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“You really don’t have to go, Buck,” Steve told him, not for the first time.
“But it’ll help,” Bucky replied, not quite a question. He’d seen the bad press Tony and the Avengers were getting for taking in the infamous Winter Soldier. If they saw his face not hidden behind a mask, if they saw him standing calmly at a press conference instead of threatening civilians with heavy weaponry, people might see him as a human being instead of a killing machine. [But I was a killing machine. I killed people without thinking, without feeling. Why should they trust me now?]
Bucky fought to keep his breathing steady, to tune out the pervasive thoughts, to appear as stable as he could to Steve right now. [Steve’s seen you sobbing on the floor, seen you tearing the room apart, screaming nonsense. He’s not going to trust you to keep a hold of yourself in public.] He knew he could do this, knew he had to do this.
Steve studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “It’ll help them to see the real Bucky, not what HYDRA tried to turn you into. If you’re sure you’re up for it.”
[The real Bucky? Who the hell is that?]
“Yeah,” Bucky pasted on a smile. “I’m sure.”
As he put on the suit Steve had brought him (apparently designed by Tony’s tailor to measurements JARVIS had taken), it felt eerily like putting on the mask he’d worn as the Winter Soldier. It told him who he was supposed to be, what role he was supposed to take, and it quieted any thoughts unrelated to the mission at hand.
He actually felt ready to do this.
~~~
“Mr. Barnes, should you really be out in public like this? Isn’t it true that HYDRA’s brainwashing could have continued effects on your behavior that may in fact endanger everyone around you?”
Bucky could sense the worried glances being exchanged behind him as he leaned forward toward the microphone. “Well, I did feel a murderous urge a few days ago, but that was because a certain someone,” he tilted his head toward Steve, “Changed the channel right before they were going to announce the winning designer on Project Runway. And since HYDRA never seemed concerned with the height of fashion, I’m pretty sure that was unrelated to the brainwashing.” He gave a cocky grin, enjoying the laughs he got from some of the reporters--as well as the snort he thought came from Tony, behind him.
(Steve hadn’t even realized Bucky was in the room when he’d changed the channel, until he’d heard the cry from the narrow space between the couch and the wall. The open space of the room had started to overwhelm Bucky, and he’d wedged himself into the corner, hoping the sound of the television would help ground him. He hadn’t heard Steve enter the room, so the channel change startled him into high defensive mode again. When Bucky had finally managed to calm back down, Steve had apologized profusely.)
In the bright lights of the press conference, somehow it was easy to make a joke of the situation, to pretend it hadn’t been a perfect illustration of how messed up he really was. It was almost freeing.
Being this Bucky Barnes was much nicer than being the real Bucky.
~~~
In the limo on the way back to Avengers Tower, as Steve and Tony were talking about how well the event had gone, Bucky felt the mask starting to slip. His role had been fulfilled, his mission completed. He struggled to maintain the facade for the rest of the ride. As soon as the car stopped moving, he tore out and made his way back up to the floor he shared with Steve.
Then he yanked off the suit, flung the pieces to the floor, threw himself into the shower, and started sobbing. [Why the fuck am I crying now, everything was fine, god dammit why am I such a fucking mess?] As the hot water washed away the tears, he wished it could wash away his feelings as well.
~~~
“So, Sergeant Barnes, we’ve heard that you had quite a way with women back in the day.”
Bucky shrugged, letting his eyes flick downward modestly before looking back up through his eyelashes at the talk show host. “I did my best to show the ladies a good time.”
She smiled. “I’m sure you did. Captain Rogers here has told stories about double dates in which you ended up going home with his date as well as your own. Is that true?”
“Has he now?” Bucky shot a look at Steve, looking embarrassed on the couch beside him. “Well, whenever he decided she wasn’t the perfect dame for him, someone had to step in and make sure she didn’t get lonely.”
Steve rolled his eyes at this version of the events. He’d probably told the story previously to illustrate his own difficulty talking with women, but Bucky wasn’t going to fuel that insecurity he knew Steve still felt, even in his ridiculously attractive new body.
“Of course. And now?” the host asked. “Have you been showing any ladies of this century a ‘good time’?”
“Not yet, though I have met some beautiful people in the past few months.” (He wondered if she’d react to his non-gendered noun. She didn’t.) “Present company included, of course, but looks like that ring on your finger means someone else has already realized that, huh?”
She laughed, thumb moving to feel the ring in question. “That’s true, and he’s wonderful. But I’m sure you’ll have plenty of lovely ladies lining up to date you soon enough.” And wasn’t that a sign of how well he wore his new mask? Not long ago he’d been seen as a danger to society; now, after just a few public appearances, they thought he was some sort of eligible bachelor.
“And hey, if I can’t, I can always steal dates from Stevie again,” Bucky replied with a grin.
“Please do,” Steve begged. “I don’t know if I can take much more of Natasha’s attempts at matchmaking.”
