tape and power plays, was long gone, blasted to dust with his own bomb. His absence meant fewer obstacles, fewer eyes watching her. She had a clear path, or at least one clearer than before, and she intended to make the most of it.

Years of being a spy had taught Natasha a foundational truth: while money was useful, it was not the world’s real currency. Not anymore. In the circles she moved in, the true currency was secrets, the lengths people would go to protect them, and the leverage they gave to those who uncovered them. The more powerful someone was, the more skeletons they had in their closet. Natasha did not make these rules. She just knew how to use them to her advantage. Secrets were her currency, and she had always used them very wisely.

One evening, Everett Ross finally showed up, his voice breaking the silence. “I heard you wanted to talk to me, Miss Romanov.” He had an uncanny ability to appear when she had almost given up expecting him.

“I want to negotiate,” she said directly, wasting no time with pleasantries.

Natasha tried to seem unaffected, even casual, but she knew her position was far from ideal. She was not three steps ahead as she used to be. Her mind was as sharp as ever, but her body still had limits, reminding her daily of what she had lost. She was slowly recovering, but the strength that once defined her was not back, not yet. Masking her emotions was second nature, but the sterile walls of the hospital room made her vulnerability painfully obvious. There was no hiding the fact that, right now, she was at a disadvantage.

Ross tilted his head, scrutinising her. “Negotiate what? You’re hardly an asset anymore.”

He was not being cruel or even condescending, just blunt. And he was not wrong. Nothing seemed to go her way lately, and no amount of calculation had kept her from ending up here. She wondered briefly how things had spiralled so far from her control but dismissed the thought. She did not have the luxury to dwell on regrets.

“I know things,” she replied, voice low but steady. “Secrets about Rogers. Fury.” Her words were blunt, with no artful twist, lacking the finesse she usually laced her words with.

Ross folded his arms, unimpressed. “Secrets, huh?” he said, arching a brow. “You’re not an Avenger. The accords don’t apply to you.” He reminded her, letting her know that whatever she said, it might not be the bargaining she thought it was.

Frustration simmered beneath Natasha’s calm exterior. How had things gotten to this point? These men were clearly revelling in the idea that they had outmanoeuvred the Black Widow herself. Let them think they had her cornered. That illusion would not last forever. Soon enough, she would be back on her feet, and they would regret every smirk and every dismissal.

Finally, Ross broke the silence. “Do you know where Fury is right now?” His tone was casual, but Natasha could see the calculating gleam in his eyes. He did not expect her to have the answer.

In truth, she did not. The last she had heard, Fury had supposedly met his end, courtesy of the Winter Soldier, no less. And yet, she would not have been surprised if Fury was out there somewhere, pulling strings. He had faked his own death before, and he was not the only one. Coulson had re-emerged in his own time, running a whole separate arm of Shield That was ancient history now, though. Shield. had fallen, and Natasha had little interest in what Fury, or Coulson, for that matter, was up to these days. To still be hung up on Fury was just plain idiocy on Ross’s part.

Ross seemed to read her silence as confirmation of his suspicions. “So, in fact, you don’t have anything of value to tell me,” he said, leaning back with a smug twist of his lips.

“Rogers…” she began, but he cut her off with a scoff.

“Is in Wakanda. T’Challa was transparent about that,” he said, tone dripping with disdain. “Thanks, but we’re already up to speed on that front.”

Natasha’s mind raced. She had to offer something, some leverage, some indication that she still had cards to play. “I know things about Stark,” she said, pressing on. “I can get you blueprints for the armour.”

That was an overstatement. Stark’s Iron Man tech had always been out of her reach. The man was infuriatingly protective of his inventions. For all his faults, that armour could have done immeasurable good, more than the Avengers combined, more than one person alone could accomplish. But she knew she had never managed to break through the firewalls and countermeasures he had in place.

Ross snorted, entirely unimpressed. “I highly doubt you know anything useful about the suits. Besides, keeping Stark on good terms is a lot more valuable to me than stolen plans.” He eyed her with a smirk. “Not that you’d understand much about establishing goodwill with the people you need on your side.”

Ross slipped away as quietly as he had arrived, leaving behind a faint trace of smug satisfaction and nothing of real value. How ironic. 

The former General Ross, for all his ruthlessness, had at least understood ambition. A monster, perhaps, but one who knew how to make the hard calls, seizing every opportunity that came his way without a shred of sentimentality. He recognized the world for what it was: brutal, relentless, demanding of those with the strength to shape it. Unlike him, the people Natasha faced now were weak and did not know when to take that hard decision. They lacked strength of will when it mattered the most.

For all she hated Rogers now, she understood his decision. He had done what he believed necessary, even if it had placed them on opposing sides. Natasha did not want revenge. That would be too simple, too personal. If giving the world what they were screaming for to feel secure would put her back in the game, she was more than happy to provide. Perhaps not now but soon.

In the meantime, she flicked on the TV, if only to drown out the silence and push away the creeping boredom. News anchors filled the screen, wiping out the latest stories with their polished smiles and carefully scripted urgency. She knew better than to expect the truth from them. The mainstream media had perfected the art of presenting a certain version of reality, neatly packaged that they deemed would be palatable for the public, a far cry from the actual reality she had once been able to access.

Once, she had had her own network, contacts who fed her a steady stream of real insights, glimpses into the hidden plots and backroom deals the world never saw. Those connections had been fluid, shifting with the tides of influence and power, but valuable all the same. Things might not be moving in her favour right now, but she had built too many alliances, collected too many secrets, and was owed too many favours. The world’s power players might be scattered, but she knew them well enough to pull them back to her orbit, willingly or not.

There it was, flickering on the small screen of her hospital TV, a shaky broadcast capturing yet another alien invasion. It seemed that it always started in New York, as if that city had a cosmic bullseye painted on it. This time it involved just one ship, with apparently only two aliens but somehow, the whole situation seemed even more threatening. 

Stark was already on the scene, no doubt enjoying being the centre of the attention. The ship had practically landed on his doorstep, after all. And, as always, Rhodey was right there with him, ready to follow wherever Stark led, unable to make a decision on his own as always.

She spotted Bruce in the background, hanging back, likely trying to keep his temper in check. She could almost imagine him muttering his little mantra to himself, knowing full well that if the fight escalated, he would have to let the Hulk out. This way he had to avoid fights was annoying to her. She would happily push Banner to his death if it would bring the Hulk when the world needed him.

And there they were, the idiot three, stumbling on yet another major event. Everything always seemed to fall into place for them, battle and media ready, like a spotlight just waiting to make them heroes, to get the mass to adore them. It was as if fate handed them opportunities for heroics on a silver platter, battles perfectly staged to make them look like legends. If they succeeded in repelling this invasion, the world’s love affair with them would only grow. Headlines would scream of their bravery, their unmatched courage. And, in the same breath, people would ask only one important question. Where were Captain America and the Black Widow?

The battle wrapped up almost as quickly as it had begun. Stark, in his Iron Man suit, was joined by two men wielding powers unlike anything Natasha had seen before. They were wielding magic, golden circles of defence and weird looking spells of attacks. Shield had never known such people existed on Earth. Fury was really not as good as he thought he was.

Alongside them was a sharpshooter, steady and precise, shooting each time he had an opening. It had to be Barnes. The alien barely flinched at the bullets, but the constant barrage was a distraction, allowing Stark and the sorcerers to close in and strike. Their teamwork was seamless, almost instinctive, as though they had been fighting together for years.

Natasha watched the screen, a bitter taste in her mouth. This was not her fight, not anymore, but it was not over for her. Not yet.

On the other side of the battlefield, the Hulk was tearing into the larger alien, a brute who towered over even him. But the angrier the green monster grew, the stronger he became, tearing into his enemy with relentless fury. War Machine was right beside him, emptying round after round with mechanical precision. Nearby, the smaller sorcerer stayed close, casting immobilising spells to hold the alien in place while weaving protective barriers around his allies, keeping them shielded from harm.

Unlike Loki, these aliens had clearly underestimated Earth’s defenders. They came unprepared, assuming that Earth was a backwater planet that would easily fall under their thumbs, weak enough for two to conquer. Thor had that kind of attitude at the beginning, seeing Midgard as a fragile realm in need of his protection. But Natasha knew better. Underestimating an unknown enemy was always a mistake.

In the end, the aliens barely stood a chance. They were outsmarted, outmatched and completely outclassed. 

Stark and his makeshift team barely had a scratch on them, standing victorious as the threat was thrown down, defeated. The universe would soon learn that Earth was not a place to be taken lightly.

For Natasha, this battle opened a door, a way back into the game. The world had no other choice to realise that this was not an isolated event. This was the sign of something way bigger. Those two aliens had been scouts, she suspected, and then Earth was about to face an invasion on scale it had never seen. The next wave would be nothing short of a full-scale assault, greater and deadlier than Loki’s attack on New York. It would be designed to crush every line of defence Earth could muster.

And when that moment came, the world would need all of its heroes, whether it liked it or not.

This was her chance. She would show them just how vital she was, how much they really needed her. If Steve had any sense, he should be able to see the chance that moment was for them. That was their chance to erase everything that had gone wrong, to rebuild and come back stronger than ever.

In her hospital bed, Natasha allowed herself a small, determined smile. She would be ready when the world called for her.

Game on.

Chapter Text

There was never a dull day in Tony’s Stark’s life. Even on those rare days when all he wanted was to kick back and indulge in some goofy antics with his family, fate always had other plans. Chaos had a way of finding him, often spectacularly. Case in point, today, when he was juggling an impressive list of complications. A sudden alien invasion, a massive spaceship inconveniently parked smack in the middle of New York City, the revelation that magic was not just for fairy tales, and, oh yes, the unexpected reappearance of Bruce Banner.

And if all that was not enough to keep him thoroughly occupied, Spiderman had swung on the scene, eager to lend a hand. Subtlety and peace clearly was not on the agenda for the day.

“Well,” Tony muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation as he surveyed the situation, “we need to figure out how to move that giant space donut out of the way, and fast.”

Before anyone could respond, a calm, assured voice cut through the din. “Allow me.”

Tony turned to look at the sorcerer, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. 

The man raised his hands, his fingers weaving through the air with practiced precision. A glowing golden circle sprang into existence, its edges shimmering with an almost hypnotic brilliance. It then seemed to ripple like liquid, slowly making the ship disappear, leaving nothing behind it, not even the corpses of the two aliens. The scene was surreal. One moment, the giant ship loomed over the skyline, dangerous, and the next, it was simply… gone. 

Tony stared at the empty space where chaos had reigned moments before. He had to admit, it was impressive. Although he hoped it was not completely gone. That ship and its occupants had been teeming with technological possibilities. The thought of the research he could have done, reverse engineering alien tech, uncovering secrets that would propel humanity’s scientific understanding decades, if not centuries, forward, made his fingers itch with anticipation.

Strange smirked, the faintest glimmer of amusement breaking through his stoic demeanor. “Relax, Stark. It’s not gone, just… relocated. I can summon it back whenever you want. Somewhere more practical for your research, I assume?”

Tony’s face lit up with his trademark blend of excitement and mischief. “That’s handy. You’ve got quite the magic bag of tricks there, don’t you? Let me guess, it’s stuffed with all kinds of crazy magical artifacts. Maybe even a cursed spoon or two?”

Strange rolled his eyes but couldn’t entirely suppress a smile as they started walking back toward Stark Tower, the chaos of the afternoon already fading into the background.

“My name is Doctor Strange by the way and actually, the best pieces are securely housed in the New York Sanctum,” Doctor Strange replied, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And the truly exceptional ones are safeguarded in Kamar-Taj. You’re welcome to examine some of them, under supervision, of course, but I should warn you, most of what you’ll encounter operates on principles far beyond the science you’re accustomed to.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, his interest visibly piqued. “Beyond science? Now that sounds like a challenge. Don’t underestimate me, wizard. Magic is just science we don’t understand yet.”

Strange chuckled softly, clearly amused. "You’re welcome to try, Stark, but don’t come crying to me if you end up with a magical curse, or worse, open a portal to another dimension."

“I won’t cry,” Tony said with a sly grin. “But I might write you a strongly worded email.”

Before the conversation could escalate into another round of verbal sparring, Peter Parker piped up, his youthful enthusiasm practically radiating through his Spider-Man mask. “Can I help? I mean, alien technology sounds really cool!”

Tony slung an arm around Peter’s shoulder, pulling him into a loose side-hug. “Of course you can, Underoos! It’s science time! Nothing better than getting the smartest people in the room together to crack the code of the universe. Come on, Banner, you’re in too.” He looped his other arm around Bruce Banner, who had been quietly observing the exchange with a bemused smile. “Science people are the best!”

Bruce shook his head but allowed himself to be pulled along. “This is either going to be groundbreaking or catastrophic.”

Meanwhile, Bucky, who had been standing off to the side, watching the scene unfold with an indulgent smile, turned to Strange. His expression was calm but carried a subtle edge. “Just so we’re clear,” he said, his tone measured but firm, “if any of this goes sideways, it’s on you. I’ll personally make sure you’re held accountable.”

Strange arched an eyebrow but nodded, his smirk never quite leaving his face. “Duly noted. Though, for the record, I’d argue that Stark is far more likely to blow something up before I do.”

“Hey!” Tony interjected indignantly, pointing a finger at Strange. “I resemble that remark.”

“Science and magic,” Strange muttered under his breath. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Peter practically vibrated with excitement, bouncing on his toes as he rambled. “Science time! Oh man, this is gonna be amazing! Are we starting with alien tech? Spaceships? Dimensional portals? Oh, oh! Can I touch something cool?”

Tony grinned, tightening his grip on Peter’s arm as if anchoring him to reality. “Whoa there, Spider-Boy. Let’s take it one step at a time. Rule number one of the science club: don’t break the lab. Rule number two: if you do, blame Bruce.”

Bruce sighed, crossing his arms. “Thanks, Tony. Always nice to know I’m your fall guy.”

"That’s what science bros are for," Tony said cheerfully. "Now, let’s go to the workshop. I’ve got at least three theories about those aliens’ tech that need testing, and the sooner we start, the sooner I can prove I’m right."

Tony knew they had to have a conversation about what had just happened, still he leaned into the banter. A little humour never hurt before diving whatever difficult talk they were about to have. 

As the group packed into the elevator bound for the workshop, Tony shifted gears, already moving a step ahead. “Friday,” he called out, his tone sharp with purpose, “draft a PR statement. Make it light, optimistic. Throw in something about 'Earth’s mightiest heroes keeping the skies alien-free,' or whatever PR fluff keeps people sleeping soundly.”

Friday’s calm voice replied. "Of course, Boss. Anything else you'd like included?"

Tony paused, smirking. "Yeah, make sure the words 'completely under control' are in there. It’s not technically a lie if we believe it for a few hours."

“Understood,” Friday replied. Was that sarcasm in her tone? Tony chose to believe so. He had trained his children well.

Switching focus, he addressed his other AI. “Jarvis, do me a favor and order enough food to feed a small army. Literally. We’ve got wizards, spider-kids, super-soldiers, and Hulks to keep happy. And make it a good spread. Think gourmet apocalypse catering.”

Jarvis’s soothing voice filled the air. “Consider it done, sir. Shall I also prepare additional accommodations for any unexpected guests, given the, ah, unpredictability of recent events?”

Tony tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Good thinking, Jarvis. Yeah, better safe than sorry. Go ahead and set up some guest quarters. Never know who might crash the party next.”

There was a brief pause before Jarvis continued, his tone measured. “And should I notify the authorities or any relevant agencies regarding the... alien incursion?”

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, loop them in. Rhodey’s probably already neck-deep in the mess, but it doesn’t hurt to make sure he’s got everything he needs. Keep feeding him intel like you’ve been doing.” He said, knowing fully that both AI and Rhodey were most probably already at it.

“Very good, sir,” Jarvis replied.

As the group spilled into the workshop, Bucky moved closer to Tony. Without a word, he extended his hand, his metal fingers brushing against Tony’s before clasping them firmly. Tony paused, startled by the gesture. His eyes flicked up to meet Bucky’s steady gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to still.

There was no need for words. Bucky was not the type to waste them on things that did not require saying. The silence between them was comfortable, understanding. It was Bucky’s way to say that he was still there, that he would always be there. No matter what. 

Tony swallowed hard, the quip he had been ready to make faltering on his lips. "You’re gonna ruin my reputation, you know," he said softly, his voice tinged with humour but carrying a deeper edge. "Stark Industries CEO, genius inventor, playboy philanthropist, reduced to a guy who gets all mushy over one of your handshake."

Bucky’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, but his grip did not waver. If anything, it tightened slightly, grounding Tony in a way he had not realized he needed. “Good,” Bucky said, his voice low but firm. “Let the world know you’re mine.”

Tony blinked, caught completely off guard. His mind scrambled for a comeback, but for once, the man who always had something to say was speechless. His mouth opened, then closed, like a fish out of water, as he stared at Bucky.

“Uh…” he finally managed, his voice unusually small. “Yours, huh? Bold move, old man. You staking your claim or something?”

Bucky’s faint smile grew into something more definite, a rare sparkle of mischief dancing in his blue eyes. “Maybe I am,” he said simply, his tone steady, sure.

Tony felt his pulse spike, a flush of heat creeping up the back of his neck. He was not used to this, being disarmed, being vulnerable, being wanted in a way that was not transactional or laced with ulterior motives. And certainly not by someone like Bucky, who was as solid and unshakable as Tony often pretended to be.

"Well," Tony said, forcing a smirk as he tried to regain his footing. “I thought you were an old fashioned kind of guy.”

Bucky’s smile widened, a hint of mischief lighting his face. “So you’re saying you want the whole shebang? Got it.”

Tony arched an eyebrow, trying to mask the flicker of warmth that shot through him at Bucky’s words. “The whole shebang, huh? What’s that look like? Flowers, chocolates, and those awkward candlelit dinners where you pretend to know which fork to use?”

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and rich. "I’m not saying I’m great at the whole romance thing," he admitted, leaning casually against the glass wall. "But if that’s what it takes to sweep you off your feet, Stark, I’ll figure it out."

Tony laughed, a genuine, unguarded sound that echoed in the lab. "Sweep me off my feet? Hate to break it to you, pal, but I’m not exactly a damsel in distress. I mean, sure, I’ve been thrown out of a couple of windows, fallen out of the sky once or twice... but I usually land on my own two feet."

“Usually,” Bucky echoed, his smirk growing. “But just in case you don’t, I’ll be there to catch you.”

The weight of his words settled between them, heavier than the lighthearted banter but steady and sure. Tony opened his mouth, ready to toss out another deflection, but nothing came. For a man who always had a quip at the ready, he was uncharacteristically speechless. Bucky had a way of cutting through all of Tony’s mask, seeing straight to the heart of him.

“That was so cheesy.” Tony tried for humour despite what he felt inside. 

“But you like cheesy,” Bucky countered, his tone low and teasing as he stepped closer. His eyes, clear and unwavering, locked on Tony’s lips.

Tony swallowed, feeling the air between them grow impossibly charged. “I do like it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, almost surprised by his own honesty.

Tony’s breath hitched. For once, his defences were not fast enough, leaving the truth exposed between them, raw and undeniable.

Bucky’s lips curved into a soft, almost triumphant smile, his eyes warm and steady. “I knew it,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as if sharing a secret meant just for Tony. Then, without hesitation, he leaned in and brushed a light kiss against Tony’s lips.

“You’re really leaning into this whole swooning thing, huh?” Tony managed, though his voice was weak after that incredible moment. “Careful, Barnes. If you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you actually like me.”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his smile deepening into something more confident. “What gave it away? The flirting? The hand-holding? Or the part where I said I’d make you mixtapes and write you love letters?”

Tony huffed a laugh, the sound half amused, half breathless. His heart was pounding in a way that felt almost foreign. “Okay, fine. Maybe you’ve made your point.” 

And for once, Tony did not feel the need to argue.

But like each time that the genius had a really good moment in his life, the universe needed to do something to ruin it. The whole tower began to shake. Jarvis warned them that the tesseract had been activated and now Thor was standing on the landing pad, his face grim, an axe by his side.

Chapter Text

A lot had happened in Asgard. The once radiant jewel of the Nine Realms would never be the same. Centuries of Odin’s calculated deceptions and tightly held secrets had finally come crashing down, undoing the fragile balance he had maintained through deception and omission. The once-proud realm of the Norse gods, a beacon of divine power and order, had been reduced to ashes, its population decimated.

Despite what Thor had believed, Loki was still alive. Thought to have died more than once, the God of Mischief continued to defy the odds, slipping through the fingers of death with an audacity that was uniquely his. At first, Thor’s reaction had been one of anger. He had grieved his brother deeply, and it felt like yet another betrayal. But as time wore on, that anger gave way to something close to gratitude. Loki’s survival, as infuriating as it was baffling, brought a strange sense of comfort. After all, their family had already endured more loss than Thor thought he could bear.

The death of Frigga, their beloved mother, had left a wound that never fully healed. She had been the heart of their family, the one who had loved unconditionally and tempered the storms of Odin’s stern rule and unfair decisions. Her loss was a blow not just to her sons but to Odin himself. Despite his hardness and calculating behaviour, the Alfather had deeply loved Frigga.

Without her, he was simply not the same. His once-imposing presence had diminished, the weight of his centuries-long reign pressing heavily on his aging form. Even the enchanted reprieve of Odin’s Sleep could not stave off the inevitable. His body, already stretched far beyond its natural limits, began to fail. And with it, so did his will to carry on. Thor, despite his complicated feelings toward his father, did his best to stay by his side until the end, watching helplessly as the once-mighty Allfather faded into an echo of his former self and finally passed away.

Yet Odin’s death did not bring the solace Thor might have hoped for. Instead, it unearthed another devastating truth, one Odin had kept hidden even from his sons. The spell that was binding Hela, the Goddess of Death and Thor’s long-lost sister, had been linked to Odin’s life force. With his passing, the prison that held her shattered, releasing her back into the realms with a vengeance.

The existence of  Hela shattered Thor’s already fragile understanding of his family. She was blood, a sister whose very existence had been erased from Asgard’s history. Now, she was an enemy. Hela wasted no time with pleasantries or explanations. She wanted to take back what she thought was rightfully hers, the throne of Asgard, and wanted payback for all those years she had spent locked away, forgotten. She destroyed everything in her path and Thor was forced to confront her. 

Her power was overwhelming, so immense that Thor’s famed strength was almost insignificant. When Thor hurled Mjolnir, his mighty hammer, at her in a desperate bid to stop her, she caught it mid-flight with a single hand and crushed it into fragments with ease. The sight of his shattered weapon left Thor shaken to his core, his confidence crumbling.

The battles that followed were devastating, leaving Asgard broken, its people scattered, and its golden halls reduced to rubbles. Thor and Loki, unlikely allies once more, knew they could not defeat her outright. Desperate and out of options, Loki threw himself into finding the spell Odin had used to bind Hela. It was ancient and complex magic, probably crafted by Frigga herself. 

Loki worked tirelessly, as fast as he could, fueled by desperation, and quite frankly, he succeeded where no one else could. Together, the brothers managed to imprison Hela once more. But this time, the spell was bound not to Odin’s life force, but to Loki’s. The victory, though hard-won, was hollow. Asgard was in ruins, its people scattered and vulnerable.

Then came the Mad Titan.

Thanos struck while Asgard was at its weakest, his sights set on the Infinity Stones. He cared nothing for the broken realm or its people, only for his singular goal of collecting the stones to fulfill his twisted vision of balance in the universe.

Thor’s voice grew heavy with the weight of memory as he recounted the events. “The situation was dire,” he said, his eyes clouded with pain. “The Aesir are warriors, yes, but even our might was nothing against Thanos and his forces. Loki had spent nearly all his strength binding Hela again, yet he still managed to shield a portion of our people long enough for us to escape. He saved them, saved us, but…” The god took a deep breath before saying, “There was so much we didn’t know. So much we didn’t see coming.”

Thor paused, his gaze distant as though reliving the events he spoke of. “When my brother fell into the void after our battle on the Bifrost, he didn’t perish. He landed on a desolate world ruled by Thanos. Loki has never fully shared what happened during his time there, but from the little he let slip, it was... not pretty. His attack on Midgard was not his idea nor his moves completely.”

Tony tilted his head, skeptical. “So, what? Thanos mind-controlled him? Like Selvig and Barton?”

Thor shook his head solemnly. “Not exactly. Loki wasn’t under the control of the stone in the way the others were, but his every move was dictated by one of Thanos’ children. A constant watcher. And when compliance faltered, he was ‘reminded’ why he was there.” The bitterness in his tone made it clear what those reminders likely entailed.

Tony frowned, crossing his arms. “And when you dragged him back to Asgard after New York, why didn’t he say any of this?”

“My father…” Thor hesitated, the weight of his words heavy. “The Allfather wasn’t inclined to let Loki explain himself. Odin’s decisions were law, and his version of events was the only one that mattered. I…” Thor’s voice caught for a moment. “I failed him. I didn’t ask the questions I should have. I didn’t see how far Odin would go to protect his secrets.”

It was quite clear that Thor needed to talk, to get everything out perhaps for the first time forever. He had not asked about Bucky’s presence or where any member of the rogues were. There was a sort of desperation in his attitude, as if he was scared not to have the time to tell all his story or perhaps more surprisingly not to be believed. His story was wild but Thor had always been the kind just to say whatever went through his mind even when it was not appropriate.

His warning about Thanos came naturally, though the recent alien attack had already driven the point home. Thor’s testimony, however, would help in front of the accord council. 

Tony took the time to really look at the thunder god at that moment. This Thor was different from the one who had landed onto Earth years ago. It was not just the shorter hair or the eye patch that marked his change. There was a weight to his presence now, a weariness in his posture, and lines of worry etched into his face. He had seen too much, fought too many battles, and carried too many losses.

“So where is your ship right now?” What about the axe? How far away is Thanos right now?” Tony asked, sizing up Thor with curiosity and concern.

The questions came quickly, almost too fast, as Tony processed everything in real time. He was trying to piece it all together, the timeline, the information, and what Thor was planning. His mind raced as he thought about what it all meant. Thor’s new weapon, this “axe”, sounded significant. And Thanos? He had no illusions about the extent of Mad Titan’s power.

Thor took a moment, his gaze drifting as he considered the questions. 

“The ship is in orbit,” he said finally, his voice heavy. “Not far. It’s ready to move the moment we need it. As for the axe…” His eyes fell to the formidable weapon resting by his side. “I forged it in the heart of a dying star. It’s not Mjolnir. Mjolnir is gone, but this axe carries enough power to stand against Thanos. It will have to be.”

His expression darkened as he continued. “Thanos is already in motion. He’s close, and when he arrives, we’ll have no time to spare. We’ll need every ally, every resource we can muster. The Infinity Stones we have must never fall into his hands.”

Tony absorbed the words, his mind racing. He recounted the chaos in New York, the battle in the streets just hours earlier. The god was right, time was running out and the threat was a lot closer than they had wanted to believe. The tension in the air thickened. Earth was on the verge of the greatest battle it had ever seen. But instead of being overwhelmed by that prospect, Tony started to plan their next move.

Strange, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. His expression was calm but intense, his hands moving in deliberate, intricate patterns. The ornate pendant on his chest began to shift, revealing a brilliant green gem. It floated free, suspended before him, casting an unearthly glow across the room.

Tony blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Alright, Houdini,” he quipped, “what’s with the light show?”

“This,” Strange replied, his voice steady yet commanding, “is the Time Stone, one of the six Infinity Stones.” The gem hovered, its emerald light reflecting in his calm but resolute eyes. “Thanos will stop at nothing to possess it and the others. If he succeeds, he will become the most powerful being in the universe. No one knows the full extent of what he will do with that power, but it quite obviously cannot be good."

Thor’s expression darkened, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "He seeks balance, a balance he believes can only be achieved through death on an unimaginable scale. Half of all life in the universe will cease to exist with a snap of his fingers."

The room was silent, the enormity of the statement sinking in.

Tony, standing beside Bucky, let out a shaky breath, rubbing his temples as the revelations played out in his mind. Shaking his head, he released a dry, bitter chuckle. "So, just to recap," he said, his voice cutting through the silence, "we’ve got a psychotic alien warlord playing cosmic Pokémon with universe-ending stones, and apparently, we’re holding one of them hostage. Great. No pressure or anything."

Strange remained unaffected by Tony’s sarcasm, his calm gaze unwavering. “The sorcerers of Kamar-Taj will fight alongside you,” he said firmly. “There is no other way.”

Bucky reached out, his hand wrapping gently around Tony’s arm. His calloused fingers curled with deliberate care, pulling Tony closer, the motion firm yet tender, a silent reassurance in the chaos around them. His thumbs began to trace slow, soothing circles through the fabric of Tony's top, the repetitive motion grounding them both in a moment that felt otherwise surreal.

Nearby, Peter stood frozen, his wide eyes darting between them. For once, the usually chatty teenager said nothing. His shoes barely made a sound as he shifted closer, hesitant. Worry was all over his face. This was a lot for anybody. Knowing what was coming for them almost made it all the more daunting.

“There is one last thing I must tell you,” Thor said again, his voice softer, almost subdued. The usual thunderous certainty in his tone was gone, replaced by something far more fragile, perhaps even guilt. He looked away for a moment, his hand gripping the hilt of Stormbreaker as though it could anchor him.

“When I returned, I carried more than news of our survival,” he began, exhaling slowly. “I know his name will stir anger and mistrust here, and rightly so. I cannot deny the pain he has caused, but... my brother, Loki, is aboard my ship.”

He paused, the words heavy on his tongue, as if speaking them aloud made the situation irrevocably real. “He lies in rejuvenative sleep, his seidr completely depleted, his body weakened. He fought alongside us, more fiercely than I ever thought possible, but it came at a cost. I do not know if…" his voice wavered for the briefest moment, “or when he will awaken.”

Thor’s gaze swept over the gathered faces, reading through everybody’s emotion. Most of what he saw screams suspicion and wariness but also a flicker of something softer. “I understand the weight of his past actions. I do not ask for forgiveness on his behalf, nor do I expect you to trust him. Still, he fought hard for Asgard when he had no reason to. And until a sorcerer finds a better solution, his life is what keeps Hela in her jail. He is my brother, and whatever he has done, I could not leave him behind.”

Thor’s head went down, his gaze focused on the floor as if it had the keys to unlock all the mysteries of the universe. It was quite clear that everything was getting to him, perhaps too big for even his broad shoulders. But Tony would always give people a second chance. That was simply who he was and quite frankly, if Thanos was as formidable as described, Earth could not be picky and get all the help they could get, Loki included. 

Chapter Text

Taking Loki back, even in his unconscious state, came with a hefty price. Dropping the news of an impending attack was bound to provoke reactions, and Tony Stark was not naive enough to expect otherwise. He could not even claim to be shocked or completely opposed to the idea. By all accounts, Thanos was a formidable enemy, and Earth would need all hands on deck to stand a chance against him.

But that did not mean everything was going to be sunshine and rainbows. Tony was not about to roll over and play nice. He had no intention of bending over backward for anyone. The UN council knew better than to risk losing Iron Man or the support of Stark Industries, not now, and certainly not ever. 

As a result, Black Widow and Captain America were pardoned for their previous transgressions, whatever those might have been. Their participation in the fight against Thanos provided them an opportunity for redemption. If they played a significant role in the conflict and managed to survive, they might even regain public favor. A good action would go a long way to redeem them in the public’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Tony muttered after yet another grueling council meeting. “They want him back. I don’t like it, but I understand where they’re coming from.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Bucky reassured him, pulling Tony into a loose embrace. “And hey, the more the merrier, right? Don’t worry about that.”

Tony sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “At least they’ve stopped pushing the whole ‘heroes living together’ nonsense. They’ll have to deal with Rogers on their own now.”

Considering that the fate of the universe was in the balance, Bucky could not bring himself to oppose Steve returning or even living among them. He was not the kind of person who would jeopardise humanity’s future over something as trivial as his own comfort. Deep down, he knew Tony felt the same way.

Rhodey, however, was less accommodating. From his perspective, the UN had the resources to house some of the heroes, and it was in Rogers’ best interest to tread carefully. But that did not mean they all needed to share a roof, braid each other’s hair, and sing Kumbaya. As a military strategist, Rhodey was quick to point out the tactical flaws in such an arrangement. With the looming threat coming from space, Thanos could strike anywhere on Earth. There was no guarantee that the next attack was going to happen once again in New York. To put all their eggs in the same basket would actually be dangerous for the future of the planet. This was a risk the planet could not afford to take.

Fortunately, there were other options. Wakanda, now stepping into the global spotlight, had decided to contribute to the fight. Stationing a team there could help cover more ground. Meanwhile, the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj, already heavily present in Nepal, were ready to move the planet’s defenders as needed when the time would come.

The Un council was not particularly inclined to follow every whims of Steve Rogers. The world needed him just like they needed any able warrior on Earth. The Captain was not a special cookie anymore. His incessant stream of messages to the council suggested he was not happy about his new status.

At least Rogers had the sense not to contact Tony or Bucky directly. He must have known the reception would be frosty at best. Instead, he opted for passive-aggressive jabs through the press. Fewer and fewer people seemed to be believing in his words. Whatever ideal he once represented was losing its sheen, though Rogers appeared unfazed by the shift.  

For the first time in history, the world was truly united. A common, formidable enemy had a way of erasing even the differences, even old ones. People needed to see their heroes, standing strong, working together, and preparing for the inevitable. Even if it was partly for show, it gave them confidence in the face of the storm to come.

Rogers, the so-called master tactician, seemed to have only one plan in mind. Wait for the threat to arrive, and then punch the light out of it, as hard as needed, as long as necessary. It was not exactly the kind of strategy to put a great deal of confidence in the hearts of the people. It was straightforward, basic, and not particularly inspiring. This was the man who had once outmaneuvered entire armies, turning impossible odds into decisive victories, and now his approach seemed disappointingly uninspired, borderline dumb. The public, glued to their televisions and phone screens, craved more than just updates. They wanted words of hope, a rallying cry from the heroes entrusted with their future.

For many, this approach felt more like a surrender than hope. It brought a fair deal of unease on a population who was already scared. Whispers spread like wildfire. Was this really the best he could come up with? Did he not remember the first attack on New York? How the Avengers’ victory had been more due to chance than anything else? 

Pepper Potts seemed to have disappeared from Rogers’ side, her absence as conspicuous as her presence had once been. For months, she had been a steady, if unconventional, figure at the forefront of his PR efforts. But now, her once-familiar face was nowhere to be seen. Speculation ran rampant. Was she still supporting him from the shadows, or had she realized she’d made a mistake by ever aligning herself with him?

Nobody really knew if she was still at his side, just taking a step back from the light, or if she had realised that she should have never been involved with him. She had become the butt of the joke. Once a powerful CEO, now from the business circles to the regular people, rumours were going fast. People were wondering why Stark had promoted her in the first place because, really, she was not showing much in the smart department.

"Maybe Stark just promoted her because he was in love with her," some sneered, dismissing Potts with derision. Others openly questioned how someone so out of her depth had ever been allowed a seat at the table. Social media was full of cruel memes, mocking her intelligence, her decisions, and even her personal life. She had no business standing by Rogers’ side, they claimed. To many, she was nothing more than an embarrassment.

There was a time when Tony Stark would have moved heaven and earth to defend Pepper. It was true, of course, that his decision to promote her to CEO of Stark Industries had not been entirely altruistic. Back then, he had been battling Palladium poisoning, desperate, and not thinking entirely clearly. Even if his reasons for promoting her back then were not exactly the best, she had been relatively good at her position. Hated by the employees but SI had not plummeted into obscurity either.

Now, though, Tony felt no obligation to worry about her, or about Rogers, for that matter. He did not need to justify his past decisions or step in to clean up their messes. Having finally discovered what true friendship and family looked like, Tony was not about to burden himself with old dead weights. Pepper and Rogers were on their own.

Not that it mattered much in the end. All the preparation in the world could not have readied them for what came next.

From the UN council to Peter Parker, Tony and his allies had analyzed, hypothesized, and trained for every conceivable scenario. But when the moment came, it shattered every expectation, every carefully laid plan.

It began subtly, an eerie disturbance in the night sky, a shimmer that spread like an oil slick across the stars. People stopped everything to gaze upward, both fascinated and scared by that dark omen. Then, without further warning, they appeared.

A myriad of ships emerged from the heavens, dark and oddly organic, pouring from the skies in endless waves. They arrived far earlier than Thor had predicted, catching everyone off guard.

The sight was mesmerizing and terrifying all at once. The ships were almost like the ones that had attacked New York the first time around and yet so different. Their surfaces seemed alive, shifting and pulsating with an otherworldly energy, as though the vessels themselves were sentient. They filled the sky with their dark presence, a twilight that made it feel as though the sun might never rise again.

Nobody let the panic take over. If this was the day they were meant to fall, if these aliens were destined to conquer their world, then they would go down with a fight. Children needed to be protected at all cost, representing everything that was good on the planet, representing the future.

Tony and Doctor Strange had devised a risky plan, deciding to lure the battle to a vast expanse of land Stark Industries owned north of New York. They gambled on the hope that Thanos was tracking the Infinity Stones, drawn by the faint energy signature they emitted. It was a small chance of success but what else did they have?

Miraculously, the gamble paid off. The alien ships moved with chilling precision, descending toward the rally point where Earth’s heroes had gathered. They moved like predators, birds of prey. Strange and his sorcerers worked tirelessly to transport the last waves of troops via portals, and with the last wave stood Steve Rogers.

The ships did not fire immediately. Instead, they hoovered in strategic positions, almost silent, visibly keeping an eye on what was happening on the surface. There was something even more unsettling in that stand still. The enemy had not waited for the population to be ready and it was obviously a tactic the aliens used regularly. How many worlds Thanos had destroyed already in the universe using that same tactic?

On the battlefield, Rogers stood resolute, analysing the situation. He made no move toward the allies around him, not toward Bucky nor Tony. True to his word, he simply waited for the enemy to come to him.

Nearby, Hawkeye was standing there, scanning the skies, his bow at the ready. Despite his recent injuries, Romanov was back on her feet, cold and focused, her Widow’s Bites crackling with energy. The Hulk was roaring to the ships as if calling for a fight that would come anyway. Iron Man and War Machine were hovering above a sea of wizards readying their golden mandala magic. 

Barnes was standing at the forefront, his machine gun steady in his hands, guiding the troops like a seasoned general. 

Wilson was nowhere to be seen, but Rogers did not seem surprised. He already knew that the Falcon was not cut for the job. There were unfamiliar faces among the ranks, new warriors joining the fight, but Rogers paid them no mind.

Despite himself, Rogers had to admit that the army Stark had assembled was impressive. A formidable force of warriors, soldiers, and sorcerers stood ready to defend the planet. But in the back of his mind, he knew one thing to be true. It would be him, Steve Rogers, Captain America, who would save the day. As always.

