Archive of Our Own ^beta

A child was wandering next to the duckpond, crying.

The Soldier noticed because the child was very loud. This part of the park was almost empty this late in the afternoon, so the little boy's wails carried easily across the water. It made concentration difficult.

That was…unexpected. Normally the Soldier had no trouble ignoring distractions. He had followed the target all day: though the crowded streets of Manhattan; the viciously cramped subway; and then to the park. He'd been surrounded by noise the entire time. It hadn't bothered him, but somehow the sobbing of this single, small child felt like needles in his spine. Almost like.…

No. Nothing felt like the Chair.

Sweat collected at the Soldier's temples and down his back just thinking about it. He wiped it away impatiently, frowning. If he got distracted he might call attention to himself, or miss his opportunity to get close to the target and kill him. He didn't know why the target needed to die. He was a low-level diplomat and an ordinary, decent man. If he was supposed to be a spy he was appallingly inept at it, and if he was supposed to be a thief he was even worse. Right now the target was sitting on a park bench, reading a paperback in the sunshine. He seemed as innocent as the crying child.

The Soldier didn't want to kill him. The Soldier wanted to stay on his own park bench and enjoy the last light of the sunny afternoon. He wanted to let the diplomat go home to his wife and their dog, eat the dinner she made and watch television, and then go to bed safe and sound.

The Soldier wanted to go home, too. But he had none. He went where his handlers told him to, and he did what they said. So tonight, as soon as he had the opportunity, the target was going to die.

But the child was still crying, and the Soldier wouldn't find the opportunity to finish the mission if he couldn't fucking concentrate....

Why was no one else helping the child? There were other adults around, though none with children at this late hour. But the most they did was look worriedly at the boy and then go back to whatever they were doing. Didn't they care? The little boy was obviously lost and yet none of these self-centered assholes were doing anything.

I don't get it, Stevie. How can you leave a kid cryin' like that? C'mon, sweetheart, don't worry, we'll find your mom.

He blinked, heart pounding and breath cold and still in his lungs. For a second it was as if he were…somewhere else, talking to…talking to someone….

The Soldier shook his head violently, lifted a suddenly-shaking hand to his forehead to clear away more sweat. He didn't understand where that…moment…had come from, or what it meant. But it was as if….

Had he been here before?

No. The Soldier was a weapon; he had no memories. Whatever just happened was an anomaly, nothing more. He'd been out of cryo for two days longer than anticipated, trying to get his target alone. He was clearly malfunctioning. He would require maintenance when he returned.

The child had caused it, he knew that much. He needed to leave before it happened again, before he forgot his mission and lost his target.

But how could he leave a child crying like that?

The Soldier stood and strode towards the child, who was wandering aimlessly near the water. His little sobs waxed and waned as he got distracted by the ducks, or by picking up sticks or rocks from the ground, but his calm never lasted before he'd look around for someone, and then start weeping again. He was very young.

It was heartbreaking. The Soldier should have helped him earlier. What kind of heartless bastard was he? Letting the poor kid wander around scared and alone like that?

The thoughts were as alien as the memory—the malfunction—had been. Something was very wrong with him.

He ignored it. Instead he acted on instinct, crouching low and resting his gloved hands on his knees. "Hey, little guy, are you lost?" He hadn't rehearsed those lines, but they felt natural in his mouth.

The boy came closer, sniffling. He was a handsome child, with brown, untidy hair and deep brown eyes. He looked wary, which was understandable. The Soldier tried to appear unthreatening. He thought of the ordinary diplomat, smiling to himself in the sun. The Soldier tried to smile.

The boy nodded.

"Well, let's get you found, then. What do you say?" The Soldier waited for the boy's tiny nod. "What's your name?"

The boy sniffed, but he didn't answer. Maybe he couldn't speak?

Never tell a stranger your name. A woman's voice, speaking in his head. A hand in his hair. Have fun with Stevie, honey. Don't forget to be back before dark.

The Soldier realized he'd fallen out of the crouch onto his ass. The boy didn't push him; he was still standing in the same spot. But he giggled, then crowed: "You fell on your bum-bum!"