The audience loved them. Loved Steve, anyway, and loved the mask Bucky wore of his former self.
~~~
When Bucky got home from the taping, it felt like the darkness had been waiting to ambush him. His chest was tight and each breath was an effort to pull into his chest. He made it to his room, locked the door, and fell to the floor, wrapping his arms around his head and struggling to pull in oxygen.
[How the fuck could I talk about dating when I keep turning back into this pile of shit? Like anyone would want to date me if they knew how fucked up I really am now.]
When Steve knocked on his door later, asking if he wanted to join the team for dinner, he managed to steady his voice enough to say that he had a headache and to go on without him.
[Can’t even let Steve know what a piping hot mess I am, how am I supposed to let anyone else in?]
Suddenly he felt incredibly lonely. That was new, but somehow the loneliness seemed to make itself at home right alongside the fear and self-hatred.
~~~
And so it went. At every public event, he put on a suit and the mask of the old Bucky Barnes. He laughed and joked, flirted and charmed and smiled.
At home, he cried and hid and threw things and fell apart. When he closed his eyes, he saw the faces of his victims, heard their begging, felt their weakening struggles. When he opened the freezer door, the cold air sent him back to the cryo chamber and he had trouble breathing. Sometimes he could lose himself in mindless television, but then a sudden noise or a voice raised in anger would trigger a memory and he’d freak out again.
He refused to let JARVIS tell anyone about his true state. While Bucky had always spent his time in the tower secluded on the floor he shared with Steve, now he started avoiding even his oldest friend. Steve thought his behavior in public was a sign he was doing better; he was so happy and proud and relieved that Bucky felt even worse about his breakdowns at home. So he avoided Steve, let him believe he really was doing as well as he appeared in public.
He wished he could be that Bucky Barnes all the time. Everybody liked that Bucky.
~~~
~~~
Tony had just managed to pull away from some generous but overly enthusiastic donors when Bucky came up beside him, looking sharp as always in his tailored suit, his hair pulled back into a ponytail. “I don’t know why all the food at these charity events is so tiny, but whatever these puffballs are, they’re delicious.”
Tony raised his eyebrows at the plate Bucky was holding, piled high with hors d'oeuvres. He held back a laugh. It was a relief to see the man relaxing, feeling comfortable enough to come to these events and face the crowds that had so recently wanted his head. “Well, they’re still not used to super soldier appetites,” he pointed out. “They have at least learned to provide extra if they know Thor’s going to be around, though. He--” Tony froze, catching sight of the woman approaching them with a determined stride.
Shit, this could go poorly for the kid. Tony shifted, placing himself slightly in front of Bucky. “Christine,” he greeted with a smile, striving to keep his voice casual, if a little cold.
“Tony! How lovely to see you again,” she smiled, then looked past him to Bucky. “Well, well, the Merchant of Death and the Winter Soldier together, isn’t that interesting? Oh, I’m sorry, former, of course.” She put out a hand. “Christine Everhart, Vanity Fair Magazine.”
Surprisingly, Bucky either didn’t notice or ignored the hostility. He transferred his plate to his gloved left hand, then took her proffered hand with a tilt of his head. “James Buchanan Barnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Christine. You’re a model, then?”
She blinked. “Um, no. I’m a journalist.”
“Ah, well, I’d say that’s a shame for a beauty like you, but using your brains instead can’t be a waste. I’m sure the camera would love you, though, if you went into television news reporting instead.”
“I’m--thank you,” Christine said. Tony was amazed (and, admittedly, pleased) to see her struggle for words. “I was actually hoping to ask you a few--”
“As much as I’d love to chat, doll, I had something I needed to talk with Tony here about. Some other time, perhaps?”
She glanced at Tony, who gave a polite smile and a shrug, then smiled at Bucky. “Of course, Mr. Barnes.”
“Please, call me Bucky,” he said, then turned slightly toward Tony, clearly dismissing her.
She stood there nonplussed for a moment, then turned and walked away.
Tony turned back to Bucky. “Did you really have something to discuss with me besides the buffet offerings, or did you just charm her into going away?”
Bucky shrugged, giving a sheepish lopsided smile. (It reminded Tony a little of Steve, actually, and he wondered if one of them had picked the look up from the other.) “You looked uncomfortable and she looked ready to pick a fight, so it seemed like the most polite way to handle it.”
Tony gave a short laugh. “She was the same way when I first met her. I dealt with it by sleeping with her. I’m thinking your way was probably the better option.”
“Hadn’t even considered that.” A playful gleam appeared in his eyes as his gaze flicked in the direction she’d gone and then back to Tony. “You think it’s too late?” He grinned cheekily.
Tony cracked up, and was pleased when Bucky joined in the laughter. He tried not to think too much about how much he enjoyed the sound.
~~~
~~~
In the limo, Bucky focused on getting and keeping his mask in place. While Tony was usually the first out onto the red carpet, tonight they were attending the premiere screening of a comedy based on the Howling Commandos, so it had been suggested that Steve and Bucky greet the crowds first.