And then they came. The aliens began descending in droves, their movements precise as they assembled on the opposite side of the battlefield. Their movements were coordinated, disciplined as they took place, rows upon rows of alien soldiers. The sheer number of them was staggering, their presence stretching to the horizon.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The air grew heavier, charged with the weight of what was about to unfold. It was a standoff, a moment frozen in time, where the fate of the planet hung precariously in the balance.

And then, amidst the sea of alien troops, he appeared.

Thanos.

His towering form emerged slowly, his movement commanding, and the effect he had on all was immediate. Before his face was even visible, the atmosphere seemed to shift, thickening with a palpable, oppressive force that made it harder to breathe.

And then, he stepped forward, and there was no mistaking him. His massive frame was clad in golden armour, the intricate designs etched into the metal catching the flickering light. The massive double-bladed weapon in his hand rested casually against the ground, a tool of death that seemed almost too ordinary in his grip, given the devastation he had wrought across the universe.

His face was full of smug confidence, the deep purple of his skin accentuated by the faint smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, cold and calculating, swept over the assembled defenders, still smiling, oozing confidence. He did not speak immediately, letting his presence alone speak volumes. This was a man who did not need words to announce his power or even his intentions. His mere arrival was a declaration of inevitable victory.

"You want to challenge me?" he finally asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then you'd better make it worth my time."

Chapter Text

Thanos was walking slowly down the battlefield while skirmishes were happening all around him. All the heroes were fighting many aliens at the time. They were doing their best but Thanos did not care about that. The Mad Titan was walking toward one goal, one person it seemed.

He was explaining his past, how the planet he was coming from had died because nobody had wanted to listen to him. His home planet was overpopulated. The dirigeants, the so-called scientists, ignored the problem. There were too many people, always more but the resources were diminishing a bit more every day. Thanos had come with a fair solution. Their world would carry on but it would come with some sacrifices. Half of the population needed to disappear.

Thanos was not a bad person or so he said but things needed to be done. He proposed a lottery so chance and nothing else would decide who was to live or die. It was fair. It was the only solution but nobody listened. They told him he was crazy calling him the Mad Titan. They were wrong. The planet died with the entirety of its population.

And now the same thing was happening all over the universe. Thanos was not going to stay idle when the same thing was going to happen to such a scale. Would it not be worse not to try anything at all? He and his children had gone from planet to planet rectifying what was already very wrong. But that solution was too slow. He would not be fast enough to save the universe.

“The Infinity Stones are going to make everything painless, quick and without bloodshed. Not everybody can be saved. That’s the sad truth. But believe me, believe my experience. The best hands are our own.” Thanos carried on explaining, still walking. “A perfect solution to an imperfect world. Hard choices must be made. Unthinkable choices. Only a being with great moral fortitude can take that step.”

Only one person stood there, still and silent, not raising a weapon, not fighting against the aliens. Despite the chaos around him, he remained frozen, transfixed. It was not fear that held him back. No, it was something far deeper. Understanding. Thanos’ words cut through the noise like a whisper in the dark, and resonated inside him in ways the others could not hear or would not dare to. The alien’s cold, unflinching logic reached a part of him that had been ignored and ridiculed, a place shaped by difficult choices and sacrifices no one else seemed willing to make. 

He realised that an alien understood him better than his so-called allies ever had. The people who called themselves heroes, who thought themselves as always right, had always judged him for the hard lines he was willing to cross for the greater good. He had planted himself like a tree, ready to show the world the right way, but they were not willing to listen. But Thanos? Thanos spoke of reality as it was, unforgiving, cruel and demanding, full of impossible decisions he was the only one willing to make. 

It was funny, wasn’t it? Ironic even. That Thanos was deemed a monster just like the people of Earth were now calling him. The alien had been mocked, vilified for choosing what they could not, what they would not. They both had tried to explain it before, to make them see. They never listened. And if in those hardest of hard times people were not ready to see what was in front of them, then he was going to do what was necessary despite them.

"You can still make the right choice," Thanos said, his voice steady, calm, almost gentle, a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded them. His towering form cast a long shadow, but there was no malice in his expression, only a grave certainty, like a parent speaking to a child who had lost their way. "It’s not too late for you. I see your struggle, the burden you carry, alone, misunderstood. You’ve fought, you’ve sacrificed, and yet the world still resists you. They call you wrong, cruel, misguided... but I see the truth."

He stepped closer, each word carefully measured, delivered with the weight of conviction that had toppled worlds. "You are not weak. You are not afraid. You know, as I do, that true salvation cannot be found without suffering. Those hard choices must be made if the universe is to thrive. Look around you, chaos, decay, denial. They cling to their illusions of peace while everything crumbles beneath their feet. But you? You understand. You know that change demands sacrifice. That survival demands resolve. And in that understanding, you are already one of mine.”

Thanos extended his hand, vast and terrible, yet steady and patient, as if he were offering the greatest gift the universe could provide. "Come to me. Become one of my children. Together, we will forge a new order, one where balance reigns, where life is given meaning by its limits, where suffering is no longer wasted. The weak will be saved from themselves, and the strong will guide the way."

His words hung heavy in the air like an impossible truth. “I offer you a purpose. A place among the chosen few who dared to act when no one else would. Together, we will rewrite the destiny of all existence. Together, we will change the universe.”

And Steve Rogers, Captain Fucking America, took that hand with a smile.

For a second, everything on the battleground seemed to stop. It was as if time itself held its breath, the deafening clang of metal and the screams of war swallowed by an eerie silence. The dust and smoke that hung heavy in the air seemed to part, as though the universe itself wanted to bear witness to this moment. Every battle, every clash of desperation and fury, paused. Fighters who were giving everything, pouring their hearts and souls, risking their lives for even the smallest chance of victory, turned in unison to look at him.

One of the oldest heroes stood there, no longer ready to fight. His shoulders, once unyielding and proud, seemed softer now. He strapped the famous shield again on his back. His expression was not one of defeat, but of recognition, like a man who had finally been faced with the truth. The others, the soldiers, the heroes, and even the villains who decided to fight to live another day, looked on in shock, their faces a mix of disbelief and betrayal. How could he?

But not everybody was surprised.

Not Tony. He did not flinch or turn away. He stood there, unmoving. The Iron Man mask, usually quick to retract in moments of hesitation or disbelief, remained locked shut. It was almost as though he did not need to see Rogers’ face more clearly. He already knew what was happening. He had seen it coming long before anyone else did.

Rogers’ recent decisions had been… questionable, to say the least. A far cry from the flawless moral compass everyone assumed he carried. Tony and Steve had never seen eye to eye. Their history was proof enough of that. From the very beginning, they had been oil and water. Their first meeting had been rocky, and the word did not even begin to cover it. Steve had always believed he was right and people had followed him for it. Thanos’ speech was oddly close to the way Rogers thought. Perhaps it was just that psychopaths thought alike. 

Not Bucky either. He just watched quietly, his face unreadable but his eyes sharp, distant, as if remembering something from long ago. Bucky knew this man better than most. He knew the years they had fought, the mountains they had climbed, and the fall that had taken Bucky’s life away. And so when he looked on his so-called best friend’s face, he only saw that same glint in Rogers’ eyes the seconds before letting Bucky fall from the train that should have killed him. Rogers was only playing the part of a good man, playing it well. But in the end, everything came crashing.

To everyone else, it looked like betrayal, like failure. 

"It’s time to fight, my child. Time to teach them the hardest of lessons," Thanos said, his voice low and steady, resonating with an air of finality. His words were not an order, just a gentle push. He looked down at Rogers with something resembling pride and satisfaction, as if the former hero’s transformation was the culmination of a master plan.

Rogers closed his eyes for a moment, the faintest smile illuminating his face. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a cold, inflexible resolve. Slowly, deliberately, he turned back toward the battlefield. He reached on his back, his hand wrapping tightly around his shield, the symbol of everything he had stood for, and pulled it back onto his arm with a grim finality.

Steve straightened, his posture sharp and commanding, the kind of stance that once rallied entire armies. But now, there was no nobility in it, only menace. He shifted into an attack stance, his movements precise and calculated, honed from years of battle. His eyes scanned the battlefield, narrowing as they landed on his target, that person he should have killed when he had the chance.

Tony Stark.

Steve's gaze locked onto Iron Man with an intensity that burned brighter than the fires raging around them. But this was not the look of a man facing an opponent. No, this was something deeper, more personal. Rogers needed to prove his worth to his new father. In the eyes of Thanos, strength and loyalty were most important, and Steve was determined to rise above all the others who called themselves Thanos’ children. But Steve was not satisfied with just acceptance. No, he intended to surpass them all, to stand unrivaled, to show Thanos that he was more than just another follower, that he was indispensable. 

He was going to eliminate the competition, one by one if necessary. The already existing children of Thanos were obstacles, nothing more. And somewhere down the line, when the time was right, Steve would do what no one else had the resolve to do. He would kill Thanos himself.

Patience was key. Steve knew how to bide his time. He had spent decades frozen in the ice, watching as the world moved on without him. He had endured betrayals, wars, and the collapse of friendships that had once defined him. Waiting was no burden to him, it was a skill. He would play his role for as long as needed, earning Thanos' trust and what the Mad Titan called love, all while keeping his true intentions locked away beneath an impenetrable facade.

But proving himself was not just about impressing Thanos. Steve had a score to settle, and at the heart of it stood Tony Stark.

The people only saw Iron Man disappear into the portal, risking everything to deliver the nuclear missile that would obliterate a massive portion of Thanos’ army. That moment, frozen in time, had become the symbol of the Battle of New York. It was heroic, it was cinematic, it was unforgettable. The sight of Tony Stark, defying impossible odds, throwing himself into the unknown with nothing but determination and an arc reactor to keep him alive, was etched into the hearts and minds of everyone who watched.

But that was all they saw.

What they did not see or chose not to remember was everything that happened on the ground, the desperate, chaotic, brutal battle that kept the Chitauri from overrunning the city entirely. The rest of the Avengers were the foundation of that victory, the ones who made Tony’s final act possible. He was the reason why everything had been possible in the end. 

Stark had overshadowed everybody else, but now the whole universe was going to know Captain America’s name.

They were going to remember his name.

Chapter Text

The battle erupted once more, with a ferocity so intense it surpassed anything they had seen before. Thanos’ speech had been a spark, but Rogers’ betrayal was like gasoline poured onto an already raging fire. The battlefield became full of chaos, destruction and rage. A deafening roar rose from the ranks of Thanos’ forces, thousands of alien voices converging into a single terrifying cry of war. An infinite sea of sharp blades and brutal technology surged forward as if driven by one same thought.

Each strike reverberated through the air, a deafening sound. Each person on the human side pushed themselves to their limits, their breathing ragged as they threw everything they had into the battle. Neither side seemed to get the upper hand. 

Rogers was fighting with renewed fury, his strikes landing with the force of someone who had nothing left to lose. There was something unsettling in the way he fought, something that made even the most hardened warriors hesitate for a fraction of a second before engaging him. Each blow he delivered carried something dark, more twisted. His punches had turned cruel. Rogers wanted them to hurt and he wanted to kill. And each time an enemy fell, there was a flicker in Rogers’ expression, an unmistakable glimmer of satisfaction. Each broken enemy was feeding some darker hunger within him, a hunger that could never be satisfied, no matter how many died before him. 

Each time his shield struck, it was somewhere lethal. Each time his fists connected with bone and flesh, blood flooded coating him. The more he fought, the more relentless he became, his movements growing more brutal each time. His attacks were no longer measured or strategic. They were driven by an insatiable need to crush, to dominate, to destroy. 

It was a side of himself that Rogers had always buried deep, a part of his soul he refused to let shine fully. For years, he had played the role of the selfless leader, the symbol to follow in the heart of conflicts, the moral compass. They should understand that once again, he was right in his decision.

This benevolent personality had grown heavier with time, suffocating the man beneath. This shadowed part of him, raw, selfish and unrelenting, had always been there, guiding him through thick and thin. The Captain America persona had run its course, and Steve had lost everything in the process. It was now time to do things for him for once. This was his moment, his choice. If the world wanted a saviour, they would have to look elsewhere. Rogers had other plans.

Most people on Earth were not worth saving anyway. Rogers had fought for them, bled for them, sacrificed everything for their freedom and survival, but what had they done with it? Not much had changed since the Second World War. 

Conflicts still raged all around the globe, each generation finding new reasons to hate, to destroy, to kill. And always, there were men like Stark, profiteers who grew fat off the suffering of the little guys. If those little guys did not want to rise up, did not want to rebel against the forces that kept them oppressed, why should he keep fighting their battles for them? He was done. 

Rogers hated weakness more than anything else. 

The planet itself was being ravaged by the very people who needed it to survive. They burned through their resources with reckless abandon, ignoring every warning sign, every opportunity to change. Thanos was perhaps ruthless, but was he wrong? 

Rogers tightened his grip on his shield. The battlefield was chaotic, but none of that mattered. His focus was on a single person, his path clear. He moved with purpose, cutting through enemies with precision, each strike bringing down his adversary hard and fast, bringing him closer to his true target. 

Ahead, Stark was fighting the Mad Titan himself. Thanos was a force of nature, strong and inevitable, but Stark faced him as if he truly believed he could win. Worse, the engineer probably thought only he could win. He was exchanging quips even during the battle, so typically Stark. His money was not going to help him this time.

Stark’s repulsor launched another blast at Thanos. Tony was still playing the hero, hogging the spotlight again. Tony was no match for the Titan, and Steve vaguely wondered if, deep down, Stark knew it too. 

The sight of it filled Steve with a cold, simmering fury. How many times had Stark’s ego thrust him into the spotlight, positioning him as the saviour, the genius, the man who could do no wrong, when, in reality, it was a façade, a mirage built on arrogance?

Steve broke into a sprint, his movements fluid and purposeful, every muscle in his body used toward that one goal. He charged forward like a man with a purpose. Anything in his path, debris, enemies, or anything else, was cast aside with sheer force.

There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Iron Man saw him coming, made a move toward him, but it was too late. Stark had no time to really react. 

Steve hurled himself forward with every ounce of strength he possessed, his shoulder colliding with Stark’s armoured torso like a wrecking ball. The force of Steve’s momentum was enough to unbalance even the heavy weight of the suit. Before Stark could recover, Steve retrieved his shield. It was not for defense.

With Stark pinned beneath him, Steve raised the shield high and brought it crashing down against the faceplate of the suit. The first blow sent a shower of sparks flying, the vibranium edge denting the titanium gold alloy. He struck again, harder this time, his teeth clenched, his expression a mask of hatred and rage.

“This is between you and me now!” Steve growled, punctuating his words with another brutal strike. Each hit was more forceful than the last, his shield slamming into the mask he had come to hate with every fiber of his being.

“As you wish,” Tony answered, his voice cold, resolute, and slightly distorted by the helmet’s damaged speakers. 

Before Steve could do anything more, a brilliant blue flash erupted from Stark’s palm, his signature repulsor blast. The beam hit Steve square in the abdomen, the force of it like a cannonball slamming into him. The air rushed out of his lungs, the impact sending him hurling backward through the air. 

Stark had dialed his repulsors to their highest setting. There was no holding back this time. Steve’s body hit the ground with a loud thud. The force of the blast had been enough to dent the earth beneath him, a shallow crater marking the spot where he had landed. Pain radiated through Steve’s torso but the serum was already doing its work. 

“Big man in a suit of armour. Take that off, what are you?” Rogers screamed, that same line again that he had used on the helicarrier all those years ago. It had never been more true.

“You really should have stayed down, Steve,” Tony said, his tone sharp as Rogers rose back up. His repulsor began to hum again, the faint whine of energy charging filling the air as he raised his hand, ready to fire again. 

“I can do this all day.” 

“And I don’t have time to waste on you.”

Stark fired away again, the most powerful blast the genius had ever used since being Iron Man. Rogers reacted on instinct alone, bringing his shield up just in time. The vibranium absorbed the full brunt of the blasts. Iron Man did not stop there. He fired, again and again, forcing Rogers to crouch low behind his shield, using it as an impenetrable barrier against the relentless assault. He held firm, his muscles straining as he absorbed the repeated strikes. 

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that,” Steve muttered under his breath, his voice resolute as he shifted slightly, his shield still firmly in place. 

Steve braced himself, ready to launch his counterattack. His shield was already shifting into an offensive position, and his eyes locked on Stark with the intensity of a predator about to strike. It was time for Stark to learn a lesson in humility, and to end this once and for all. 

But before he could act, a blur of motion cut across his line of sight. Bucky’s metal arm gleamed in the chaos, his cybernetic hand gripping at the shield and pulling it away in one swift motion. The energy blast had stopped just in time, as if Barnes and Stark were working in tune, used to be together in battle.

Barnes shot a quick, knowing glance toward Iron Man, his expression intense but calm, as if silently communicating that he had the situation under control. He gave a subtle nod, the kind of gesture that had long been their unspoken way of sharing a plan. Stark, with a brief look of acknowledgement, responded with a nod of his own before shooting off into the sky, rocketing toward the shifting chaos of the battlefield where Thanos was lazily fighting other members of their team.

Steve stood frozen for a moment, his breath heavy and uneven, the frustration boiling within him like a storm. He wanted to shout, to call out to Bucky, to tell him to stop getting in the way, but the words stuck in his throat by rage. It was always the same. Bucky, his so-called best friend, his brother in arms, always seemed to find himself in opposition to Steve’s every decision. Always a step ahead, always in the way when it mattered most.

A part of Steve wanted to wait and see how things might unfold. It was a dark curiosity that was taking over him. Thanos’ solution to the chaos of the universe had a very unfeeling logic to it, and Steve could not help but wonder what the outcome might be if left to its own devices.

Who would the universe deem expendable? Would it be Tony, the arrogant and reckless genius, the man who was playing the hero when he was actually doing so much damage to the world? Or Bucky, the hypocrite who pretended to be his best friend only to stab Steve in the back again and again. If balance was what Thanos was seeking, wouldn't it be fair, poetic even, that one of those two would vanish into nothingness?

Steve gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay still just a few more seconds. Just a few more moments, that was all he needed to endure. Thanos was surely closing in on completing his plan. Piece by piece, stone by stone, the Titan’s puzzle was coming together, and Steve knew that once it was whole, the consequences would be definitely in Thanos’ favour and by extension in all his children’s interests.

Thanos did not need magical artefacts to enforce his will. His presence alone was a testament to his power. The towering figure and the legion of soldiers behind him were enough to be terrifying even to the bravest of the brave. Steve had always trusted his instincts, a sixth sense for spotting the strong from the weak. 

The Mad Titan was not only powerful, he was convinced that his cause was the right one. His sheer stubbornness allowed him to stand as judge, jury, and executioner, his belief in his ways unbothered by the lives it would cost. That conviction was more terrifying than any weapon or magic, for it made him unstoppable, not just in might but in will. Thanos would always find a way.

Bucky was just an obstacle, standing once more between Steve and the fight he knew was his to finish. With a guttural roar, Steve launched himself at Bucky, fists flying with unrelenting force. 

His shield was so close and yet so far, just out of reach. The first punch landed with brutal force, snapping Bucky's head to the side. The second struck even harder. The angrier he was, the stronger his punches got. Adrenaline surged through his veins, fueling him, making him more powerful than any super soldier ever could be. This was not even a fight anymore. This was an execution.

“You should have stayed dead!” Steve snarled, his voice unrecognisable, dripping with venom.

Bucky looked up at him, blood staining his lips in a grim smile. “Funny,” Bucky spat back. “I was about to tell you the same.”

The tide shifted in an instant. Bucky’s metal arm shot up, blocking the next blow with ease. The strength behind it was almost effortless. In a blur, Bucky countered, and suddenly, Steve found himself on the ground. The punches came fast and furious, each one landing with the precision that had made the Winter Soldier a legend.

On the edge of his sightline, Thanos was being pushed back by Stark’s relentless assault and the help of his allies. How could they be holding their own against the Titan?

Steve’ mind struggled to process what he was seeing as Bucky's blows continued to rain down. Was it possible? Could Thanos actually lose?

Chapter Text

What came to be known as the Odinsleep was, in truth, neither true sleep nor did the practice solely reserved for Odin. The name, though impressive, was misleading, and did not accurately describe what it was. The Odinsleep was not about mere rest or surrender to the world of dreams. It was a deliberate and profound retreat into the flow of magic, a vital process to fully replenish his strength and restore his powers to their highest levels. Despite Odin’s frequent proclamations that he ruled the Nine Realms through wisdom, will and vigilance, no one depended more upon the forces of magic than he. 

Odin often spoke of magic with thinly veiled disdain. He would proclaim it the domain of women and deceivers, a coward’s crutch rather than the weapon of a true warrior. Yet, as with many things about the Allfather, his own actions told a different story. His kingdom itself was shaped by enchantments, its very foundation created by ancient spells woven from power as old as the universe.

His mastery of magic strengthened the Nine Realms and protected Asgard’s most valuable secrets. The Bifrost, the great cosmic bridge, owed its very existence to magic users. Those closest to Odin had long seen the truth, even before it was revealed that he used a great amount of his might to keep Hela contained in her prison. Magic was not merely a favoured weapon of his arsenal. It was his unseen weapon, quietly woven into every decree, every strategy of war, and every triumph of his reign.

Gungnir, his steadfast spear, had never left the Allfather’s side. A formidable weapon to be drawn in battle but also a magical artefact to affirm laws with unshakable finality. When Odin spoke, it was Gungnir that carried the weight of his authority, amplifying his word with the force of command. For centuries, the spear stood as the instrument of justice. 

Yet one could not help but wonder. If magic was, as Odin so often proclaimed, a craft of woman and deceivers, why had the Allfather relied upon it so heavily? 

Unlike Odin, Loki had never needed that kind of sleep, at least not until that moment. His seidr had always come easily to him, a vibrant, untamed force that answered his will without resistance. His powers had always been like a boundless wellspring, and he had never known the limits of his own strength. He had never faced a spell so consuming, so relentlessly demanding of his very essence. Until Hela.

Containing Hela required far more energy than Loki had ever imagined. 

The spell was a beast of constant hunger, drawing from him every moment it endured. It was not a matter of casting it once and letting it do its thing. No, it lived like a flame that devoured fuel, and Loki had to feed it with his essence now. The cost was unbearable. Too high.

Yes, they had bought themselves time, perhaps another millennium, if fortune favored them. A thousand years might seem like an eternity to mortal ears, but to an Asgardian, it was little more than a single chapter in a vast, endless tale. Loki knew better than to place his faith in borrowed time. It was a fleeting reprieve, a momentary pause before the inevitable end. The true problem remained unsolved.

And Loki had never planned even a second of his life to be shackled to such a burden.

This was not the life he had imagined for himself. The weight of Asgard’s legacy, with its relentless demands and unraveling secrets, was never his to bear. He had no desire to be a slave to a kingdom that barely acknowledged his worth. Once, he had believed the throne was what he wanted. 

His talents had always been sharper, better suited to the shadows and the subtle shifting tides of fate than the heavy, stifling rule of kings. Only now, in its most desperate hour, did Asgard require his magic. But when peace returned, if it ever returned, what place would they have for him then?

Like a collar that was too tight around his throat, the thought irritated him. He had seen the way they looked at him. Eyes full of suspicion, never admiration. Nothing about him was embraced, and certainly never celebrated. 

Asgard had no use for the brilliance he could offer unless it served their needs. He was the jester, the trickster, a blade hidden behind a smile. And now he was now the servant of Hela's prison, which was draining his strength. His love for Asgard, foolish, fragile, unworthy Asgard, had made him weak enough that he would try to save it. But he would not stay here, trapped in this prison, even one of his own design. 

And if there was one truth Loki had always clung to, one belief that had never wavered, it was that no prison, no chain, no power forged by gods or men could hold him forever.

The world around him stirred, distant but perceptible. People moved. Voices murmured. He could hear them. The words came clear enough to recognise. He had no problem grasping the meaning of most of the words. Conversations felt both near and like distant waves. But none of it called him back to full wakefulness. He remained bound by his own depleted strength. His body ached with exhaustion, his power stretched to its limit, frayed and brittle. But there was far too much to consider, more than he cared to face in the fragile silence of his mind. 

Thanos was coming.

That truth was a blade colder and sharper than any prison's bars, cold and implacable, a truth as undeniable as death itself. The Mad Titan was a force beyond reckoning, a doom that no magic, no clever trick, no desperate alliance could easily escape. Worse than Hela. Worse than anything she could do. Death followed him like a loyal hound, a relentless shadow. His approach was not just a threat, it was certainty, a promise.

And yet, Thor, the ever-foolish storm-brained oaf, was making reckless decisions again. 

Thor. Always so brash, so certain that sheer will and raw strength could force the universe to bend at his command. Patience was a virtue he had never learned. Strategy? A distant afterthought. He believed inaction, charging headfirst into danger, hammer raised. When Hela had risen, he had been no different. His faith in Mjolnir had blinded him to the reality of what and who they faced. He had thought he could confront her with power alone, the force of his conviction and his hammer enough to tackle any enemy, even Death itself.

But Loki had known better. He  had seen the truth where Thor would not look. A solution had presented itself, not bold, not glorious, but one Odin had used the first time around. It was Loki who had figured out the spell that had bound Hela, how seidr, not steel, had kept her contained for so long.

Frigga had taught him that.

Frigga, his mother in every way that mattered, had been far more than a queen. She had been the quiet force behind Asgard’s strength, the true weaver of its destiny. Odin had worn the crown, but it was her hands that held the threats of power together. Knowledge, grace, and seidr had been her tools, and she had wielded them with a mastery Odin could never claim. 

She had taught Loki the delicate art of magic. Her lessons had been subtle, surrounded by motherly affection, but they had shaped him far more than he had realized at the time.

When he crafted his spell to hold Hela once more, it had been Frigga’s teachings that guided him. He had recognised her hand in the spell that had first bound their sister. But he had also seen its limitations, and that was the difference between him and Odin. He understood now that mere replication was not enough. If he were to succeed where the old king had failed, he would have to do better.

And then there was Thanos.

This time, Thor had not dismissed the threat as he had with Hela. But that did not mean his brother was thinking clearly. In his rush to protect what remained of Asgard, Thor had made a grievous mistake. He had taken the Infinity Stones to Midgard.

In doing so, he had already delivered Thanos a victory.

“The Avengers will protect them,” Thor declared, his voice resolute, every word resonating with the booming certainty of his conviction. “And they will not stand alone. Asgard will lend its might to their cause. But our people… they need more than protection. They need a chance to rebuild, to heal, to live without fear. They have endured too much. Their homes, their hopes turned to ash, scattered by the winds of what Hela has done.”

He paused, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes hardening. “I will take the Stones to safety myself. Deal with them personally.”

The room became filled with the hum of quiet whispers and the rustle of unease. 

“Sir,” one of his newly appointed advisors finally stepped forward, his words careful but desperate. “The realm needs its king… Now more than ever. The throne cannot sit empty, not after the recent storm.”

There was no challenge in his tone, no disrespect, only plain truth, heavy and undeniable. But Thor’s expression remained unchanged, his jaw set in that familiar, stubborn way that had defined him since the reckless days of his youth. He had heard the words. He understood them. But he would not be swayed. What he did not say, what remained buried beneath his defiant silence, was the deeper reason for his departure. 

He was leaving to forge a new weapon.

The loss of Mjolnir had been more than the shattering of steel and enchantment. A part of him had been broken with it. He had felt its absence like a phantom limb, a dull ache he never talked about, a fracture he darned not name. Mjolnir was a symbol of his power, his destiny, his worthiness. How could he protect Asgard, protect anyone, when the weapon that had once made him formidable was destroyed forever?

“No,” he said at last. “Our people need action that will make sure we are safe for a long time.” He raised his chin, his eyes blazing with defiance against the burden of kingship itself. “A king who hides behind his throne cannot claim to lead. I will fight for them, I will bleed for them, and I will give them what no crown can. I will give them a future.”

Over the years, Loki had mastered countless techniques to reclaim his energy when the well of his power had been drained. Now, he drew upon every one of them, scraping together whatever fragments of strength his broken state would allow. His mind clawed its way back to consciousness, piece by piece, even as weariness fought to pull him under again.

But nothing, nothing, had prepared him for the sight that awaited him when he woke.

Ages ago, Loki had placed a subtle ward on Thor, not out of sentimentality, of course, but practicality. It was an intricate spell, designed to trace the Thunderer’s presence across the branches of Yggdrasil. It allowed Loki to find Thor wherever he might be, and, if need be, to step to his side instantly. Never before, Loki had felt the need to be next to his brother that much.

He did not pause to steady his breath. He did not spare a second to assess his own condition or think about the cost of drawing on his newly recovered magic. His senses locked onto Thor’s location, and in the next heartbeat, he raced along the unseen pathways of the World Tree. On the other side was only chaos.

The battlefield roared around him. Fire and ash floated in the air everywhere around him. Aliens shrieked, their monstrous forms clashing against the defenders of Earth. In the heart of it all, where fate seemed to twist and scream, Thor fought alongside a man in shining red and gold armour. 

Loki recognised him immediately. Stark. The so-called Iron Man. The genius who had once been a thorn in Loki’s side, the man who had stopped his fake attempt to conquer Midgard. Seeing him now, blade in hand, exchanging furious strikes with Thanos himself, sparked an unexpected feeling of admiration in Loki. But where was the rest of the team? The warriors of Midgard who had forged their fragile alliance against him during his false invasion?

Had they already fallen?

Everything happened too fast. Loki’s mind raced to catch up with what his eyes witnessed in surreal clarity. One moment, Iron Man’s sword clashed against Thanos’ colossal double-edge weapon. The next, a surge of power ignited like a sunburst. Stark’s armoured hand opened, and suddenly, impossibly, all six Infinity Stones gleamed upon his gauntlet. 

No.

Loki felt it, an ancient tremor that rippled across the realms, across the entire universe. Stark was preparing to snap his fingers. The combined force of the stones meant inimaginable outcomes. Thanos, a look of complete disbelief on his face, staggered back, almost afraid. 

Loki moved before really thinking about it. Magic surged through his veins, burning like fire, wild and instinctive, but he gave it no mind. Healing magic had never been his strength. His knowledge of restorative spells was functional at best, enough to stave off death long enough for him to flee and find refuge. But in that moment, skill mattered far less than intent.

He pulled from everything he had learned, from half-remembered fragments of forbidden spells, and the chaotic genius of his own invention. He poured every drop of his power into one desperate attempt, a spell to stop death before it could consume Stark entirely. The spell sped forward, bright green. 

All his magic was not enough. 

His recovered strength was not enough. The power of the Infinity Stones were too much for one man to handle and one mage to counter. His emerald magic crackled and hissed. His vision started to blacken at the edges. No. He would not watch another world fall to Thanos’ madness. He would not see Thor die, would not witness Stark’s mortal body consumed by fire.

There was only one choice left. He had to ask for help.

“Wizards!” He called. His voice was magnified by a small amplifying spell, making his words cut through the chaos. “Sorcerers! By the Norns, answer my call!” 

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Smoke curled in the air. Thanos loomed, a terrible silhouette against the broken sky, as Stark’s fingers hovered mere inches from destiny.

Loki’s heart raced. His voice broke with the force of a final plea, a desperate gambit thrown to the winds of fate.

“If you value existence itself, assist me! Now!”

Chapter Text

When Tony met Bucky’s gaze and gave him that simple nod, leaving him to fight against Rogers, something inside him cracked. It was not just a small ache. It was the kind of pain that dug into his heart and refused to let go. He had not wanted to be there, not in this fight, not with these people. He had already risked everything before, when his life was so much worse than what he had now. He had hoped that those days were behind him. For the first time in what seemed like forever, everything in his world was good. Loving and peaceful, even. Perfect.

But now, all of that was crumbling around him. The universe had become a battleground. No one deserved this, that pain, the fear, the endless fight for survival. The Mad Titan had orchestrated this chaos. That twisted being had stolen the peace, future and very right to exist of so many beings in the universe. 

What gave Thanos the right to decide who lived and who died? 

So Thanos had a sad past. Big deal. Who didn’t? Everyone carried scars, hidden wounds, unspoken losses, or memories that haunted them in the quiet moments when the world was not looking. Even the most privileged man in the world had likely faced his share of hardship. Money, power, fame. None of those things ever guaranteed immunity from the cruelties of life. There was a type of suffering that did not discriminate. It did not care about status or wealth. It touched everyone in one way or another.

Tony never pretended that his life had been the hardest. He was not going to stand up and make some grand speech about how the universe had wronged him more than others. He was born into luxury, raised in a mansion, and handed opportunities most people could not even dream of. 

Yet, all the money in the world had not shielded him from pain. No silk sheets had ever softened the blows of his childhood. Howard was a brilliant man, but was also someone who rarely showed kindness. His words could be deadlier than the weapons he built, his blows always precise and painful.

And then there was his mother. Maria had been the warmth, the calm, the one who made life bearable. But she was gone, taken from him far too soon. That loss had carved a hole inside him, one that no luxury had been able to fill. 

Of course, what had happened to Thanos’ home was tragic, undeniably, heartbreakingly so. The collapse of a world was a fate no civilization should ever face. The leaders of Titan had failed their people, unwilling to adapt when it mattered the most. They had clung to outdated ideals and decisions that, in hindsight, were painfully inadequate. History was sadly filled with missed opportunities and catastrophic missteps that led to tremendous suffering. 

But for all that, for all the sorrow and loss carved into the ruins of his shattered planet, the solution Thanos wanted had chosen was monstrous. His answer was death. Cold, calculated, merciless death. Killing half the population of the universe was not a solution. It was a crime so vast, so unspeakable, that it defied comprehension. Genocide, no matter how neatly wrapped in the rhetoric of balance or necessity, was still genocide. 

The tragedy of it all was not just in what he had done and still wanted to do, but in what he could have done instead. With a mind as brilliant as his, he could have looked for other solutions. Doubling the universe’s resources, advancing interstellar travel, creating new worlds, or even unlocking ways to harness infinite energy. There were so many possibilities limited only by imagination. 

Rhodey was out there too, his War Machine armour visible through the smoke-filled sky, repulsors blazing as he unleashed a relentless barrage of firepower on an enemy that seemed endless. He hovered above the chaos, having the backs on those on the ground. 

There were moments when he almost regretted giving Rhodey that suit of armour. The War Machine was a marvel of engineering, a fortress that could withstand almost anything. It protected Rhodey far better than any standard-issue gear, and for that, Tony was thankful. But still, seeing him out there, Tony could not help but feel guilty. 

The truth was, Rhodey would have been there whether or not Tony had ever become Iron Man. Long before arc reactors and flying suits, James Rupert Rhodes had already answered the call of duty. The Air Force had been his home, his family, almost from the moment they had graduated from MIT. It was not a job, it was who he was. A soldier. A protector. It was in his blood, part of the very fabric of his being.

Tony had never tried to talk him out of it, even though the thought had crossed his mind more times than he cared to admit. How could he? It would have been like asking Rhodey to stop breathing. Tony respected Rhodey’s calling. But every deployment, every mission, every moment Rhodey spent in harm’s way left Tony full of anxiety and fear. 

Bucky and Tony had managed to talk Peter into focusing his incredible powers on rescuing the wounded and pulling people out of harm’s way rather than engaging the alien invaders head-on. It was not an easy conversation. Peter had a hero’s heart, one that burned with the desire to help and protect.

Tony had placed a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder, trying to be firm. “Kid, they've got enough people to do the smashing. What they don’t have is someone fast enough to get people out before it’s too late. You’re that someone. You’re our best chance to make sure these people get to go home.”

Bucky had nodded in agreement, his usual face softening as always when talking with the kid. “You don’t have to fight to be a hero.  And if you keep on the argument of saving lives, it might make those conversations with your aunt a little easier… you know, when you will try to explain why you want to be in the battle in the first place.”

“Yeah. She won’t like it either way.” Peter answered, mullish.

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, knowing full well that even though May Parker was a formidable woman, Peter was the stubborn kind, his heart too big to ever walk away from a fight that mattered. “Trust me, kid,” he said, the small smile still lingering. “Better to get grounded by your aunt for having that conversation than to end up six feet under for not thinking things through.”

Peter sighed, finally conceding. “Point taken.”

For a while, it worked. Tony could see Spiderman going through the battlefield like a blur of red and blue, scooping up defenders who needed medics or any kind of help. But it was not a question of if Peter would be forced to fight, only a matter of when. Despite his young age, Peter had every right to stand his ground and defend not only himself but also the ones he loved. 

Tony had the love of his life, his brother from another mother, and the closest thing he had to a son all out there on the battlefield. And it was all because of Thanos.

So yes, this was personal. Thanos had made it personal the moment he threatened everything Tony held dear. If the cost of saving his family meant tearing himself apart, then so be it. He would fight with the desperation of a man who truly had everything to lose.

If the missiles in his armour’s forearms did not work, the repulsors would. And if the repulsors failed, then he would have to go old school, swinging a blade of his own creation to carve through the monster standing in the way of his ‘happy ever after’. At this point, there was no retreat, no surrender, no backup plan. 

The deafening clash of metal on metal rang out across the battlefield as Tony weaved around Thanos’ brutal attacks with the precision of a seasoned boxer. He moved in tight arcs, surprisingly agile despite being in a metal suit of armour. The sheer force behind every blow Thanos managed to deliver felt like a ton of bricks crashing into him, but Tony did not falter. He had to find a way to win, no matter what.

Nearby, the Hulk fought with primal fury, his roars shaking the ground as he hurled entire squadrons of Thanos’ army away. Each massive fist slammed into their enemies with the kind of powers that could crack mountains. When he was not trying to land some blows against Thanos himself, he was tearing through the relentless hordes, keeping the alien army from overwhelming their heroes. 

Thor was a whirlwind of fury and lighting, his new axe gleaming at his side. Stormbreaker, as his new weapon was called, allowed him to channel thunder like never before. Incredible lightning bolts were literally incinerating the alien soldiers by the hundreds. The god had already lost too much to be merciful anymore. 

In the centre of the chaos, Doctor Strange’s hands twisted through the air, conjuring spells forming glowing chains of energy lashing around Thanos. Spectral blades sliced through the shadows trying to cause as much damage as possible. He was relentless, giving all that he had and then some more. 

Everything seemed effortless for Thanos, his eyes burning with dark amusement. “You should follow your friend’s path.” He rumbled, his lips curling into a mocking grin. “Become one of my children. You have potential. I would hate to see that go to waste.”

“I’ve got potential, all right,” Tony shot back, his voice sharp with determination. “The potential to stop you.”

With a sudden burst of speed, he surged forward, a brilliant blade of nanotech in his hand. He drove it in a tight, calculated strike, faster than Thanos anticipated. The edge found its mark, cutting across Thanos’ cheek. It was a shallow wound, barely a scratch, but blood welled up all the same. Dark, rich, and real. But it was not the wound that mattered.

It was the fact of it.

A god could bleed. And if a god could bleed, he could die.