"Oops," the Soldier said, then grinned. He didn't understand any of this, barely knew what he was doing. But the little boy was still smiling and that was good. The Soldier wanted the boy to smile. And now he knew the child could speak, too, which made things easier. "Do you remember where you last saw your parents? Were they at the duckpond?"

The boy shook his head, worry clouding his sweet little face. "They're at home."

"Home?" The Soldier gaped at him. "Did you come here by yourself?" That was impossible; the boy couldn't have been more than four.

He shook his head. "Jarvis tooked me." His face crumpled. "But I can't find him."

"That's okay!" the Soldier said quickly, before the child began to cry again. He got to his feet and dusted off his jeans. "We'll look together, okay? Where did you last see Jarvis?" Hopefully Jarvis was the boy's guardian, and they would find him quickly. Night would come soon and the Soldier didn't know how to take care of a child. And if his handlers found the boy, they would—

No. No. No, please—

The Soldier almost bolted, leaving the boy alone. His handlers must never, ever, find him. It was imperative that they return him to Jarvis immediately.

"Are you okay?" The boy asked him. His eyes were very big. He was pointing in roughly the direction he'd come, and looked like he'd been standing that way for some time.

For a moment the Soldier didn't understand the question. No one asked him if he was okay, just if he was injured or functional. He blinked, swallowed, then nodded. "Yes...Thank you," he added belatedly. Remember, manners are what separate us from the animals. "We need to find your guardian," he said. The boy was short, and had small legs. They could move much more quickly if the Soldier carried him. He picked up the child.

And gasped in shock, staggered, then hugged the boy to him as tightly as he dared. He would rather die than hurt any child, but this one, this one….

This boy was his, in a way no one had ever been, not even Steve (who the hell was Steve?). He was everything: a tide of warmth, flooding the places cold for so long the Soldier had forgotten there could be anything else. He was holding the other half of his soul.

The boy threw his arms around the Soldier's neck, then leaned his head on his shoulder. He was crying again, as affected by this and as overwhelmed as the Soldier felt. The Soldier blinked and realized he was crying too.

He was crying because he was happy. He hadn't remembered that people could do that. He hadn't remembered what happiness felt like.

He didn't know how long he stood there, hugging the child in a world suddenly filled with warmth and light. All he knew was that he didn't want to give this up. He wanted to take care of the boy forever, keep him safe and make him smile. He didn't even know his name, but he would defy Hydra for him. He would do anything.

"Master Anthony! Oh, thank goodness! I was so worried!"

The Soldier jerked in shock, then instinctively turned his body so his left arm was between the stranger and the child. He'd been so absorbed with the joy and completeness washing through him that he'd lost track of everything else.

"Jarvis!" the boy—Anthony?—cried happily. He reached for him, then his eyes went wide and he whipped his little arms back to the Soldier. He clung to him, burying his face against his neck.

The elderly man stopped with his hands out. "Master Anthony, please do come now. It's late and we must go home for dinner."

Anthony shook his head without lifting it, rubbing his face against the Soldier's jacket.

The Soldier backed up a step, still holding the boy away from Jarvis. All he wanted to do was take Anthony and run. "He doesn't want to go with you."

Jarvis' expression darkened. He drew his shoulders back. "I must insist you put him down now and go, or you will regret it."

The man was in his 70s, most likely. Too old to be a threat. The Soldier could kill this Jarvis as easily as swatting a fly, then he could keep Anthony forever—

The Soldier froze in horror. No. No. He wanted to keep Anthony safe. How could he do that if he killed the boy's guardian? How could he even think that? What kind of monster was he?

He was worse than a monster. He was a weapon. Weapons couldn't keep children safe. They could only destroy them.

"You gotta go home, Squirt," he said quietly. "You don't want to miss dinner, right? And your parents'll be worried about you."

Anthony lifted his head, shaking it so vehemently his hair flopped. "No! I wanna stay with you!" He clutched the Soldier more tightly around his neck, then gripped him with his legs as well.

"I'm sorry. I don't want you to go either." Just the idea of it felt like tearing himself apart. But he had no choice. Hydra could never know about Anthony. "But you have to. Come on, Squirt, let go." The Soldier carefully tugged Anthony's arms away from his neck. "I'm sorry," he said again, when Anthony tried to grab him more tightly. "I don't have a choice, Anthony." Weapons never did.