Steve took the lead and the brunt of the attention, then Bucky stepped out. He flashed a grin at the gathered crowd, then turned to offer a hand to Natasha, climbing out behind him. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he pulled his hand back sheepishly to let her stand gracefully on her own.
Seeing Tony was right behind her, Bucky playfully stuck his hand out again. Tony looked surprised for a moment, then grinned, happily taking the proffered hand to help him out of the limo.
When he pulled Tony up, the two were chest-to-chest for a brief moment. Tony’s eyes flicked to Bucky’s lips.
Bucky took a graceful step back, gesturing for Tony to head into the theatre ahead of him. “Shall we?”
If Tony stared at Bucky for a moment longer than necessary, something hungry in his eyes, Bucky ignored it. Instead he turned his grin back to the crowd of reporters and onlookers.
~~~
The film was... terrible. Bucky had known it would only loosely be based on the old team, but seeing “himself” as some teenage sidekick to Captain America was just ridiculous, and none of the other actors were any better.
Still, he found himself having a great time. Whenever he glanced to his left, he saw Steve’s hilariously pained expression, like he was embarrassed for the platinum blond bodybuilder they’d gotten to play Captain America. Better, though, was the running commentary Bucky had going with Tony, to his right. (The fact that Steve wasn’t shushing them for talking during the movie was telling enough of how terrible it was.)
Early on, Bucky had whispered something about the terrible short-shorts-over-tights outfit the movie version of him was wearing. Tony had snorted, then whispered, “Aww, you mean you never wore anything like that? I’m crushed.” After that, both of them were constantly whispering snarky comments to each other about the outrageous outfits, dialog, and plot.
They were also leaning into each other’s space, arms brushing constantly as they leaned over to whisper in the other’s ear. And flirting. There may have been some flirting.
There was definitely some flirting.
Something in the back of Bucky’s head was trying to warn him, but he ignored it. He was enjoying himself, enjoying his conversation with Tony, and he could think of all the reasons why it was a bad idea later.
While the credits were rolling, Tony leaned in to murmur to him again. “You should come join us for movie night sometime. Clint and Thor usually pick movies almost as bad as this was, and I’d love to have someone back me up on my witty critiques.”
For a moment, Bucky imagined it: sitting on a couch on the common floor, surrounded by the team, the others more relaxed for not being surrounded by strangers. Him and Tony making fun of all the cheesy dialog while Clint threw popcorn at them. Maybe Tony would sit next to him, arm and thigh brushing his…
And then something would set Bucky off, and he’d throw something at the TV, or hurt Tony in his rush to escape, or something, and everyone would see how fucked up he was, and Tony would stop liking him…
“Yeah,” he said, trying not to sound as hopeless as he felt, “Sure, sometime.”
He remembered why flirting had been a bad idea.
~~~
[Because I’m a fucking mess. Because Tony wasn’t flirting with the real me. Because he doesn’t even know the real me, and once he does he’s not going to want anything to do with me. Because I don’t deserve anyone, let alone someone as brilliant and generous and gorgeous as Tony.]
Bucky’s chest was heaving as he stared at the stranger in the mirror. He’d torn off the suit, which always seemed to lose its power when he completed the mission role he’d gone out to play.
Now he stared at his bare chest. At the ugly scars around his left shoulder. At the metal arm that made him stronger, but made him less than human.
[No one would want this.]
~~~
~~~
“Forgive the interruption, lads. Captain Rogers, it would mean so much to this old woman’s heart if you would share this waltz with me.”
Tony never failed to find Steve’s awkward, fearful reaction to being approached by women amusing. Apparently the woman’s advanced age didn’t make it any easier. “I--uh, ma’am, I can’t really--”
Bucky was clearly a better man than Tony, taking pity on Steve instead of waiting for him to stutter out an excuse. He stepped forward, reaching his right hand out, palm up. “Ma’am, I know I’m no Captain America, but I would be honored to dance with a beautiful lady like you.”
She looked at his hand, then his face, considering. Then she placed her hand in his. “I suppose you’ll do,” she said with a smile. “I can certainly accept the dashing Bucky Barnes as a consolation prize.”
Tony found himself watching Bucky guide his elderly-yet-agile partner gracefully around the dance floor. When an attractive young brunette approached Tony himself for a dance, he agreed. He went through the motions on automatic, though, most of his attention still on Bucky whenever he was in view. The young man was smiling and attentive as (from what Tony could make out whenever they swung by) his partner spoke of being a young girl in London during the Blitz, hearing all about the Howling Commandos’ feats of daring.
When Tony finally turned his attention back to his own partner, he realized she was giving him an unimpressed look, clearly having noticed she was being ignored. He apologized, and tried to focus on her for the remainder of the dance.
When the piece ended, the young woman gave him a brusque curtsy and turned away before Tony had even finished his bow. Then Tony’s eyes again found Bucky, who was escorting his own partner back to her seat, brushing a quick kiss over her knuckles and earning a fond smile in return.