Thanos raised his massive hand to his cheek, his thick fingers brushing against the thin line of blood that trickled down his purple skin. For a heartbeat, he stared in surprise at the dark stain on his fingertips. It was not much, just a scratch, but it was more than he had anticipated, more than anybody had been able to do so far. 

The surprise lingered for only a second before it melted into something far more chilling. His lips curled into a rueful smile, slow and deliberate, revealing a kind of satisfaction only a predator could have. His eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of a hunter who had finally found a prey worth pursuing. 

He turned his gaze back to Tony, his smile widening just enough to show teeth. He was clearly enjoying himself. His entire aura seemed to shift, no longer just a titan almost bored while killing innocent people, but a warrior relishing the rare thrill of finally finding a worthy challenge.

“It has been a long time since anyone has made me bleed. You definitely earned my attention. Let’s see how far that potential of yours will take you.”

The air around them seemed to crackle with tension. The Mad Titan’s eyes burned with the hunger of a being who had conquered an infinity of worlds but never faced resistance that stirred his interest. Thanos was looking at Tony as an equal in the dance of war. Their fight started again with ferocity.

But unfortunately, the tides began to turn against them. Despite their relentless courage and defiance, with every second that passed, the Mad Titan seemed to grow stronger. When he channeled his full power, he was simply more than even the combined strength of Earth’s greatest heroes could hope to withstand. 

Even Thor’s new lightning fury could do little more than stagger Thanos momentarily, only slowing the Mad Titan down for a far too short moment. Doctor Strange’s spells were met with an equal and opposite surge of the Stones’ power, without Thanos actively activating them. The sorcerer’s breath grew ragged, his strength waning. For all of Hulk’s rage, for all his raw strength, Thanos met him blow for blow. The Mad Titan remained unmoved by everything they tried, a force of nature too vast to be stopped.

Tony’s heart raced as he watched the best, the strongest, the bravest heroes fall back step by step. He could feel the despair creeping in at the edges of his mind, the horrifying realisation that brute force would not be enough. Direct combat was futile. Even if he threw every ounce of nanotech at Thanos, even if he pushed his suit to its absolute limits, it would not matter. 

“Think, Tony. Think!” He whispered to himself, his fists clenching. His mind had saved him before. He could do it again.

He needed another way. A plan. A solution. And he needed it now.

Chapter Text

He thought of Rhodey, of Bucky, and of Peter, each one of their faces flashing vividly in his mind like echoes of the life he had fought so hard to protect. He remembered Peter’s wide-eyed innocence, his eagerness to be better than he was, and the guarded love there. He remembered Bucky’s storm blue tormented eyes, forever haunted by a past he did not choose and yet, trying to move forward and believe he deserved to love and be loved. He thought of Rhodey’s unshakable loyalty, the countless battles in and out the battlefield they had faced together, and the shared laughter that had always represented them. 

He thought of his country, his planet. He pictured the children playing in parks under blue skies, mothers and fathers walking hand in hand, blissfully unaware of what could happen. This was the only home he had ever known. It was not perfect, far from that. And beyond the stars, there was the vast, unfathomable universe stretching into infinity. He imagined countless other universes, all miraculous, brimming with life. Entire civilisations lived and thrived out there, each life precious, each future hanging by a thread.

What was his life against the countless lives that filled the universe? What was his suffering, his pain, compared to the hopes and dreams of hundreds of billions of souls? In the grand scale of things, he was a speck of dust, a flicker in the endless expanse of time and space. Nothing. 

With a heavy heart, his choice was made. There was no room for hesitation now, no second-guessing the only path that lay before him. His instinct told him what had to be done, and even as the weight of it pressed heavily on his heart, he accepted it. This was not about him, not anymore. He did not allow himself to think about what could have been, the happiness he could finally have, the life he had dreamt about for so long. The people he loved would be mad at him, at least for a little while, but at least, they would live. That was all that mattered. 

He was out of time to consider other options. There was nothing else to do. The relentless attacks of his allies were not working. Each blast of energy, each strike from their weapons barely scratched the impenetrable hide of the titan. Thanos shrugged off their most powerful blows as though they were no more than whispers in the wind. Everything felt so pointless.

Tony had never been one to surrender to fate. He had built his life, his empire, and his legacy on defying the odds. His brother, his lover and his son were out there in the thick of it, fighting with everything they had. If they fell, if even one of them died, the light of his world would be extinguished forever. He would not, could not let that happen.

No matter the cost. 

So, he did what he did best. He put on a show.

With every ounce of skills and bravado, Tony caught his adversary's attention.

He exaggerated every movement, making himself seem smaller, weaker, more vulnerable than he really was. He played the part of desperation with the ease of a man who has done it countless times, whether on the battlefield, fighting both friends and foes, or in boardrooms, confronting corporate giants. He became the perfect illusion of defeat, a shell of broken armour and false surrender.

"You are willing to die on behalf of those who could not help you on your own planet. Incomprehensible." Thanos told him, looking down on him, almost pitying him. “Your people, weak, selfish, and cowardly, are watching you bleed. They are not coming to your aid, leaving you to face the unbeatable alone, to sacrifice the only thing that is yours to keep. Your life. For what?” The titan’s lips curled, a sneer forming at the edges of his mouth. "For gratitude? You will receive none. For loyalty? They will betray you again. For remembrance? Time will swallow your name, as it does all things."

He moved carefully around Tony, each step a reminder of his power. "This is the great folly of your kind. You are creatures of sentiment, driven by bonds of affection and illusion. Love, hope, trust, fragile chains that bind you to suffering. You fight for those who would not, could not, ever fight for you. How… pathetic."

The titan loomed closer, eyes locked on him now, driven by the promise of an easy kill. The trap was set. The time for lies would soon be over. Tony steeled himself. The end was near. But if it saved them, it would be worth it. Every second bought with his blood, every breath stolen from his lungs, would mean one more heartbeat for those he loved. Because that was what mattered. They always had. And Tony had always been willing to sacrifice everything for them.

At that moment, Tony launched forward with what appeared to be his last desperate attack, his sword at the ready. To anyone watching, it seemed like he was throwing all of his remaining strength into a single, rash strike. His movements carried an urgency that made the desperation look real. 

Thanos watched him, unimpressed. Heroes had previously risen to the occasion, defiant, only to crumble beneath his strength. Confidence radiated from him as he raised his own swords, showing off all the power he had. He did not even move, waiting for Tony’s attack, just as he had done so many times before, sure he would just swap it away easily.

But he was mistaken.

The nanotech blade, shimmering and deadly, was not meant to harm him. It was not even aimed with precision. It was just another performance designed to keep Thanos’ full, unwavering attention. The Titan's gaze remained fixed on the sword, his focus narrowed to the energy weapon speeding toward him. He failed to see Tony's other hand, steady and focused, reaching for what truly mattered.

In one fluid, almost imperceptible motion, Tony’s hand moved with precision, not tugging or yanking but taking. The stones seemed to leap into his palm, as if they had been waiting for him, as if they had a will of their own and had finally grown weary of the destruction Thanos had created in their name.

It was an instant rush. His whole body was aflame with the energy of the stones as their power poured through him like a raging torrent. Every nerve, every fibre of his being screamed in a pain like no other as the raw, infinite power surged through his too fragile human body. He could hear Jarvis’ voice somewhere in the background, but the only sound he could really hear was the frantic beating of his own heart. 

For a moment, he felt the stones, their power, their purpose. They were as old as the universe itself. They were woven with the very fabric of creation itself, and for a brief, fleeing second, Tony could almost swear they were alive. They came to him, but why? The question lingered in the back of his mind, a puzzle for another time. If there was another time.

He knew in his heart. That was the end. There would be no walking away from this. Such power was beyond the capabilities of the human body. Every second he spent holding the stones was a step further on the path toward hell. He could feel his life slipping away, each weak heartbeat slower than the last.

It was as if he were burning alive from the inside out, every inch of his being consumed by a fire that was far beyond anything mortal flesh could endure. The pain was blinding, so all-encompassing that it should have reduced him to nothing more than a screaming, writhing mess. And yet, somehow, he remained lucid, his mind racing as usual.

Perhaps he had gone into shock. Perhaps the pain was so much that he was unable to fully process it, and had detached himself from his body entirely. He could see everything with a strange, clinical detachment, as though he was witnessing an experiment rather than being the man who had just taken on the power of the universe itself. 

He could see it almost. The stones were not just burning him. They were breaking him apart at the most fundamental level. Each cell in his body screamed out in agony as it was flooded with raw, unfiltered energy. It was a slow, merciless process, molecule by molecule. His nerves were ablaze, his muscles locked in spasms that should have torn them apart, but his body refused to give in. Not yet.

He needed to think of a wish, something powerful, something precise, something that would make the snap of his fingers worth everything. It had to be perfect. His mind raced, even as his body burned with the power of the stones. Every second stretched into an eternity. What was there to ask for? What should he ask for? Winning the fight was not the only goal here. It was about saving everyone. Everyone.

He had to get it right.

His hand trembled as he managed to turn to face the Titan, who now realised what had happened. Thanos’ eyes widened in disbelief, and then fury. For the first time, the Mad Titan hesitated, his confidence cracking beneath the weight of what had just slipped through his fingers. Thanos was talking of inevitability a moment ago. The Irony.

Despite the pain he was experiencing, Tony's lips formed the tiniest smile. “I am Iron Man.” He said, as he took a deep, shaky breath, ignoring everything else. 

His mind thought about the thousands of things, all as important as the other. He snapped his fingers, thinking about destroying Thanos’ armies forever, every single one of them, about all the lives that should not have been taken by his quest of balance, about doubling the resources of the universe so nobody else would go on the same path ever again. Tony could only hope the Infinity Stones were able to do all that. The stones seemed to hum louder, their power building up, probably doing what he had asked. 

And then he sensed it. Something new, something that cut through the searing pain ripping through his body. It was like a wave of cool water extinguishing a blazing fire, a balm soothing the unbearable heat that had been consuming him from the inside out. 

It was not just relief. Something else, something much bigger, was involved. He could feel it in every nerve, every molecule. Two immense powers were colliding within him, battling for dominance, neither willing to back down. The stones were not finished with him, probably not finished with the changes he had asked for. But now, something new was helping fight back.

His vision, which had blurred because of the pain, began to clear. Slowly at first, like the morning breaking through heavy clouds. He could see again, not just shapes and colours, but clarity, detail. He saw the battlefield stretching before him, the chaos that was still raging in every direction. He finally noticed something strange.

A beam of green light.

It struck him directly in the center of his chest, where his arc reactor had once been. It was healing him, or at least trying to balance what the stones were doing to him. His eyes darted to the source, and he saw him, a figure standing in the distance, bathed in green light, his hand outstretched. His face was determined, frowning because of the effort the spell was asking out of him.

Of all the people who could have come to Tony’s aid in this moment, Loki would have been the absolute last name on his list. The God of Mischief, the man who had once thrown him through the bay window of his new-built tower. And yet, there he was. The last Tony had heard of Loki, he had been in some sleep no one had managed or dared wake him up from. 

Loki’s face was pale, his eyes narrowed in sharp focus. Whatever power he was wielding was not coming easily, but somehow, the mage stood firm. His magic was concentrated into one beam towards Tony. One by one, golden light shot outward from closeby positions, aiming for the God.

It was not an attack. Mages all around the battlefield were sharing their own energy so the healing spell Loki was casting would last, would be enough. Loki seemed to draw strength from it, standing just a bit taller. Some closer to Tony aimed directly at him. He could feel mending what had been broken, holding together what had been unraveling under the stones’ immense power. 

The Mad Titan sat down on a jagged piece of rubble, his massive frame slumping as if the weight of the universe had finally crushed him. He was beaten, his golden gauntlet empty, useless at his side. For the first time, Thanos looked small, diminished, weak.

His eyes met Tony's. There was no anger in Thanos’ eyes, no desperation. Only quiet acceptance. He knew. He had lost.

Thanos gave a small nod, as if in reluctant respect, before his body began to disintegrate. His hands first crumbled into dust, followed by his arms and shoulders, until all that remained were his solemn eyes, locked on Tony until the very end.

And then, he was gone.

Chapter Text

Steve did not want to fight Bucky, not because he was afraid of him, and not even because of the deep bond they were meant to share. No, sentiment and fear had nothing to do with it. It was because, at that moment, Bucky simply did not matter. The battlefield was chaotic, but Steve’s focus had narrowed to a singular purpose. Stark was fighting Thanos, and while the Mad Titan was formidable enough to potentially end that fight on his own terms, Stark was Steve’s to kill. That was not ego. It was a necessity.

There was unfinished business between them. For years, Steve had fought against everything that Stark represented. Stark was a bully who used his wealth and reputation to further his own agenda. And he had a knack for putting himself in Steve’s path.

Killing Stark would not just be personal satisfaction. It would elevate him in Thanos’ eyes, proving his loyalty and value to a cause that demanded sacrifice and absolute commitment. But even that was not the whole truth. Deep down, Steve was thinking beyond the battlefield, beyond the immediate victory. He was thinking about his future. 

Steve was not stupid. He understood the cost of his choices and the consequences of the path he was walking. Going out into space, becoming part of Thanos’ vision for the universe, it would demand sacrifices, changes, perhaps even to his body itself. The idea was not foreign to him. He had already undergone one life-altering transformation in his time. The serum that turned him into Captain America had been a painful, gruelling process, but he endured it. The end result had been worthwhile. 

This would be no different. Whatever modifications were required to survive the void of space, whatever augmentations he needed to adapt to a life beyond Earth, he could handle it. He would handle it. It was almost ironic, really. Stark, with all his genius, would most likely know the answers. Stark would have known exactly what living in space would ask of a human being, how to overcome the limitations of their body in an hostile environment. 

But Stark was not his ally anymore, if he had ever been really. When Steve first awoke from the ice, Tony had been a stepping stone, he quickly turned into an obstacle standing between Steve and the future he had chosen to fight for.

And then there was Bucky.

It was not the first time Bucky had betrayed him. And so, it was not the first time Steve had to stop him. They had different ideals. If Steve was to move forward, if he was to take the place he deserved by Thanos’ side, there could be no loose ends. Bucky was now a liability once more. This time, Steve was ending him, once and for all. 

Bucky stood before him once again, his face bruised and blood dripping from his split lip. The Winter Soldier did not retreat. On the contrary. He was coming back for more. The metal arm gleamed in the pale light of the battlefield. Each strike that Bucky delivered felt like a sledgehammer, sending shockwaves up Steve’s arm as he blocked with his shield. He could feel the raw power behind every swing. The arm was remarkable, no doubt.

But Steve also knew it was Bucky’s weakness.

Without the arm, Bucky was vulnerable, less than a baseline human, stripped of the enhancements that made him formidable. Steve was aware of this and would make use of it. He was the kind of man who exploited every advantage, and did whatever was necessary to achieve his goal. 

The two clashed with ferocity, trading blows one after the other. Everything else faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was their fight. Bucky was clearly fighting with everything he had. He continued to beat against the shield Steve was hiding behind, the flesh of his fist getting bruised and bloodied. He did not stop. Each time he used his metal arm, Steve had been watching, calculating. Every swing of that arm, every mechanical movement, was a potential opening. 

The time has finally arrived. With a hit to Steve's head, Bucky went a little too far. Rogers ducked, turned, dropped the shield, and grasped the metal arm with both hands. His grip was ironclad as he planted his feet in the dirt and yanked with all his strength. 

The arm did not budge, locked tightly in place. But that did not deter Steve. His grip tightened, fingers digging into the cold metal as though sheer force of will could overcome the reinforced alloy. His jaw clenched, muscles straining as he poured every ounce of his strength into the effort. 

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be. You have already lost anyway,” Steve spat out, his words icy.

Bucky let out a bitter laugh. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, go ahead. But you are wrong. There is no version of this where you come out on top.”

This fight was taking too much time, and Steve knew it. Every second he spent grappling with Bucky felt like sand slipping through an hourglass, precious moments he could not afford to lose. His eyes shifted to Stark, who was moving with the kind of reckless desperation that only came when someone knew they were down to their final option. Tony intended to launch a final, desperate assault against Thanos. 

Steve clenched his jaw. He was bored with the whole thing now. He could not wait for the Mad Titan to snap his fingers. He had seen enough of Stark’s theatrics and ways to know that he should never have the power to wield all the stones. Now was the time for Thanos to put an end to everything. 

Perhaps, this time, Steve would not have his victory against Stark. But even if it had been nice to win against him, but, in the end, it made little difference. There would be other chances, countless ways to prove his loyalty and strength to Thanos. The Titan valued results above all else, and Steve would find a way to deliver them. It would not be exactly a loss if Thanos snapped before Steve had the opportunity to end Stark anyway.  

But then Steve noticed something that froze him mid-thought, allowing Bucky to land a punch. Thanos was.. Sitting down? Why? The Mad Titan, seemingly a mountain of relentless power and determination, had settled onto a large piece of rubble as though the fight no longer concerned him. His massive shoulders slumped slightly, his eyes still locked on Stark, but with a strange look that did not match the little Steve knew about him. 

And then Steve saw Loki.

The god of mischief, someone Steve had written off as irrelevant and defeated, probably dead, was standing at a distance, his hands raised, green light pouring from his fingertips. But Thanos was not the target of his magic. It was pointing straight towards Stark. 

Steve’s heart pounded fast in his chest as he processed the scene. What was Loki up to? He was assisting Stark, but why? And why did it appear like they were both working against the Titan? 

He was incredibly close to Stark, yet impossibly far. No matter what he did against Bucky, he could not reach them in time. All of his life, Barnes had been a pain in Steve's side, and now, he was still fighting him, throwing himself into their fight with an unrelenting fury. Steve gave a frustrated groan. 

“Why don’t you just die already?” Steve roared, his voice raw with frustration and fury. He was sick of it, fed up with Bucky, with Stark, with all of those standing in his way. Every second they delayed him was another second that dragged him farther away from his plans. 

Bucky grunted. “You need to be stopped, Steve,” he spat, his voice sharp and defiant. “I should have let you drown in the Potomac.”

He felt it before he saw it, the creeping sensation of his body unraveling, piece by piece. The pain was almost unbearable. The serum coursing through his veins roared in defiance, fighting harder than ever before. It pushed back against the invisible force trying to erase him, to kill everything that he was. With all the energy it could manage, it attempted to fix what had been undone. But even the serum had limits.

Something greater, something vast, unrelenting and inevitable was at work. A power he could not comprehend was dismantling him at a cellular level. Around him, the battlefield changed, fights coming to a stop. Once a formidable force of brutality, Thanos' army was now crumbling into dust, their shapes disappearing into thin air as if they had never been there. The last of them was carried away, almost too gently, by a mild breeze. 

Steve’s mind raced, panic taking over him. Whatever Stark had done, whatever desperate move he had pulled, it was working. And it was not just targeting Thanos’ forces. It was targeting him. It was so like Stark, so petty, to take his ultimate revenge like that.

He staggered back a couple of steps, gripping his shield tightly as if holding onto it could anchor him here and there. But it was futile. Bucky was looking at him, his face blank, feeling nothing for his oldest friend. Steve’s fingers began to fade, the edges of his form breaking apart into nothingness. A burning rage ignited within him, more intense than any battle he had ever been in.

The look in Steve’s eyes as he was being dusted was one of pure, unbridled hatred, a hatred so deep, so all-consuming, Bucky could not quite understand it. His look was directed towards Tony, the person he hated the most than anyone else in that moment. Even as he was dying, being erased from existence, with no chance this time to be found later, his final thoughts burned with a single desire, one that screamed that Stark should be dead. He should have died by his hand.

And yet, Tony stood. Bucky was going to carry on. Bloodied, exhausted, but alive.

Steve had no intention of begging. It would not change anything, and he had no intention of giving anyone the pleasure of seeing him plead. He would face it the same way he had lived his life, on his terms. The edges of his vision blurred as his body continued to unravel. The serum inside him fought valiantly,  but it was a losing battle.

Steve did not feel defeated. Not truly. He had chosen his side, made his sacrifices, and for a time, he had believed in his cause. Being a hero or a villain was not the point. Those were just titles, meaningless in the grand scheme of things. What mattered was the end goal, not the way to get there. 

Stark and Barnes might have won the day, and the planet might be somewhat safe for now, but Steve did not fool himself with the notion that it would last. Humans were their own worst enemies. They loved to fight, against each other, against nature, against the inevitable. They thrived on conflict, and in the end, their undoing would come from within.

Steve knew this as surely as he knew the sun would rise tomorrow, though he would not be there to see it. Without him, without someone strong enough to make the hard choices, to do what was necessary, their happy ending would crumble. It might not happen today or even tomorrow, but it will. And when it did, there would be no one left to save them.

His lips twisted into a tiny, hardly noticeable smile as the last of his body vanished into thin air. The world would miss him but it would be too late. He was going to see Stark and Barnes again. He did not doubt that. In Hell.

The shield, the only thing left of Captain America, shined in the light, in the middle of a pile of ashes.

As the last traces of Steve’s form vanished into the air, Bucky turned his back without hesitation, already pushing the memories of that man out of his mind forever. Rogers was finally gone, and to Bucky, that meant that particular chapter of his life was closed. There were more important people out there still fighting, still living, and they needed him.

Bucky’s breath came in short gasps, as he looked around the battlefield. Smoke and chaos surrounded him. Rhodey and Peter were on his mind, and he would find them soon. But above all, he thought of Tony. The genius was his everything, the man who had refused to give up on him, who had believed him when all those months ago, a weird dangerous man had braged into his home to warn him about Rogers.

When he finally spotted him, Bucky’s heart shattered.

Tony was on his knees, the Infinity Stones somehow embedded in his gauntlet, the green magic still enveloping his frame that looked at that moment way too frail. His face was pale, and his breath seemed to be coming in shallow gasps. Tony’s eyes were fixed ahead of him, but it was as if he was not seeing anything, as if he was not totally there anymore.

Bucky’s stomach twisted. He was scared to know what this meant. Tony had given up on everything to protect the people he loved, to save the world, even if it meant sacrificing himself.

But the fate of the world could not be the cost. Not Tony.

Chapter Text

The best way to explain where he was would be a cloud, one of the fluffy ones on a lazy summer day, drifting without purpose, weightless. Everything was warm, bright, and impossibly light, as if gravity itself had decided to take the day off. It was peaceful, comforting in a way he had hardly ever known, if ever.

This was not how he had been imagining the afterlife. Not enough flames. No pitchforks, no demons crackling over his eternal torment. No screaming souls begging for mercy. With the life he had led, Tony Fucking Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, Merchant of Death, there was no he ended up in Heaven. That was not how things were meant to work.

It was not exactly to believe in all that when fighting alongside a literal Norse god, defending literal stones that could rewrite existence with a snap of the fingers. 

More than anything, he noticed what was not there. No pain. No exhaustion. No dull ache in his chest. And no searing burn in his arms from the Infinity Stones. He could not remember ever feeling this good.

He felt oddly calm. There was no fear, no panic clawing at his chest, no anxiety demanding to know whether his snap had worked the way he intended. That ever-present whisper in the back of his mind, the one that had haunted him since Afghanistan, telling him he could have done more, should have done more, was gone. Simply… gone.

For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no weight pressing down on him. No expectations, no impossible choices resting on his shoulders. Everything was warm, light, just perfect. He could get used to this.

“You won’t stay here for much longer.”

The voice was soft, gentle, but there was something in the tone that made the words absolute. A certainty laced into the simple words, like a truth that had already been decided whether Tony liked it or not. 

Tony turned around, expecting to find someone, something. He was not sure what. Perhaps some kind of celestial being? A figure in white robes with a glowing aura? Perhaps, like in the movies, his mother would come to guide him to the next place, through a tunnel of light. Then again, with his luck, Howard would be the one to come, to drag him to Hell. That would be fighting.

Instead, he found himself staring at dancing lights. Six of them to be exact. “Who are you?” He asked, more curious than cautious. Because if he was already dead, what was the worst that could happen? But also because those were obviously the Stones, and they had something to tell him.

The voice echoed in his mind, as if it came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was neither male nor female, neither young nor old. It simply was. “You were very clever with your snap,” the voice told him, approving. “We appreciate it. Rare were the ones who asked for something so selfless before. We wished to reward you.”

Tony stood still, his breath catching in his throat. Memories of pain, the snap, the all-consuming agony as the power of the Infinity Stones coursed through his body, tearing him apart even as he held on long enough to save the universe. He had done it without hesitation, without regret. But selfless? No. That was not how he saw his actions.

“It was quite selfish of me,” Tony replied, his voice quiet but firm. “I just wanted to save my family.”

The voice seemed to pause, as if considering his words. When it spoke again, there was a hint of curiosity, or even admiration perhaps. “Selfish? No. To love so deeply, to sacrifice so completely for those you hold dear… That is not selfishness. You did not seek power, nor glory, nor domination. You sought only to protect. And in doing so, you saved countless others.”

Tony shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Yeah, well, I’ve made more mistakes than I can count. Hurt so many. Hell, I built weapons that ended up in the wrong hands, and killed millions. I’m not exactly poster material for selflessness.”

“And yet,” the voice countered, its tone gentle but insistent. “You learned. You grew. You tried to right your wrongs, not out of obligation, but out of a genuine desire to do better. That is why you were chosen. That is why you succeeded where others failed.”

Tony’s chest tightened. He thought of Bucky, Peter and Rhodey. He thought of the life he had built, the life he wanted with them. “I didn’t do it to be chosen,” he said quietly. “I did it because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. Because I couldn’t let them down. Not again.”

The voice lingered in the air, always changing. “You will be returned to your family,” it declared, with quiet authority and finality. “Time has seen it. Not everyday will be easy, but you will have a long, fulfilling life with the ones you love. This is our gift to you. A second chance, not just for yourself, but for them as well.”

A second chance. A life where he could watch his son grow up into the wonderful man he was always meant to be, where he could hold Bucky’s hand and know that the fight was finally over for the both of them, where Rhodey would finally be at peace seeing his little brother go on to have a quiet life. A quieter one at the least. It had everything he had ever wanted, but it felt almost too much to accept.

Emotion  welled up inside him, threatening to choke him. He was not good with that kind of conversation. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he could not speak. When he finally found his voice, it was soft, barely more than a whisper. “Thank you.”

The words were not enough to express his gratitude, but they were all he had. And somehow, he knew the stones understood. The voice continued. “We will leave your planet,” it said, “and hide better this time. We do not wish to be used by the mad ones ever again. The power we hold is too great, too dangerous, to fall into the wrong hands. This is our decision. Live well.”

Tony was stunned into silence, a rare moment when he actually did not know what to say. He wanted to express his gratitude more, put words on those feelings that swelled in his chest, to ask questions that might never be answered. But before he could find the right words, he felt it, a sudden shift, as if the universe itself had reached out and grabbed him.

Everything turned to black.

It was abrupt, disorienting, like being yanked out of one reality and thrust into another. His body, or his soul, or whatever part of him had been talking with the stones, was hurled backward with a force that left him disoriented. For a moment, there was nothing but darkness and the sensation of movement, worse than the craziest rollercoaster ever. 

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. 

The first thing he heard was a voice, young, frantic, desperate. “Mr Stark!” It was Peter. Of course it was Peter. The kid’s voice cracked with emotion, and Tony could hear the tears in it. “I can hear his heartbeat! He’s coming back!”

Tony’s senses began to return slowly, like a heavy fog slowly lifting. He felt the weight of his body again, the hardness of the ground beneath him. His skin prickled, a shiver moving from his head to his toes. Everything felt strange. Unfamiliar, even though it should not have been. It was as if he had been floating in that weird cloud for too long, and now the reality of his heavy body was almost too much to bear.

He forced himself to open his eyes, blinking rapidly against the harsh light. His vision was blurry for a moment before focusing on the face hovering above him. Peter. The kid’s eyes were red, his cheeks streaked with tears, but his smile, wide and impossibly bright, lit up his entire face. He was visibly relieved to see his mentor, his father back to the land of living. Tony’s chest tightened at the sight. He had never meant for the kid to go through yet another devastating loss.

“Hey, kid,” Tony croaked, his voice rough and unfamiliar to his own ears. “Time to call me Tony don’t you think?” He tried to sit up, but his body protested, every muscle feeling like it had been stretched too thin.

“Whoa, whoa, take it easy!” Peter said, his hands fluttering nervously as if he was not sure whether to help Tony up or keep him lying down. “You’ve been… you’ve been gone for a minute. Like, a really scary minute. Don’t try to move too fast, okay?”

Tony did not try to move anymore. The kid was way too worried as it was. His gaze shifted, and he noticed Bucky just being. He looked like he had been through hell. His face was pale, making his split lip stand out all the more. His expression was a mix of exhaustion, love and pure relief. There was also guilt in his eyes, probably thinking he should have done more. His hands were clenched at his side, as if he were holding himself back.

No one spoke. Emotions were high, and the words were not coming. Tony did not need an explanation to understand what had happened. The way Peter and Bucky were looking at him made it all clear.

For a moment, Tony had died. 

“Guys,” Tony said, his voice softer now. “I’m okay. I’m here. We’re okay.”

The words were simple, direct and true, but Tony knew they would not be enough. Not for Peter, who was still hovering close enough that Tony could feel the kid’s nervous energy radiating off him in waves. Not for Bucky, who stood a few steps back, his arms now crossed tightly over his chest like he was trying to hold himself together. And honestly, not for Tony himself, who could still feel the ghost of the Stone’ s power coursing through him, a faint echo of the painful snap that had cost his life and brought him back.

No, those words were not going to cut it. Not now, and probably not for a long while. 

Tony could already see it. The way Peter’s eyes kept darting to him, like he was afraid Tony might vanish if he looked away for too long. The way Bucky’s seemed to want to come to him, but was holding himself back, as if he were bracing for something to go wrong. 

They were going to be insufferable, both of them. Helicopter parents in the making, ready to ask if he was alright every other minute, check in on him at random just to make sure, overall being concerned for his well being both physically and mentally. Totally the kind of attention that would have driven Tony up the wall on a normal day. He was not exactly the type to sit still, be pretty, and let people fuss over him. But this time? It was different.

For once, Tony was ready to let them.

He was tired. not just the kind of exhaustion that came from pulling an all-nighter in the lab. There was nothing major to prepare for anymore. The army he had seen on the other side of the portal during the battle of New York had just been defeated. He had given his everything for so long. And now that it was over, he just wanted to breathe, to have time to appreciate all that life could bring him, and let  someone else take the reins for a while.

The adrenaline ran off all of a sudden in Peter’s body and tears came back. “Mr. Stark, I just… I mean, you were… And I thought…”

Tony reached out, pulling the kid into a hug. “Hey. Breathe, kid. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

Peter melted in the embrace, swallowing hard to keep more tears at bay. “You scared us so much. Like, really scared us.”

Bucky took a shaky breath, and finally moved forward. When he reached them, he lowered himself to his knees. Gently, almost cautiously, Bucky reached out, wrapping his arms around them both in a tight embrace. For a moment, they all allowed themselves to feel the weight of their connection, the unbreakable bond they shared. His eyes stung with unshed tears. He never wanted to pull away. 

“Let’s hope we don’t have to do that ever again.” Tony said, half jokingly. “Alright. I can’t believe I’m saying that, but it might be time to take me to the med bay before I faint like a princess again. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Peter snorted, half laughing, half sobbing. “Yeah, sure. Because the guy who just saved the universe totally needs to worry about his reputation.”

“Excuse you,” Tony answered, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know that my reputation is hard-earned through years of being a sarcastic genius.”

Bucky shook his head in amusement while Peter rolled his eyes. They both helped Tony stand up and walk away from the battlefield. He could see Strange and Loki standing together, Rhodey outside his armour almost running toward him, leaving military personnel behind him. Tony did not look around to see the extent of the destruction.

There would be questions, a lot to do in the aftermath of the battle, a lot of reconstruction, lives to rebuild. But those were problems for another day, or for somebody else altogether.

Peter started asking Tony if he was in pain, rambling about potential wounds and bruises. Bucky was carrying him more than actually supporting his weight and that despite the Iron Man armour. Yeah, they were going to be mother hens. But for once, he did not mind. Not at all.

He was ready to get pampered. Ready to rest. Ready to live.

Chapter Text

“Stark should not be in such good health even with an amplified healing spell.” Strange said in a professional, detached tone, as though he were discussing a medical anomaly rather than a living, breathing person. He looked at Loki, who was standing next to him with his arms crossed, his expression a mix of curiosity and mild irritation. The two sorcerers might have been mortal enemies once, but no they spoke as colleagues, two doctors dissecting a perplexing case. 

Loki nodded, curiosity in his eyes. “As much as it pains me to agree with you, Strange, no, he should not. Healing magic is hardly my area of expertise, but even I can recognise that the extent of his recovery defies all logic. The power of the Infinity Stones…. it’s greater than anything this universe has ever known. No magic can come close to what they can achieve.” 

“This is quite remarkable.” Strange carried on. “I wonder if there is more than just healing at play here.”

Tony, lying propped up in the med bay, rolled his eyes. He hated being talked about as if he were not in the room. “Guys,” he interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I already explained it to you. The stones talked to me. They said they chose to bring me back. I guess good health is part of the package deal. Call it a cosmic warranty, although I doubt we can call customer service on that one.”

He shifted in his bed uncomfortably. Tony was not too fond of med bays and hospitals. And now, he had two sorcerers debating his case at the bottom of his bed. They were all wasting his time. Tony had always been a man of action, a builder, always tinkering with something in the workshop. Now, he felt trapped.

To make matters worse, or better, depending on who you asked, Bucky and Peter were stationed at the door like a pair of overzealous bodyguards. Their presence was comforting. Tony knew they were concerned. But they were also determined to keep him in bed, and that was driving him up the wall. They had made it abundantly clear that he was not going anywhere anytime soon, no matter how much he protested.

“Mr. Stark, you literally died. Like, ‘died’ died. I heard your heart stop beating for a long time. You can’t just bounce back from that and pretend everything’s fine. We need to make sure you’re okay.”

Tony groaned internally. That was unfair. They all knew the kid was his weakness. Peter’s big, pleading eyes were like kryptonite to Tony. He could argue with everybody, but when it came to Peter, he was defenseless. The smug smile tugging at Bucky’s lips only confirmed it, clearly enjoying the situation. 

“It’s not that simple, Stark,” Strange finally said, his voice calm but firm. He stepped closer to the bed, his cloak shifting slightly in a non-existing wind. “The Infinity Stones don’t just hand out second chances without a cost. There’s always a price. We need to understand what’s happened to you.”

Loki, casually, added his two cents. "And if the stones have indeed chosen you, as you claim, then you might be more than just a man now. You could be a vessel for something far greater. That is not something you can just shrug off.”

Tony sighed heavily, sinking back into the pillows, wishing they could swallow him whole. “Great. So now I’m a cosmic guinea pig. Just what I always wanted. Just don’t turn into mad scientists, or sorcerers, whatever you are…” He gestured vaguely at Strange and Loki, his tone both sarcastic and tired. 

Bucky, who had been watching the conversation in silence, could not resist chiming in. "You’re special like that," he said, his voice laced with amusement. The corners of his mouth twitched into a half-smile, and Tony could tell he was enjoying this far too much.

Tony responded by sticking his tongue out at Bucky, a childish gesture that only made the other man’s smile grow wider. "Real mature, Stark," Bucky shot back. And then after a moment of reflection, he just stuck his own tongue back.

They smiled widely at each other in that moment, just proving once more their connections. Warmth took over the playfulness. For a second, they were back in the world of their own, just happy to be in each other's presence.

But of course, Strange had to ruin it. 

“Can you save the… disgusting flirting for later?” Strange interjected, his tone dry and unamused. “We’re in the middle of a potentially universe-altering situation, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Loki, the God of Mischief, could not resist taking the opportunity to stir the pot.

He walked slowly toward Strange, moving into the sorcerer’s space, his long fingers slightly brushing against the other man’s forearm. “Oh, come now, Doctor,” he purred. “Don’t be jealous. If it’s attention you crave, I’d be more than happy to flirt with you instead. I’m sure I could find a way to make you blush beneath that stoic facade of yours.”

Tony, who never misses an opportunity to make fun, chimed in with a grin. “Lighten up, Merlin. You’re just mad because no one’s flirting with you. Admit it, you’re jealous of my natural charisma.”

Strange sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed. “Please. As if I would be so easily swayed.”

Loki, clearly enjoying the banter, decided to escalate things. “Doctor…” He said, his voice low and teasing. “You wound me with your indifference. Surely you can spare a moment to appreciate my…. unique chars. Or are you afraid I might actually succeed in winning you over?”

Strange answered, clearly exasperated. “Loki, if you don’t stop talking in the next five seconds, I’m opening a portal to the deepest, darkest dimension I can find and leaving you there.”

Loki placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "You're quite cruel. I was kind enough to try to help you and be a good person for once. Clearly, I was mistaken.” He went off sulking, all for the game.

Tony laughed, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Oh, this is gold. I’m starting to think having you around might not be so bad after all, Reindeer Games. You’re like a walking soap opera.”

Strange tried to press Tony with more questions, but it quickly became clear that even the Sorcerer Supreme was out of his depth. The Infinity Stones were beyond anything they had seen before. Even his understanding of the Time Stone was limited. The situation was frustrating. He stepped back after a few more fruitless attempts, his mind already racing toward a solution.

“I need to consult the archives at Kamar-Taj. If there’s any record of something like this happening, any clue, it’ll be there.” Strange suddenly decided.

With a quick movement of his hands, he conjured a portal, the golden sparks moving into a perfect circle that revealed the endless ancient bookshelves. The scent of old parchment and incense floated in the med bay, so different from the sterile air that always came with hospitals. Strange stepped toward it, but before he could cross the threshold, Loki’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait,” Loki said, his eyes gleaming with sudden interest. The sheer amount of books he could see through that relatively small portal peaked his curiosity. “If you’re going to dig through your little sorcerer’s cache of knowledge, you might as well let me help. Two minds are better than one, after all. And let’s be honest, Doctor, my knowledge in seidr might just be greater than yours.”

Strange paused, turning to give Loki a skeptical look. “You want to help? Forgive me if I don’t exactly trust your motives, Loki.”

“I’ve just helped save the universe, a universe I happen to live in, might I add,” Loki said, his tone full of sarcasm and a hint of self-satisfaction. He clapped his hands behind his back, his posture more rigid. “If anything, making sure that everything continues to go well is simply ensuring my continued existence. And I’d rather not die, thank you very much. So, you see, my motives are perfectly aligned with yours.”

Strange raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Forgive me if I don’t immediately trust the word of the God of Lies. Your track record isn’t exactly stellar.”

Loki smirked, undeterred. “Come now, Strange. My reputation was overly exaggerated, especially in that folklore of yours. I’ve turned over a new leaf, as they say. Besides, are you so prideful that you’d rather spend hours sifting through dusty tomes alone than accept my assistance? Two minds are better than one, especially when one of those minds happens to be mine.”

“Does that mean you did not give birth to a horse?” Tony asked, half intrigued, half teasing. 