Anthony deserved so much more than a weapon.

The Soldier let Jarvis take the struggling boy, then stepped back so he wouldn't make the man more anxious, and especially so he wouldn't touch Anthony again. Anthony wouldn't stop screaming or reaching for him, sobbing so wildly he could barely breathe. "I don't wanna go! I don't wanna go!"

"Anthony Edward Stark, what on Earth are you doing?" Jarvis demanded, trying to control Anthony's flailing limbs. He had to shout over the child's crying. "Let this gentleman go home so we can as well. Thank you," Jarvis said to the Soldier, flustered and embarrassed. "I'm terribly sorry about this. He's never done this before."

The Soldier forced himself to nod. "Goodbye, Anthony." His throat ached, and his voice sounded like he'd been dragged out of the Chair. He turned and stalked back to his bench before he gave in to the child's pitiful, agonized wails. He wanted so badly to have Anthony back in his arms that it felt like a physical pain. He was leaving half his soul behind, abandoning every good thing he'd ever had in the world.

He stood next to the bench, clenching it so hard the wood splintered in his hands. He could hear Anthony's desperate, grief-stricken cries long after the boy and Jarvis were out of sight. He didn't know it was possible to feel this much pain without dying. Was this a broken heart? How could anyone live and feel like this? He didn't want to.

Night had fallen while his soul had been remade and then shattered. The target was long gone.

The Soldier sat and took his gun from the holster hidden inside his jacket. He put it to his temple, but when he tried to pull the trigger his fingers wouldn't move. They never did.

He re-holstered the gun, then sat in the dark and waited for his handlers. They'd put him in the Chair for his failure, but right then he didn't mind. At least it would make him forget.

1973 was the last year Hydra was able to use the Winter Soldier effectively for more than a few hours at a time. He became too erratic, even with the consistent memory wipes. He would attack his technicians, ignore his handlers. Often the list of trigger words wasn't enough to keep him compliant. Whenever he was left unsupervised during a mission he tried to run.

Hydra compensated by using him only for the most urgent, important missions, and never allowing him to be alone. He had been removed from cryo only twice or three times a decade, previously. Now it would be four times in the next forty years.

One of those times was on December 16, 1991. The last was in April, 2014, in Washington D.C..

"Tony," Pepper sighed, "We both know it's not going to work. Could you please just stop it?"

Tony instantly let go of Pepper and rolled away from her onto his back. "I wasn't trying to make it work," he said quietly. "Can't I just cuddle you anymore?"

There was a moment of tense, miserable silence, then, "Oh, Tony." Pepper rolled over, put her arm across Tony's chest and her head on his shoulder. "I apologize. Of course we can cuddle. It's just, you keep looking for…that. And it's impossible. You know it's impossible. We've tried so many times."

"Yeah." Tony swallowed. The bedroom wasn't even that dark, with the lights of Manhattan gleaming all over the place. He squirmed his arm underneath her, and Pepper obligingly lifted up to make it easier for him. They'd just had sex so they were both naked, touching each other from head to knees. And yet it felt less intimate now than the last time they'd shared coffee, commiserating over paperwork in Pepper's office.

He wished they could be there now, instead of ostensibly basking in the afterglow. Which probably said everything he needed to know, really. "We're not going to do this again, are we?"

"No, we're not." Pepper dropped a chaste, warm kiss onto Tony's collarbone, her palm gently running over his abdomen. "We might love each other, but we'll never achieve a Unity. And I could be perfectly content with what we have, but you aren't. So, no. We're not going to do this again."

"Do you hate me?" Tony tried to make it a joke, but he felt too vulnerable for it right then. Too raw. Pepper had done nothing except tell the truth, but it still hurt like an open wound. A hole in his chest, and Tony sure as hell already knew what that felt like.

"I could never hate you," Pepper said immediately. "I've seen you at your absolute worst, at your complete lowest. I've been so terrified for you I thought I'd die, and so angry at you I thought I'd burst into flame."