Tony hadn’t realized he’d made a decision until he found himself striding across the room to intercept the man as a faster swing beat filled the air. “I don’t suppose I could steal a dance with the dashing Bucky Barnes?”
Bucky’s eyebrows went up. He glanced around, possibly just realizing that some of the couples already on the dance floor were same-sex partners, then threw Tony an easy grin. “Sure thing, if you think you can handle me throwin’ you around.”
“Oh, I can take whatever you wanna dish out, Johnny Castle,” Tony promised, challenge in his eyes.
“Let’s go, then.” Bucky put his hand out, and when Tony took it, yanked him around onto the dance floor.
The next few minutes were exhilarating. The crowd didn’t part to watch them alone like in the movies, but to Tony, none of the other dancers mattered. Bucky pulled and swung him around the floor, as Tony felt his body falling back into the movements he hadn’t used in years. The last time he’d followed instead of led while swing dancing, he must’ve been fifty pounds lighter, but that didn’t seem to matter; Bucky’s upper body strength was incredible. Both arms were equally strong and dextrous, so Tony barely noticed the difference between the flesh and metal.
Despite Tony’s claim before they started, and despite the fitness level he had to maintain to go into battle as Iron Man, he found himself tiring, not managing as high of jumps as he’d once been able to make. Still, he pushed through, realizing that Bucky was subtly compensating, making the movements a little easier for him without letting on that he’d noticed anything. They were both grinning like loons as the dance finally came to an end.
By then Tony couldn’t hide that he was panting heavily, so as Bucky stood from his bow, Tony collapsed dramatically into his arms. “You were right, I couldn’t take it. That’s all I’ve got. You’ll have to carry me the rest of the night.”
Bucky chuckled. “Best I can offer is to carry you to a chair.”
Tony pouted. “Some Prince Charming you are--ack!” He hadn’t expected Bucky to actually do it, lifting him into a fireman’s carry. The man’s tailored suit jacket rode up, leaving Tony with a lovely view of a firmly toned ass, and testing his willpower not to reach out and grab it. Then that view was gone as he was plopped down into his seat. “Oof!”
Bucky took Tony’s hand and, as he’d done with the old woman earlier, brushed a kiss over the back of it. “Thank you for the dance.”
Tony swallowed, a flood of emotion overflowing in his chest.
Then Bucky started to move away, and Tony’s hand reached out to grab his wrist. “Wait!” When the other man looked back at him questioningly, Tony asked, “Do you want to--hang out sometime? Come visit me in my workshop, or we can go out to dinner, or--something?”
Tony couldn’t decipher the emotion that flitted across Bucky’s face before it went blank. “Sure,” he answered, but his voice suddenly sounded horribly detached. “Sometime.”
Tony’s chest felt tight as Bucky turned away.
~~~
~~~
“Sergeant Barnes.”
“...Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. Three two five five...”
Name, rank, serial number. He just had to keep repeating them. Nothing they did to him would make him say anything else.
Except they weren’t asking him anything. His words became meaningless screams as whatever they had injected him with burned through his veins, and they kept writing things down. Whatever they wanted, they were getting just from watching him.
Still, he had to keep repeating the words. If he could just focus on the words, he could get through this.
“...Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. Three--”
“Sergeant Barnes, wake up.”
Bucky’s eyes flew open and he sat up, unobstructed by straps. He gasped for air, looking around at the rich, bright surroundings, so different from the dark Nazi camp where he’d been moments (decades) before.
A familiar British voice stated calmly, “The current time is eight oh three on June 1, 2016. You are in Avengers Tower in New York. The forecast for the day is a high of eighty-six degrees with a thirty percent chance of showers.”
Bucky ran his hands over his face and through his hair, still trying to normalize his breathing.
“Mr. Stark would like to know if you would join him for lunch today, at noon or at a time thereafter more convenient for you,” JARVIS continued.
It took a moment for him to focus enough to realize there had been a question. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then managed to reply, “No, uh. Tell him ‘No, but thank you,’ JARVIS, please.”
“As you wish.”
Bucky dropped back onto the bed, wrapping the pillow around his head in misery. The nightmare hadn’t even been one of the particularly bad ones. The worst were the ones where he killed people, people he knew. Steve, usually. Recently, Tony had been making guest appearances as well.
Tony.
Bucky felt tears prickling in his eyes. The way Tony looked at him recently... He desperately wished he could be the man Tony was seeing, but that wasn’t really him, was it? Somewhere along the way, Tony had fallen for the Bucky Barnes he pretended to be in public. It was the worst kind of love triangle, because Bucky had feelings for Tony, but the man Tony wanted didn’t really exist.
It hurt to turn down Tony’s invitations to do things together outside of public events. But it would hurt even more to have Tony turn away from him once he realized who--what--Bucky really was.
[A fucking mess. He’ll never want the real me.]