Strange glanced at Tony, his patience wearing thin. He did not say anything and Loki did not dignify Tony’s question with an answer. He simply raised an eyebrow, full of amusement but also disdain. “Shall we focus on the matter at hand, or are we going to indulge Stark’s indulge childish curiosity all day?” He pressed on.

Tony grinned unabashedly. “Come on, Reindeer Games. Don’t be shy. It’s a valid question. Mythology is weird, and you’re basically its poster child.”

“Fine,” Strange said finally, his tone begrudging. “But if you so much as think about stealing anything in that library, I’ll personally banish you to the Dark Dimension for a century. Trust me, you won’t enjoy it.”

Loki’s lips curled into a sly smile, his eyes full of mischief. “Duly noted,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing. He gestured toward the portal with a dramatic flourish, his movements as theatrical as ever. “Shall we, then? Time is of the essence.”

As the two sorcerers stepped through the portal, Tony called after them, his voice laced with mock desperation. “Hey, don’t forget about me while you’re off playing magical detectives! I’d rather not be stuck here forever, you know. Some of us have a life to get back to.”

Strange did not even turn around, his voice echoing back through the portal as it began to close. “Don’t worry, Stark. We’ll figure this out. Just try not to cause any trouble while we’re gone.”

The portal closed behind them with a faint *whoosh*, leaving Tony, Bucky, and Peter alone in the med bay. Tony leaned back against the pillows, muttering under his breath, “You know guys, those two teaming up is kinda terrifying. This can’t possibly end well.”

Bucky, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, chuckled softly. “Yeah, I give it about ten minutes before they start trying to out-magic each other. Place your bets now on who’s gonna blow something up first.”

Peter moved toward one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs, perching on the edge of it, looking between Tony and Bucky with wide eyes. “Do you really think they’ll fight? I kinda thought they were more on the… “Make love, not war” approach, you know?” He said it so earnestly that it was almost endearing, though the implication immediately made Tony choke a little.

Bucky just laughed, freely and true. “What kind of fanfiction have you been reading, kid? ‘Cause it looked to me that Strange would rather throw himself into that Dark Dimension he’s going on about than even consider that kind of relationship with Loki.”

Tony looked up at Bucky like he had just grown a second head. “Wait, hold up. I can’t even believe you know about fanfiction. Seriously, Bucky?”

Bucky simply shrugged. “What can I say? I've been catching up on the times. Turns out, the internet’s got a lot of… interesting stuff. And fanfiction is not a bad way to learn about the present. People write about everything. Everything.” He emphasized the last word with a pointed look, his smirk widening. “Let’s just say there are some interesting stories about you and me. Like, a lot of them. Some pretty specific, if you know what I mean…”

“Nope!” Peter interrupted, putting his hands on his ears. “Nope, nope, nope. I don’t need to hear this. I don’t want to know about the parents doing that kind of thing. No, no, no, no….”

“If we are your parents, who is the motherly one? Tony asked. “I mean, we’ve gotta figure out the dynamic here, right?”

Bucky’s response was blunt, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and delivered with the kind of deadpan expression that only he could pull off. “Well, if fanfiction is our reference here… you’re the mum. I’m the dad.”

Tony blinked, momentarily speechless. “Excuse me? I’m the mum? Oh, nope. If anything, you’re the mum. You have that secretly nurturing thing going on. I’m the cool dad. The fun one. The one who buys the kids stuff to explode in the lab.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Cool dad? Tony, you literally built the kid a suit with a function called ‘Training Wheels’. You are the mum.”

Before Tony could fire back with another retort, Peter, who had been quietly sitting in the corner trying to disappear into the background, suddenly shot up from his chair. “That’s it! I’m out!” he declared, his voice a mix of embarrassment and exasperation. “I’m going to find some food, and when I come back, that conversation will be done and over. Forever!”

Tony turned to him, his grin widening as he saw Peter’s flushed face. “Come on, Baby Spider! Don’t leave now! I need to know more! Who do you think is the mum? Be honest.”

But Peter was already gone. 

It felt good to laugh, to be silly, to go back to who they were before Thanos. They both knew there were still serious conversations to be had. But for now, they could be just them. 

That was all they ever wanted.

Chapter Text

The next few days passed in a weird, almost surreal mix of emotions, frustration, love and an undeniable sense of waiting. It seemed as if time itself had slowed down, stretching moments indefinitely. Tony, confined to his medical bed, became the focus of attention of too many people. 

Bucky was there at every moment, full of love and care. He filled the hours in between visits from the wizards, Peter and Rhodey, with distractions, light-hearted chats, shared memories, and even some movie marathons. Anything to keep Tony’s mind from drifting too far away and keep the man in his bed. Bucky always found a way to show his love in the little things. He kept on rearranging Tony’s pillows, brought him meals, or just stayed by his side, cuddling him in silence. The love between them was stronger than ever, especially in those intimate moments. 

But, despite the warmth and affection, the elephant in the room just grew bigger with each passing day. 

The unspoken conversation, the one they both knew they needed to have, stayed stubbornly out of reach. Bucky seemed to have drawn an invisible line, refusing to cross it as long as Tony was kept in the med bay. Perhaps it was to respect Tony’s recovery, or maybe it was Bucky’s own way of avoiding the inevitable. Whatever the reason, they both knew they needed to talk.

Tony had never been especially good at navigating the murky waters of emotional conversations. He always preferred action and deflections over the messy, complicated feelings that often left him exposed in ways he was not comfortable with. But this time, he could not avoid it any longer. The weight of what needed to be told was beginning to take its toll, and he knew that waiting any longer would only make things worse. 

He sensed it in the air, in the way Bucky talked around the topic. Tony was not blind and knew Bucky was mad at him. How can he not be? Tony had risked everything, snapping his fingers with the Infinity Stones, fully aware that it could cost him his life. The fact that he was still alive, still breathing, still here was nothing short of a miracle. But that did not erase the fear and the heartbreak he had undoubtedly put Bucky through.

Tony could only imagine what it must have been like for Bucky to watch him in that moment, to see him snap without hesitation. The memory of it was still hard on Tony, but for Bucky, it must have been a nightmare come to life. Tony knew what it was like to love someone so much that the thought of losing them was paralysing. Since knowing Bucky, he had felt it himself, more time than he cared to admit. And now, he had put the love of his life through the same misery. Of course Bucky was mad. Hell, Tony would have been mad too if the roles were reversed.

It was not just anger. Beneath the frustration and the fear, there was love, so much love. Tony could see it in the way Bucky’s hands lingered a bit too long when he offered him a glass of water, when he adjusted Tony’s blankets, and most of all, in the way he looked at him when he thought Tony was not paying attention. It was there in the quiet moments, the unsaid words, in the way Bucky needed to stay by his side all the time. That love was what made the conversion so hard, and yet, so necessary. It could not stay buried, not anymore.

“I know you’re mad at me, Bucky,” Tony began, his voice softer than usual. He sat propped up in the medical bed, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. His eyes flicked up to meet Bucky’s, searching for something, anything. Anger, forgiveness, understanding. He was not sure what he expected, but he knew he had to say it. He had to get it out. “I know I scared you. I know I… I had to make that choice. It was about everyone, Rhodey, Peter and you, and I…”

“Actually, I’m not,” Bucky interrupted, his voice steady but carrying a heavy weight. The soldier was awkwardly sitting on a plastic chair, his expression unreadable. There was no anger in his tone, no accusation. “I’m not mad at you. Not really. The hard part is that I actually understand why you did it. I get it. You’ve always been the kind of person who’d throw yourself into the fire if it meant saving someone else. I’m pretty sure you thought that your life against the whole universe was more than fair. Hell, I’d probably have done the same thing if I were in your position. I respect that. I do. But..”

Bucky’s voice faltered for the first time, and he looked away, his jaw tightening as if he were fighting to keep his composure. Words did not come easy to him.

“You were dead, Tony. Even if it was just for a moment, even if it didn’t stick.. You were gone. And I had to stand there, watch you go. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t save you. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

Tony’s breath caught in his throat. He had expected anger, disappointment, maybe even a lecture. But this simple honesty was something else entirely. Bucky’s words cut deeper than any accusation could have. Of course, Tony knew the moment had to be hard, but the words in Bucky’s mouth hit even harder. It was personal. It was real.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They felt as if they were far from enough, too small to carry the weight of everything he was feeling. But they were all he had. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. All of you. I couldn’t let Thanos win. I couldn’t let any of you die because of me. I knew you would be mad, but as long as you were alive, I was okay with it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, there was silence. Heavy, endless. Bucky did not move, did not speak, and Tony wondered if he had said the wrong thing, if he had made it worse. Tony was not good at that whole relationship thing. Of course, he had fucked it up once again. 

But then Bucky let out a long, shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world had finally caught up to him, and reached out for Tony’s hand. His eyes searched for Tony’s, trying to make him understand. “You don’t have to apologise for saving the universe,” Bucky said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “But you have to promise me something. Stop sacrificing yourself. Or at least, if you are going to keep on doing this, please let me come with you, wherever it may take us. Let me help you. Let me be there, so I don’t have to be left behind. Because I can’t do that again, Tony. I can’t.”

Tony swallowed hard, his throat uncomfortably tight all of the sudden. He nodded, because he did not trust himself to speak. He was doing his best to keep the tears at bay. Bucky had effectively reminded him that his life was not just his own anymore. It was tied to Bucky’s, to their love, to the future they were trying to build together. And as much as Tony hated admitting it, he knew Bucky was right. He could not keep doing this alone. 

“Okay,” Tony finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I promise. You’ve got me, Bucky. For as long as you’ll have me. For better or for worse.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his thumb brushing the back of Tony's hand. His touch was light, but once again, full of love. “For better or for worse,” he repeated, his voice steadier, full of determination. “Sounds like a wedding vow.”

Tony blinked, surprised by the comment, and then he snorted, a laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep inside him, soft and genuine. “Yeah, well, don’t get any ideas, Barnes,” He joked, amusement lacing his words. “I’m not exactly the marrying type.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his smile turning just a little smug. “Could’ve fooled me,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly over Tony’s knuckles. “You’re the one who just promised me ‘for better or worse.’ Sounds pretty serious to me.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony bantered back, his trademark smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Maybe I AM serious. Maybe you should put a ring on it.” On cue, he wiggled his ring finger, the movement deliberate and playful.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Bucky said, his voice warm and fond, though there was a teasing edge to it. He shook his head, his grin spreading wider across his face as he stroked Tony’s ring finger on purpose. “Way to ruin the surprise.”

Tony blinked, surprised once again. But perhaps he should not be. They had brushed the subject before. “What?” He asked, his voice full of confusion. He had not expected that now, but Bucky always surprised him in the best of ways. He had been ready for more banter, maybe a little joke here and there. The usual.

Bucky’s grin turned sly, and he tilted his head to the side, his eyes glinting with something mischievous. “I just have something to do first,” he said, his tone casual, as if he were talking about running errands rather than dropping a bombshell. “But be prepared. It’s gonna be cheesy and romantic and straight out of a movie. You don’t know what’s coming.”

Tony’s brain short-circuited for a moment. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, his words finally tumbling out before he could think of what he was about to say. “What do you have to do first?” he blurted, his voice louder than he intended. Then, realising how eager he sounded, and perhaps how he wanted that to happen, he immediately backpedaled, his cheeks flushing. “I mean… not that I’m waiting for it or anything. Just, you know, curious. Totally casual curiosity. No big deal.”

Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying Tony’s flustered state. But then his expression shifted, the amusement fading into something more serious, more somber. He let go of Tony's hand and sat straighter on his chair, his gaze steady as he met Tony’s eyes. “I need to go through the ringer first,” he said quietly. “I need to be put on trial. And before you say anything,” he added quickly, holding up a hand to stop Tony’s inevitable protest, “it’s not just for me. People need an explanation for everything that’s happened. Families need closure. They deserve to know the truth, about me, about Hydra, about all of it. I can’t just… skip over that. Not if I want to move forward. Not if I want to deserve… this.” He gestured between them, his meaning clear.

Tony’s chest tightened, and for a moment, he could not speak. He was both incredibly happy, and quite worried. He had known, of course, that Bucky’s past was not something that could just be swept under the rug. A trial had always been part of the deal, but events had pushed all that aside. 

Tony wanted to argue, to tell Bucky that he did not need to prove anything to anyone, that he had already paid more than enough for sins that were not even his to begin with. They all had risked a lot fighting the Mad Titan, fighting Rogers. 

But he also knew Bucky well enough to understand that this was not just about guilt. It was about healing. Not only for the longest prisoner of war in the world, but also for the people at large. Especially after Rogers’ defection to the dark side. And as much as Tony hated the idea of Bucky putting himself through that, he could not deny that it was important.

And honestly, Tony could not say anything. Not really. Not without feeling like the world’s biggest hypocrite. He had just taken a massive decision on his own, a decision that could have changed everything. And Tony had spent years trying to make amends for his own past. How could he tell Bucky not to do the same? Not to do what he thought was right? 

Hopefully, the people would see in Bucky what Tony had seen. They would see past the Winter Soldier, a persona that had been implanted, and discover the real man beneath. The man who was everything the comics made about him, and more. 

“Okay,” Tony said finally, his voice softer now, more serious. “But just so we’re clear, you don’t have to do this alone. I’ll be there. Every step of the way. And when it’s over…” He trailed off, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “Well, I guess I’ll be waiting for that cheesy, romantic, movie-worthy surprise of yours.”

Bucky’s smile returned, softer this time, and he reached out again, his hand brushing against Tony’s. “You better be,” he said, his voice warm with promises. “Because it’s gonna be worth it.”

Chapter Text

As soon as Bucky mentioned the trial he was preparing himself to face, Tony’s mind snapped into action like a well-oiled machine. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and there was no stopping him. His thoughts raced, calculating as many angles as he could think of, every detail that would need to be addressed at one point or the other. The second the words left Bucky’s mouth, Tony was a man on a mission, and he was not about to let something as trivial as his current situation slow him down.

Without wasting a second, Tony asked for a phone, and began making calls. His lawyers were the first to hear from him, flowed by his PR team, then contacts at the UN, and anyone else who needed to be looped in. He demanded a tablet, a laptop, anything that would allow him to work, and within minutes, he had everything started. 

Rhodey, who had come for a simple visit, could not help but shake his head. He knew Tony better than anyone, and he recognised that familiar glint in his best friend’s eyes. It was the same look Rhodey had seen countless times before. 

“You won’t stay here anymore,” Rhodey remarked casually, almost to himself. 

He was not even surprised. Tony had stayed in his hospital bed far longer than anyone had expected, and Rhodey knew it was only a matter of time before his friend made an escape attempt. The fact that Tony had stayed put for as long as he had was nothing short of a miracle, a miracle called Bucky Barnes. But Tony had always wanted to protect the people around him with everything he had. 

Rhodey could not stop the small, knowing smile that tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched Tony. It was not often that he saw his best friend this genuinely happy. The colonel had seen Tony through the highest highs and the lowest lows. The relationship with Pepper had been complicated to say the least. 

At first, it had been undeniably good for Tony. Peter had stepped into his life bringing with her a sense of order and stability that worked nicely against Tony’s natural chaos. Quickly, the cracks began to show. Pepper had a clear idea of what she wanted, a stable life, almost predictable, and free from the constant danger and chaos that seemed to follow Iron Man. Her relentless demands for him to change were less about building a life together and more about making him into someone he was not. She wanted him to step back from the suits, from the Avengers and she was willing to do just about anything to get that. 

“I want to help Bucky find a good lawyer,” Tony said, his voice resolute. He was already out of his hospital bed, looking for his clothes, now that the phone calls were done. Tony knew the stakes were high, not only for Bucky but for everybody whose life had been touched by the man, good or bad. And his clothes were nowhere to be found.

Rhodey raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as he studied his best friend. “SI’s lawyers not good enough for you?” he asked, genuinely curious, but not helping Tony in his research for a pair of pants. He knew Tony had access to some of the best legal minds in the world through his company. If anyone could mount a formidable defense, it was Tony’s team. But Rhodey also knew that Tony had a good reason behind his decision.

Tony shook his head, his expression serious. “He can’t be defended by SI,” he explained, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m technically one of the victims of the Winter Soldier. If SI lawyers represented him, it would create a conflict of interest, or at minimum, the appearance of one. The optics would be terrible. People would say I’m using my money to manipulate the outcome, and that’s not what this is about.” He paused, his gaze steady as he met Rhodey’s eyes. “Of course, I won’t press charges against Bucky. I want him free. If I’m involved, whatever the verdict, it’ll be because of me, despite me, but not because he is innocent.”

He paused, still looking at his best friend. There was a rare vulnerability in Tony’s expression. He was not just talking about the legal implications, he was talking about his future. The genius was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but in that moment, it was impossible to miss the sincerity in his words. “I want him… with me.” Tony cared about Bucky, more than he ever had anybody.

“So, what’s your plan?” Rhodey asked. He knew Tony well enough to know that his friend always had a plan, usually several. He also knew it was better to go along and help, than to ask Tony to step back.

“There’s a lawyer in Hell’s Kitchen who seems like just the right fit,” Tony said, his tone brimming with confidence. “He made front pages stopping Wilson Fisk. He has a track record of taking cases for the underdog. I want to go with Bucky to meet him. Bucky is not too sure about those things and I need to make sure he’s the real deal.”

Rhodey’s skepticism was evident. “You know you’re not exactly the most discreet person in the world, right? Tony Stark doesn’t exactly blend into the background. If you show up in Hell’s Kitchen, it’s going to be a circus and ruin what you are trying to achieve.”

Tony waved a hand dismissively, as if the concern was trivial. “Don’t worry, I’ll disguise myself,” he said, his tone casual. This was a perfectly reasonable solution.

Rhodey let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Not sure a baseball cap and sunglasses are going to cut it this time, Tony. You’ve got a face that’s kind of hard to miss. And let’s not forget the whole ‘billionaire genius playboy philanthropist’ thing. You’re not exactly low-profile.”

Tony knew Rhodey had a point. The press was relentless, always following him anywhere he went, dissecting his actions, and turning even the most mundane activity into front-page news. There was no slipping under the radar for long when you were Tony Stark. Disguises could only do so much, and quite honestly, he had never had the patience for subtlety anyway.

Bucky, on the other hand, was a different story. The guy could blend into a crowd like a ghost, slipping in and out of places unnoticed. If anyone could help Tony disappear for that appointment, it was him. 

“I know it’s not ideal,” Tony admitted, his voice serious. “But I really need to be there, Rhodey. I can’t explain it. I know I always need to control everything, but this is important. I’ve never been this anxious about something before. This is about Bucky’s life, his future. Our future… I just can’t sit back and let someone else handle it. I need to be there.”

Rhodey’s expression softened as he studied Tony for a long moment. He could see the determination in his friend’s eyes, the way something deeper, something raw and genuine, was taking over Tony’s usual confidence. This was not just another one of Tony’s grand gestures. This was deeply personal. And when Tony made up his mind to do anything, Rhodey knew better than to get in the way.

“Alright,” Rhodey said finally. “Just call me if you need back up, ok?”

Tony nodded quickly, already halfway out of the room before the thought had fully formed in his mind. His footsteps echoed down the hallway as he moved with purpose. He needed to find Bucky, not just to share his latest findings, but to talk things through. To ask if he had been coming on too strong. Tony knew all too well that his enthusiasm, his drive to fix things, could sometimes come across as overbearing. Bucky had asked for his help, sure, but maybe not for Tony to take over like that. The little team they made needed to stay united now more than ever.

Bucky, as it turned out, was in the common room. The soft hum of the stove and the faint sizzle of something in a pan greeted Tony as he stepped inside. Bucky stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with deadly precision. Cooking seemed to be his go-to activity when stress weighed on him, a way to ground himself in simple activity when the world felt too chaotic. Whatever Bucky was preparing this time, it smelled nice.

Peter was there too, perched on one of the stools at the island, idly playing with a carrot as he chattered away. The kid was in full swing, recounting some story about his day animatedly. Something about an old lady who always bought him churros.

The kid paused, breathing in the air appreciatively. “Seriously, Mr. Barnes,” he said, grinning, “you’ve got to teach me how to do that. My Aunt May tries, and she’s awesome, but, uh… let’s just say cooking’s not her superpower.”

Bucky chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Maybe someday, kid,” he said, not looking up from the pan. “But you’ve got to promise not to burn my kitchen down.”

Tony lingered in the doorway, his arms crossed loosely as he watched the scene in front of him. There was something so domestic about it, something Tony could not help to want more of. It all felt so normal. 

“If you’re gonna eat with us, Tony,” Bucky’s voice broke through his reverie teasingly, though his eyes remained fixed on the vegetables he was chopping, “I suggest you get dressed first. Not sure the kid’s digging the whole ‘open-at-the-back hospital gown’ thing you’ve got going on there.”

Tony blinked, glancing down at himself as if noticing his attire for the first time. Sure enough, he was still wearing the thin, backless hospital gown he had on since being admitted in the Med Bay after Thanos. He smirked, leaning against the door frame with his usual air of nonchalance. “But you do,” he flirted back.

Bucky finally looked up, a slow, sly grin spreading across his face. “Perhaps not at the table, babe.” He replied, his voice low and smooth.

The endearment hit Tony like a jolt, momentarily short-circuiting his brain. Babe. It was not the first time Bucky called him that, but it never failed to catch him off guard. Each time Bucky showed his affection with little things, Tony could not help but feel like it was the first time. “Alright, alright,” he said, pushing off the door frame. “I’ll go put something more… respectable. Wouldn’t want to scandalise the kid.”

As he turned to head toward his room, Tony made a point of exaggerating the sway of his hips, throwing a mischievous glance over his shoulder to ensure Bucky was watching. Bucky rolled his eyes but did not bother hiding the smirk tugging at his lips.

Peter, meanwhile, had buried his face in his hands, his ears turning bright red. “Oh my god,” he groaned, his voice muffled. “Why do I have to be here for this? I’m too young for this level of… whatever this is.” 

Tony chuckled, calling back as he disappeared down the hallway, “Consider it part of your education, kid.”

“He’s definitely the mum,” Bucky said to Peter, his tone light and teasing as he gestured toward the hallway where Tony had disappeared. “See? He’s always thinking about your education and all that. Classic mum behaviour.”

“I’m not!” Tony’s voice echoed from down the hall, indignant but playful. “You’re the one doing the whole ‘cooking for my kid’ thing. If anyone’s the mum here, it’s you!”

Peter, sitting at the island with his chin propped on his hand, said, raising an eyebrow. “Really? You’re both mother hens. There’s no need to fight over it.” Then, realising he might have stepped into dangerous territory, he quickly added, “But, uh, you make awesome dads too! Just saying.”

Bucky laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine, as he set a plate of food in front of Peter. “You know we’re just joking, right?” he said, his tone softening. “We don’t really care about that. As long as everybody’s happy, that’s all that matters. I’m good at cooking, sure, but I’m also good at hand-to-hand combat. And Tony? Yeah, he’s always planning the future for the people he loves, but he also loves blowing things up when he can get away with it. And that’s okay. We’re all a little bit of everything.”

Peter blinked, his cheeks flushing slightly at Bucky’s words. “The people he loves…” he repeated softly, almost to himself, as if testing the weight of the phrase.

Bucky paused, his expression turning serious for a moment as he looked at Peter. “Yes, Peter,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “You. You’re like a son to us. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Peter’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, but no sound came out. Instead, he looked down at his plate, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. “I, uh… thanks,” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. “That means… a lot.”

Tony chose that moment to reappear, now fully dressed and looking far more put-together than he had a few minutes ago. He sauntered into the room, but quickly sensed the serious atmosphere. “What’d I miss?” he asked, glancing between Bucky and Peter. “Why does it look like someone just gave a heartfelt speech?”

Bucky shrugged, returning to the stove to finish plating the food. “Just setting the record straight,” he said casually, though there was a glint of warmth in his eyes. “Peter seemed to doubt his place in this little family of ours. Had to remind him.”

Tony’s smirk softened into something more genuine as he looked at Peter. “Kid,” he said, his tone fond but firm, “you’re stuck with us. Whether you like it or not. And trust me, we’re not going anywhere.”

Chapter Text

It turned out that Bucky was actually quite relieved by Tony’s involvement. The idea of navigating the legal system on his own was overwhelming, to say the least. He had no real idea where to begin. Seventy years as the Winter Soldier had prepared him for a lot of things but not that. The thought of spending hours sitting in a courtroom, of having his life dissected and judged by strangers, was intimidating in a way that even the most brutal mission had never been. 

Bucky believed in doing the right thing, and he was certain that facing a trial for all the murder the Winter Soldier had committed was the right thing to do. He owed it to the world, to the people he had been forced to kill, and to himself. But that did not mean he was ready to do it alone. So when Tony stepped in, confident and knowledgeable, Bucky could not help but feel gratitude. 

Tony was always making sure that Bucky had a voice in every decision. Bucky should never feel like his life was dictated by forces beyond his control ever again. So, at every turn, Tony offered options, showing different paths, and giving advice without ever pushing him into anything. It was a delicate balance, but Tony was determined to get it right.

That was how they found themselves standing in front of an old door in Hell’s Kitchen, the words ‘Nelson and Murdock, Law Firm’, stencilled on the frosted glass in simple black lettering. Tony had not bothered with a disguise this time. Just a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses. 

Bucky had explained one important thing. If they were going to pull this off, Tony needed to dial it down, way down. “It’s all about the attitude,” Bucky said, his voice low and serious as they prepared to leave for Hell’s Kitchen. “For once, you need to be everything but Tony Stark, the confident man people know you to be. You need to play the part of the unassuming New Yorker, who does not want to talk to anyone and really doesn’t want to be talked to. That’s how you blend in.”

Tony had raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the idea. “So, what? I’m just supposed to be... grumpy?”

“Not grumpy,” Bucky corrected, his tone firm. “Grumpy, people remember. Invisible. You’re not Tony Stark right now. You’re just some guy trying to get through his day without being bothered. Keep your head down, don’t make eye contact, and for the love of God, don’t start any conversations.”

Tony needed to disappear into the background, something he was not exactly known for. But Tony had agreed to give it a shot, if only because he could see how much it meant to Bucky.

As they made their way through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, Tony did his best to follow Bucky’s instructions. He kept his head down, his baseball cap pulled low over his forehead, and his sunglasses firmly in place. He walked with purpose, his shoulders slightly hunched, doing his best impression of a man who wanted nothing more than to be left alone. It felt strange how that simple technique actually worked so well. 

Bucky moved through the crowd with ease. He knew exactly how to blend in, his posture relaxed. He navigated the streets of New York like he belonged there. And he did. Tony knew he should not find it sexy. He knew that. That ease was the result of a brutal training and conditioning at the hands of Hydra. Despite it all, there was something terribly attractive about the way Bucky carried himself. It was the confidence, the determination, the way Bucky seemed to know exactly what he was doing, even in the unfamiliar neighbourhood. It was magnetic.

But now, standing in front of the door marked, Bucky hesitated. He stared at it, his expression unreadable but his eyes betraying the storm of emotions swirling inside him. This was it. The first real step toward reclaiming his life, confronting the world and all its judgements. It was what he wanted and knew he needed to do, but it was still terrifying. He stood there, only looking at that door like it had all the answers in the world. 

Tony noticed the hesitation. Without a word, he stepped closer and placed a reassuring hand on Bucky’s shoulder. He did not say anything, no joke, no reassuring words, just a silent reminder that Bucky was not alone. He was thankful for that. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. His hand was trembling slightly, but finally moved to knock on the door. The sound was oddly loud in the quiet hallway.

A moment later, the door opened, revealing a beautiful blond woman with a warm, kind smile. She looked at them with polite curiosity, her eyes flicking between Bucky and Tony. “Hi, how can we help?” she asked, her tone friendly but professional.

Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but Tony stepped in smoothly, his voice calm and measured. “We’re here to see Matt Murdock. We were hoping to discuss a case.”

The woman nodded, stepping aside to let them in. “Of course. Come on in. I’m Karen, by the way. Karen Page.” She gestured toward a small waiting area with a couple of chairs and a coffee table stacked with magazines. “If you could just give me your names and the reason for your visit, I’ll let Matt and Foggy know you’re here.”

Tony glanced at Bucky, who gave a small nod. “I’m Bucky Barnes,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the nerves churning in his gut. “And this is Tony Stark. We’re here about... a legal matter.”

Karen turned around quickly, her eyes widened slightly as she looked up at them. For a moment, she seemed frozen as if she could not quite believe what she was hearing. Then, almost imperceptibly, her professional mask slipped back into place.

“Give me just a minute,” she said, her voice a little higher than before. She hurried toward an office door, not even bothering to knock before pushing it open. The walls were paper-thin, and Bucky and Tony could hear every word of her hushed but enthusiastic exchange with whoever was inside.

“Foggy, Matt, you’re not going to believe this,” Karen’s voice carried through the wall, tinged with disbelief and excitement. “We’ve got Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark in the waiting room. Yeah, the real ones! Whatever you’re doing, it can wait. Trust me, you’re going to want to take this one.”

There was a muffled response, followed by the sound of chairs scraping and papers being shuffled. Bucky glanced at Tony, his expression a mix of amusement and apprehension. “Well,” Tony said with a wry smile, “I guess we’ve made an impression.”

Bucky let out a short, nervous laugh, shaking his head, a small smile on his lips. “It’s all your fault, you know,” he said, amused. “Being all… irresistible and everything. You just can’t help but turn heads, can you?”

Tony grinned back. “What can I say?” he replied, half amused, half smug. “I’m too sexy for your lawyers. It’s a curse, my burden to bear. But don’t worry,” he added, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret, “I’ll make sure to tell them that I’m taken. Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

“Damn right you will,” he said, his voice firm but affectionate. “You’re mine, Stark. Don’t forget it.”

Tony’s grin softened into something more genuine, his eyes meeting Bucky’s with a quiet intensity. “Trust me, Barnes,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “I could never forget that.”

The rest of the world seemed to fade away. It happened often when they were together. As long as they had one another, everything would be fine. The moment was short-lived. The sound of footsteps approaching from the office door brought them back to reality. Karen reappeared, “They’re ready for you,” she said, gesturing for them to follow. “Right this way.”

Bucky took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he prepared to face whatever came next. He glanced at Tony, who gave him a small, reassuring nod. “Ready?” Tony asked, his voice steady.

Bucky nodded, his resolve firm. “Ready.”

Matt Murdock and Franklin “Foggy” Nelson were nothing but professional from the moment Bucky and Tony stepped into their office. They showed nothing of the surprise of having two famous clients walk through their door. They listened intently as Bucky began to tell his story, their expression a mix of empathy and seriousness. Bucky’s story was not an easy one to tell. They asked thoughtful, probing questions, but never in a way that felt invasive or judgmental. It was clear they were there to understand, not to interrogate.

Bucky spoke slowly at times, his voice heavy with decades of pain, grief and remorse. He talked about his time as the Winter Soldier, the atrocities he was forced to commit, and the years of being stripped of his autonomy and used as a weapon. He did not hide the details, even the ones he knew would be difficult for Tony, but it was clear that reliving those memories had taken a toll on him. Matt and Foggy listened without interrupting too much, only when needed an important precision for the case.

When Bucky finally finished, there was a moment of silence in the room, the air thick with the gravity of what had been shared. Then Matt leaned forward, oddly looking directly at Bucky. “First of all,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “I want to acknowledge the courage it takes to come forward like this. It takes a lot of guts to confront your past, especially one as difficult as yours. And choosing to do it in such a public setting, a trial, no less, that is something few people would have the strength to do.”

Foggy nodded in agreement, his expression earnest. “He’s right. After everything that’s happened, Rogers and Thanos, you could easily argue that the world owes you a pass. Most people would take that and run. But you’re choosing to face this head-on. That says a lot about who you are.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unused to such direct praise. “I’m doing it for the families,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “They deserve answers. They deserve to know that the person who hurt them isn’t the same person sitting here today. But...” He paused, his voice catching slightly before he continued. “I’m also doing it for me. If I want a future, if I want to move forward and build something real, I need to make peace with my past. I can’t keep running from it.”

As he spoke, Bucky glanced at Tony, who was sitting quietly beside him. Tony’s expression was soft, his eyes filled with a quiet pride that made Bucky’s chest tighten. He did not say anything, but his presence was a steadying force, a reminder that Bucky was not alone in this.

“Considering that you are most likely the longest prisoner of war in history,” Matt said, his voice calm but firm, “and the fact that as soon as you were free from Hydra’s control, you looked for help and began working to make amends, I think you have a very strong case.” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers crossed in front of him as he considered the weight of his words. “The legal system isn’t perfect, but it does recognise the difference between someone who acts of their own free will and someone who is coerced or manipulated into committing crimes. And in your case, the coercion was extreme, decades of psychological and physical manipulation, not to mention the literal brainwashing. That’s not something anyone could have resisted.”

Foggy nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. “Exactly. And if Mr. Stark is ready to vouch for you, explain the trigger words, and everything you did to protect the world, it’s going to be hard for anyone to argue that you’re a danger to society.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Matt continued, his tone serious but not unkind. “There will be people who don’t want to hear your side of the story, who will see you as nothing more than the Winter Soldier. There will be questions about Rogers. The legend of Captain America will be hard to break down completely. We will do our best to make sure that justice is served, not just for the people that were hurt, but for you as well.”

Bucky nodded slowly, his throat tight with emotion. “I know it’s not going to be easy,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “And I’m not asking for a free pass. I just... I want people to understand. I want to make things right, as much as I can.”

Foggy smiled, his expression warm. “And that’s exactly what we’re here for. To make sure you have the best possible chance at a fair trial. To make sure the world sees you for who you really are, not the Winter Soldier, but Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky felt a lump rise in his throat, but he forced himself to swallow it down. He was not used to this, to people standing up for him. Tony kept on telling him that he was worth it, but it was still overwhelming. On his best days, he still could not believe that he had found the love of his life despite the circumstances. Everything was so overwhelming, in the best possible way.

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice rough with emotion.

Matt and Foggy exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. Then Matt turned back to Bucky, his expression resolute. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s get to work.”

Chapter Text

The trial was set to take place in the United States, a decision that had been met with a mix of relief and resignation. The Winter Soldier had left a trail of devastation across the globe, with victims stretching around multiple countries. Logistically, holding the trial in one location was a nightmare of diplomacy and paperwork, but after a lot of back and forth, the U.S. was chosen to host the trial. 

Part of the logic behind that decision was pure practicality. Bucky now lived in New York, and a significant number of the Winter Soldier’s victims had been American. It was not the perfect solution, but nowhere would have been completely approved anyway. For Bucky and Tony, it was simply easier, so they were not complaining.

Bucky, for his part, had completely thrown himself into the preparation. He spent long hours with Matt and Foggy in their office, going over each point again and again. They gathered evidence, witness statements and historical records to build a defense that was as much accountability as it was about redemption.

Both lawyers wanted to make one thing certain. This was Bucky’s trial, and the decisions had to be his. They guided him, advised him, and showed him all his options, but they also made it clear that the final call was his alone. 

Days blended into weeks, full like never before, and before long, the trial started. What had seemed like an event in the distant future was suddenly around the corner. Tension was tightening around them a little bit more each day, even if Tony was trying to lighten the mood as best he could. Even Peter, who was always so optimistic, was suddenly more subdued, almost quiet.

The trial was scheduled to last a week, which felt both quite long and incredibly short. The man chosen to be the prosecutor looked tough, severe. From the very beginning, in his opening statement, he made it clear that he was not there to entertain any notions of heroism or redemption. “This is not a comic book,” he declared, his voice cutting through the courtroom like a blade. “This is a court of law, and here, actions have consequences whoever you are.”

There was no room for moral gray areas here, no space for excuses or justifications. People had died, innocent people, and Bucky Barnes had pulled the trigger. It was as simple as that. James Buchanan Barnes was a criminal, plain and simple. He was a threat to society, a fugitive of the law, and no amount of sob stories or appeals to sympathy could change that fact. The families needed, deserved justice.

The man’s voice was hard, devoid of compassion or empathy. To him, Bucky was not a victim of circumstance or a pawn in a larger game. He was a killer, a man who had taken lives without remorse, and no amount of redemption or rehabilitation could erase that. The scars left by the Winter Soldier’s actions were too deep, the pain too raw. Families had been ripped apart, futures ruined, and scars left behind that would never fully heal. And there could be neither forgiveness or mercy for that. Bucky deserved to spend the rest of his life behind bars, locked away where he could never hurt anyone again.

Unfortunately, the sentiment was not uncommon in the population. It was a rather small portion of the people who thought that way, especially after Thanos but, to them, the idea of Bucky walking free was unthinkable. It did not matter that his actions had been orchestrated by Hydra. At the end of the day, it was Bucky’s hands that had carried out the murders. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Jury,” Matt began, his voice steady and measured as he started his opening statement. The courtroom was silent, every eye fixed on him. “This is not a comic book, that much is true. That much is true. This is not a story of heroes and villains, of clear-cut lines between good and evil. This is about the life of a man who has endured more than most of us could ever imagine. This is about the longest prisoner of war in history.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. The room seemed to hold its breath, the gravity of the moment not lost on anyone. Matt’s sightless eyes swept across the jury. He did not need to see their faces to know what they were thinking. Doubt, scepticism, but also compassion. Even after the prosecutor speech, there was a chance for understanding.

“James Barnes was not just a prisoner of war,” Matt continued, his voice growing firmer. “He was a victim of torture, of relentless brainwashing, of experiments designed to remove bit by bit everything that made him human. Hydra didn’t just break his body. They shattered his mind, slowly, until almost nothing of the man he once was remained. They turned him into a weapon, a tool to carry out their darkest deeds. And for decades, that’s exactly what he was. A weapon. A shadow. A ghost.”

He took a step closer to the jury, his tone softening but losing none of its intensity. “But here’s the thing about James Barnes. Even in the depths of that darkness, even when he was little more than a shell of a man, something of him survived. A spark. A flicker of who he used to be. And when that spark finally had the chance to grow, when he regained even a modicum of his own mind, what did he do? Did he run? Did he hide? No. He chose to fight. He chose to stand on the right side, to use whatever strength he had left to protect the very people he had once been forced to harm.”

Matt’s voice rose slightly, filled with a quiet passion. “This trial is not just about what James Barnes did as the Winter Soldier. It’s about who he is now. It’s about a man who has spent every day since breaking free from Hydra’s control trying to make amends, trying to do right by the world that was taken from him. It’s about a man who has faced his past head-on, who has accepted responsibility for his actions, and who has dedicated his life to ensuring that no one else suffers as he did.”

He turned slightly, gesturing toward Bucky, who sat silently, his expression unreadable but his posture tense. “James Barnes is not a threat to society. He is not a monster. He is a survivor. He is the one who actually initiated this trial. And while the crimes committed by the Winter Soldier cannot, and should not, be ignored, we must also recognise that the man sitting before you today is not the same man who carried out those acts. He is someone who has fought tirelessly to reclaim his humanity, to atone for sins that were not truly his own.”