"'Kind of did," Tony said.

He didn't have to see her face to know Pepper was rolling her eyes. "And despite how exasperating, distressing and infuriating you can occasionally be, you are also one of the sweetest, kindest, smartest, gentlest and most wonderful men I've ever met. I just told you I love you, and I do. I always will. I just can't love you the way you want."

"I love you too, Pep," Tony said. He ran his hand up and down her arm. Her skin was so soft. He didn't know how anyone could be this perfect. He especially didn't know how anyone could be this perfect and still want him in any way at all. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't've kept trying. It's just…I want…I want to be…." He had to stop talking and blink away the traitorous sting in his eyes. "I can't even achieve Affinity with anyone," he whispered. "Not even you, and I love you. I hate it. It feels like there's something wrong with me."

Pepper lifted herself on her arm to look down at his face. "Anthony Edward Stark, there is nothing wrong with you," she said sternly. "It's not your fault that you were hit with Consanguinity as a child. It's not as if you asked for it to happen."

He kissed her forehead, then lay back. "I know," he sighed, rubbing the smooth, warm skin along her spine. "And I know how incredibly rare it is, and how many people would envy me if they knew. But, I've spent my entire life unable to have any kind of Unity with anyone else because of it, and the one guy I could have it with isn't here, and I don't even know who he is. I can't even remember him. I can't even picture his face. I mean, I know I spent most of my adulthood drunk off my ass, but…shouldn't I remember anyway?"

"I don't know," Pepper said. "But, from everything you told me, the aftermath was incredibly traumatic for you. And you were so young. It's possible you blacked it out."

"I guess. Maybe." Tony licked his lips, staring at the ceiling. "I don't remember much of my childhood anyway, but I know I was sad most of the time. I do remember crying a lot." He gave the ceiling a tiny, pitiless smirk. "Until I got old enough to discover booze and alcohol. Then things got better."

Pepper lay down again, then squirmed her arm underneath him to hug him fiercely. "I know. And I wish so badly I could have been there, somehow, to help or at least listen. And I wish we could have Affinity, Tony. Or, if not with me, then Rhodey or any of the people who care about you. You deserve that."

Tony snorted. He didn't really know what he deserved, but the few people he counted as true friends probably didn't deserve to have him bonded to them. No matter how much he might have thought about it.

Whoever the poor, unlucky S.O.B. was who he met as a kid probably didn't deserve it either. "I don't think whoever it is wants to find me, Pep," he said quietly, "I mean, who the hell could blame him, right?" His attempted smirk came out as a miserable squeak. "I'm a nearly fifty year-old, barely-recovering alcoholic with abandonment and daddy issues—"

"Tony," Pepper said.

"—And then you throw in the rampant narcissism, pathetic neediness and probably ADD—"

"Tony," Pepper interrupted. "Even if any of those things besides the recovering alcoholism and probable ADD were true, you are a good man who is more than worthy of being loved. If your Half hasn't found you yet, I promise you, it's not because they don't want to."

Tony swallowed. "What if he's dead?"

"He can't be dead. If he were dead you'd at least be able to have Affinity." Pepper sighed again. "Honestly, the most likely scenario is that he was just as young as you were, and can't remember it either."

"I don't think he was a kid," Tony said. "I remember him being really tall."

Pepper's smile was amused and fond. "I hate to say it, but he might've just been 'really tall', compared to you."

"Well, thanks for making me feel hopeful and insulted at the same time," Tony groused. "Affinity with you was a terrible idea. What was I thinking?"

"I love you too, Tony," Pepper said.

The funny part was, Tony didn't even know he'd achieved Consanguinity until he was fourteen, half in love with James Rhodes and completely on board to have some kind of Unity with him. It would've been platonic—Rhodey was unambiguously straight—but it still would've given them the same near-magical awareness of each other, and maybe the puzzle-piece feeling of wholeness that'd been a gnawing absence in Tony's soul for most of his life.

Rhodey had wanted it too, something Tony could never really understand. Rhodey had explained that he already felt like Tony's big brother, and it would make it easier to look out for him. He wasn't eighteen yet, so he got his parents' permission (Tony didn't bother), and even researched how to make it happen.