~~~
~~~
Tony glared across the banquet hall as the two college girls--Stark Achievement Award recipients--laughed at something Bucky had said. There was a conspiratorial look on his face that Tony loved when it was directed at him, but that pulled at his already damaged heart when directed at others. Especially beautiful, intelligent others closer to Bucky’s (physical) age than his own.
He’d thought he’d been forming a real connection with Bucky, that the flirting might mean something. But after numerous attempts at seeing Bucky in more private circumstances, only to get vague “sometime” answers or outright refusals, Tony could take a hint. Bucky’s flirting was just flirting, the same as he was doing with the girls right now, the same as Tony had done so often before Afghanistan, without even the roll in the hay that had frequently followed.
Tony didn’t want a roll in the hay with Bucky.
Granted, he didn’t think he’d be able to refuse if Bucky ever suggested it. But he wanted something more. Something...
But it didn’t matter what Tony wanted, because Bucky didn’t want anything, so that was that.
“When Bruce’s eyes get as green as yours are right now, I start to worry,” Natasha said from beside him, where she hadn’t been a moment before.
Tony jerked, nearly dropping his champagne flute, before turning to glare at her. “Stop doing that!”
She tilted her head in a way that might have made her look innocent if he didn’t know her. Instead he read the look as ‘I’ll sneak up on you whenever I please, and you can’t do a damn thing about it.’
Tony sighed, his gaze turning back to look at Bucky flirting with the girls again, because apparently he was a masochist. He responded to her statement with a deflecting, “I could charm them just as well, I’m just being magnanimous and giving Barnes a chance to get the girls again.”
“It’s not the girls you want, though, is it?” Natasha asked.
Tony stilled, not looking at her but knowing his face was probably giving him away. He was relieved when he was saved from responding by Steve coming over to join them.
“You guys watching Buck?” he asked. “It’s great how social he is now, isn’t it? He’s come so far.”
“Has he?”
Something in her voice made Tony turn to look at her. Her face was carefully blank, but he knew that meant there was something serious going on.
“Neither of you can see it, can you?”
Steve’s brow lowered and his jaw tightened. It wasn’t quite the full Captain America face, but it was close. “See what?”
Natasha’s eyes studied them each in turn. Then she looked away. “It’s not my place to say. But you should talk to him.”
Suddenly there was a clatter and the tinkle of shattering glass, and a shout. Tony’s eyes glanced over the tray of champagne flutes a server had dropped before honing in on Bucky, crouched in a corner several yards away from the surprised girls. His arms were raised defensively, his eyes wide and flickering over the crowd, which had gone silent.
There were a few beats where nobody moved. The only sound was that of the classical music playing over the speakers.
Then Bucky shuddered, a horrified expression replacing the animalistic fear, and he fled out the nearest door.
The silence returned for another few seconds, then some murmuring began, most of the guests deciding the event was worth gossiping about but not doing anything more.
Steve, of course, wouldn’t just stand around chatting. “I’m going--”
“No,” Natasha interrupted. “Tony should go.”
“What?” Tony asked. “I’m not--I mean, I don’t think he’d want me...”
Natasha quirked an eyebrow.
“--To help him,” Tony added. “He’d do better with Steve, right?”
“Hasn’t done him much good so far.”
Steve swallowed, and Tony could tell he was trying to hide the hurt her matter-of-fact statement caused.
Natasha gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry, Cap, but it’s true. How many times has he had panic attacks like that?”
Steve didn’t answer, but the way his eyes lowered suggested an uncomfortably high number. “I thought he was getting better,” Steve mumbled.
“Better at hiding it, maybe.”
“Shit,” Tony muttered. All those refused invitations... maybe they weren’t about Tony after all.
“And Tony, as our resident expert at having breakdowns and somehow making it through to the other side in one piece--”
“Hey!” Tony protested. “Or--thanks?”
“--should go talk to him,” Natasha finished. “Now.”
“Right. Going.”
~~~
~~~
Fuck, he should have known. Bucky couldn’t hold his public mask forever, and now he’d gone and done the one thing he’d been most afraid of: losing his shit in front of the others. In front of Tony.
Bucky high-tailed out of the room and out the back door. [Like fucking Cinderella, hoping if I run fast enough Prince Charming won’t see how pathetic I really am. Too bad this won’t end in a Happily Ever After for me.]
He kept up his pace into the elaborate garden, until he spotted a wooden bench. He curled up on the ground behind it, arms tight around his knees. It wasn’t the best vantage point to spot attackers, but it felt safer than staying out in the open.
A short time later, Bucky heard footsteps approaching. His heart was in his throat, his body preparing for fight or flight. His mind was insisting it was probably an innocent partygoer out for a smoke, and he shouldn’t leap out and attack them.
He waited for them to pass by, but instead they slowed, then came to a stop. Someone sat on the bench. They weren’t facing him, but they might be close enough to hear Bucky’s rapid breathing. He struggled to keep it under control, but just ended up making it more uneven.