Matt’s voice dropped to a near whisper, but it carried through the courtroom with force. “This has nothing to do with justifying the past. It’s about understanding it. It’s also about realising that justice is achieved by holding the real criminals, those who planned it all, those who used the worst methods to push their agendas, are held accountable. James Barnes has already paid a stiff price for their sins. It’s time to let him live the life he’s fought so hard to reclaim.”

The judge’s gavel came down with a sharp sound, signaling an hour-long recess for lunch. The courtroom, once silenced, broke into different conversations as people began to grab their belongings and file out. Tony did not waste a second. He was on his feet almost instantly, leaving his seat behind the defender table, to get to Bucky. He needed to talk to him, needed to reassure him that everything was going to be okay. Or maybe, if he was being honest with himself, he needed the comfort just as much as Bucky did.

He looked exhausted already, shoulders down. Bucky had been so strong so far, but it was not easy. Tony hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say, if there was any word that would actually help there, before finally breaking the silence. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft and full of love. “You hanging in there?”

Bucky glanced up, his blue eyes shadowed but steady. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice rough. “I’ve been through worse.”

Tony nodded, though the words did little to ease the knot of worry in his chest. “Look, whatever happens in there, we’ve got your back. You know that, right? This is just… part of the process. Matt says it’s normal. It’s how the game is played.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “Yeah, Matt’s been saying that a lot. Doesn’t make it any easier to sit there and listen to people talk about you like you’re some kind of monster.”

Tony’s jaw tightened, a flicker of anger sparking in his chest. He hated this, hated seeing Bucky like this, hated the way the trial was dredging up the past and forcing him to relive the worst moments of his life. But he also knew there was no other way. This was the price Bucky had to pay for his freedom, for the chance to finally put the Winter Soldier behind him.

Tony tried to lighten the mood many times. They had only a short window before the trial would resume, and he figured they might as well use the time to distract themselves, even if only for a few minutes. “So,” Tony began, leaning casually against the wall, “if you could be anywhere in the world right now, anywhere at all, where would it be? And don’t say ‘out of this courtroom,” because that’s too obvious.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re really trying this right now?”

“Hey, humour me,” Tony said, shrugging. “We’ve got, what, twenty minutes? Might as well talk about something that doesn’t make us want to punch a wall. So, come on. Where would you be?”

Bucky thought for a moment, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. “Somewhere quiet,” he said finally. “Maybe the mountains. Somewhere with fresh air and no people. Just… us and peace.”

“Did you know that I own a charming chalet nestled in the heart of the Swiss Alps? It's cosy, surrounded by breathtaking mountain views and pure alpine air. I haven’t been skiing in quite some time, though. Do you even ski? Mind you, sipping hot cocoa by the fireplace while sharing the same blanket is good too.”

Bucky chuckled softly, the sound a little rough but genuine. “Sounds like a dream.”

For a moment, it almost worked. They just smiled at each other, shoulders easing slightly, lost in the idea. But it did not last. Before either of them could say more, the bailiff appeared at the door, announcing the recess was over. 

The prosecutor prepared to summon his first witness to the stand. The person in question was none other than Pepper Potts, someone who had been linked to Tony Stark for as long as people could remember. Tony had not expected to see her there, not in a million years. If he was being completely honest, he had almost forgotten about her entirely. The recent events had consumed all his attention, leaving little room for thoughts of her. 

But there she was, standing in the very place he least expected, associating herself with his adversary once again. The sight of her hit him like a punch in the belly. He could not help but feel betrayed all over again. It was not the first time she had chosen that path, but it did not make it any easier to swallow. Tony clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay composed, keeping his face as neutral as he could. 

Her testimony was about Tony, of course it was, about his transformation, his need to protect the soldier from the world’s scrutiny, and the weird belief in Bucky’s innocence despite all the evidence to the contrary. Tony believed the man under the conditioning to be innocent, siding with him even when he was being accused of bombing places and attacking police. 

Steve Rogers, Captain America, Bucky’s best friend since WW2, had confided in her. No matter how much Tony wanted to believe otherwise, Bucky was still Hydra, and that revelation had shaken her to her core. 

She loved Tony. That was undeniable. But Pepper had made a difficult, almost selfish decision. She could not stand by and watch him risk everything, his reputation, his safety, his future, for someone who was not worth any of it. She had chosen to fight against the bad influence that was Bucky Barnes. For that, Rogers needed to stay on the Avengers’ team. Simple as that. 

Working again with the military, being Rogers’ PR person, everything was just a step toward that goal. Friendship was not about choosing the path of least resistance. True friendship sometimes meant confronting a friend when they were in the wrong, no matter how difficult it might be.

The jury seemed to be swayed by Pepper’s words already. But the spotlight was now on Murdock, and the fight had only begun.

Chapter Text

“Ms. Potts,” Matt began, his voice calm and measured. “Could you tell us how you were promoted to CEO of Stark Industries, if you please?”

Pepper shifted in her seat, her posture as poised as ever. She took a moment before answering, her tone professional but with an undercurrent hint of defensiveness. “Well, Mr. Stark decided to promote me. He felt it was the right move at the time.”

Matt nodded, his expression neutral but his focus sharp. “Could you please elaborate on the circumstances surrounding that decision? What led Mr. Stark to make such a significant change?”

Pepper’s lips pressed into a thin line, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Mr. Stark wanted to focus on being Iron Man,” she explained, her voice steady but with a growing edge of stress. “He felt that the responsibilities of running the business side of Stark Industries were pulling him away from his work as a superhero. So, he delegated those duties to me.”

Matt tilted his head slightly, his unseeing gaze fixed on her as if he could sense the gaps in her story. “That’s not the full truth, though, is it?” he pressed gently but firmly.

Pepper hesitated, her composure wavering for the briefest of moments. “That’s what I knew at the time,” she replied carefully, her tone guarded.

“But you know better now, don’t you?” Matt continued, his voice soft but relentless. “You’re aware now that at the time of your promotion, Mr. Stark was suffering from Palladium poisoning, correct? And that Shield was heavily involved in his life, putting significant pressure on him. Am I right?”

Pepper’s shoulders stiffened, and she looked away for a moment before answering. “I... suppose so,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Matt leaned forward slightly, his tone still calm but now carrying a sharper edge. “And yet, the decision to promote you didn’t strike you as unusual at the time, did it? You didn’t question why someone in Mr. Stark’s condition would make such a drastic change?”

Pepper’s jaw tightened, and her voice took on a defensive edge. “I had worked my ass off for that position,” she shot back, her tone firm. “I earned it.”

Matt did not flinch. “To your knowledge,” he continued, his voice steady, “how many personal assistants have been promoted to CEO of a major corporation in, say, the last fifty years?”

Pepper blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know,” she replied, her voice quieter now.

“If I told you the number was one,” Matt said, his tone deliberate, “would that really surprise you?”

Before Pepper could respond, the prosecutor interjected with an objection, cutting off the line of questioning. Matt paused, acknowledging the objection with a nod, and then smoothly shifted gears, moving on to the next topic. “You mentioned earlier that Mr. Stark had been making unusual decisions due to the influence of the Winter Soldier and, by extension, Hydra. Could you tell us why you were ultimately dismissed from your position?”

Pepper’s expression hardened, and she straightened in her seat, her voice cool and measured. “I tried to ensure that Tony was protected,” she said, shifting once more on the wooden chair. “He didn’t appreciate that.”

Matt nodded, his expression unreadable but his focus unwavering. “And by ‘protected,’ do you mean you attempted to intervene in his decisions? To actually go against his decision to never build weapons behind his back?”

Pepper’s gaze flickered, and for a moment, she seemed to struggle with her response. “I was trying to do what was best for him,” she said finally, playing the sad friend almost well.

“What was best for him,” Matt continued, his voice calm but cutting, “or what you thought was best for him? There’s a significant difference, Ms. Potts. Tony Stark’s decision to change the direction of Stark Industries after his kidnapping in Afghanistan was widely known. He made it clear that he no longer wanted to be in the business of weapons manufacturing. He wanted to pivot the company toward clean energy, toward innovation that could help people rather than harm them. That was his choice.”

Pepper’s expression tightened, her hands gripping the edge of the witness stand as if to steady herself. She opened her mouth to respond, but Matt did not give her the chance.

“And yet,” he pressed on, his tone sharpening, “you started to promise new weapons to certain individuals in exchange for keeping Mr. Stark ‘in check’. Doesn’t exactly sound like something Tony Stark would have wanted. Does it?”

The prosecutor shot up from his seat, his face flushed with irritation. “Objection, Your Honour !” he barked. “Is there actually a question in there, or is counsel just grandstanding?”

Before the judge could rule on the objection, Matt smoothly interjected, “No further questions for this witness, Your Honour. Thank you.”

The prosecutor sat back down, visibly frustrated but unwilling to push further. The judge nodded, dismissing Pepper with a curt gesture. As she stepped down from the stand, her composure remained intact, but her eyes flicked to Tony, sitting behind Bucky, who did not look her way at all. The courtroom buzzed with murmurs as Pepper left the room. This first witness had not gone all that well for the accusation but that was just a start.

With that, the first day of the trial finally came to an end. All Tony wanted was to get out there, to take Bucky back to the tower and forget everything for a second. But escaping was not going to be that easy. As soon as they stepped outside, they were met with a wall of flashing cameras and shouting voices. They shouted their questions, fast and relentless. 

“Mr. Stark! Can you comment on your relationship with Pepper Potts?” one reporter shouted.

“Do you think things can ever go back to the way they were?” another called out, shoving a recorder in his direction.

“Have you forgiven her, Tony?” a third voice chimed in, the question dripping with faux sympathy.

Tony stopped in his tracks, knowing full well that he had to say something, anything. He knew that they would twist about anything in order to sell their articles and, for a split second, he considered ignoring them altogether. But he knew better. He had been in this game long enough to understand that silence could be just as damning as the wrong words. 

So, he did what he always did in situations like this. He put on his best press smile, the one that had charmed audiences and disarmed critics for years. He turned to face the sea of reporters, his expression calm and composed. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice smooth and measured, “I appreciate your interest, but as you know, this is an ongoing trial. I can’t comment on the specifics of the case or the testimonies given today. I trust the legal process to handle this matter fairly and thoroughly.”

The reporters were not satisfied, of course. They never were. Their questions came faster, louder, more insistent, but Tony held up a hand, his smile never wavering. “That’s all I can say for now,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Thank you.”

With that, he turned and made his way to the waiting car, followed closely by Bucky, his security team clearing a path through the crowd, Happy first. The reporters continued to shout, their voices slowly facing away. He sat close to Bucky, trying to give him as much comfort as he needed.

When they arrived back at the tower, the tension in both men began to ease slightly. As the elevator doors opened to the common room, Tony and Bucky were greeted by Peter and Rhodey, spreading a mountain of takeout containers. They had ordered a little bit of everything so each one of them would be able to enjoy their favourites. Peter was in the middle of unpacking what looked like a container of Thai noodles, while Rhodey was already digging into a box of pizza, his expression one of pure contentment.

Peter’s head snapped up as Tony walked in, his face lighting up with a grin. “Mr. Stark! You’re back! We got food like,  all the food. There’s sushi, tacos, curry, dumplings, and, uh, I think Mr. Rhodes ordered, like, three different kinds of fries? Oh, and there’s dessert too! I didn’t know what you’d want, so we just kind of... got everything.”

Tony could not help but smile at the kid’s enthusiasm, even if it was a little overwhelming. “Kid, did you raid every restaurant in the city?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he surveyed the spread.

Rhodey chuckled, leaning back on the couch. “Pretty much. Figured you could use some comfort food after today. And by ‘some,’ I mean enough to feed a small army. But really, between a super spider and a super soldier, we needed ammunition.”

Tony shook his head, but the gesture was more fond than exasperated. He could not help but smile at the chaos that seemed to constantly be in his life. Tony reached for a container that smelled richly of tomatoes, garlic, and herbs, something definitely Italian. The aroma alone was enough to make his stomach growl. Lunch had been tense, and they had barely touched their sandwiches.

Bucky sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, pulling the tacos towards him, its contents threatening to spill out with every bite. He attacked it with enthusiasm. Peter had turned his attention to the massive film library Tony had accumulated over the years. The kid was scrolling through the options, his face lit by the glow of the screen as he muttered to himself. “Okay, so we’ve got classics, action, sci-fi, comedies... oh, wow, you have everything. How do you even decide?”

Tony shrugged, taking a bite of his food. “Kid, that library is a lifetime of bad decisions and questionable taste. Good luck.”

Peter laughed, his energy infectious. “Okay, but like, do we go for something fun? Something intense? Or, like, a total guilty pleasure? Because I’m seeing some very interesting options here.”

As Peter rambled on, Tony realised the kid was doing his best to steer the conversation away from the trial, from Bucky, from anything heavy. It was a deliberate effort, and Tony appreciated it more than he could say. Peter’s chatter was a welcome distraction, a reminder that there was still light in the world, even on days like this.

Rhodey seemed to pick up on the lighthearted mood too, leaning back on the couch with a smirk as he chimed in on the movie debate. “Alright, I’m vetoing Star Wars or Star Trek right now,” he declared, pointing a finger at Peter for emphasis. “Last time we tried to watch either of those, it turned into a three-hour argument about which one was better. And let me tell you, the question is still unanswered. But for the record…” he paused, shooting Tony a pointed look, “it’s Star Wars. Obviously.”

Tony’s hand flew to his chest, his expression one of mock horror, as if Rhodey had just personally insulted him. “Rhodey! How dare you!” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with exaggerated indignation. “Star Trek is in a league of its own! It’s visionary, it’s groundbreaking, it’s… art! And you’re out here disrespecting it like this? I thought you were my best friend!”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, unfazed by Tony’s dramatics. “Oh, please. Star Trek is just a bunch of people in spandex talking about feelings. Star Wars has lightsabers. End of discussion.”

“Lightsabers?” Tony shot back, leaning forward as if ready to launch into a full-blown lecture. “You’re reducing an entire cultural phenomenon to lightsabers? Do you even hear yourself right now? Star Trek is about exploration, about pushing the boundaries of what it means to be human. It’s about hope and progress and…”

At that moment, Bucky chimed in, his voice laced with genuine confusion. “Which one is Star Trek again?” he asked, looking between Tony and Rhodey with a slightly lost expression. When both men turned to stare at him, Bucky held up his hands in defense. “Hey! Don’t look at me like that! Remember? Seventy years out of time here! I’m still catching up on everything.”

Peter burst out laughing, nearly dropping the remote in the process. “Oh my god, Bucky, you’re killing me. How do you not know Star Trek? I’m pretty sure Mr. Stark showed it to you!”

“He did,” Bucky admitted, a small but unmistakable smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced around the room, clearly enjoying the chaos he had just unleashed. “But have you seen their faces when I said that?” he added, his voice tinged with amusement.

The room erupted into laughter, the sound warm and genuine. Tony was still clutching his chest in mock outrage, though the grin on his face betrayed his true feelings. Rhodey was shaking his head, a look of exasperated fondness on his face, while Peter was practically doubled over, his laughter echoing through the room.

“Bucky,” Tony said, pointing a finger at him, “you’re a menace. An absolute menace. I can’t believe you just played us like that.”

Bucky shrugged, his smile widening. “What can I say? I’ve been taking notes. You two are way too easy to mess with.”

Rhodey groaned, tossing his napkin at Bucky, who caught it effortlessly. “You’re worse than Tony,” Rhodey said, though there was no real heat in his words. “And that’s saying something.”

Peter, still trying to catch his breath from laughing, wiped at his eyes. “Okay, but like, can we just appreciate the fact that Bucky, Bucky, just pulled the ultimate power move? I mean, he’s been here for, what, five minutes, and he’s already running circles around you guys.”

Tony shot Peter a look, though it was more playful than anything. “Kid, whose side are you on?”

“His side.” Peter replied, his expression serious, pointing at Bucky.

Tony shook his head, but there was no hiding the fondness in his expression. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head, Terminator. You’re still on thin ice for that comment.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, smiling widely. “Thin ice? Really? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like I just won.”

Chapter Text

The next days of the trial were emotionally draining, as the courtroom became a stage for the heartbreaking testimonies of the families of the Winter Soldier’s victims. The prosecutor called them one by one to the stand, each sharing their story of loss, anguish, and terrible pain. The air in the courtroom became thick with grief. These were stories of lives cut short, of futures stolen, and of families forever fractured by the actions of the Winter Soldier.

Murdock did not attempt to deny or downplay the horrors these families had endured. He listened intently, his expression grave, as each witness spoke. He knew better than to challenge their pain. It was undeniable. Instead, after offering his most sincere condolences, he focused his questions on a single idea. Their feelings toward Bucky Barnes.

"Ms. Sherman," he began gently, addressing one of the grieving family members, "I cannot begin to imagine the depth of your loss, and I am truly sorry for what you've endured. But I must ask… Do you hold Bucky Barnes responsible for what happened to your son? Or do you believe, as the evidence has shown, that he was a victim himself, manipulated and controlled by forces beyond his will?"

This line of questioning became a recurring theme throughout the testimonies. Murdock sought to draw a distinction between the Winter Soldier, the weaponised assassin, and Bucky Barnes, the man who had been stripped of his autonomy and used as a pawn in a larger, darker game. He wanted the jury to see that while the Winter Soldier's actions were undeniably horrific, Bucky Barnes was not the true architect of those crimes.

Some family members responded with anger, their grief too fresh, their pain too deep to separate the man from the machine. "He pulled the trigger," one father snapped, his voice trembling with rage. "I don't care if he was brainwashed or not. My daughter is gone because of him."

Others, however, expressed a more nuanced perspective. "I hate what happened," one woman said quietly, her eyes filled with tears. "But I can't hate him. Not when I know he was just as much a victim as my husband was."

Murdock always finished his questioning by asking about the shadowy organisation that had orchestrated so much suffering. "Mr. Johnson," he asked, his voice steady but imbued with gravity, "while the Winter Soldier carried out the act, can we agree that Hydra was the true force behind these atrocities? That they were the ones who weaponized a man, stripped him of his free will, and turned him into an instrument of death?"

One by one, the witnesses agreed to that particular truth. Not every witness was willing to clear Barnes completely, but even the most hardened among them could not deny that he, too, had been a victim. Murdock made sure to highlight this point by reminding the courtroom that Barnes had been abducted, tortured, having had his identity wiped and replaced with that of a killing machine. 

"He was their first victim," Murdock declared, his voice carrying the weight of conviction. "And his suffering does not excuse the pain he caused, but it does demand that we consider the full context of his actions."

Murdock also emphasised Barnes’ attempts to make amends for his previous actions. “This man risked everything to fight Thanos. He fought alongside his friend, his lover and his son in everything but blood not as the Winter Soldier, but as Bucky Barnes. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

Bucky and his small circle of loved ones did their best to go through the trial with as much composure and dignity as they could muster. It was no easy task. Bucky, seated at the defense table, often sat with his shoulders squared and his expression carefully neutral, though those who knew him well could see the tension in his jaw, the faint tightening around his eyes. Most of the time, he wanted to cry, he wanted to apologise again and again. 

But every reaction, every glance, every word will be scrutinised and twisted. It was a harsh reality they had to accept. The press was obsessed with making dramatic headlines. Cameras flashed relentlessly as Bucky entered and exited the courtroom, with reporters shouting always the same kind of questions. "Do you feel any remorse, Barnes?" "What do you have to say to the families of your victims?" "Do you think you deserve forgiveness?" 

Behind closed doors, it was a different story. Behind closed doors, the facade of composure crumbled. Away from the glaring lights of the cameras, the relentless barrage of questions, and the weight of the courtroom, Bucky could no longer pretend. The guilt, the grief, the fear. It was all there, simmering beneath the surface. But in the tower, he did not have to hide it. 

Tony was his anchor, the light at the end of the tunnel. He was so considerate, so loving, Bucky was not sure he deserved it. But he was taking every second together, often just being in each other's arms, exchanging light kisses. His presence was a lifeline, a reminder that Bucky deserved to be loved.

Rhodey offered a different kind of comfort. He did not feel the need to fill the silence with words. Instead, he was just there, a constant reminder that Bucky was not alone. And then there was Peter. The kid’s endless energy and chatter was filling the room with an infectious enthusiasm for every little thing. He would ramble about anything and everything, school, his latest science project, or recounting his most recent misadventure as Spiderman. 

The nights were the hardest. Sleep hardly came, the anxiety of the trial and the memories it brought back to the surface making rest nearly impossible. The movie marathons became epic. It started with all of Die Hard, debating if the first two films were Christmas movies or not, but really, at least for the first one, it was a given. From there, they moved on to Jurassic Park. The dinosaurs were impressive, they all admitted that much, but Tony kept on saying that the science was questionable. Bucky believed him.

But the Lord of the Rings marathon was by far Bucky’s favourite. The expansive landscapes of Middle-Earth were beautiful and he found himself drawn into the story of Frodo and the Fellowship. And then Peter insisted they should have watched the Hobbit first, and so they watched them.

Bucky knew that story. A faint, flickering memory that somehow survived the decades of pain and brainwashing was coming up to the surface. “I think I read part of this,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with surprise. “Before… everything. I remember the dragon and Bilbo.” The words felt strange on his tongue, like fragments of a life that no longer belonged to him. For a moment, he was transported back to a time before Hydra, before the war, before the Winter Soldier. A time when he was just a kid with a book in his hands, lost in the fantastical world of Middle-earth.

But the recollection was short-lived, and as quickly as it came, it slipped away, leaving Bucky with a hollow ache in his chest. Memories from his childhood were rare, and those that remained were often fragmented, like shards of glass from a broken mirror. 

They were also tainted, overshadowed by the overwhelming presence of Steve Rogers in his mind. He was the last person Bucky wanted to have in mind, even if it was about their shared childhood. Those memories were so clear, almost too clear, as if they had been permanently carved in his mind, impossible to erase. Everything felt so tainted, so dirty.

But when it came to others, his family, his mother, his sisters, the memories were clouded, like a film reel that had been left out in the rain. He could remember his mother’s laugh, soft and warm, the way she would hum to herself while cooking in their tiny Brooklyn apartment. He remembered the smell of her hair, the way she would scold him for bringing mud into the house, the way she would Stoke his cheek to sleep when he was sick. But her face? It was a blur, a shadowy outline that he could never quite bring into focus. Same with his sisters. It was as if he were watching those moments from a distance, like an outsider looking, like watching a film the way they were watching the Hobbit, rather than someone who had lived with them. 

It angered him, more than he cared to admit. How could he remember Steve so clearly, in such vivid details, but not the face of his own mother? How could he recall the smile Steve had when getting away with his shit, but not the shade of his sisters’ eyes? It felt like a  betrayal, as if his mind had decided that Rogers was the only person worth remembering, while everyone else had been pushed to the edges, forgotten. As if Steve ruining his life once was already not enough.

“I feel like I have to book a vacation to New Zealand soon,” Tony said, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the room. His tone was light, almost casual, but the timing was deliberate. He had a knack for knowing when to shift the mood, when to pull everyone out of their heads and back into the moment.

Peter, ever eager to jump into the conversation, grinned. “That could totally be your honeymoon,” he said, his eyes lighting up with mischief.

Rhodey raised an eyebrow, visibly thinking about a plan. “For that to happen, they’d actually need to get married, kid. And let’s be real… Tony and Bucky are already syrupy sweet as they are. Can you imagine what they’d be like as a married couple? Unbearable.” He paused, then added with a smirk, “Plus, I wanna go too, and we can’t exactly tag along on their honeymoon. That’s just weird.”

Peter’s enthusiasm did not waver. “You mean I could come! Cause I totally want to go to Hobbiton. I’ve heard they organise tours and everything! It’s like a total nerd paradise.”

Rhodey, mischievous as ever, chimed in with a smirk of his own. “I actually wonder if we could spend the night in one of the hobbit holes. You know, really live the experience. But then again, this is Tony Stark we’re talking about. If anyone could make that happen, it’s him. It’s about time he started using, and abusing, his fame for something fun, don’t you think?” He directed the last part at Peter, who nodded vigorously.

Tony clutched his chest dramatically. “I knew it! You only like me for my fame and connections. All these years together. A lie! I’m hurt, Rhodey. Truly.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind Tony’s words. It was all part of the banter, the easy back-and-forth that had become second nature to them.

Bucky, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up, his voice thoughtful. “I guess Peter will need all those meals because of his super teenager biology. Breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, supper.” He counted them off on his fingers, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Peter’s eyes widened in mock indignation. “Hey! I don’t eat that much!”

But as he was in the middle of munching on a slice of pizza, his argument was not exactly strong. The room erupted into laughter, the tension from earlier dissipating like smoke. Bucky knew what they were doing. They were being silly, ridiculous even, to pull him out of his depressive moment. And it worked. For a little while, the weight on his chest felt lighter, the shadows in his mind receding just enough to let in some light.

He was grateful for it, more than he could put into words. These people, Tony with his sharp wit and infinite love, Rhodey with his steady presence, Peter with his boundless energy and optimism, they had become his family in ways he had not expected. They did not tiptoe around him or treat him like he was broken. Instead, they pulled him into their orbit, reminding him that he was still a part of something, that he still mattered.

As the laughter died down and the conversation shifted to planning their hypothetical New Zealand adventure, Bucky leaned back in his chair, a small but genuine smile on his face. It was not much, but in that moment, it was enough.

The next day approached like a storm on the horizon, full of anticipation and finality. It would mark the end of the prosecutor part of the trial. There would be one last testimony, and then it would be time for them to give their side of the story, followed by the lawyers’ closing arguments. Matt would step forward, his sharp mind and unwavering determination focused on the goal of ensuring that the jury saw Bucky not as the Winter Soldier, but as a man who had been broken and remade, a man who had fought to reclaim his humanity.

After that, everything would be out of their hands. 

Chapter Text

Natasha Romanov strode into the courtroom with her signature poise, her chin lifted and her gaze steady, betraying no hint of vulnerability. To the untrained eye, she was the same unshakable Black Widow, the master spy, the determined Avenger, the woman who had faced down gods and aliens without faltering. But for those who knew her, the cracks in her armour were impossible to ignore. 

Things had changed for her, irrevocably, undeniably. The woman who had formerly gone through the world like a shadow, her movements smooth and silent, now moved at a slightly irregular pace. It was small, something only the most observant would notice. But it was there, a small limp she fought to conceal thanks to her extensive training. Each step seemed to demand more from her than it once had, not just the physical toll her last fight had taken on her. No, it was more than that.

Despite everything, her spirit was not broken. Natasha was not a woman who surrendered easily. She had been through too much, always finding a way to survive. Even now, when the situation was not in her favour, she refused to be defeated. Her sharp mind was still at work, calculating, analyzing, searching for an angle. She still believed she could turn the situation to her advantage, just as she had done countless times before. It was who she was. A strategist, a manipulator, a survivor.

The prosecutor’s voice was harsh, each question a carefully placed blade twisting the narrative to fit his agenda. He portrayed Natasha and Steve’s actions as big, altruistic acts, as if they had torn the world apart for the greater good, and left collateral damage in their wake to save the universe itself. What the prosecutor wanted the jury to believe was clear. They were reckless idealists, blinded by their own moral certainty, willing to burn everything down for their version of justice.

Following those principles, Captain America had tried to save his oldest friend, Bucky Barnes.

Natasha almost laughed. She knew it was hypocrisy at its finest. 

The man carried on, almost delivering a speech now, more than asking actual questions. Because it was never about glory. Never about reputation. Never about spinning the story to come out looking like the hero. That was Tony Stark’s game. That was Tony Stark’s game. At least, that was what she had believed since her stun in Stark Industries. The ‘I am Iron Man’ press conference, the flashy armour, the jokes for the cameras. Tony was a master at turning any disaster into a PR win, reframing his own mistakes as noble sacrifices. But Steve? He was authenticity personified.

The prosecutor approached her, adjusting his glasses, looking like a dissatisfied teacher. “You were part of Shield?”

“Yes.” Her answer was clipped, giving nothing more than the minimum.

“And yet,” he continued, voice dripping with scepticism, “you somehow failed to notice that it was infected by Hydra? You, the famous Black Widow, one of the most skilled intelligence operatives in the world?”

Natasha did not flinch. She leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable. “There is no better hiding sport than plain sight,” she answered, as if it explained everything.

The prosecutor scoffed. “That’s not an answer. You’re avoiding the problem altogether.”

She held his gaze, unfazed. “It’s the truth. The best lies are wrapped in just enough reality to make them believable. Hydra didn’t infiltrate Shield. They were Shield. They built it, shaped it, hid inside it for decades. You don’t see the strings when you’re part of the puppet show.”

Her answer was not exactly painting her in a good light, but it was the truth. She briefly wondered what the prosecutor really wanted out of this trial. He seemed at one moment to be on her side, to defend Rogers, and the next second, he was accusing her of things she could not change. Perhaps, he was not all that good at the job. Who knew? A murmur rippled through the courtroom. The prosecutor let it linger before pressing on.  

“Fine. Let’s move on. When did you first meet James Buchanan Barnes?”

Natasha’s fingers twitched, just once, a barely perceptible spasm, before she forced them still. The motion betrayed more than she would have liked. Some memories were like open wounds, raw even after decades, and the Red Room was a graveyard of them. There was no warmth to be found in her past. At all. Just pain, cold walls, and the relentless conditioning that had carved her into something sharp and lethal.  

And the Winter Soldier? He was just another ghost in that long, unbroken line of tormentors.  

“I met him during my training in the Red Room.” Her voice was flat, carefully stripped of inflection. Her face was expressionless. Emotions were not for the Black Widows.

The prosecutor attempted, and failed, to soften his tone. “How old were you?”

A humourless flicker passed through her eyes. "I don’t know."

“You don’t remember exactly?”

“No,” she corrected, sharper this time. “I don’t know. I don’t have a date of birth. And in the Red Room, days blended into one another. Time wasn’t measured in months, or years, just in survival.”

The prosecutor hesitated, then nodded. "Fair enough. Do tell us about that first meeting, then."

Natasha exhaled, slow and deliberate. "Hydra operatives brought him in. The Soldier. They wanted to… refine us. So they used him."

“How?”

Her jaw tightened. "We were sent in one by one. Hand-to-hand combat. No weapons, no rules. We had to give everything. Anything less, and our handler would send us back in. The fight only ended when one of the girls couldn’t continue. Either she passed out… or she didn’t get back up."

A beat of silence. Then, the inevitable question: "Did you ever win?"  

Her lips thinned. "No. He was an adult. A machine. I was close once. Got him on the ground. Then he shattered my arm." She flexed the limb unconsciously, as if remembering the snap of bone. "After that, I learned not to get close again."  

The words hung in the air, heavy with everything she did not say, the bruises, the blood, the way the Soldier’s metal hand had gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Another lesson in a lifetime of them.  

And like all the others, it had left scars.

The prosecutor leaned forward slightly. "Why did you agree to help Rogers in his quest to find the Winter Soldier after the events in Washington?"

Natasha met his gaze, unflinching. "Two reasons." Her voice was steady again. "Either Steve was right, and Barnes wasn’t in control of his own mind. If that was true, then he wasn’t just a victim. He was a weapon that had been used, just like I was. And if he could be pulled back from the edge, then he deserved that chance."

She paused, her fingers tracing an invisible scar on her forearm under her shirt. "Or," she continued, colder now, "he was exactly what they made him to be, every bit the Winter Soldier. Ruthless. Unstoppable. And if that was the case, then someone needed to put him down before he hurt anyone else."

A beat of silence. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before a strike.  

"So which was it?" the prosecutor pressed.  

Natasha’s lips curved, just slightly, not a smile, but something sharper. "Turns out," she said, "it was both.”

The prosecutor continued his line of questioning, carefully avoiding the final choices she had made with Steve, how she had stood by him no matter what. He did not ask about the blind trust she had placed in Rogers, how she had never looked into his past, never questioned the stories he told. She had taken him at his word, something she rarely did with anyone.  

But then again, Steve Rogers was not just anyone.

The truth was, Natasha had never liked Tony Stark, not really. Not because he was arrogant or reckless, even if it never helped, but because he was one of the few people who could see her. Really see her. He had a way of cutting through the smoke and mirrors, stripping away the carefully constructed lies until all that was left was the raw, unvarnished truth. And Tony learned. That was the most infuriating part. He made mistakes, just like everyone else, but he never made the same one twice.  

After a while, none of her usual manipulations worked on him. No subtle nudges, no half-truths wrapped in charm. He would look at her with that knowing glint in his eyes, and she would feel, for the first time in years, exposed.  

It was easier to deal with men who thought they understood the version of her she wanted them to see. Tony did understand her, the real her. And that made him dangerous.

The moment the prosecutor stepped aside, Matt rose smoothly from his seat, his cane tapping lightly against the floor as he approached. Natasha’s gaze locked onto him, cold, like he was something unpleasant she had scraped off her boot.

If they had been about to face off in the ring, she would have laughed. A blind man was hardly a threat to someone like her. But this was not a fight of fists. It was a battle of wits played in the cold arena of the courtroom. And here, Matt’s blindness did not make him weak. If anything, it sharpened him, allowed him to play the underdog who fought for justice despite the odds. 

Matt took his time, asking her his first question, as if he was listening for something beyond her words. Waiting. Calculating. It was unsettling, as if he could hear the truth itself. Natasha tried to not let those blatant manipulation techniques get to her. 

She knew how this game worked. The law had rules, but justice? Justice was a commodity, bought and sold by the highest bidder. And Stark’s money had a way of bending the noblest intentions. Murdock might have played the righteous defender, but she was not naive enough to believe he was immune to that kind of influence. Everyone had a price.

‘Let’s see how this shark wants to play.’ She thought.

“Ms. Romanov,” Matt began, tilting his head slightly. “Let’s revisit your first encounter with the Winter Soldier. Could you describe his arrival to the jury?”

Nataha’s expression remained impassive. “What do you want to know exactly?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral. 

Matt did not rush. He let the question linger in the air, knowing the silence would do more work than any accusation. “Was he alone?” he asked. “Did he come willingly? Or were there handlers with him? Did they use a control sequence, a line of words to activate him?”

Her jaw tightened for the briefest moment before she replied, "I don’t recall."

A faint, knowing smile touched Matt’s lips. "Well, that doesn’t matter," he said smoothly, shifting his stance as if addressing the jury more than her. "Because thanks to you and Mr. Rogers, we actually have answers to those questions."  

“What do you mean?”

Matt tapped his cane once against the floor to emphasise his point. “We went through the Shield data dump, the one you so graciously helped initiate. And if I were to tell you that Hydra had to use the activation sequence twice the first time they brought him to the Red Room and yet he refused to fight.”

Natasha’s silence was enough. But Matt was not waiting for her to speak. He already knew the full extent of the truth, the part of the story the prosecutor had carefully hidden. And he could hear it in the way her pulse hitched, she knew it too.

He carried on, his voice low. “Did you know that they had to use the chair on him? That machine, the one that burned away his memories like pages torn from a book?” A pause, just long enough to let the horror of it sink in. “He still refused to fight against little girls. So, they used it so often, so brutally, that Hydra’s own scientists believed they had finally succeeded. That there was nothing left of Bucky Barnes, just the Winter Soldier, the tool they could turn into whatever they needed him to be.”

The courtroom was dead silent. People did not dare to breathe. The picture Matt was painting was beyond anything they had imagined. Perhaps they did not want to even think about those kinds of things. 

“It took years for whatever was left of Bucky to come back to the surface.” He mused, almost to himself. “Somehow, after all of that, he still remembered enough to break free. To fight back. And the first things he thought about, after waking up for seventy years of torture and brainwashing, was to ask for help about the threats he knew about, including himself.”

Natasha’s mask did not slip. But in the space between heartbeats, Matt heard it, the faintest catch in her breath.

‘Got you.”

Chapter Text

The prosecutor had done his part, thoroughly, ruthlessly. He had summoned every witness, dissected every piece of evidence, and woven the narrative in the most damning light possible for Bucky Barnes. It was his job, of course, to present the state’s case with conviction, but there was something sharper beneath his arguments, something personal. The way his eyes always hardened while looking at Bucky, the emphasis on the years as the Winter Soldier, it was not just about justice. 

It was about sending a message.

Perhaps he wanted to make an example of Barnes, a warning to all the so-called heroes who operated outside the law, who thought that accountability was for others, not for them. Or maybe, it was simpler than that, uglier. Rogers was beyond his reach now, vanished into dust or myth or whatever story the history books would eventually settle on. Not necessarily the truth, seventy years of comics had proven that. But Bucky. He was here, flesh and blood, willing to get punished even. He had fought beside Captain America, had shared his battles, his scars, and surely the same way of thinking. And somebody needed to take the blame.

If the prosecutor could not punish Rogers, then Barnes was the next best thing.

Matt had a couple of days to present his case now, and he intended to use every minute wisely. His first witness was Tony Stark, because of course it was. The genius, billionaire, and former Avenger took the stand with his usual air of casual confidence, though there was a sharpness in his eyes that suggested this was not that simple. This was not going to be another Senate hearing.

Thanks to Matt’s careful and precise questioning, Tony described the day Bucky had shown up unexpectedly in his penthouse, how the Winter Soldier, of all people, had sneaked past one of the highest security in the world to give a warning concerning Rogers. Tony admitted, with a wry smirk, that he had not believed Barnes at first. Why would he? The man was a ghost, an enemy, and was trying to persuade him that Rogers was everything but the hero they all believed him to be. 

“Why did you start to believe Mr. Barnes?” Matt asked then. 

Tony sat down more comfortably in the witness chair, hands crossed over his knees. “Because it was right after D.C.,” he said, the words full of something raw. “After Shield collapsed. After Rogers and Romanov dumped millions of classified files online, and then crashed three helicarriers on the Potomac without thinking of the innocent people there. Because that was such a genius plan.” A dry, humourless laugh escaped him. “The helicarriers? That was my tech. The failsafes, the override protocols. I could’ve grounded them from New York if someone had just picked up the damn phone.”

His jaw tightened. The memory was still sharp, still bitter. “I spent days after that pulling agents out of firestorms in godforsaken corners of the world. People who bled out in safehouse attics because their covers got blown wide open. People who had been tortured. And sometimes, too often, I was too late. Good people. Other preventable losses.” The words were full of accusation and regret mixed together.  

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he could shrug off the past. “So yeah, when Barnes showed up talking about Steve making more questionable choices, I wasn’t exactly inclined to dismiss it.” He let a second of silence make his words sink in. “And let’s be honest. If even the Winter Soldier’s worried, maybe the rest of us should be too.”  

“Were there other moments that helped cement that decision?” Matt pressed, guiding the testimony like a surgeon with a scalpel.  

Tony’s mouth quirked, not quite a smile, more the grimace of a man recalling an old wound. “Oh, you mean aside from Rogers’ default setting being ‘throw fists first, ask questions never’?” A ripple of uneasy laughter moved through the courtroom. “Look, from the minute we met, he made it a pissing contest. Earth’s about to get steamrolled by an alien crazy demigod, not so crazy it turns out, and Cap’s more interested in measuring dicks in the middle of one of Shield Helicarrier.”  

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Yeah, the sceptre messed with our heads, amplified the worst in us. But magic mind-whammies don’t invent friction. They just pour gasoline on a spark that’s already there. Steve needed an enemy. And if it wasn’t Loki, or Hydra, well.” His gaze flicked to Barnes. “Guess I was next on the roster.”  

"Did Mr. Barnes disclose the existence of his trigger words to you?" Matt asked, his voice cutting through the hushed courtroom.

Tony's eyes lost their focus, the memory pulling him back to that critical moment. "Yes. Immediately and voluntarily. He laid it all out. The words, the conditioning, the whole damn programming. No hedging, no excuses." A brief, humourless smile touched his lips. "Hell of a thing, when the world's most notorious assassin walks into your living room and hands you his own kill switch."

Matt nodded, pacing before the jury box. "And your response?"

"Action. Immediate action." Tony answered straight away. "This wasn't some theoretical problem. Those words were live grenades in the wrong hands. Every second we waited was another second someone could use them."

"And why not involve official channels? Government psychiatrists? Proper authorities?"

Tony's expression darkened. "Three reasons. First, time. This wasn't about unpacking childhood trauma over weekly sessions. This was an explosive deadly weapon at the neurological level." He took a breath slowly. "Second, security. We're talking about a supersoldier assassin here. You want that procedure done in some VA hospital basement? Really?"

The courtroom murmured as Tony continued, his voice dropping. "And third... the process itself. To dismantle the triggers, we had to walk through every one of those memories. That meant potentially activating the Winter Soldier protocol at any moment." His gaze flicked to Bucky, then back to Matt. "You think any civilian facility, any government shrink, was equipped to handle that? I had containment protocols, emergency countermeasures, and enough tech to..."

He trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy. '...to stop him if necessary.'

Matt let the silence stretch before his next question. "And the risk to yourself?"

Tony shrugged, the gesture deceptively casual. "Calculated risk. The armour was there all the time, we were in separate rooms. Barnes was actually in the Hulk room. Besides," a ghost of his trademark smirk appeared, "when have I ever done things the safe way?"

Matt asked Tony about the sceptre. “We never should have been the ones handling that thing in the first place,” Tony muttered. “Asgard had centuries, hell, millennia of experience with alien artefacts. They had containment protocols we couldn’t even dream of. But instead? Shield got their hands on it, played hot potato with cosmic power, and lost it to Hydra. They had already messed around with the Tesseract before, something they didn’t understand, and New York nearly got leveled.”

Tony took a calming breath before continuing. “They should have learned from that particular lesson. But no. They lost the sceptre to Hydra. Rogers wanted it back, wanted Banner, me to do experimentation on it. When I pointed out that maybe we shouldn’t be keeping a mind-altering alien weapon in my tower, full of people? When I suggested that Asgard might be the better option? Almost all the Avengers rallied against me.”

“They wanted to keep it?” Matt asked, his brow furrowing in disbelief.

Tony let out a tired sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah. But I don’t think they fully grasped what that meant." His voice was full of frustration. "We brought it back to New York, right into the heart of the city. Shield was gone, and I wasn’t about to gamble millions of lives playing keeper for another cosmic time bomb." 

Matt tilted his head. "But didn’t you think it could help Bucky? If the sceptre could control minds, maybe it could undo Hydra’s programming."  

Tony’s expression darkened. "I didn’t know how to use it like that. The only thing we knew for sure was that it could hijack people’s free will, turn them into puppets. That’s not a solution. That’s just trading one kind of violation for another." He shook his head. "We wanted Bucky free, not reprogrammed by another weapon we barely understood."

He was looking tired all of the sudden. "And even if we had tried, I wouldn’t have risked experimenting on a human being without years of testing. You don’t just wave an alien artifact at someone’s head and hope for the best. The potential side effects? The risks? It could’ve fried his brain, made him worse, hell, it might’ve turned him into something none of us could control. Or killed him.” 

Tony exhaled sharply. "No. The safer, the right, call was using real science. Methodical, tested, ethical science. The neural mapping, breaking down the trigger words piece by piece. That was the way to do it. No shortcuts. No magic wands."  

Matt studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. "You didn’t want to fix him by breaking him all over again."

"Exactly," Tony said quietly. "Some things aren’t worth the price. No easy way out.”

Tony’s testimony shifted focus to Lagos first, the collateral damage, the civilian casualties, the unanswered questions about an Avengers operation gone wrong. But it was Vienna that truly exposed the fractures in Rogers’ carefully constructed image. The man was willing to burn down every principle he supposedly stood for.

“And the great friendship, the ‘end of the line’ brotherhood?” Matt pressed on.

“A heartwarming backstory for the comics.” Tony answered harshly. “Because the moment Barnes stopped following no question asked, Rogers turned on him and tried to neutralise him. Simple as that.”

“See, that was the dirty little secret,” Tony continued. “Rogers didn’t want Bucky free. He wanted him to be obedient. Bucky had learned that the hard way during the Second World War, when apparently falling from a train.”

A heavy silence followed the heavy implications. Matt did not push the question further. It would have been hearsay anyway. Bucky would be the one telling that particular part of the story. 

"Tony... in that final moment, when you had all six Infinity Stones at your fingertips... what was going through your mind?" Matt asked softly.

"It wasn't... it wasn't a single thought," he began, his voice rough with remembered pain. "Imagine every mistake, every failure, every 'what if' from the last decade flashing before your eyes at lightspeed.” 

"I saw every face," Tony confessed, his voice breaking. "Every person we couldn't save. Every time we were just... just slightly too late. The math was horrifyingly simple. Thanos wasn't just a person. He was an idea. And ideas? They're harder to kill than titans. I needed to erase that particular idea. Not just his army, not just his cult. I needed to send a message to the Universe that our planet was capable of defending itself.”

The courtroom was hanging on Tony’s lips. The jury sat rigid, their eyes focused on him. The judge leaned forward, eyes unblinking. Even the bailiffs had stilled, half turned to look at the witness stand. The air itself seemed to be heavy with the weight of the moment. Tony was about to explain everything. And so they waited. No shuffling, no whispers. Just ready for whatever was to come.

“When I made my snap, I focused on erasing every last member of Thanos’ people, army or overwise, past and present, near and far, for them to vanish from existence permanently. No chance of return, a message to the universe. I’m not gonna lie. I was scared, desperate even.”

"Did you deliberately wish for Steve Rogers to turn to dust? Was that what Bucky Barnes asked of you?"

The question had been raised by some of the media before. Some refused to believe it. Captain America? The man who had stood against Hydra, against tyranny, against the very concept of surrender? The first Avenger, the one who had paved the way? No, he could not have fallen that far. 

But then again, nobody was perfect. A single mistake did not erase a lifetime of heroism… but it changed it.  

For decades, Captain America had been a symbol of everything good. Generations had grown up reading about him, idolising him, imagining themselves in his boots, shield in hand, facing down impossible odds. To accept that Rogers had failed, that in the end, agreed with the Mad Titan’s vision, was not just a betrayal.

It was the death of something they had loved.

“No.” Tony answered. “I didn’t target him. Not specifically. I wish for every last follower of Thanos to disappear. Every single one who believed the universe needed his so-called mercy.” A bitter edge crept into Tony’s voice. “It just so happened that minutes before the end… Rogers decided the Mad Titan had the right idea all along. He chose his side. The stones simply did their job.”

Chapter Text

Matt took a slow breath, steeling himself for the last part of his questioning, the one that had been hanging over them all like a blade. He had prepped Tony for this moment, walking him through the testimony, but no amount of preparation could soften the blow that came next.

“The Winter Soldier killed your parents.”

No preamble, no delicate phrasing. Just the raw, ugly truth. Tony already knew. He had lived through Bucky’s confession, through that grainy, brutal footage in the leaked Hydra files. There was no gentle way to say it, no way to dress it up as anything other than what it was. A murder. Cold and calculated. Even if the hands that did it were not entirely Bucky’s.

And yet…

“Here you are, defending him.”

Matt let the silence stretch, just for a heartbeat. Long enough for the jury to lean forward, for the prosecutor's pen to freeze above his legal pad, for Tony's fingers to tighten almost imperceptibly against the witness stand. The air itself seemed to crackle with the weight of what came next.  

On paper, it made no sense at all. 

Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, the man who built an empire and saved the universe, should have been the last person in Bucky Barnes’ corner. Actually, he should have been leading the charge against him, demanding justice with all the other victims. The Winter Soldier had taken everything from him. Tony had lost his parents too young, and been lied to for most of his life. 

And yet.  

Here he was.  

Not just standing in the same room as Barnes, not just tolerating his presence, but defending him. Voluntarily. Publicly. With the full weight of his name, his influence, his legacy thrown behind the man who had changed Tony’s life completely.

The press could not make sense of it. The legal analysts dissected it like an unsolvable equation. Even the jury kept glancing at him, waiting for the crack in his armour, the moment he would snap and reveal this was all some elaborate ruse.  

“Let me tell you something about weapons. I’ve been in the business a long time, designing them, perfecting them, selling them to my country and its allies. I’ve been shown first hand what they could do.” Tony said, his hand going to his torso without really thinking about it. “And I’ve spent every damn day since then carrying the blood they’ve spilled.”

The courtroom was silent, hanging to his every word. They had all seen how Tony had tried to destroy all the weapons he had ever created, how he had tried to be better, trying to save the world even in his new inventions, like the arc reactor technology. He did not try to erase his past, just to help wherever he could going forward.

“But here’s the ugly truth. When I shut down Stark Industries’ weapons division, the world didn’t suddenly stop killing each other. The bombs kept falling. The guns kept firing. Some other arms manufacturer just took my place at the table, because that’s how this game works. The players change, but the game always stays the same.”

His gaze swept across the jury, the judge, the gallery, lingering for a fraction longer on the prosecutor, whose lips had pressed into a thin, disapproving line.  

“But here’s the thing about weapons. They don’t choose their own targets. They don’t send themselves. At the end of the day, there is always a person behind that. A man, or a woman, who makes the decision to pick it up, aim it, and fire.”

A bitter smirk twisted the corner of his mouth. "And that? That’s the part nobody wants to talk about. It’s easier to blame the gun. The bomb. The Winter Soldier. But the real question isn’t what killed my parents. It’s who. And the people who wanted them dead were Hydra. The real responsible for that mess was Hydra. The ones I want caught and put through the ringer are Hydra.” 

He leaned forward, hands braced against the witness stand.  

"So yeah. I’m standing here defending Barnes. Not because I’ve forgotten what he did." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "But because I forgive him. I know what it’s like to be a weapon. And I know what it’s like to be the one holding it." 

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Court is adjourned for an hour recess,” the judge finally announced, as if out of a daze, the gavel striking with a sharp ‘crack’ that echoed through the stunned silence.

Matt exhaled, just slightly. Perfect timing.  

Tony’s raw testimony now hung suspended in the air, lingering. No immediate rebuttal, no prosecutor swooping in to pick apart his words with cold legal precision, or at least, try to. Just time for the jury to sit with it. To let it sink in. To replay Tony’s words in their heads and let the weight of what had been said. The prosecutor tried to appear unbothered, but it was not what he had been planning for. 

Matt allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk as he gathered his notes. By the time the court resumed, the jury would not just be evaluating evidence. They would be questioning everything, the nature of guilt, of blame, of who really held the knife versus who had their hand forced around it.

That was the actual point of all this trial.

The heavy door closed shut behind them with a soft click, sealing them from the outside world in the preparation room that had been set aside for them. For one second, that seemed to last an hour, Bucky stood perfectly still. He was looking straight ahead, his hands turned into fists, trying to hold back the dark feelings that were submerging him.

Then the dam broke.

His knees buckled first, just slightly, enough that Tony instinctively reached out to steady him. Bucky caught Tony's forearm in a grip that would have been painful if not for the desperation behind it. His other hand came up to clutch at the front of Tony's suit, the fabric wrinkling under white-knuckled fingers.

He did not mean to do it. He had not planned on it. The unbearable kindness in Tony’s words had just brought back all the doubts he would always have somewhere at the back of his head. Before he could stop himself, his metal hand, trembling, gripped the back of Tony’s suit jacket like a drowning man clutching at driftwood. 

"I’m sorry…" The words spilled out of him, strangled and wet. "God, Tony, I’m so sorry…" 

His voice failed him completely then. Air refused to enter his lungs despite his lungs trying desperately. The edge of his vision darkened, darkness crawling inward like ink spreading across paper. For a scary minute, he thought he would pass out right there in Tony’s arms.

His body betrayed him completely. The more he wanted to get control over himself, the more it was slipping through his fingers. It was hard to think, hard to concentrate. The testimonies of his victims were going through his mind over and over and then, Tony telling the world that was forgiving him. His body was trembling like a leaf in Tony’s arms, his broad shoulders curling inward as if trying to make himself smaller, less of a target.

Tony recognised the signs instantly. He had had his fair share of panic attacks over the years, in a cave with a car battery wired to his chest, in boardrooms when the walls started closing in, in the dead of the night when the ghosts of his failure grew too loud. But seeing it happen to someone else, especially to someone he loved.

Especially Bucky.

“Easy, easy,” Tony murmured, shifting his grip to better support Bucky’s weight. The super-soldier’s legs buckled completely then, and Tony found himself taking most of his mass as they staggered toward the nearest chair. "That's it, just like that. I've got you. I’ll always be there for you.”

Bucky collapsed into the chair like a marionette with its strings cut, his metal hand gripping the armrest so hard the plastic cracked. Tony knelt before him, keeping one steadying hand on his knee while the other reached up to cradle the back of Bucky’s neck. The skin there was clammy with sweat, the pulse beneath Tony’s fingers racing like a hummingbird’s wings.

"Breathe with me, honey," Tony murmured, his voice dropping into that soft, steady cadence he reserved for emergencies and sleepless nights. He pressed Bucky's shaking hand flat against his own chest, letting him feel the deliberate rise and fall. "In..." Tony drew in a slow, exaggerated breath, watching Bucky's glassy eyes try to focus. "And out..." He released it with a whoosh, the warm air stirring Bucky's disheveled hair.  

Bucky’s breath hitched, stuttered. Then finally, after a moment that seemed way too long, Bucky’s breathing finally synced with Tony’s. His fingers uncurled a little, never leaving Tony’s shirt completely, clinging like a lifeline as Tony counted for them both.

"Good. Just like that. Follow my rhythm, sweetheart. You're doing so good."  

The endearments slipped out without thought, tender and automatic. Tony carded his free hand through Bucky's sweat-damp hair, gently guiding his head down until their foreheads nearly touched. Bucky's gasps were still too quick, too shallow, but they were there, proof he was fighting his way back.  

Tony could feel the exact moment Bucky truly registered his words. A shudder ran through him, and he took a big breath, finally enjoying it. The panic was slowly going away, leaving something fragile behind. When Bucky finally lifted his eyes, they were wet and exhausted, but present.

The corner of Tony's mouth quirked up. "There you are," he whispered, thumb brushing away a stray tear.  

Bucky swallowed hard. "...'m sorry," he rasped.  

Tony just shook his head, leaning in to press a kiss to his knuckles. "Don't be."  

Matt hovered near the door, fingers tapping restlessly against his cane. He could hear the muffled voices inside, Tony's steady murmurs, Bucky's ragged breathing, and hated what he had to do next.  

"Two minutes," he said quietly through the door, not quite intruding but unable to delay any longer. The courtroom was already stirring outside, journalists buzzing like vultures, the jury filing back in. They needed to move.  

Inside, Tony's hands tightened briefly around Bucky's before pulling away. "You hear that, sweetheart? Time to put the mask back on." His voice was light, but his eyes were serious as he straightened Bucky's tie with practiced fingers, brushing invisible lint from his shoulders. The Winter Soldier armour was different, less vibranium, more spine of steel.  

Bucky inhaled sharply, squaring his shoulders. The tear tracks were gone, wiped hastily away. The trembling in his hands forcibly stilled. Only the faint redness around his eyes betrayed him.  

"I'm good," he muttered, rolling his neck until it cracked. "Let's go."

"I wish I could do more," he admitted, voice low. The guilt sat heavy in his chest, illogical, chewing at his heart and mind, but there all the same. There was nothing humorous about this, nothing flippant to deflect with. Just Bucky, raw and hurting, and Tony helpless to fix it.  

Bucky catched Tony's wrist. His grip was firm now, steady where it had been shaking minutes before. "You're doing enough," he said, and something in his tone had shifted, resolute, certain. The set of his shoulders straightened. The shadow in his eyes receded just enough.  

Because that was the thing about Bucky, the man who now had a lover, friends, a son, he would do everything for his loved ones. And Tony, reckless, brilliant, infuriating Tony, who had every right to hate him but stood by him anyway, was the best reason in the world.  

"I've got this," Bucky added, and for the first time since they'd stepped into that courtroom, it sounded like the truth. He squeezed Tony's hand once before letting go, squaring himself to the door. To the fight ahead.  He walked a little bit taller after that. He would be strong for his family.

Tony exhaled, something warm and aching unfolding behind his ribs. "Yeah," he murmured, watching Bucky's back as they stepped out into the hallway. "You do."  

Once back in the courtroom, the prosecutor approached the stand like a man convinced of his own righteousness, his questions designed to chip away at Tony’s credibility.

He painted Tony’s actions as reckless, impulsive, as if every decision he had ever made had been tainted by Barnes’ influence. And then came the kicker. Loki’s presence. A cheap shot, really. The prosecutor’s voice dripped with insinuation as he suggested that Tony had been compromised from the very beginning, that his judgment had always been flawed.

The man twisted like the wind, his rhetoric shifting with Tony’s rebuttal. Heroes were either too powerful or not powerful enough, too independent or too controlled by governments that failed them. There was no winning, no right answer in his eyes. But Tony had spent a lifetime outmaneuvering people who thought they were smarter than him. And today? Today, he was turning every argument back on the prosecution.

With a smirk and a calculated pause, he dismantled their logic piece by piece, exposing the contradictions in their case. The more the prosecutor pushed, the more Tony made the man look like the one with an agenda, desperate to condemn Bucky not because of evidence, but because of fear.  

By the time Tony stepped down, the courtroom buzzed with murmurs. The jury’s expressions had shifted. Even the judge seemed to regard the prosecution’s case with fresh skepticism.  

It had been a good day for Bucky’s defense after all.  

Chapter Text

They had talked a lot the night before. Of course, it would look better if Bucky were to present himself at the witness stand. He had nothing to hide after all. This trial had been his decision all along, and he had the last say no matter what. Matt told them things as they were. It would look better if the last testimony was Bucky’s, but a panic attack at the bar would have the opposite effects.

People would say that he was playing a role, for the jury, for the world. Bucky had been silent, turning the words over in his mind. His way of facing the world head-on instead of letting others clean up his mess was speaking louder than anything. The final call was his, and his alone.  

But Matt, ever the lawyer, had laid out the risks with brutal clarity. "If you freeze up there, if the panic wins, it’ll undo everything. They’ll say it’s an act. That you’re manipulating the jury, playing the victim for sympathy." His voice had softened, just slightly. "The world doesn’t give second chances easily, Barnes. Especially after everything that happened."

Tony had watched Bucky’s face carefully, reading the conflict there. He knew better than anyone how the public could twist even the better intentions into something ugly. Forgiveness was not a currency, something that sold copies of newspapers. The world loved redemption stories, but only in books and films. In real life, the suspicion stayed forever. Bucky’s story was too messy, too filled with blood that never fully washed out.

People wanted villains to stay villains. It was easier that way. Safer. Real forgiveness was harder. That required looking at the monster and seeing the human behind it. And humanity had never been particularly good at that.

"Whatever you decide," Tony murmured once they were finally alone, his fingers tracing idle patterns against Bucky's wrist, a silent reminder, an anchor. "I'll be right there with you. Every step."

Bucky turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together. His palm was calloused, warm. Alive. "I'm doing it," he said, quiet but certain. "I need to see this through. For them. For us." 

That night, they shared a bed like they had so many times before, not for passion, but for presence. Tony curled against Bucky's chest, ear pressed to the steady thump of his heartbeat. Bucky's arm wrapped tight around him, chin resting atop his head. They did not sleep much, but it did not matter. They were used to weird sleeping patterns and it was more important for them to be together.

When the darkness pressed too close and sleep would not come, they simply talked. Not about the trial, not about the past, but about Peter’s latest science project, Rhodey’s terrible dating advice, Happy’s ongoing feud with the coffee machine. They whispered about plans that felt fragile, half-dream, almost impossible now. 

Simple things they might not get to have.

But for now, in the quiet of their room, they let themselves pretend.

Tony traced the scars on Bucky’s shoulder, some old, some new, all part of the man he loved. “When this is over,” he whispered, “we’re adopting a dog.”

Bucky huffed a laugh into his hair, warm against Tony’s scalp. “I’m more of a cat person, you know,” he murmured, fingers idly combing through Tony’s sleep-mussed hair.

Tony tilted his head back just enough to shoot him a mock-offended look. "A cat then," he conceded. "A grumpy one. Snow-white, the kind that sheds everywhere and drives Dum-E crazy trying to vacuum it up."  

Bucky's chuckle was soft. "And we'll call her Alpine," he decided, voice thick with the kind of certainty that came from having imagined this before. "Because she'll be a proper territorial lady. Won't take shit from anyone."  

Tony groaned, but it was fond. "Great. So not only do I have to share you with a hypothetical cat, but she's gonna hate me on principle. I can already see it. All over you like a fuzzy shadow, glaring at me from your lap while I try to work."  

"Already jealous of a cat that doesn't exist?" Bucky teased, pressing a kiss to the crown of Tony's head.  

"Absolutely," Tony grumbled, twisting to bury his face against Bucky's collarbone. "If she steals all your attention, I'm retroactively vetoing the whole pet idea."

Bucky's laughter was quiet, light, a fragile, precious thing in the dark. His arms tightened around Tony, pulling him impossibly closer. "Don't worry, Tony," he murmured. "You'll always be my favourite pain in the ass, who needs feeding and cuddling on a regular basis.”

Tony pinched his side, but there was no heat in it. "Better be," he muttered, and let the rhythm of Bucky's breathing lull him toward sleep.  

The morning arrived too quickly, sunlight slicing through the curtains like an uninvited guest. They moved through the rhythm of getting ready together. Bucky shaved at the sink while Tony was under the shower. They both put on a tailored suit, a different shade of grey, and Tony rummaged through his closet, tossing a deep red tie in Bucky’s direction without looking.

"You’re gonna spill that," Bucky warned as Tony poured coffee into thermoses, hands still sleep-clumsy.  

“I’ve handled nuclear reactors with less focus,” Tony retorted, but he still let Bucky steady his wrist when the stream wavered. The rich aroma of dark roast filled the kitchen. Coffee was Tony’s specialty, because if there was one thing he could do right before dawn, it was brew a damn good cup of bitter nectar. He handed Bucky a thermos, their fingers brushing. “Fuel for the war ahead.”

Bucky took a sip, humming appreciatively. "You put cinnamon in it." 

"Secret weapon," Tony said, knocking their shoulders together. "Makes you invincible in court.  And me? Irresistible. Or at least slightly more tolerable before noon."

Matt was waiting in the lobby when the elevator doors slid open, leaning on his cane with an expression that said he had been up even longer than they had. “You two look disgustingly domestic," he remarked gently.  

"Wait till you see our matching ‘Not Guilty’ sweaters," Tony shot back, adjusting Bucky’s tie with a quick, practiced flick of his fingers.  

The drive to the courthouse was quiet, the thermos warm between Bucky’s palms. Outside, cameras flashed like lightning, reporters shouting over each other. Tony squeezed Bucky’s knee, once, firm, before sliding out of the car.  

"Team Barnes-Stark, reporting for duty," Tony announced, loud enough for the microphones to catch.  

The media frenzy erupted, a sea of microphones shoved toward Tony like a thousand weapons. But Bucky noticed the subtle shift immediately. With a practiced smirk and a well-timed quip, Tony stepped into the spotlight, drawing every lens and microphone toward himself like a magnet.  

"Mr. Stark! Any comment on the prosecution's case?"  

"Is it true you're bankrolling Barnes' defense?"  

"How do you reconcile supporting the man who…"  

Tony waved a hand, cutting them off with the effortless arrogance only he could pull off. "Save the drama for Netflix, folks. We're here for justice, not ratings." He flashed a grin, deliberately pausing to adjust his sunglasses, giving the paparazzi exactly the shot they wanted, while Bucky walked toward the steps of the courtroom, mostly unnoticed.

It was the same old song and dance. The world saw Tony Stark, the billionaire playboy, the attention seeking genius, but Bucky knew the truth. The way Tony angled his body to shield Bucky from the most aggressive reporters. The way he dropped a sarcastic one-liner just as a journalist tried to corner Bucky with a loaded question. The way he made himself the story, so Bucky would not have to be.  

People called Tony a diva, selfish, obsessed with his own spotlight. A textbook narcissist. But Bucky knew better. Tony used that reputation like armour, for himself, for the people he loved. Right now, that meant taking the heat so Bucky could walk into that courtroom with his head up, not drowning in a storm of sound bites and sensationalism.  

As they reached the courthouse doors, Tony fell back just enough to bump their shoulders together. "You good?" he murmured, voice low enough that only Bucky could hear.  

Bucky nodded, exhaling slowly. "Thanks to you." 

As soon as the day began, Matt’s voice cut through the courtroom. “The defense calls James Buchanan Barnes to the stand.” 

The silence that fell over the room was so complete, it was as if the entire world had drawn in a sharp breath. Everybody looked at Bucky as he rose from his seat, the weight of their expectation pressing down on him like a physical force.

This was what they had all come for. The spectacle, the confession, the chance to hear the Winter Soldier's story from his own lips. The crowd had lined up for hours, some since dawn, just for a glimpse of this moment. Reporters leaned forward, pens at the ready. Jurors sat straighter. Even the judge seemed to still, watching as Bucky made his way to the witness stand with measured, deliberate steps, his gaze fixed straight ahead.  

When he reached the stand, the bailiff extended the Bible toward him. Bucky placed his left hand on the worn leather, his flesh hand, and raised his right. His voice did not waver as he swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but.  

"Mr. Barnes," Matt began, his voice measured but carrying effortlessly across the silent courtroom. "The world thinks it knows your story. They've read the history books, seen the exhibits in the Smithsonian. How you met Steve Rogers in Brooklyn’s school, how he followed you into war, how you died a hero's death over the Alps." He tilted his head slightly. "Are those stories true?" 

A ripple went through the gallery. Even the jury leaned forward.  

Bucky's fingers flexed against the edge of the witness stand before he answered. "Not entirely," he said, his voice low but clear. "They've got... pieces of the truth in 'em. But the way they tell it?" A faint, humourless smile touched his lips. "They make it sound like some kind of fairy tale. Like Steve was always the noble hero, and I was just the loyal sidekick who knew my place." 

He paused, jaw working for a moment before he continued. "Truth is,” he said, a dry, almost regretful edge creeping into his voice, "Steve was a pain in my ass long before he was Captain America." 

A startled laugh burst from somewhere in the gallery, quickly stifled. Bucky glanced at the judge, dipping his head in a quick, apologetic gesture. "Sorry, Your Honour. Force of habit." 

The judge, an older man with deep lines around his eyes and the weary air of someone who had heard every horror the law could dredge up, merely waved a hand. "Given the subject matter, Mr. Barnes, I think we can allow a little colour in your testimony." His tone suggested that, compared to what was coming, a few swear words were the least of this trial’s sins.  

"Even when we were kids," Bucky continued, his voice roughened by memory, "Steve had a gift for dragging me into his disasters. Half-baked schemes to sneak into movies we couldn’t afford, or ‘borrowing’ fruit from old man Callahan’s cart when his back was turned. He’d play up the asthma, the heart murmur, lay it on thick until the teachers just sighed and let him off with a warning. Pretty sure they all knew he was full of it, but…" He shrugged. "Hard to stay mad at a kid who looked like a strong breeze might knock him over." 

"And then we got older, and the stakes got higher. I lost count of how many back-alley brawls I dragged him out of. Not because he was fighting for justice," he clarified, his metal fingers tapping once against the stand. "But because Steve Rogers would rather eat his own teeth than admit he was wrong. Didn’t matter if the other guy had six inches and eighty pounds on him, he’d get back up. Every damn time." 

A murmur of surprise ran through the room. Even now, after everything, people seemed startled to hear Captain America described as anything less than perfect.

Matt let the moment settle before pressing on. "And the war?"

Bucky’s gaze lifted briefly to the ceiling, as if the answers were written there between the fluorescent lights. "I didn't enlist because of some grand speech. I went because I was drafted, same as half the guys in my unit. Steve…" He stopped, corrected himself. "Rogers only showed up later, after the serum. And even then, it wasn't all handshakes and glory. We fought. About tactics, about orders, about the damn weight of what we were doing." 

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "The stories make it sound simple. Like I followed him in every mission because he was right, because he had the best tactics, because he was my friend. But the truth is messier than that.”

Matt tilted his head. "Can you give us an example?" 

Bucky’s jaw worked. "Rogers’ signature move was charging headfirst, shield raised, like bullets were just a mild inconvenience. Problem was, the Howling Commandos weren’t super-soldiers. They were regular men with very breakable bodies. So they’d come to me after briefing to… adjust the plan. Make it survivable. Steve never liked that." 

Matt let the silence stretch before his next question. "And your ‘death’?"  

Bucky's metal fingers twitched. "That part they got really wrong," he said flatly. "I didn't fall. I was dropped. Because nobody, not even me, could tell Rogers what he should do." 

After a beat of silence, the courtroom erupted in whispers. Truth, it turned out, was heavier than the lies. But it was the only weight he had ever wanted to carry.

Chapter Text

Bucky’s voice was low, haunted, as he recounted the fractured memories of the moments after his fall, the searing pain, the disorientation, the way his world had blurred into a nightmare. He remembered the cold, the crushing weight of the snow, the way his body had screamed in protest as he struggled to move. And then, nothing. Darkness.  

When he woke up again, it was agony. Hydra's surgeons had already started cutting, sawing, and extracting the remnants of his broken left arm. There had been no anaesthesia or mercy, only the harsh efficiency of men who regarded him as a tool to be salvaged rather than a human to be saved. The amputation had been swift, clinical, a necessary step to keep him alive, though at the time, Bucky was pretty sure his survival was a curse.

Then came their twisted version of Extremis, burning through his veins like liquid fire, forcing his body to heal faster, stronger.  A bigger version of what they had already played with during his first imprisonment. It kept him from bleeding out, from succumbing to shock, but it also made the pain sharper, endless. And before the wound could even begin to really heal, they had implanted the socket, a cold, unfeeling port where his arm had been, designed to interface with the weapon they would later graft onto him.  

Hydra had not waited, had not given him a moment to come to term with the loss of his own flesh. They did not care about the trauma, the psychological torment, the way his mind splintered under the weight of it all. All that mattered was that he could be rebuilt. Made useful.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his gaze distant as he spoke, voice rough with many emotions. “I think they expected gratitude, like I’d wake up, look at that metal arm, and thank them for saving me. Like I’d forget everything I was before.” A bitter, hollow laugh escaped him. "They sent in their high ranked people, their handlers, all with their grand speeches about purpose, about serving a greater cause. Tried to sell it to me like it was some kind of honour." 

His metal fingers flexed unconsciously. “But I didn’t give them what they wanted. Every time they asked me who I was, I gave them my service number. Just the number again and again. And after a while… they stopped asking nicely.”

The room was silent, knowing full well what kind of horror was coming next. Matt kept his voice gentle but steady. “I know this isn't easy. Take all the time you need. But… Can you tell us about the chair?”

Bucky’s breath hitched. When he finally spoke, the words came slowly, deliberately, like each one cost him something. “It wasn’t just a chair. It was…” He stopped, swallowed hard. “It was a machine. Wires, restraints, with something attached to my head. And when they flipped the switch, it didn’t just wipe your mind. It burned.”

He closed his eyes, and yet carried on speaking. “It wasn't just pain. It was annihilation. Imagine lighting coursing through the folds of your brain, white, hot, relentless. Like molten fire eats away at everything inside you. One second I was clinging to a memory, something that made me, well me. My mother’s face, my sisters laugh, the taste of Brooklyn summer air. And the next… it’s just gone. Ripped out by the roots.”

He opened his eyes again, locking on Matt like a lifeline. Bucky knew that if he were to even just glance at Tony, he would break down. “The worst part wasn’t the pain, though. It was knowing. In those last moments before they switch the chair on, I could feel myself disappearing. Like watching your reflection in a mirror shatter in slow motion, piece by piece, until there's nothing left but fragments too small to recognise.” 

A hollow, mirthless chuckle escaped him. “I always ended up screaming. It didn’t matter. The technicians would simply watch, take notes, and change the voltage. By the time the chair finished its work, the screams no longer sounded human. And then... silence. Not peace. Just emptiness. I would wake up with my head still ringing, my body drenched in sweat, and no idea why my throat hurt. No idea who I was.”

His gaze dropped to his hands, one flesh, one metal, as if searching for proof that any part of him had survived intact. “Resisting just made it worse. Every struggle, every attempt to hold onto myself… it gave them reason to turn up the voltage, to make the wipes more thorough. I don’t know how many times I was put on the chair. I stopped fighting. I forgot what breaking even meant. That’s how the Soldier was born. Not in the lab exactly. In the space between what they took and what they left behind.”

“The serum, Zola’s version and then Hydra’s, rebuilt the body. Fixed the damages after each cession in the chair, kept me alive and… able. But it didn’t bring back what they’d taken from my mind. And the cryo.. Frozen solid between missions, not aging, not healing, not remembering. Just suspended like a weapon kept in its case until needed.”

Bucky took a deep breath, visibly settling himself. “Didn’t matter how many times they defrosted me. The chair was always waiting. Like clockwork. Wipe me clean, set the new mission parameters, and send me out. Over and over. But the longer I stayed out of the cryotube, the more… things began to come back. Fragments. Faces. Feelings. Never enough to matter, just enough to make the next wipe hurt worse.”

A bitter smirk twisted his lips. "I don't know the science behind it. Maybe the cryo slowed down whatever part of the brain tries to put itself back together. Maybe the serum fought the memory suppression. Or maybe the human mind just isn't meant to be erased that many times. Either way, it didn't stop them from trying." His eyes darkened. "Never stopped them from trying." 

Matt put his hand on the barrister in front of Bucky’s chair. “What about when Hydra wanted you to train the Black Widows?”

Bucky’s expression darkened, his gaze focusing on Matt’s hand. “I don’t know what went wrong for them,” he admitted, his voice rough. “And that’s the truth. Hydra scrubbed me clean over and over, carved out everything that might’ve made me hesitate. But something… stuck. Some stubborn little fragments they couldn’t burn away.”

He smiled, not one full of joy, but one of irony. “They didn’t like that. So they’d strap my back in the chair, crank the voltage higher, and try again. And again. Until the Soldier stopped resisting. Until he could stand in a room full of terrified kids and turn them into killers without flinching." A muscle twitched in his jaw. “But ‘accepting’ isn’t the right word. When your mind’s been hollowed out that many times, you’re not making choices. You’re just... reacting, obeying. There’s no actual thought behind that. Like a gun doesn’t ‘accept’ being fired. It just does what the trigger tells it to do." 

"I don’t remember much from those years. Just flashes. Small faces. Blood on the mats. The way some of them looked at me, like I was the monster under the bed. And maybe I was." He exhaled sharply. "But whatever shred of me was left? It must’ve hated what it saw. Because every time they wiped me after those missions, it felt like... punishment."  

Matt kept his voice carefully neutral. "How did your memories come back during your last mission? The one in Washington DC?"  

"They didn't. Not at first." Bucky was trying to answer as honestly as he could, but sometimes words did not come easily. "They pointed me at Rogers and asked if his face meant anything to me. It didn't. Just another target. But when I failed to take him down on the first try, they left me in the field longer. That was their mistake. So I tried to kill Rogers again. It was the mission. He kept getting back up, kept calling me ‘Bucky’. I didn’t know any Bucky.”

His voice dropped lower. "Memories don't return in order. They come in pieces, flashes of things that don't make sense. A voice. A place. A feeling. Rogers kept saying that name like it was supposed to mean something, but all I knew was the mission. And yet..." He trailed off, brow furrowing. "I didn't kill him when I had the chance. I don't know why. Maybe because he fought like he knew me. Maybe because something in the way he looked at me made the programming stutter. Whatever it was, I pulled him out of the Potomac instead of leaving him to drown."  

“After that, everything got even more mixed up in my brain. I fled the scene, but the flashbacks kept catching up. For once, everything was centred around the same idea, the same man, Rogers. All mixed with a lot of dread that I had made a mistake. I had to pull over on some backroad just to breathe. My head was a warzone, and I didn’t know who to trust. Hydra could be anyone. Except…”

“Tony Stark?” Matt guessed.

Bucky nodded. "Hydra had entire files on him. Protocols. Warnings. They'd tried to recruit him, kidnap him, kill him, nothing ever stuck. The man had a habit of blowing up their operations on principle. If there was one person they couldn't control, it was Stark."  

Matt’s lips quirked slightly, his tone lighter now but still probing. "So you went straight to him?"  

Bucky huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head. "In theory, yes. In practice? Not exactly.” He leaned back, the ghost of amusement in his expression. "After the Shield data dump, Stark was everywhere, swooping in to extract agents before their enemies could pick them off, putting out fires both literal and political. The man was a one-man damage control unit. Gave me time to... observe. Because let’s be honest, I could not exactly go to Stark Industries front desk, and ask for an appointment, you know.”

A ripple of quiet laughter moved through the room, the tension easing just enough to breathe. Bucky’s metal fingers tapped idly against his knee. "I thought I was being smart. Tracked his patterns, found a blind spot in his security, or so I thought. Turns out, Tony let me find it." His mouth twitched into the first genuine smile he had worn all day. “Walked into his space, and before I could blink, I had a repulsor in my face. Hydra is right to be scared of the man.”

The crowd's laughter faded into a heavy silence as Bucky's expression darkened. "I expected him to shoot me in the face," he admitted, voice rough. "Would've been justified. Hell, it might've been kinder. But Stark? He just... lowered the repulsor. Started asking questions instead. Gave me a chance to explain when I didn't even think I deserved one." 

Matt took a slow breath, steeling himself. These were the questions that needed answers, no matter how painful. "When did you remember... about Howard and Maria Stark?"  

Bucky went very still. "It took a while," he said finally, each word measured. "Flashes at first. A car, a winter road. Then the mission parameters. The... the way they wanted it to look like an accident. By the time the full memory clicked, Tony had already given me a place to be, a chance.”

"What was your reaction?" Matt pressed gently.  