“Um. Hey,” came a familiar voice from the sitting form.
Tony.
[Of fucking course.]
“I don’t know if you want me here, but I think you need somebody, so... here I am, I guess.”
Bucky didn’t respond.
“Tell you what, you don’t wanna talk, I’ll just sit here and keep watch for you, how ‘bout that? I’ll alert you if I see any incoming threat, okay?”
Miraculously, Bucky felt his body start to relax. He trusted Tony. Tony would keep him safe.
For a few minutes, the only sounds Bucky heard were the distant music from inside, the occasional rustles from Tony shifting, and his own breathing and heartbeat. Eventually his heart stopped pounding, and his breathing evened out.
Then Tony broke the silence. “Sorry, yeah, I can’t do this.”
Bucky shouldn’t have been surprised, but the words stole away the peacefulness he’d finally started to feel. Of course Tony wouldn’t want to just sit and guard him from such deadly threats as fireflies and strolling party guests.
“Sitting in silence, not really my thing. So I’m gonna talk, is that okay? You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want. But, y’know, if you want to interrupt to shut me up, that’s fine, too.”
He wasn’t leaving. Bucky felt a flood of relief. [God, I’m so pathetic.]
Tony waited a moment, giving Bucky a chance to respond, then started talking again. “I’ve done the panic attack thing myself. Not fun. First time, I flipped out on a couple of kids, ran away to my suit, and had JARVIS scan my heart, my brain. I was sure I was dying. Which, well, given my history, wasn’t that big a jump to make. Wouldn’t have been the first time the arc reactor tried to kill me.”
Bucky, listening intently to the story, flinched at the knowledge that Tony could have died before he’d even had a chance to meet him.
“When JARVIS told me it was just a panic attack, I felt... weak. Humiliated. What the hell was wrong with me, freaking out over some kid’s crappy drawing? I think at that moment I would’ve preferred to be dying.”
Hearing that Tony had had such thoughts made his heart ache. But it also felt like it had loosened something inside Bucky, something that had been wound up tight.
“But it’s not--feeling like that doesn’t mean you’re weak. When you’ve been through the worst kinds of hell, seen and done horrible shit no one else has been through, and you’ve survived? That takes a metric fuckton of strength. Just because your mind wants to bring up that shit again and again, doesn’t mean you’re not strong. It just means you have to keep using that strength, keep getting through it, not let the past win.” Tony huffed out a humorless laugh. “It’s fucking exhausting, though.”
Tony went silent again, leaving Bucky time to digest what he’d said. He wanted to believe it. Cowering behind a bench didn’t exactly make him feel strong. But... Tony thought he was. Tony had seen a piece of the real Bucky, and somehow still thought he was strong.
Bucky’s eyes started to tear up.
He took a deep breath, and in a hoarse voice asked, “Does it ever stop?”
“Oh, thank god, you’ve actually been listening. I was starting to worry you’d fallen asleep. Wouldn’t be the first time for that, either, because Bruce is a shitty friend. Okay, no, but he’s a shitty therapist. You should go to a real therapist, by the way. You--you asked a question. Right.
“Does it ever stop? God, I hope so, but for me, so far, no dice. It’s gotten a lot better, though. Not as many panic attacks; and I can actually sleep through the night most nights. Nightmares are a bitch, too--you get those?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, they suck. But I don’t get ‘em nearly as much now. And I don’t hear--” Tony cut himself off.
“Tony?”
“Okay, I know this’ll sound crazy, but--I don’t hear the voice as much. Not like, actual auditory hallucinations, hearing voices telling me to do shit. Just this voice in my head that tells me I’ll never be good enough, that I’m weak, worthless...”
[Pathetic. A fucking mess.] “I know what you mean. You’re not, though.” [Unlike me.]
“I know. I... kind of know. I’m working on it. Not hearing the voice rub it in as much helps.”
“Sounds great. Where do I sign up?”
Tony huffed a not-quite-laugh. “Actually, uh, I wasn’t kidding about the therapist--I can bring you to mine, she’s a godsend, or if you’re not comfortable with her we can find you someone else.”
Bucky didn’t answer.
“Okay, that’s not something you need to decide tonight. But do you think you could at least come sit on the bench instead of the cold ground?”
That sounded reasonable. Bucky realized he’d started to uncurl as Tony had talked, so his muscles weren’t as tight as they had been. He slowly stood and moved around the bench, not meeting Tony’s eyes as he sat beside him.
“Hey,” Tony said in a softer, more intimate voice.
Bucky found himself turning to meet Tony’s gaze, trying not to think about how blotchy and worn his face must look. He was surprised to see that Tony’s eyes looked wet, too, the moisture making his already dark lashes stand out even more. Tony gave a sad smile, then hesitantly raised an arm to place around Bucky’s back, slowly enough to give Bucky time to stop him or move away.
Bucky inhaled with a rough sob, and he found himself collapsing over into Tony’s shoulder. The arm around him tightened just enough to make him feel secure, safe, cared for. Tony’s other hand came up and began running softly through Bucky’s hair.