A hollow laugh escaped him. "I told him to kill me." The raw honesty in his voice made the crowd stir. "After everything he'd done? After the trust he'd given? I wanted him to. The guilt was... it was like drowning. Felt like the only thing that might balance the scales."  

Matt studied him. "But he didn't."  

"No." Bucky's gaze dropped. "He was furious. Not just at me, at Hydra, at the world. Smashed half his lab. But then..." He exhaled sharply. "Then he stopped. Said if he executed every person Hydra had weaponised, he'd run out of bullets before lunch."

"He told me it took him time," Bucky continued, his voice steadier now. "Time to separate the man from the weapon. Tony said what they did was disgusting. And not just to the victims, to me. To every life they hollowed out to make their perfect world."

The room was utterly still now, every ear tuned to his words.  

"Then he said something I'll never forget," Bucky murmured. "He told me dying would've been the easy way out. That if I really wanted to atone, I had to live. To save as many people as they made me hurt. Not because it would balance some cosmic scale. It won't. But because wasting my second chance would mean letting them win all over again.” 

He looked up, meeting the room's silent attention with clear eyes. "So that's what I'm doing. Not for forgiveness. Not even for peace. Because every life I save now is one they didn't get to take. A life that could become so much. And that?" A faint, determined smile. "That's worth living for."

Chapter Text

The prosecutor rose to his feet one last time, his voice thick with righteous indignation as he addressed the jury. “Time and time again, we see the same story play out. Those people with unimaginable powers act without thinking, destroying everything in their wake, without consequence, leaving the rest of the world to pick up the pieces.” His words carried the weight of his frustration, and underneath perhaps of genuine grief. “They fight in our streets and houses, with no regard for who gets caught in the crossfire. And when the dust settles? It’s never the so-called heroes who suffer the price. It's the shop owner whose livelihood lies in rubble. The family who loses a home, or a father, a mother, a child, in the chaos."

He turned, gesturing toward Bucky with a sweep of his arm. “Oh, Stark’s money built clinics, funded reparations. But no amount of wealth can undo a funeral. No cheque can replace a lifetime of trauma. The world will be thankful when the next big threat is defeated, and maybe it’s the right thing to do. But for those who lived there, who are left behind, the fight never truly ends. It will take years, sometimes generations, to fully repair what was broken in one afternoon of someone else’s war.”

His voice dropped, full of quiet fury of someone who had been through what he was describing. “And what of accountability? What of justice? The victims just become collateral damage, numbers on a spreadsheet. And what about the powerful? They move on, to their next mission, their next battle, never looking back.”

The courtroom was silent. It was easy to get swiped by those words. Everything that had happened throughout the trial seemed to disappear. Only that moment, that speech was important. Because the truth was undeniable. Superheroes saved the world, but that world was made of fragile people who bled.

Matt and more importantly Bucky did not flinch under the weight of those words. Instead they looked right ahead, their faces a mask. The prosecutor was not entirely wrong, just maybe going after the wrong target. The whole point of that trial was actually because Bucky wanted to be better, to listen, to remember the cost. To show the people of the world that some of those superheroes were actually trying their damndest to improve, to make sure that the next fight would not leave more destruction behind.

His speech was passionate, powerful, tugging at the heartstrings of everyone in the courtroom. Each word was an appeal to emotion over cold and hard facts. And it seemed to work. The jury shifted in their seats uncomfortably, face full of sympathy. Feelings were not always logical. And right now, logic was not what the prosecution was selling.

The judge called for a recess, a predictable but necessary pause. The jury members were not meant to comment on what they had just heard during that time, but it would give them just enough time for them to gather their thoughts.  

As the crowd filtered out, Matt remained on his seat, his fingers tapping absently on the wooden table. He had been a lawyer for a fair number of years now, defending both the innocent and the guilty as charged. He had faced down corrupt officials, ruthless criminals, and the crushing weight of a system that did not always care about the truth. But this time was different. 

A strange, forgotten fear settled in his chest, something he had not felt since his first year in the courtroom. Stage fright. He almost laughed at the idea. He was not that man anymore. He thrived in the courtroom now, doing his best no matter what. But Today? Today, the stakes were higher than they had ever been. This was not just about Bucky. It was about accountability, redemption, and the fragile line between justice and vengeance. One mistake, one poorly chosen word, and the jury could choose to condemn Bucky to much more than he deserved.

He exhaled slowly, running through his closing arguments in his mind one more time. The facts were on their side. The law, technically, was on their side. And quite frankly, emotions could also be on their side all things considered. But facts and law did not always matter when the world wanted, needed someone to blame. When court resumed in the afternoon, it would be his turn to talk to the jury. And he had to be more than perfect.

‘No pressure,’ he thought sharply.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, good afternoon.”

The moment to talk had come too quickly, but here he was. Matt’s voice was clear, measured, full of quiet authority. He stood with his cane resting lightly against the defense table, his head turned toward the jury. He looked at them, making them feel like he was addressing them individually despite his red glasses.

“The decision you are about to make is not an easy one. It isn’t black and white. In fact,” A faint, sharp smile touched his lips. “I’d argue there are so many shades of grey here that we could paint the entire courthouse with them. But let’s try to simplify the heart of the matter.”

He took a step forward, his fingers lightly following the grain of the wooden table next to him.

“Did the Winter Soldier kill people? Innocent people, across decades and continents? Yes. We don’t deny that. The evidence is there for everybody to see, and more importantly, Bucky Barnes doesn’t deny it either. That’s why he’s here. That’s why he asked for this trial, knowing full well that it could cost him his freedom, his future, or worse. Because he believes in accountability, in giving families closure, he laid his life at your feet.”

Matt took a pause. The room was hanging at his lips. 

“But was the Winter Soldier ‘Bucky Barnes’?” Matt’s voice sharpened. “That’s the question that matters. Was the man who pulled those triggers making choices? Or was he a prisoner in his own body, his mind erased and rewritten until even his screams belonged to Hydra?”

He turned slightly, facing the jury even more, weirdly listening to the silence. 

“You’ve heard all the testimonies. You’ve heard about the scars, both physical and psychological. What Hydra did was not just coercion. This was the systematic destruction of a person, piece by piece, until all that remained was a weapon with a face. It was a miracle that an infinite part of Mr Barnes stayed alive in there, a small candle in the void. So I ask you. Do we punish the gun? Or the hand that aimed it?”

Matt took another pause for effect. His next words came softer, but no less powerful.

“Bucky Barnes isn’t asking for absolution. This is something he will have to live with to his last breath. But he’s asking you for the chance to prove that who he is now, who he chooses to be, matters more than what they forced him to become.”

“The law recognises that intent determines culpability.” Matt continued. “It’s the foundation of our justice system, the crucial difference between murder and manslaughter, between negligence and malice. We don’t punish accidents the same way we punish premeditated acts, because the mind behind the action is just as important as the action itself, if not more.”

“So I implore you. Judge my client by his choices, not the ones Hydra made.”

Matt took his cane and slowly made his way to the jury booth.

“Hydra didn’t just steal Mr Barnes’ life. They stole his possibility to choose. They emptied him and replaced everything with their own will. When the Hydra scientist spoke those carefully crafted Russian words, Bucky Barnes ceased to exist. Whatever happened after wasn’t Bucky’s making a conscious choice to do it. It wasn’t even a soldier obeying commands. It was a machine carrying out directives programmed into it by force, with no greater consciousness than the next piece of machinery.”

All eyes in the courtroom shifted from Matt to Bucky. Barnes did not move. Did not even blink. His posture was rigid, his hands clamped together so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes were fixed on the grain of the wooden massive raised desk in front of him, where the judge stood. It was the force stillness of a man holding himself together by sheer force of will.

But the people in the courtroom saw. They saw the tension in his jaw, the too controlled rhythm of his breathing. They did not see the monster, but the human behind him. They did not just see the Winter Soldier, but Bucky Barnes. 

They saw a man drowning in the aftermath of a war he never chose, and still tried to do his best by the people around him. They saw the guild that no verdict could erase. 

“We don’t hold a knife responsible for the hand that wields it. We don’t blame the car for the drunk driver’s choices. And we cannot… cannot, in good conscience, condemn a man for crimes committed a man for crimes committed when his brain had been erased after seventy years of intense torture.”

Matt's voice softened, but lost none of its intensity.  

“That doesn’t mean the victims don’t matter. Of course, not. Their lives, their pain will never be forgotten. But justice isn’t served by punishing the wrong person. True justice wants us to look for the right target, the real villain. And the truth in this case is clear. Bucky Barnes was as much a victim of Hydra as those the Winter Soldier was forced to harm.”

Matt let that truth linger while walking back to his desk, standing close to his client in a show of solidarity.

“So ask yourself. Are we here to punish what was done to him? Are we using him to get to a greater villain we think unattainable? Or are we looking at what he has done since gaining his freedom and realise he was never the cold machine they forced him to be? Because the man he is now, the choices he has made to atone… That’s who you’re truly judging today.”

“So Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, when you deliberate, I ask you one final question. What does justice truly look like for a man who was first and foremost a victim, even before being a weapon? Is it punishment for crimes he didn’t truly commit? Or is it the chance to prove that we know who is really responsible, and that who we are now matters more than what we were forced to be?”

He let the questions in the air for a handful of seconds. Lawyering was part theatrics after all. “Because if we condemn him for what Hydra made him do… then we’re still letting them win.”

He let his words fully sink in and then, with quiet conviction he finally said. “The defense rests.”

Now came the hardest part. The waiting.

The judge’s voice was calm and clear as he gave his instruction to the jury about their duties, reminding them of the legal standards they were to follow. It was clear in his tone that he had done that thousands of times before, and yet his words had a sense of finality to them. Everything rested in the hands of twelve strangers.

The judge dismissed the jury to deliberate, his gavel striking the wooden bench with a sharp sound that echoed through the courtroom. The sound was final, decisive. 

It could be over tomorrow.

A quick decision did not necessarily mean good news for Bucky.  If anything, it might mean the jury had not struggled at all, that the words of the prosecutor had been so powerful, so damning, that there was nothing to debate. No reasonable doubt to spare him. All he could do was wait. And hope.

But it could take weeks. Days of killing silence, of second-guessing, of waking up each morning wondering if today would be the day that decided the rest of Bucky’s life. This was torture.

As the courtroom emptied, Bucky finally stood, rolling his stiff shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the trial. "So," he said, voice low, "we wait."  

Matt nodded. "We wait."  

At home, his family was waiting for him.

The next few hours could be the last he spent with them. By morning, his fate could be sealed, his freedom stripped away, his life reduced to a cell and visiting hours. Or worse. But he regretted nothing. 

Bucky Barnes should have died falling from that train all those years ago. Without the serum in his veins, the war might have taken him anyway. Or maybe he could have made it home only to die from something more ordinary. A car wreck, a work accident, old age. That was how life worked for everybody else. No frozen hell. No waking up in a new century with a scrambled mind.

And yet.

He had found a new life he was not supposed to have. Meeting Tony, beautiful, forgiving, loving Tony, finding a family and friends, had been nothing short of a miracle. The journey had been long. It had been hard. But here he was. Alive. Loved.

Whatever came tomorrow, or the day after, tonight he was still here. Still free. Still theirs.

And after everything?  

That was enough.  

More than enough.

Chapter Text

The wait had begun, but to everyone’s surprise, it was not the suffocating, nail-biting ordeal Tony and Bucky had prepared themselves for. Instead the penthouse transformed into something they did not expect, a sanctuary of absurd normalcy, more lively than it had ever been.

Happy arrived first, arms full with enough takeout containers and snack bags to feed an army. Towers of Chinese takeout boxes swaying dangerously next to aromatic Italian pasta trays, three different styles of currys, and an entire grocery store’s worth of chips in every imaginable flavour, from classic sour cream and onion to the more questionable “mystery spice” variety that Peter, who had arrived at the same time, immediately claimed as his own.

“What?” Happy grunted as bags slid from his grip. “You think I was gonna let you all starve to death while waiting for the jury to stop debating Bucky’s ‘alleged’ crimes?” He shot a point look at Tony. “Last time I left you unsupervised alone for too long, you built a flamethrower into a toaster.”

Tony, already spreading the food looking for a container of Chow Mein, was waving a dismissive chopstick. “That was a brilliant toaster!”

Peter dove into the nearest chip bag with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning. "Oh my god, Happy, did you seriously get the limited edition ‘Pizza Slice’ Doritos?" He held up the bag like it was a holy relic. "These were sold out everywhere."  

Bucky, who had been bracing himself for days of tense silence and grim waiting, could only stare at the sudden explosion of junk food chaos. "I…" He blinked. "Is this normal?" 

Tony grinned widely. “Welcome to Casa Stark! You should be used to it by now.”

Bucky had to admit that it was totally something Tony and his friends would do. Rhodey was rolling in with a suitcase full of board games. “We’re not touching Monopoly,” he announced. “Last time we played, Tony built hotels on Baltic Avenue just to spite me, and we didn’t speak for a week.”

"You were hoarding the railroads like a capitalist supervillain," Tony shot back.  

"And Jenga’s banned," Rhodey continued, ignoring him. "Because apparently, half the people in this room can calculate structural integrity mid-turn, and that’s just cheating." 

Peter practically vibrated with nervous energy, which he channeled into what he declared ‘Emergency Pyjama Protocol’. The cornier the better.

“Look, even if the court calls, it takes, like, five seconds max to throw on real pants,” he reasoned, putting on a pair of pink Hello Kitty pants. “And if we’re gonna stress-eat Rhodey’s entire snack supply, we might as well be comfy.” No one had the heart to argue, partly because the kid was right, and partly because the sight of a superpowered teenager in pastel kittens was too endearing to ruin.

But Peter had come prepared against any depressive mood. His weapon? A carefully curated collection of the most gloriously ridiculous pyjamas known to mankind. With a dramatic flourish that would have made Deadpool proud, he began distributing his sleepwear grenades straight from his backpack.

For Bucky. A pair of Terminator pyjama pants, complete with glowing red eyes on the knees and the iconic ‘I’ll be back’ scrawled down one leg. “For thematic relevance,” Peter explained, grinning as Bucky held them up with reluctant amusement. Tony and Rhodey were holding their sides laughing.

For Happy. Sunshine-yellow smiley face pants, so aggressively cheerful that Happy immediately scowled at them. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, Happy! They match!” Peter cajoled.

“That’s exactly why I hate them.”

Rhodey and Tony just laughed some more, falling on the floor around the coffee table. But then it was Rhodey’s turn. Iron Man pyjama bottoms, patterned with tiny repulsor beams and snarky ‘I am Iron Man’ motifs. Rhodey sobered up immediately and deadpanned, “Traitor”. But Tony, if possible, was just laughing some more, gasping for air. Even Bucky had a smile on his face.

“Peter,” Rhodey whined. “How could you? War Machine merch exists, you know!”

“And for Tony himself?” Peter saved the best for last.

With the dramatic flair of a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, Peter pulled out his final masterpiece. The Christmas-themed pyjama set was a sensory overload. Blinking LED lights stitched into the fabric, loud red-and-green stripes, and, the icing on the cake, a giant, glitter-encrusted slogan across the chest that screamed ‘I’m not Tiny, I’m elf-sized!’ in a font that looked like it had been designed by a sugar-crazed elf on a bender. 

For a second the room fell silent.

Tony’s eyes twitched. “What in the holy jolly hell is that?”

The moment the words left Tony's mouth, the entire room erupted in laughter. Happy snorted so hard he nearly choked on his egg roll. Rhodey doubled over, wheezing, while Peter, already half-buried in his own pink monstrosity, collapsed onto the couch in a giggling heap, kicking his feet like an overexcited golden retriever.  

And Bucky?

Bucky lost it. He let out a short, surprised laugh. It was rusty from lack of use, and it was rough around the edges, but it was genuine. And once it started, it could not be stopped. He clapped a hand over his mouth like he could not believe it himself, shoulders shaking as Tony’s deadpan delivery and the absurdity of the situation truly hit him. Bucky tried to school his expression back to its usual stoicism, but he could not stop laughing. The dam had broken. Even Happy, the king of grumpiness, was wiping tears from his eyes.

Tony looked at Peter, eyes squeezed. “I’m disowning you.” There was no real heat behind his words.

Peter beamed. “Put them on, old man.”

And somehow, through sheer, stubborn Peter Parker energy, and because nobody with a beating heart could resist the kid for long, Bucky found himself changing into those stupid Terminator pants, Rhodey begrudgingly sported the Iron Man print, and even Happy, grumbling as usual, pulled on the smiley faces with the resignation of a man who knew he had lost. 

Tony, of course, wore the Elf pyjamas like a badge of honour, putting on a little show and switching the lights on. “Behold the cringiest pyjama sets ever made! Happy now, you little gremlin?”

Peter, already snapping incriminating photos, grinned. "This is the best day of my life."

The group settled down on the floor, around the coffee table, food and snacks piled high. Peter, self-appointed Game Master for the day, picked the box of Clue with the gravitas of an old university professor about to deliver his last lecture.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” he began, spreading the cards and tiny weapons. “Dr. Black has been murdered.” Bucky’s eyebrow twitched. “And we gotta figure out who did it, where, and with what weapon.” Peter explained, pointed at the cards and miniature revolver. “Was it Colonel Mustard in the library with the wrench? Or…”

"Or Captain America, literally anywhere, with his shield," Tony interrupted, snatching up the tiny lead pipe and twirling it like a conductor's baton. "Let's be real. That man treated that vibranium disc like his personal murder-frisbee."  

The room went dead silent. Everyone froze, staring at Tony like he had just declared war on the game of Clue. Even Happy paused mid-chew, not sure if he should facepalm or laugh. Maybe both.

"Stark," Rhodey groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Really?" 

"Too soon?" Tony asked, entirely unrepentant, leaning back with the pipe now balanced on his nose.  

To everyone’s shock, Bucky let out a quiet snort. "I mean… technically, you're not wrong," he admitted, picking up the miniature wrench and examining it. "Although a shield's a bit old-school these days. Not exactly subtle. Where's the bazooka option in this game?"  

Peter's eyes lit up like he'd just been handed the keys to a candy store. "Oh my God, we should modify the weapons! Make it our version!"  

Tony's grin turned downright dangerous. "Now you're speaking my language, Underoos. Imagine: 'Iron Man in the penthouse with the repulsor beam.' 'Black Widow in the training room with widow's bites.' 'Thor in the kitchen with Pop-Tarts…'"   

"Pop-Tarts?" Rhodey repeated, his voice dripping with exaggerated skepticism as he leaned forward, elbows on the table. "How do you even kill someone with Pop-Tarts? Unless you're choking them with the world's driest pastry…"  

"Oh, please," Tony scoffed, waving the lead pipe like a professor making a critical point. "You're thinking too small, Rhodey-Bear. Ever seen what happens when you microwave one for just a little too long? Lava-hot fruit filling that sticks to skin like napalm. Or…” He snapped his fingers. "...engineer a Pop-Tart blade by toasting it to carbonised perfection. Edible shiv." 

Peter's eyes widened with horrified fascination. "Mr. Stark, that's... weirdly specific." 

"He's not wrong," Bucky mused, scratching his chin. "During the war, we once rigged a booby trap with canned peaches. Nearly took off Rogers’ thumb when the syrup exploded."

Rhodey blinked. "Why am I not surprised you've weaponised breakfast foods?" 

"Survival instinct," Bucky deadpanned. "Also, boredom." 

Tony pointed at him with the pipe. "See? This is why we're upgrading the game. Classic Clue is too old fashioned. We need stakes." He grabbed Peter's notepad and scribbled furiously. "New weapon: 'Pop-Tart shuriken.' Location: 'Stark Industries breakroom.' Motive: 'Last strawberry frosted.'"

Peter gasped. "That's brilliant."  

Rhodey, despite himself, smirked. "Fine. But if we're doing this, I call dibs on 'War Machine in the hangar with the repulsor gauntlet.'”

"Ooooh, dark," Tony murmured approvingly.  

Happy, watching the madness unfold, sighed and reached for another bite. "I swear to God, if I wake up to find you idiots actually building edible weapons in the lab..."  

Bucky, who had been quietly observing the chaos, picked up the miniature rope from the Clue set and dangled it thoughtfully. "You know, if we're rewriting the rules... we could always add 'Winter Soldier on the fire escape with absolutely no memory of how he got there.'"  

The table erupted.  

Tony wheezed, slapping the table. "Bucky! Was that a self-deprecating joke? Rhodey, check the weather! Hell just froze over."  

The debate spiraled into glorious madness, each suggestion more ridiculous than the last, making them laugh until their sides hurt. 

“Falcon in the vents with a very angry Redwing,” Peter proposed, scribbling it down with glee in his notepad.

“Nah, switch it to Clint in the vents,” Tony countered, grining. “That guy had a weird obsession with crawling around in air ducts. Pretty sure he napped in there.”

"Natasha in the electricity room with her Widow Bites!" Happy suddenly blurted out, slapping the table with unexpected enthusiasm. Even the ever-grumpy man had caught the infectious energy of their absurd game.  

Rhodey smirked. "Well, if she did that, she'd probably fry the whole building's power grid."  

"And then she'd call it ‘hacking’," Tony added with a snort, miming Natasha's signature deadpan expression. "Just shrug and say, 'What? I rerouted the circuits.' Like blowing up a control panel is some kind of programming."  

The room erupted into laughter. Tony wiped tears from his eyes, gasping between giggles. “Oh man, remember that time when she was a spy in SI but she put Happy down in the ring.”

“We don’t talk about the ring,” Happy said, but he was still smiling.

Bucky, who very much wanted to know what happened but knew Happy better than to ask, just smirked. "So, Widow’s Bites in the electricity room… does that count as environmental damage or just regular murder?" 

"With Romanov? Both," Rhodey said dryly. "Always both."  

Tony clapped his hands. "Okay, new rule: If you pick Natashalie, you automatically lose power to half the board. For realism."  

"That’s not how the game works!" Happy protested, but Peter wrote it down anyway.

And just like that, the game dissolved into chaos again. Normal rules were tossed out the window. Tony wanted to do that literally, declaring that gravity was just a suggestion, until Rhodey pointed out that the passerby at the bottom of the tower did not deserve that. Alliances formed and crumbled within seconds. Peter and Rhodey teaming up to accuse Tony of being Dr Black’s murderer, only for Happy to betray them both by revealing he had been hoarding the ‘repulsor blast’ card the whole time.  

At some point, the energy crashed, just like at the end of a sugar rush. The jokes got slower, the yawns more frequent, until, one by one, they all just… collapsed.  

Tony, mid-sentence about ‘vibranium-based tax fraud,’ face-planted into a throw pillow. Peter toppled sideways onto Rhodey’s shoulder, mumbling something about ‘webs in the vents.’ Happy, the last holdout, lasted approximately three more minutes before snoring into a bag of stale chips.  

And Bucky?  

Bucky, who had spent most of his life sleeping light enough to wake at a pin drop, who had been conditioned to never let his guard down, found himself sinking into the pile. 

It was ridiculous. A tangle of limbs and fuzzy blankets, the floor littered with game pieces and empty soda cans. Someone, probably Tony, had draped an Iron Man pyjama top over the lamp, casting the room in a soft, ridiculous glow, seemingly coming from the eyes of the armour’s faceplate.

And yet…  

It was the best sleep they all had in decades. 

No nightmares. No ghosts.  

Tomorrow was another day they would face together, no matter what.

Chapter Text

It was killing him. The weight of that moment was suffocating him. The distance was unbearable, this forced separation when all he wanted was to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Bucky, to lace their fingers together in silent solidarity as the jury filed back into the courtroom. Three days of deliberation might have been quick all things considered, but it felt like an eternity that seemed to drag on now.

Now, as the bailiff called the court to order, Tony sat back down, stiff on his seat, hands clenched into fists on his knees. Just a few feet away, Bucky stood beside Matt, spine straight and expression carefully blank. Tony was so close he could see the tension lines around Bucky’s eyes, and yet so impossibly far off, separated by the procedure and formalities of the legal system.

Three days.

Was it enough for the jury to understand? To see past the Winter Soldier to the man who had been broken and rebuilt by forces beyond his control? Or had the prosecution’s emotional appeals sealed Bucky’s fate even before deliberation even began? 

God, Tony wanted to reach for Bucky. Instead, he forced himself to exhale, to uncurl his fists, to appear unbothered. The verdict was coming. And whatever it was, Tony would stand by Bucky, no matter what.

Tony’s mind was racing ahead to worst-case scenarios before the foreman could even speak. Would they take Bucky right away right then and there if the verdict was guilty? His stomach twisted at the mental image. Bucky in an orange jumpsuit, hands cuffed, being led away by stone faced guards while Tony stood helpless, watching the love of his life disappear behind steel doors. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if it would erase the thought through sheer force of will. No. That will not happen. Never.

The judge’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “Have you come to a verdict?”

The foreman stood, holding a single sheet of paper that held Bucky’s future. “Yes, we have, Your Honour.”

Tony's breath caught. Only three days. It could not be good. 

“Was it unanimous?” The judge asked. 

“Yes, it was.”

“You may proceed.”

The room held its breath as the foreman, a tall man with salt and pepper hair, unfolded the paper. No one dared to break the silence, to even breathe, as he turned the sheet upside down, cleared his throat, and read in a clear, steady voice.

“We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty of the crimes by reason of being under extreme duress.”

Everyone in the room let out a sigh. The judge nodded once before bringing his gavel down with a firm crack. “So ruled.”

But the foreman was not finished. He raised his hand slightly, and when the judge gestured for him to continue, he spoke again, his voice gaining strength with each word.

“We, the jury, would also like to recommend that Mr. Barnes continues his work as an Avenger, to save as many lives as he can, with psychological support along the way.” He paused, his gaze finding Bucky’s. “What has been done cannot be undone. But as Mr. Barnes himself said during his testimony, Hydra can’t be allowed to win any more souls. We believe in giving him this chance to make sure his story never happens to someone else.”

For one suspended heartbeat, the courtroom was completely silent, everyone holding their breath. Then, like a dam breaking, the space erupted in cheers. Bucky froze. Were they happy? For him? These strangers, these people who had listened to every horrific thing Hydra had made him do, were celebrating his freedom. It made no sense. Bucky was not sure he had heard things right. Did the foreman say guilty? Not guilty? His brain did not seem to work anymore. He could not trust his own hearing, his own mind.

Then Matt’s hand landed on his shoulder, warm and grounding. “You did it!” The happiness in the lawyer’s voice was unmistakable, mixed with pure, unfiltered relief.

Bucky opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Done what? Survived? Was that enough? Tony would know. He always knew better when it came to those things. To almost everything. He would explain to Bucky in a way he would understand.

The genius crashed into him full force, arms locking around Bucky’s waist, face buried in his shoulder. Tony was laughing, half hysterical, and yet tears were soaking into Bucky's shirt.

“Told you,” he gasped between breaths. “Told you they’d see it. Told you…”

Tony burst out laughing once again, as though his joy could no longer be contained. It was not the polished chuckle of Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, philanthropist. No, it was something raw and unfiltered, bubbling from deep in his chest. That sound meant so many things for them, that Bucky’s leg nearly gave out beneath him.

“Save the effusion for home,” Matt warned them, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. He tapped his cane lightly against Bucky’s shoe, a subtle nudge back to reality. “There’s a sea of journalists outside hungry for a word, and if you don’t feed them something, they’ll hunt you down straight to the Tower’s doorstep.”

Tony groaned, reluctantly peeling himself away from Bucky, though his fingers lingered at the small of his back. “Ugh, fine. But I’m blaming you when I inevitably say something wildly inappropriate on international television.”

Matt chuckled, shaking his head at Tony's antics, but his lawyer instincts never wavered. He turned to Bucky with a knowing look, his voice dropping to a tone only their small circle could hear.  

“Listen. You have to say something out there,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “It needs to come from you. Doesn’t have to be a long declaration, but it’s gotta sound like you mean it.” He tilted his head, thinking about what Bucky should say. “Something like… I’m grateful for the jury’s decision, and I’ll do everything I can to keep earning the chance they gave me today. Or something like that, whatever version that feels right in your own words.”

Bucky swallowed hard. He was not used to speaking for himself, not like this, not where people would actually listen. Tony had always stepped into the light, knowing that Bucky preferred the shadows. But Bucky was not stupid. He might have spent a lot of his time in a cryotube, he knew more or less how the press worked these days. 

A podium stood at the top of the courthouse steps, surrounded by a forest of microphones and a sea of journalists buzzing with anticipation. Matt led the way, his cane tapping a steady rhythm against the stone. He held up a hand before reaching the microphone on the podium, his voice full of the effortless authority of a man used to commanding courtrooms.

“We’ll be making brief statements and taking very few questions today,” he announced. “Mr. Barnes deserves some peace after this ordeal, and I trust you’ll all respect that.” His tone left no room for debate.

Bucky stepped forward, shoulders squared like a soldier facing a new kind of battlefield, already missing Tony’s warmth. He leaned in too close to the microphones at first, sending a screech of feedback through the crowd. “Good afternoon,” he said, moving back suddenly at the noise before finding the right distance. His voice was rough, full of emotion he did not know how to express.

“I’m not… a man of words,” he admitted, fingers gripping the podium. “Wasn’t much for speeches even before the war. And for the record, don’t trust what those old comics said about me. Who actually believes that stuff’s real anyway?”

The crowd erupted in surprised laughter. They were not expecting that from him. Even the most hardened reporters softened a little at the unexpected humour. This was not the Winter Soldier’s icy demeanour they kept on describing in their own articles. The man was disarmingly aware of his own reputation and was proving it wrong step by step.

Bucky exhaled, steadying himself. “So I’ll keep this very simple. Because actions are worth a thousand words. The jury gave me a chance I don’t take lightly. I won’t waste it.” He stopped. The crowd seemed to be expecting for more so he added. “That’s all.”

It was not eloquent. It was not polished or politically calculated. But it was raw, real. It was the truth, and that alone made it more powerful than any well prepared statement could have ever been. But for the press it was not enough. It would never be enough.

The moment Bucky stepped back, the crowd of journalists erupted, asking a thousand questions. A hundred voices shouted over each other, making it almost impossible to understand a word. “Do you regret your actions?” “Will the families get justice?” “How does it feel to walk free?” 

Bucky flinched, his jaw tightening. It was too much, too loud, too personal. He was not the man who could seduce men and women just with a smile anymore. But then, Tony moved. He slid in front of the microphones with the easy confidence of a man who had played the media like a fiddle all his life. He lifted one hand in a gesture that was half greeting and half ‘shut the hell up’. 

“Alright, children, calm down,” Tony announced, flashing that trademark Stark grin, all teeth and practised charm, a smile that did not reach his eyes. The crowd of journalists quieted down almost instantly, as if Tony was the stern teacher, and they were the rowdy students who knew they had done something wrong but did not want to be punished for it. 

“Here’s the deal,” he continued, holding up three fingers. “I’m gonna answer three questions. Yes, only three. I know, absolute tragedy for your clickbait quotas.” He paused, letting the groan from the press pool roll over him before flashing his most disarming smirk. “But play nice, ask something actually interesting, and who knows? Maybe you’ll get the first dibs on the next big Avengers’ press conference. Maybe even an exclusive about Rhodey’s favourite ice cream. And no, it’s not Stark Raving Hazelnuts, which really, how dare he?”

The crowd chuckled, disarmed despite themselves. Tony could see the calculations happening behind their eyes, play along now, get access later, and he leaned into it, just enough to keep them hooked. “So. First question goes to…” His gaze swept the crowd before landing on a familiar face from another time. “Christine. Let’s set the bar high.”

Everheart was a professional through and through. She did not miss a beat. “Tony, does this verdict signal a shift in how the legal system handles enhanced individuals? Or is this a one-time exception for Barnes?”

Tony did not relax. He could feel Bucky's tension radiating behind him like a live wire. This was not just about managing the narrative anymore. It was about giving Bucky a shield, protection against the press, something nobody was really prepared for.  

“Ooh, policy and precedent,” Tony said, pointing at her approvingly. “Then points to… whatever your house is. I’m Ravenclaw by the way. Everybody wants to put me in Slytherin but hello! Real genius here.” His tone shifted, just slightly. “Look, the system is not perfect and is doing its best catching-up with people like us. Today wasn’t about making exceptions. It’s about context. It’s about heroes being human after all. The jury saw that. Hopefully, you guys will see it too.”

He pointed to another reporter before the follow-ups could start. "Two. You. Red tie." 

Red Tie cleared his throat. "What's Barnes' next step? Is he returning to active duty?" 

Tony glanced back at Bucky, who stood stiff-shouldered beside Matt. "His next step is whatever the hell he wants it to be, and he already stated he wanted to help," Tony said, softer now. "But first? Probably a shower. Courthouses have weird vibes." 

Laughter. Tony seized the moment to point to the third reporter. "Last one. Make it good." 

A younger journalist near the back blurted, "How do you respond to people saying Barnes is still dangerous?" 

The air became tenser all of the sudden. His eyes turned harsher for a split second, but the smile did not falter. He was used to wear those kinds of masks during press conferences. “I’d say those people should try getting their brain scrambled seventy years in a row and see how they turn out. But since that’s not an option. Maybe we should trust our justice system and the twelve impartial strangers who just spent days dissecting exactly that question.”

He sighed, always opting for the truth. “Listen, there will always be people who won’t be happy, whatever we do. We can just try and do our best and that’s what we’ll do.”

He stepped back, hands in pockets. "And that's our time! Remember kids. Exclusives go to journalists who don't ask stupid questions twice." With a wink, he turned, ushering Bucky and Matt toward the waiting car and Happy. 

Mission accomplished. Of course, Bucky, Tony and the rest of the heroes would remain under the public’s watchful eye, ready to point out any of their mistakes. That was part of the deal. Their job now? To prove, time and again, that they would stand ready to protect the world with everything they had. For as long as it took, as long as they would be needed.

Chapter Text

The world probably expected a show. When news broke that Bucky Barnes had been officially pardoned and considering he was living under the infamous Tony Stark’s roof, the public assumed there would be some grand, extravagant celebration. Of course, there would be a massive party, bigger than the birthday party when Iron Man fought War Machine. This was Tony Stark after all, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. That party would definitely make international headlines, going so far as to illuminate the New York skyline with fireworks just because he could, or something just as incredible.

They imagined a gala, loud music, drones forming Bucky’s face in the night sky. They expected a guest list packed with celebrities who would drop everything just to be seen there, draped in Haute Couture. The kind of party that would trend for weeks, dissected by gossip columns and social media alike. At the very least, it would be even bigger than the Met gala and royalty weddings combined.

That version of Tony Stark, the one who drowned his demons in alcohol, big parties and women, had died somewhere in the caves of Afghanistan. The man he was now, the one who shared a home with Bucky and the patchwork family they had built, wanted something entirely different. He wanted quiet.

He wanted the quiet moments, the ones no paparazzi would ever capture, the ones that would never make headlines because it would not sell. 

He wanted the soft glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the living room as he and Bucky curled together on the sofa, legs tangled under a well-worn blanket. The volume would be turned low, just background noise to their murmured conversations, jokes traded in the space between kisses, stories shared in the hush of evening. No grand speeches, no need to perform. Just the warmth of Bucky’s body against his, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his fingers, both flesh and metal, would trace idle patterns along Tony’s skin, as if memorising him.  

He wanted takeout containers scattered across the dining table, the kind of greasy, indulgent comfort food that would have Happy groaning about his diet before inevitably succumbing to a food coma in the armchair. Cartons of lo mein, half-eaten slices of pizza, egg rolls passed back and forth between them. The kind of meal that left fingers sticky and hearts full. 

He wanted Rhodey perched on the arm of the couch, smirking as he hurled popcorn at them just to be a nuisance, his laughter sharp and bright when Tony squawked in protest. The familiar rhythm of their bickering, the way Rhodey would roll his eyes but still lean into Tony’s side when the movie got quiet, a silent reminder that he would always be there. 

He wanted Peter’s endless, exuberant chatter filling the spaces between scenes, rambling about his latest science project, talking about MJ trying to pretend he was not crushing on her, or the Lego DeathStar he had built with Ned. Tony would pretend to be annoyed, would grumble about peace and quiet, but the way his chest would tighten with fondness betrayed him every time.  

No fireworks. No flashing cameras. No spectacle.  

Matt said his goodbyes and went back to Hell’s Kitchen quietly. Tony made a mental note to track him down again soon, or rather, this time, to track down Daredevil. He doubted it would be easy to have a conversation with the devil, but the man would be a good addition to their family, in and out of the costume. Tony smirked to himself. Maybe he would have to swing by Hell’s Kitchen in the armour and leave a trail of coffee beans to lure him out.

Rhodey’s call came through just as Tony was contemplating the logistics of superhero-friendly invitations. “Congratulations to Bucky. Family meeting tomorrow,” Rhodey announced, his voice warm but firm through the speakers. “Peter’s already vibrating out of his skin. You two better be ready for the full force of Team Save-The-Winter-Soldier’s emotional support.”  

Bucky, who had been leaning against the kitchen island with the exhausted grace of a man who had fought one battle too many, just groaned. The adrenaline that had carried him through the verdict had drained away, leaving behind nothing but bone-deep fatigue. 

“Twelve hours,” Bucky muttered, rubbing his flesh hand over his face, his gaze drifting toward the bedroom. “That’s all I’m asking. Twelve hours of sleep, preferably with Tony as the world’s most annoying little spoon.” 

Tony snorted, abandoning his phone and suit vest on the counter. “Annoying? Excuse you, I’m adorable.” He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s shoulder, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. “But fine. Bed. Now. Before you faceplant into the counter.”

Bucky did not argue. He just slung an arm around Tony’s shoulders, letting himself lean into the smaller man’s strength as they shuffled toward the bedroom. The world outside could wait. For now, there was just this. The quiet promise of tangled limbs and shared warmth, of Bucky’s nose pressed against the back of Tony’s neck as they both finally, finally let themselves rest.  

True, uninterrupted sleep had always been a rare luxury for them. Their pasts were littered with too much blood, too many ghosts, haunting memories that did not care about the hour or how exhausted they were. The nightmares came like clockwork, ruthless in their timing, dragging them back into caves, cryotubes, and moments of torture no one should go through.

But tonight was different.  

Maybe it was the finality of Thanos’ defeat, the universe no longer hanging by a thread. Maybe it was the relief of Bucky’s trial being over, the weight of the world’s judgment finally lifting from his shoulders. Or maybe it was just the quiet understanding that, for once, they had won and not just survived. But truly won and the fight was finally, mercifully, behind them.  

Whatever the reason, the usual tension that ran through their bodies as they slept was missing tonight. The nightmares had not disappeared. No, that would be asking for too much. Their demons were not gone, just quieter now, temporarily satisfied. 

And it helped like nothing else. It helped to be tangled together like this.

Tony sprawled half on top of Bucky, his head resting over his heartbeat, one arm slung possessively across his waist. Bucky’s flesh hand carded lazily through Tony’s hair, his metal arm a solid weight around his back, fingers splayed against his skin as if to reassure himself that Tony was still there. Even in sleep, they looked for the other, knees brushing, ankles hooked together, the simplest press of a foot against a calf.  