“There you go, you’re okay,” Tony started talking again, keeping up a quiet murmur of reassurances.
Bucky’s eyes closed and his breathing evened out. He didn’t fall asleep, just hovered in a light doze, feeling comfortable and safe and content, listening to Tony’s voice without hearing the words.
Some time later, while he was still in a half-awake daze, Tony got him up and shepherded him into the limo. He thought it was Steve who helped him out of his clothes and into bed. Then he slept, a deep and dreamless sleep.
~~~
The next morning, Bucky awoke feeling a sense of peace... and a sense of loss.
Tony knew. Tony had seen what he was really like, and he hadn’t been disgusted or pitying. He’d talked Bucky through it, offered advice, offered comfort. Bucky had been so afraid of anyone finding out that knowing Tony knew was an incredible relief. Knowing Tony understood was even better.
But Tony knew he was broken. Even if he understood, Bucky knew Tony wouldn’t be attracted to him anymore. His chance at anything romantic with Tony was gone, now that he knew the real Bucky.
Still, it might be worth it. Despite the pang in his heart over the loss, Bucky knew he’d formed some kind of bond with Tony last night. They could be friends. He could... maybe... he could see Tony more often, see him around the tower. He didn’t have to worry about Tony seeing the real him anymore.
The thought was a little terrifying, but it was also liberating. He decided he would finally take Tony up on his invitation and visit him in the workshop today.
It took him three hours to get up the courage to follow through on his plan. (Some of that time was taken up by Steve apologizing for not noticing that Bucky’s improvement was exaggerated at best. Bucky reassured him that that had been his intent all along, but that he would try to be more honest with Steve in the future.)
It took another twenty minutes for Bucky to decide what to wear. Just putting on a suit these days started to put him in his public mindset, the mask of the old Bucky Barnes. But he wanted to try talking to Tony without the mask. Finally, he decided on a faded (it had been faded when it was new, which Steve said was fashionable these days; he didn’t understand either) pair of jeans (that was also too tight--another odd style these days) and a blue short-sleeve button-down shirt. He thought he looked good, but he also felt exposed. He eyed his comforting Captain America hoodie, but decided instead on his black leather jacket. It was weighty enough to feel comforting, but a little more fashionable.
[Why does that matter? He already knows I’m a mess, even if I don’t always look it.]
“Shut up,” he muttered. Then he startled. He was talking back to the voice now. It should have made him feel even more crazy, but instead he found himself laughing.
In the mirror, he saw himself laughing, and he looked good. He was ready.
~~~
Bucky stood outside the workshop. He wasn’t ready.
He watched through the glass as Tony (whose back was turned so he hadn’t realized Bucky was there yet) flicked his fingers around on one of those amazing blue hologram things that (like most of his workshop, really) looked like something out of science fiction. He was wearing a long-sleeve black t-shirt and blue jeans--and Bucky suddenly understood the appeal of the tight style, as he watched Tony’s hips sway with the rhythm of the music he could hear pounding through the glass.
JARVIS must have alerted Tony to his presence. The doors slid open as Tony spun around, greeting him with an excited smile. “Hey!”
Bucky gave a tentative smile back. “Hi.” He took a few steps forward.
Then he saw movement at the corner of his eye, something mechanical coming toward him, and he froze, breath suddenly coming in quick, small gasps.
“Dummy, stop!”
The voice seemed underwater, distant. He didn’t know if it was addressing him, since he wasn’t moving anyway, but he stopped breathing just in case.
Then there was someone standing in front of him. “Breathe,” the voice said, so he did.
After a few breaths, he blinked, and suddenly knew where he was again. Tony was standing in front of him, looking worried, arms outstretched like he wanted to touch him but wasn’t sure if he should.
Bucky closed his eyes. “Fuck.”
“Hey,” Tony said, sounding both concerned and relieved. “You okay?”
Bucky laughed humorlessly. “No. But you know that, now, don’t you?” He opened his eyes, and spread his arms wide. “You’ve seen the real Bucky Barnes. Grade A mess.”
Tony crossed his arms over his chest and studied Bucky. Feeling self-conscious, Bucky dropped his arms and stuck his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders.
“Real Bucky Barnes, huh? You got an imposter running around out there somewhere?” Tony asked, still pinning Bucky with his gaze.
“That charming, confident fella in the nice suit? That’s the old me. I can fake it in public, but the real me is nothing like that. The real me flips out over glasses breaking and...” He looked to the side to see what had set him off this time. “...and robots?”
The robot arm in question raised and lowered its--hand? eye?--somehow looking curious.
“Uh, yeah, that’s Dummy, my first bot and biggest troublemaker,” Tony said. “He likes to greet visitors. He triggered something?”
Bucky nodded, looking at the floor. “Just--for a second I thought I was in the chair again.”