The morning light spilled through the curtains, soft and golden, painting the room with a warm glow. Tony blinked awake slowly, disoriented by the unfamiliar sense of calm, by the softness of the mattress, by the warm body against his. Beside him, Bucky was already stirring, his brow furrowed as if he, too, could not quite believe the quiet.

For a moment, they just stayed there, lying next to the other, absorbing it.

Thanos was dead. The trial was over. The verdict was in. The fight was done.  

Logically, they knew all that. But after years of fighting, of waiting for the next disaster to strike, the absence of impending doom felt... surreal. Like stepping out of a storm into sudden, disorienting silence. Tony half-expected that it all had been a dream, or that a call would come through, some new emergency, some fresh catastrophe, but the comms remained stubbornly quiet.  

Bucky shifted, rolling onto his side to face Tony, his gaze searching. "It’s really over?" he murmured, voice still rough with sleep.  

Tony reached out, brushing his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles, a grounding touch, a silent confirmation. "Yeah," he said. "It’s over."  

But old habits died hard. They still spent part of their day waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the universe to destroy this fragile peace they finally had. Peter arrived like a breath of fresh air. The kid practically vibrated through the front door, his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, his words tumbling out in an excited rush.

“Mr. Stark! Mr. Barnes! You’ll never believe what happened in chem today!”

Happy trailed behind, grumbling about traffic and teenagers with too much energy, but even he could not hide his relieved smile at the sight of them, alive, whole, finally free. 

Peter barely paused for breath as he launched into his story, his hands waving animatedly as he painted the scene. "Okay, so Flash Thompson, who swears he's a chemistry genius now just because he aced the last quiz, decided he didn't need to follow the lab instructions, right?" His voice pitched higher with incredulity as he plopped onto the couch, putting his backpack on the floor.

Bucky leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, but his smirk gave away his amusement. Happy just groaned, muttering something about ‘Stark-level recklessness in teenagers’ as he headed straight for the coffee maker.  

Tony, meanwhile, was already grinning. "Let me guess," he said, propping his chin on his hand. "He ignored the molar ratios and created a mini grenade instead of a simple precipitate?"  

Peter's eyes widened. "Worse! He mixed the ammonium nitrate with glycerin and decided to heat it 'to speed things up'..."  

Bucky's eyebrows shot up. "He what?" Hydra, in their infinite wisdom, had taught him the hard way, how to make explosives in any possible way and that particular combination rang alarm bells.

“BOOM!” Peter waved his hands for emphasis. “Smoke everywhere, fire alarm goes off, and Flash is standing there, eyebrows gone. I mean gone, gone!” He dissolved into giggles, barely able to finish the story. “Our teacher looked like he was going to pass out! And now Flash has to wear safety goggles at all times in the lab, even during normal lectures!" 

Tony was laughing so hard he had to brace himself against the counter. "Please tell me you got video evidence, blackmail material."

Peter's grin turned sheepish. "May or may not have hacked the school cameras..."

"Atta boy," Tony wheezed, wiping his eyes.  

Bucky shook his head, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed his fondness. "Only in your life, Tony, does a kid blowing up a lab count as wholesome family conversation." 

Tony threw an arm around Peter's shoulders. "What can I say? We keep things interesting around here. Explosive…" He said, laughing at his own joke.  

The room was alive with warmth, Happy’s exaggerated grumbling about ‘reckless science punks,’ Peter’s uncontrollable giggles as he reenacted Flash’s face after the explosion, Bucky’s low, rumbling laughter that shook his large frame. Tony was mid-snort, wiping tears from his eyes, when the elevator doors slid open with a quiet ding.

Rhodey stepped in, still in his Air Force uniform, duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He took one look at the scene and arched an eyebrow.  

"What did I miss?"  

The question only sent them into another round of laughter. Peter tried to speak, but it dissolved into incoherent squeaking. Tony, gasping for air, gestured wildly at him as if that explained everything. Bucky, the only one remotely composed, shook his head and raised his hands in surrender.  

"Science disaster," he summarized, deadpan. "Teenage hubris. Explosions."  

Rhodey sighed, long-suffering, but the corners of his mouth twitched. "So, a normal Tuesday, then." He dropped his bag by the door and walked toward the sofa. "You all are ridiculous."  

Tony finally caught his breath, grinning up at his best friend. "And yet you love us."  

Rhodey did not deny it. Just rolled his eyes and stole Tony’s drink, too, before settling into the armchair like he had always been there. "Someone start over. And Parker, breathe, kid, you’re turning purple." 

Tony clapped his hands together, the sound cutting through the lingering laughter like a starting pistol. "Alright, listen up, team!" He waited just long enough for all eyes to swing his way, Peter sobering up, Rhodey raising an eyebrow, Bucky and Happy both turning with identical wary expressions.  

"Now that the gang's all here," Tony continued, puffing up with theatrical importance, "I have an official announcement to make." He paused, savouring the moment.  

Peter leaned forward, eyes wide. "Are we making  a new armour? A new arm for Bucky? An upgrade on War Machine?”

"Better," Tony interrupted, waving a hand. "Considering that next week marks the official start of summer break," He pointed at Peter. "Yes, I did check with Aunt May, don’t give me that look." Then at Rhodey. "And considering someone’s finally off-duty for more than five minutes. Yes, I checked that too, Platypus, stop glaring…"  

He spread his arms wide. "I hereby declare… vacation time!"

Silence.  And then…  

"WHAT?!" Peter shot upright, nearly kneeing the coffee table. "Like, a trip? All of us? Where?"  

Rhodey pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tony, please tell me you didn’t book some world tour trip with five stars hotels and everything…"  

"Better," Tony said smugly. "I booked a private island in the sun, no paparazzi, no journalists. But the jet will be there to get us anywhere should we want to go anywhere else for a day or two.”

Happy groaned. "At least, I'm not driving…”  

"Damn right you not," Tony said cheerfully. "Pack your bathing suits, kids. And sunscreens. Lots of it.  We leave in 48 hours."  

After a stunned silence, the room erupted with chatter. Peter, as usual, was excited about Tony’s idea. Rhodey chuckled with resignation. Bucky just wondered if sunscreen cream would be compatible with his metal arm. 

And Tony?  

He just leaned back, soaking it all in.  

This was going to be epic.

Chapter Text

And epic it was, because when Tony planned a vacation, he did not do things halfway.

From  the outside, their private island getaway looked deceptively simple, just a weather beaten wooden shack built on the edge of a white sand beach. The blue shutters had long faded and the roof looked like it had seen better days. Palms trees swayed lazily in the ocean breeze, providing the rare but welcomed shadows in the heat. It was the kind of place that screamed ‘off the grid simplicity’.

But inside? Inside was a masterpiece of Stark engineering. 

The island had always been Tony’s, one of many hidden properties scattered across the globe, each carefully handpicked for discretion and security. Bought under shell companies and erased from public records, these safe houses were his back-up plans for the worst case scenarios that kept haunting his mind. Places to disappear, if needed. Places to breathe, when the journalists, paparazzis, the world was being too much to bear.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the illusion shattered. The shack was actually a very comfortable, luxurious house with high tech everywhere and luxury items. The furniture looked very cosy and inviting. But of course, like in any of Tony's properties, it had a state-of-the-art workshop. Because no matter where Tony went, he always made sure there was a place to tinker. It was not just a luxury. It was a necessity. Because even if this was supposed to be a vacation, he knew himself well enough to admit that he would go crazy without at least some way to keep his hands busy.

Peter’s jaw dropped. "Mr. Stark… this is insane."  

“Care to explain?” Rhodey asked, not impressed by the workshop.

“Rhodey, come on…” Tony whined, looking at his friend. “This isn’t for work. It’s… It’s therapeutic! Like knitting, but with more explosions!”

Rhodey crossed his arms, giving him the same unimpressed look he had been perfecting since their MIT days. "Tony. You promised. No work.”  

"But it's not ‘work’," Tony insisted, dragging out the word like a petulant child. "It's my hobby. My happy place. My reason for breathing…"  

"...Your unhealthy obsession," Rhodey finished dryly. "Which is why," he continued, raising a finger when Tony opened his mouth to protest, "there will be rules for you and Peter.”

Tony groaned dramatically, flopping back against the workbench. "Fine. Fine! Friday? Jarvis? Initiate the... ugh... eight-hour lockdown protocol."

"Sir," Jarvis intoned, his voice dripping with polite scepticism, "given your historical inability to adhere to self-imposed time limits, we will be adjusting the parameters to a four hour daily maximum."

Friday chimed in, far too cheerful: "And no using Peter as an excuse to override the system this time, Boss."  

Tony gasped, clutching his chest like he had been shot. "Betrayal! From my own creations! My children!"  

Peter, who had been watching the exchange with increasing amusement, piped up. "Mr. Stark, you did program them to prioritise your health over your stubbornness."  

"Et tu, Parker?" Tony said exaggeratedly, his hands to his heart, as if he was about to die because of them.

Rhodey clapped his hands together. "Great! So, four hours. Total. And if I catch you sneaking in after hours?" He grinned. "I'm sending Bucky!”

"Don't think I won't hunt you both down if you try to sneak extra lab time," Bucky warned, pointing an accusatory finger between Tony and Peter. “And I'm absolutely prepared to use force if necessary." 

Tony gasped. "You'd manhandle us? Your boyfriend? Your son?"  

"Without hesitation," Bucky deadpanned, while Rhodey smiled triumphantly. "And if brute force fails?" He smiled wickedly. "Those macadamia cookies I plan to bake? Gone!”

Peter's head snapped up from where he had been examining a set of tools. "Wait! There are cookies?" 

"The good kind," Bucky confirmed. "The ones with white chocolate chunks. The ones I won’t make if you two don’t behave.”

Tony clutched the edge of the workbench like a man clinging to a life raft. "That's blackmail. The love of my life is actually blackmailing me."

"It's motivation," Rhodey corrected. "Four hours. Then you're outside, eating burgers, and not thinking about nanotech." He paused, then added with a smirk, "Or the cookies get it." 

Peter, the traitor, was getting out of the room. "I love macadamia cookies," he said cheerfully. 

Friday's voice floated innocently through the speakers. "Compliance is advised, Boss. I've already started the lab lockdown countdown."  

Tony groaned, throwing his hands up. "I'm surrounded by traitors and cookie-loving turncoats." 

Rhodey patted his shoulder. "It's for your own good."  

"Relax, Tony," Bucky said, flashing a grin that was equal parts mischief and promise. He flexed his vibranium arm, the plates shifting smoothly under the sunlight streaming through the open deck doors. "Pretty sure I'll be giving you plenty of work anyway." 

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what kind of work are we talking about here, Snowflake?" 

Bucky's grin widened. “Well, the arm?” He tapped the gleaming metal with his flesh fingers. “Not sure how it’ll feel about sand in all its nooks and crannies. Saltwater might be a problem too. And let’s not even talk about what happens if I take it snorkeling.” He paused. “Which I’m absolutely doing, by the way.”

"Are you implying my work isn't perfect?" Tony demanded, crossing his arms with mock offense. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of genuine pride beneath it. No engineer liked having their craftsmanship questioned, even playfully.  

Bucky smirked, undeterred. "I'm saying that perfect or not, we're gonna put that arm through the ringer. And when it inevitably needs tweaking after I stupidly bury it in sand or dunk it in saltwater, you'll be there to fix it. Because that’s what you do.”  

Peter, sensing an opportunity for fun (and possibly sensing Tony's brewing protest), immediately bolted to his room to change. "Swim trunks! Sunscreen! Maybe some floaties if Mr. Stark's feeling extra cautious!" he called over his shoulder, already halfway down the hall.  

Rhodey and Happy, meanwhile, were harder sells.  

"I'm not a beach person," Happy grumbled, eyeing the ocean like it had personally offended him.  

"Neither am I," Rhodey said, just to annoy the kid, while he was already eyeing the cooler that needed filling with all kinds of drinks and strategically placed near the beach long chairs.

Peter, ever the optimist, bounced between them like an over-caffeinated golden retriever. "Come on! It's vacation time! You can't just sit inside all day!"

"Watch me," Happy muttered, but Rhodey was already sighing and reaching for his bag. "Fine. But if I get sand in places where sand shouldn't be, I'm blaming both of you."  

Tony, however, lingered. He had not moved from his spot near the workshop door, his fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. He was not avoiding the beach, exactly. Just... delaying.  

Bucky noticed. Of course he did.  

He caught Tony's wrist gently, tugging him toward their shared room. Once the door shut behind them, he crossed his arms and leveled Tony with a look. "Alright, spill. You'd rather be elbows-deep in schematics than out there with us. Why?"  

Tony shrugged, avoiding Bucky's gaze. "I'm just not an outside guy. You know that."  

"Bullshit," Bucky said, voice softening. "I do know you. And this isn't about preferring the workshop." He stepped closer, ducking his head to catch Tony's eye. "Talk to me."  

Silence stretched between them. Tony was clearly thinking about it, fighting his instinct to deflect, always saying that he was fine. Then, with a sigh, Tony caved.  

"I don't... love water," he admitted, the words quiet.  

Bucky blinked. "Then why pick an island?"  

"Because you guys would love it!" Tony threw his hands up. "Peter's been dreaming about snorkeling since he found out we were coming. Happy loves the beach, I know that since Malibu. Rhodey needs to actually relax for once. And you…" He gestured at Bucky. "deserve to have fun without worrying about my vague trauma ruining it."  

Bucky stared at him. "Tony. Tony." He cupped Tony's face, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Tell me what's wrong with the water."  

Tony's breath hitched as he bit down on his bottom lip, the nervous habit betraying the storm of memories swirling beneath his composure. His gaze remained fixed on the floorboards between them, as if anchoring himself to the present, probably wrongly ashamed of himself for some stupid reasons.

"Afghanistan," he began, the word rough in his throat. "They… they used waterboarding. With the car battery still hooked up to my chest.” His fingers twitched unconsciously toward his chest. "Drowning me just enough to make me beg, then pulling me back at the last second. Over and over. Like... like I was just some broken toy they could reset whenever they wanted."  

He exhaled shakily. "I've worked on it. Showers are fine now. Pools... manageable, if I can see the bottom. But the ocean?" He finally looked up, meeting Bucky's eyes with raw vulnerability. "It's too big. Too much like…"  

He did not finish. He did not need to.  

Bucky's chest ached. He knew trauma, knew the way it left deep scars on a person, the way certain sights, smells or sounds could drag you back to hell in a heartbeat. 

"Hey." He cupped Tony's face, his thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “There is no shame in having traumas. You taught that to me.”

Tony leaned into the touch, but his frown lingered. "I don't want to ruin this for everyone."  

"You won't," Bucky said firmly. "We'll keep the deep-end stuff to a minimum. Snorkeling's off the table."  

"No," Tony interrupted, surprising himself. "Peter's been looking forward to it. I'll... I'll stay on the shore. I'm not cancelling it."

"Tony," Bucky said softly, his voice steady as the tide outside their window. "Do you trust me?"  

Tony did not hesitate. "With my life," he answered instantly, as if the words were written deep into his bones. Because they were. After everything, after Thanos, after the long nights when Bucky's nightmares shook them both awake, there was not a shadow of doubt.  

Bucky's lips curved into a small, determined smile. "Then let me help you with this," he said, kissing Tony’s lips quickly. "We'll take it slow. No rushing. No pressure. Just you and me, one step at a time." He kissed Tony again, nothing sexy just grounding. "And I swear to you, if anything goes wrong, if you panic, if you need out, I'll be right there. I won't let anything happen to you."  

Tony swallowed hard. "I'm not sure I can do this, Buck," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.  

"I know it's hard," Bucky murmured, stepping impossibly closer until their foreheads nearly touched. "But I want to be there for you. The way you were there for me when I was putting myself back together." His eyes,  stormy grey blue and yet unwavering, held Tony's. "You never gave up on me. Let me do the same for you."  

Tony's breath shuddered. He was tired of this fear, tired of feeling like Afghanistan still had its hooks in him, like the Ten Rings could reach across time and pull him under even now. He was Tony Fucking Stark. He had built himself from scraps in a cave. He had flown a nuke through a wormhole. He had thought and won against Thanos!

And yet, he was afraid of water. Fucking water. But Bucky was here. Bucky, who knew what it was like to be haunted. Bucky, who had fought his way back from his own darkness. Bucky, who was looking at him now like he was worth every second of the struggle.  

Tony exhaled.  

"Okay," he said, nodding. "Okay, we'll try."  

Bucky's smile was worth it, bright and fierce, like the sun breaking through storm clouds. "Good," he said, pressing a kiss to Tony's temple. "We start whenever you're ready. No rules. No timeline."

Tony leaned into him, letting Bucky's solid presence anchor him.  

Of course, they would not be alone in this.  

Happy, Rhodey, and Peter, each in their own way, were going to help. They did not need to be asked. Happy, the silent guardian, would look everywhere on the shoreline, scanning for the gentlest entry points, making sure that the currents would not be too strong. He was going to grumble about it, but they all knew him enough to recognise beneath the sarcasm. 

Rhodey would point out his training in the military. Even the Air Force people had to know how to swim, just in case. It was, at the very least, a good life skill to have. And if Rhodey would ‘accidentally’ position himself between Tony and the deeper water, well, that was just what best friends did.

And then there was Peter. For once, the kid would not comment much, but would stick close to Tony, chattering away about everything except the water, from the fish they could see to the way the sunlight danced on the waves. He had even found, well put in his luggage for fun, an inflatable giant unicorn that he kept nearby, just in case. And when the time came, Peter would be the first to suggest splashing in just ankle-deep, his own excitement tempered by the way he kept glancing at Tony, making sure he was okay.  

They were a team.  

And teams did not let anyone fight their battles alone.  

Chapter Text

But Tony had been preparing a bigger surprise, a meticulous plan he had managed to keep a secret all along. A week into their sunny escape, the island had lulled them into a rhythm of lazy happiness. They spent their mornings dipping in the turquoise waters, their afternoons sleeping in hammocks slung beneath palm trees, and evenings filled with laughter and bonfires. 

The world beyond the shore had become a distant memory.

As their little group was sprawled across the warm sand, exhausted, sun kissed, and pleasantly drowsy after a morning of swimming and laughter, Tony stretched out with a quiet contentment none of them had seen in him for a long time. The tension that had been there in his shoulders at the idea of open waters was gone, replaced by an easy confidence. He was not afraid anymore. 

No one was paying much attention to the horizon.

Peter, of course, was the first to notice. Even after hours of diving through waves and racing along the shore, his energy never truly faded. He propped himself up on one elbow, squinting against the midday glare, his brow furrowing as something caught his eye.  

"Uh… guys?" His voice was casual at first, just a flicker of curiosity. Then, as the shape on the water grew larger, closer, his tone sharpened. "Is that… a boat?"  

One by one, the others moved to get a better look, lifting their heads or sitting up, hands shielding their eyes from the sun. The form on the horizon was no longer just a blur. It was cutting through the water with purpose, its outline becoming clearer with every passing second.

And Tony, who had been lounging back with his arms behind his head, had a small smile playing on his lips. He had timed it perfectly after all.

"Tony… what is this?"  Rhodey asked.

He did not answer, just let his grin widen, slow and deliberate, like he was savouring every second of their confusion. The sleek yacht anchored gracefully in the bay, the white hull gleaming under the sun, and a smaller tender boat soon made its way toward them, slimming across the blue water.

As it approached the beach, close enough for the group to walk to it, Tony pushed himself up from the sand, shaking off the golden grains with an effortless flick of his wrists. “Well, guys!” he announced, as if this were the most casual thing in the world. “Let’s go!”

Happy, always thinking about practicality, looked at the tender boat, the yacht, and then down at his swim trunks and bare feet. “Shouldn’t we grab clothes or something? How long is this little tour of yours supposed to last? Are we actually going somewhere?”

Tony waved a dismissive hand. "Relax, Hap. I’ve got everything covered." 

But Peter was already halfway into the water, his excited chatter rising above the gentle crash of waves. "Oh my god, oh my god! I’ve always wanted to go on a yacht like that! Is it yours? Did you rent it? Are we sailing somewhere? Can I drive it? Okay, probably not, but still. This is insane!"  

Bucky, arms crossed but smiling, gave Tony a look. "You’ve been plotting this the whole time, haven’t you?"  

Tony just winked. "Wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I gave it away, would it?" 

They made their way toward the tender, bare feet sinking into the wet sand before splashing through the shallow surf. The crew, dressed in crisp white uniforms, extended steady hands to help each of them aboard, although Peter practically launched himself onto the boat before anyone could assist him, his wide eyes darting across every polished surface and gleaming detail.  

Bucky got closer to Tony, leaving the others to their excited chatter. “Alright, Tony,” He said, voice low enough that only Tony could hear. “What did you really plan? You don’t just roll out a floating palace like that for a sunset cruise."

Tony’s only answer was a slow, knowing smirk, the kind that meant he was holding onto something big. Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Mysterious genius act. Got it."  

But as the tender glided across the bay, closing the distance to the yacht, even Bucky’s usual stoicism flickered. Because this was not just some boat. It was a masterpiece.  

The yacht was a seamless blend of modern engineering and luxury. Its body was all sleek, aerodynamic curves, the chrome accents catching the sunlight like liquid silver against the deep, polished mahogany hull. But stepping inside felt like travelling to another world entirely.

The interior defied logic, somehow feeling even bigger than what they had expected from the outside. There were several floors, each more opulent than the last, accessible via a central staircase. The cabins were large, full of light, and well designed, resembling five star hotel suites rather than boat quarters. Luxurious, king sized beds were covered in clean, high thread count sheets so white they practically glowed, while en-suite bathrooms had rainfall showers surrounded by smooth stone.

After the sleeping quarters, there were the common areas. The dining room had a long, elegant table set with crystal glasses and Bone china, ready for a gourmet meal at a moment’s notice. Beside it, the living area was a paradise of buttery soft leather sofas, low glass tables, and a cutting-edge entertainment system completely integrated into the walls. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the ocean, turning the entire space into a private window on the splendour of nature.

But the cherry on the cake was the large main deck. Half of it was dedicated to resting, with large daybeds, a bar area and even a bubbling hot tub tucked away in a corner. The other half was designed for fun, with a high diving board built at the very edge, promising a lot of fun in the open waters.

Somewhere, out of sight, there was undoubtedly a professional kitchen, staffed by an incredible chef ready to prepare anything they wanted, but that was a discovery for later. Tony had really gone all the way for that surprise. And judging by the glint in his eyes as he watched their stunned reactions, the real surprises had only just begun.

"Holy shit," Bucky breathed, voicing what they were all thinking.  

Peter was practically vibrating. "Mr. Stark, this is insane! Is this yours? Wait, no, of course it’s yours. Who else would… oh my god, is that a helipad?!"  

Tony finally broke his silence with a dramatic flourish, arms spread wide as if unveiling a grand spectacle. "Alright, listen up! Explore, unwind, make yourselves at home tonight! Consider this the calm before the storm, because tomorrow? That's when the real adventure kicks off."  

Of course, he left it at that. No hints, no teasers, just that infuriatingly smug grin that told them he was loving every second of their curiosity.  

The group scattered to claim their cabins. Inside the closets, they found fresh clothes, perfectly tailored, Tony knowing their exact sizes and styles. Peter felt out of place in all that luxury. It was not just the surroundings. It was the attention Tony was giving him. His normal clothes were enough, no need to buy new ones. He really needed to thank Mr. Stark properly and to make clear that he did not need his money. He was already happy with a bit of his time. But then again, he was more than enjoying the trip so far.

Rhodey and Happy were kind of used to Tony’s eccentricities by then, but the selection of painfully loud swim trunks they found in their room was a bit too much. Even for them. Thankfully, they also found regular clothes as well, putting on the more subdued ones for the day.

Bucky, on the other hand, paused in the doorway of his assigned room. He arched an eyebrow, turning to Tony with a silent question. They had been sharing a room for weeks now, especially when the nightmares were bad enough that neither could sleep alone. But there was nothing more pleasant than to wake up near the love of his life every morning. 

Tony caught the look and smirked, stepping closer to murmur, "Relax, Terminator. The room’s just for your stuff. I need the extra closet space for my shoe and tie collection. It’s still a boat you know. Space is limited.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t want your precious Louboutins getting cramped," he deadpanned, before pulling Tony in by the elastic belt and pressing a slow, knowing kiss to his lips. "Princess."  

Tony grinned against his mouth. "Damn right. And let’s be real. I would absolutely rock a pair of high heels. I mean, have you seen this ass?” He gestured shamelessly, as if the question was purely rhetorical. “Perfection deserves the right framing. A good pair of heels? That’s like an arrow pointed to the target!”

Bucky’s lips lingered just a second longer, his fingers brushing Tony’s wrist. “You’re really not gonna tell me what's coming tomorrow, are you?”

Tony’s eyes gleamed. "Where’s the fun in that?"

And with that, he sauntered off, leaving Bucky to shake his head in fond exasperation.  

They spent the rest of the day sprawled lazily across the deck like cats enjoying the golden hour light. The breeze carried the salty scent of the ocean. They watched movies in the living room, half watched, half ignored in favour of intense discussion on stupid trivia about the stories or terrible impressions of the actors. 

Peter insisted on documenting every single thing. He angled his phone obsessively, close ups of his reflection in the chromes, candid shots of Tony cuddling with Bucky, even the way the sunset painted the water in streaks of orange and purple. If he did not bring back proof back to Queens, Aunt May would never believe him. Of course, Peter was not a liar, but some things needed to be seen to be believed.

And the others, much to their own feigned annoyance, indulged him. They even helped Peter take the best selfies, tossing an arm around his shoulders or holding up a peace sign to make it even cheesier. 

Out in the middle of the endless ocean, the stars came to life like never before. The moon hung low, drawing a Cheshire smile in the black velvet expanse. The Milky Way spilled across the dark, a river of millions tiny diamonds, shining brightly. The constellations were telling stories of ancient times, of Gods who, all things considered, were perhaps real, just like Thor or Loki.

Tony had seen the cosmos before, but never like this. The old fear, the one that had lived in Tony’s mind since New York, since he had flown that nuke in the portal, was gone. There was no portal to a vast army anymore, no massive threat looming in space. Thanos was dust. The universe, for once, was not screaming but healing. 

Peter’s finger traced wild arcs across the night sky, connecting stars into shapes only he could see. “That one looks like a taco! No, wait! A spider of course! Mr Rhodes, you see it too?”

And Rhodey, Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, MIT-educated engineer, literal rocket scientist, did not even sigh as he rattled off correct names with the ease of someone who had memorised star charts for fun. "That’s Arcturus. That’s Vega. The ‘spider taco’ is part of Lyra, kid."  

Happy, on the next lounging chair with a mug of coffee in hand, surprised them all.  "Lyra’s harp," he grunted. "Greek mythology. Orpheus played it so well that even rivers stopped to listen." After a moment of stunned silence, he added. “The story doesn’t end that well. Tragic love story, tragic death, all that jazz.”

The silence that followed was more shocking than if Happy had suddenly tap-danced. Tony squinted at him. "Since when do you know constellation backstories?"  

Happy shrugged, swirling his coffee. "Since always. You think security work’s all punching guys? Some of us read."  

Peter gasped as if he had discovered a secret superhero’s power. "Happy is a romantic underneath all that grumpy exterior!"  

"I’m a realist," Happy corrected, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Above them, the stars burned a little brighter.

Bucky’s thumb was tracing idle circles over Tony’s knuckles, the Milky Way reflecting in his eyes like he was made of starlight too. This was romance in a way Tony had never let himself imagine. Not the flashy, performative kind, no rose petals or skywriting, just the quiet certainty of being here, together, alive and loved.  

Bucky tilted his head, voice low with amusement. “You’re staring.”  

Tony did not look away. “Yeah, well. The view is all kinds of beautiful.”

“Such a charmer.” Bucky answered, bending his head a little for a kiss.^

Everything was perfect, and he could not wait for tomorrow to come.

Chapter Text

Tony’s brain had always been full of contradictions.

There was no reason to wake early. They were on holiday, after all. No alarms, no board meetings, no world ending crises demanding their full attention. Just slow days full of golden light, time to waste however they pleased. 

And yet.

As the first rays of dawn painted the horizon in pink and gold, Tony found himself alone on the deck, bare feet against cool teak and a streaming mug of coffee cradled between his hands. To protect him from the morning cold, he had thrown a blanket loosely over his shoulders. Below his feet, the yacht’s engine hummed softly. The ocean looked like it was breathing all around them. 

Bucky was still asleep, stretched out on the sheets in that rare, carefree manner Tony had grown to love. The genius had slipped out silently, careful not to disturb him, with only the door softly clicking behind him. Today was going to be epic.

Or at least, that was the plan.  

Tony sipped his coffee, the bitter heat grounding him as he stared out at the water. He had orchestrated every detail, all of it meticulously plotted like one of his blueprints. But now, in the quiet of the morning, doubt crept in.  

Not because he did not want this.  

But because maybe, maybe, he should have asked Bucky first.  

Not for permission. Never that. But for… input. For the way Bucky’s eyes would have crinkled at the corners if Tony had let him in on the secret, for the low, amused "You’re insane, Tony" that would have followed. For the way, Bucky would have made choices about something this important. For the way it might have felt to plan this together, instead of springing it on him like somebody else making the decisions for him, like another one of Tony’s grand gestures.

He exhaled sharply. Too late now.  

Somewhere below, a door creaked open, followed by the muffled shuffle of footsteps. Tony did not turn, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward. Of course, Bucky had sensed his absence.  

"You’re up early," came the sleep-rough voice from behind him. A warm weight settled against Tony’s back, Bucky’s chin hooking over his shoulder, arms looping around his waist. "Thinking too loud. I could hear it from the bedroom." 

Tony leaned into him, the doubt loosening its grip. "Just enjoying the view," he lied.  

Bucky hummed, unimpressed. "Bullshit." Then, after a pause he added, his tone softer. "Whatever it is, it’s gonna be great." 

Tony turned to face Bucky, the morning light catching the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his expression. For once, the genius who always had a quip ready, a deflection prepared, stood silent, just for a beat, before speaking with raw honesty.  

"Look," he started, voice quieter than usual, "if this isn't your thing, if any part of it doesn't sit right with you, just say the word. No pressure, no expectations. We can scrap the whole plan, save it for another time, or never do it at all. Your call." He ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, exhaling. "I should've asked you first. I just... wanted to make it special. But maybe I got carried away with the whole surprise angle."  

Bucky studied him for a moment, the rare flicker of uncertainty in Tony's eyes, the way his fingers tightened slightly around the coffee mug like he needed something to ground him. Then, without a word, he closed the distance between them and did the only thing guaranteed to cut through Tony's spiraling thoughts. He kissed him. Slow, deliberate, and deep enough to make Tony's breath hitch.  

When he finally pulled back, Bucky smirked at the dazed look on Tony's face. "Are you done overthinking yet?" he murmured, thumb brushing Tony's cheekbone. "I don't need to know the details to know it's gonna be fantastic. Because you planned it, with me in mind." His voice softened. "And I trust you, Tony. Always have. Always will." 

Tony blinked, then huffed a laugh, the tension draining from his shoulders. "Yeah? Even when I go full 'mad billionaire genius' and don't consult you?" 

"Especially then," Bucky said, stealing Tony's coffee for a sip before making a face at the bitterness. "Christ, how do you drink this tar?"  

Tony grinned, stealing it back. "With panache, Snowflake. Now come on.” He nodded toward the horizon, where the sun had fully risen, painting the sky in gold. "Let's wake the others. We've got a big day ahead."  

The first part of Tony's surprise was really simple. As the rest of the group stumbled sleepily onto the dining room, they were greeted by an extravagant breakfast spread that could rival a five-star hotel buffet.  

At the centre of the table stood a towering stack of Belgian waffles, one of Bucky's favourites, drizzled with real maple syrup and crowned with a dollop of freshly whipped cream. Flanking it were plates of crispy bacon cooked to perfection (just shy of burnt, the way Bucky always preferred it), golden hash browns with just the right amount of crunch, and a bowl of scrambled eggs so fluffy they practically floated.  

But what made Bucky pause was the small ceramic dish off to the side, overflowing with plump, fresh plums. A simple addition, but one that spoke volumes. Tony had remembered that little detail from some offhand comment Bucky had made months ago about missing the fruit somehow, even if the memory attached to it was blurred by the years.

Bucky turned to Tony, one eyebrow arched. "You cooked all this?"  

Tony scoffed, pouring himself another coffee. "Please, I value our relationship too much to subject you to my cooking. I want to surprise you, not kill you. I just hired the best chef I could find.”

As the others dug in with enthusiasm, Tony nudged a plate toward Bucky. “I just want you to relax today. You’re always feeding everyone else. Today, you just get to enjoy it.”

Bucky did not say anything. He did not need to. His soft, unguarded smile spoke for him. He quickly grabbed Tony’s wrist before he got away, and just kissed his hand like a knight would his princess. Just as Tony turned to encourage the kid in eating more, Bucky’s hand shot out, fingers circling his wrist with precision. There was nothing sharp about his touch, just warmth, love.

Then, with a dramatic flourish that made Rhodey roll his eyes, and not so secretly smile, Bucky lifted Tony’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. The gesture was a mix of old fashioned chivalry and shameless teasing, his eyes full of mirth as he looked at Tony through unfairly long lashes.

”My hero,” Bucky deadpanned, voice dripping with exaggerated reverence. ”Rescuing me from the tyranny of my own cooking. However shall I repay you?”  

Tony’s scoff was undercut by the blush creeping up his neck. “Ugh, you’ve been binge-watching period dramas again, haven’t you? I told Jarvis to put parental controls on your…”  

Bucky cut him off by turning his hand over and pressing a second kiss, slower this time, to his palm. The kind of kiss that promised later, private, unhurried moments where neither of them would joke to hide how much they felt.  

When he finally released Tony’s wrist, the genius inventor was uncharacteristically speechless.  

Peter, mouth full of waffles, blinked between them. ”Uh. Should we… Give you guys a minute?”

“No,” Tony said, too quickly.  

“Yes,” Bucky said at the same time, grinning.  

The room erupted into laughter, the morning sun wrapping around them like a promise, that today would be unforgettable. And it had barely even begun.  

Peter seemed to be in a hurry to finish his breakfast, his eyes on the door, his restless energy practically vibrating through his limbs. Before anyone could stop him, he had already shoved a waffle and a strip of bacon in his mouth and was reaching for a glass of orange juice to wash that down. He was ready to spring up from the table, syrup still clinging to his lips.

“I call first jump!” he announced, his mouth still half full, calculating the physics of his trajectory in his head, how high he could launch himself, how many flips would be possible, and if he could stick the landing with maximum splash.

Tony's hand shot out, catching the back of Peter's shirt before he could bolt. "Ah-ah, Underoos. Two-hour rule after eating, unless you want to test how well super-metabolism prevents cramps mid-backflip."  

Peter's face crumpled into exaggerated despair. "Mr. Stark," he groaned, dragging out the name like it was the greatest injustice he had ever faced. "That's a myth! I looked it up! And I have, like, enhanced digestion or something…"  

"Nice try," Tony said, unmoved. "But until I see peer-reviewed studies on 'enhanced digestion' from a reputable source..." He paused. "You're waiting like the rest of us mortals. You don’t want to ruin your father’s special day by being sick now, do you?”

Peter crossed his arms, sulking, not even registering Tony calling Bucky his father. "But I'll enjoy the trip more if I can jump now!"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Kid, the point of vacation isn't to speedrun activities like you're trying to 100% a video game. Sit down, finish your bacon, and chill."

Bucky, who had been watching the exchange with growing amusement, leaned back in his chair. "Listen to your mum, Peter," he said, tone dripping with faux sincerity.  

Tony's head whipped toward him, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?" 

Bucky just grinned, unrepentant, as Peter snorted into his orange juice. Tony pointed a finger between them, mouthing ‘I see what you're doing’ with a mix of exasperation and reluctant affection.  

"Traitors," Tony muttered. "Both of you."  

Peter, ever the opportunist, batted his eyelashes. "If I can't jump, can I at least drive the yacht?"

"Absolutely not," Tony and Bucky said in unison.  

Rhodey, who had been silently enjoying the show, finally spoke up. "This is the most parenting I've ever seen in one place. I'm taking notes for my future therapy sessions."  

"But doesn't that make you an uncle?" Happy added with deliberate nonchalance, stirring his coffee like he had not just detonated a conversational grenade. The spoon clinked ominously against the porcelain as all eyes swung toward Rhodey.

Rhodey's own cup froze halfway to his lips. "Well I guess," he said slowly, a smirk spreading across his face, "considering that Tony is my brother from another mother." He took a theatrical sip before delivering the killshot. "But what does that make you?"

"Grandpa!" Peter's voice exploded like a firecracker, his entire body recoiling with the force of his own outburst before he could stop himself. His hands flew to his mouth in mock horror, eyes dancing with mischief.

The moment hung in the air for a split second, just long enough for Happy’s expression to shift from smug to horrified, before they erupted in laughter.  

"Grandpa?!" Happy’s voice cracked mid-outrage, his face turning a shade of red that clashed magnificently with his Hawaiian shirt. "I’m not even fifty yet, you little…"  

"Wait wait wait!" Peter backpedaled, hands raised in surrender but grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "I mean it with love! You've got that... distinguished silver fox thing going!" He gestured vaguely at Happy's temples. "Very George Clooney!"

Rhodey nearly choked laughing, slapping the table in his mirth. "Oh my God. It’s perfect. The grumpiness, the dad jokes, the way you always carry tissues…"  

"For allergies," Happy hissed, looking betrayed.

Bucky lost his composure, hiding his smile behind a mimosa glass that did nothing to muffle his laughter. "To be fair," he managed between giggles, "you did spend twenty minutes the other day complaining about 'kids these days and their electric scooters.'"

"I will throw you off this yacht," Happy growled, but the threat lost all bite when Peter patted his arm consolingly.  

"It’s okay, Grandpa Happy," he said, deadpan. "I’ll get you one of those ‘World’s Best Grandpa’ mugs at the next port."  

Bucky, who was still enjoying the chaos, chose to add fuel to the fire. "Should we start calling you ‘Pappy’? Or is that too informal for a distinguished gentleman of your stature?" 

“Try that just once and I’m hiding all your knives.” Happy snapped. His glare swung between them like a doom pendulum before landing on Rhodey. "This is your fault."

As the laughter swelled, even Happy’s scowling facade cracked, just a little, at the corners. Because beneath the mock outrage, there was something warm curling in his chest.  

As the chaos peaked, Bucky leaned over to whisper in Tony's ear. "Best. Vacation. Ever."

Tony, still breathless with laughter, could only nod in agreement as he watched his found family revel in the moment. The morning sun, the sparkling water, and Happy's slowly mounting fake rage creating the perfect storm of hilarity. 

This ridiculous, dysfunctional family? Yeah. Happy would take being their ‘grandpa’ any day.