“Shit, does my whole workshop make you think of the HYDRA lab? I’m sorry, we can go talk somewhere else, I didn’t think--”
“It’s fine,” Bucky interrupted, “This is nothing like HYDRA, really. It was always... sterile, impersonal. This feels more... alive, something like what I’d picture listening to science fiction radio shows, like a mad scientist’s lab.”
“Technically, I’m more of a mad engineer,” Tony corrected.
Bucky felt a smile pull at his lips. “Anyway, I was just startled, that’s all.” He looked back toward the robot arm, and slowly approached it. “Hi, Dummy. I’m Bucky.” He stuck a hand out for a handshake, and smiled as the bot instead rubbed up against it like a puppy wanting to be pet. “Sorry I freaked out on you earlier.”
“Okay, while you never need to apologize for having a panic attack, the fact that you’d apologize to Dummy just makes me love you more.”
Bucky’s breath caught and he looked back at Tony.
The man had a look of terror on his face, and he abruptly started rambling, “That’s--you can pretend I didn’t say that, I mean, friends love each other, I love Pepper--wait, using the ex is probably a bad example--I love Rhodey, and I’ve never wanted to sleep with him--not that I’m saying I want to sleep with you--I mean, I’m not gonna do anything if you--”
“You don’t love me.”
Tony’s words cut off and the look of hurt on his face made Bucky’s chest ache, but he had to tell Tony the truth.
“You don’t love the real me. You barely know the real me. You love the charming old Bucky you’ve been getting to know. Trouble is, he doesn’t really exist anymore. He’s just the mask I wear so I can keep it together in public.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed, and slowly the hurt was replaced by an expression of bullheaded determination, one reminiscent of Steve’s own stubbornly determined gaze. “Nope. I don’t buy it.”
Bucky frowned. “What?”
“Everyone wears a mask sometimes. But pieces of you still bleed through. So you fake confidence, fine, that’s easy. You think I’m always as sure of myself as I seem? But the rest of it... I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten to know pieces of the ‘real’ you, even through the mask. You always do your best to make people happy. You’re observant, and clever, and you have a wicked sense of humor. You aren’t faking any of that, it’s just harder to see it when you’re being assaulted by horrible memories and constant anxiety.”
Part of Bucky felt he should deny Tony’s description of him. Part of him clutched at it desperately. Tony was a genius; if that’s what he thought, it must be true, right? Bucky had thought his mask was hiding the real Bucky from the rest of the world, but what if there were parts of the real Bucky that he couldn’t see himself?
“And you’ve only met pieces of me,” Tony continued. “You haven’t seen how bitchy I get when I’m deprived of caffeine, or how obsessive I get when I’ve got an exciting project in the works. You haven’t seen the mess I become when I’ve been working down here for fifty hours straight--sometimes because I’m on a roll with an idea; sometimes because if I sleep I see the earth ravaged by armies I couldn’t stop, or the bloody face of the man who died to save me after my weapons had destroyed his family.” Tony grimaced, looking away.
Bucky wanted to reach out, put a hand on his shoulder, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.
Tony took a deep breath, then met Bucky’s eyes. “So maybe I don’t know the whole you, but I know enough to know that I like you and want to know more. What I don’t know is how you feel about me. When you flirted with me--was that the real you, or was that as fake as the confidence?” His voice was a fragile thing, filled with hope and fear. “Or did your feelings change when you found out I had my own baggage?”
The question wasn’t an accusation, but it hurt like one. A realization was quickly followed by guilt. Tony’s confessions of his own panic attacks and nightmares had only made Bucky feel closer to him, less alone. His romantic feelings were unchanged. Yet he’d been assuming Tony would lose all interest in him upon discovery of Bucky’s true mental state. Even if Bucky wouldn’t have blamed him for it, he should have given the man more credit.
Now he knew better. Now he realized he might have a chance after all.
“I was actually jealous of the Bucky I let everyone see,” he admitted. “‘Cause I figured everyone liked him better than the real me. And ‘cause I thought you felt about him the way I felt about you.”
Tony smiled uncertainly.
Bucky stepped up close to him, not quite touching, but breathing the same air. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love the pieces of you that I know, and I want to know the whole you, and I want you to know the whole me and love me anyway, even when I’m a sobbing mess.” It was terrifying to admit out loud, but worth it to see the look of wonder on Tony’s face.
Tony closed the distance between them, cupping Bucky’s cheek with one hand while wrapping the other around his back to pull him in for a kiss. Bucky melted into him, his own arms wrapping around Tony and holding tight.
When Tony eventually broke the kiss, he only shifted back enough to look Bucky in the eyes. “I do, and I will. Love you.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Mess and all. Whether you’re charming old ladies and showing off your moves on the dance floor, or hiding behind a bench from shitty memories that won’t leave you alone, I want to be with you. You be my mess, and I’ll be yours. Deal?”
Bucky smiled. “Deal.”
Maybe being the real Bucky Barnes wouldn’t be so bad after all.
~~~