Every source he read said the easiest and truest way was through deliberate physical contact while opening yourself to a bond. Tony got a lot of hugs, which was great, but nothing happened.

Then they tried a ritual in one of the books for people who were clearly compatible but couldn't 'unblock the spirit to properly Unite'. That didn't work either.

Rhodey ended up dragging Tony to one of the campus counselors who was also a Unity Specialist. She did a lot of tests, most of which involved holding Tony's hands and looking deep into his eyes. She was almost as shocked as Rhodey and Tony were when she concluded that he'd already experienced Consanguinity, which meant Unity of any other kind was a no-go, unless or until the Consanguinity was complete. The counselor didn't understand why that hadn't happened at the same time, since normally all it took was extended contact.

"Obviously you were too young for anything sexual. Not that sexual contact is necessary. Just physical contact," she said, with the kind of candor that would've been embarrassing as hell if Tony's world hadn't just exploded. "But hugging or even holding hands, even for a few minutes would've been sufficient." She leaned a little closer in her office chair, eyes full of confusion and professional concern. "Do you know why you weren't able to complete the Consanguinity?"

Tony, squished next to Rhodey in the loveseat and trying not to cry, shook his head. "I didn't even know it'd happened. I don't know who it was."

"Oh, dear," the counselor said. "Then, I'm afraid I can't help you."

No one could, it turned out. Not even the foremost Unity Specialist in Boston, who told Tony the same thing: either he completed Consanguinity with someone he didn't even know he'd met, or bye-bye to trying to Unite with anyone else. Ever.

So, at the ripe old age of fourteen, Tony learned that he would fundamentally be alone for the rest of his life. The next three years of college were awesome, after that.

The worst part was, sometimes Tony would have this…sense memory, maybe, of being in a man's arms. Held in a man's arms, like he was too small to touch the ground. A man with brown hair who wasn't Jarvis or Howard (Definitely not Howard. Tony wasn't sure that Howard had ever carried him). Tony remembered his hair, and the rasp of his nylon jacket. Maybe.

Or maybe he was just conflating the (very) few times he'd ever felt safe in someone's arms in his entire life; his pathetic brain just making shit up because hey, why the fuck not. It wasn't like there was any actual reality to replace it.

He even asked his parents about it, once. But of course they would have never let some stranger pick him up and obviously they would've known if their son had achieved Consanguinity with someone and blah blah blah. Never mind.

All Jarvis could tell him was that there was one time in Central Park, where he'd found Tony being carried by a stranger and Tony hadn't wanted to go home. Jarvis had been too distracted by his concern, and then by Tony's kicking and screaming, to pay much attention to what the man had looked like. He had brown hair, and eyes that were either grey or blue.

That was it: Brown hair and grey or blue eyes. Tony's last fucking molecule of hope.

The only thing Tony remembered for certain was how he'd felt: Joy, belonging and comfort like he'd never found before or since. For a couple minutes out of his entire misbegotten life, he'd known what it meant to be whole.

It was impossible to forget. It had ruined him. Every new friendship, every potential relationship, only offered the forlorn possibility that he might feel that way again. But he never did. And after forty-something years of looking, he didn't think he would.

He had admirers, and he had lots of sex, and he had friends like Happy, Rhodey and Pepper, who knew him well but kind of loved him anyway. And friends like Steve, Natasha and Bruce, who knew him well and tolerated him anyway too.

Tony tried not to count on that, since he knew eventually he grated on everyone. But it was more than most people had. Tony knew he was lucky. He knew it should have been enough.

He still woke up with tears on his face and an emptiness inside him like a black hole had swallowed his heart. But that didn't happen as often anymore. He could even manage not to think of his lost Half for whole hours at a time.

Most of the time, he was okay.

Pepper, it turned out, was a far better friend than lover, and thank God her not being his lover meant she wasn't there when Tony stupidly invited terrorists to bomb his house.

She even urged him to call Steve, but Tony was a big boy who could clean up his own messes, thanks. So maybe he regretted that pride later when he and Rhodey got captured and then had to save the President by themselves. But he still got it done, right?

Fucking right, he did. Tony didn't need anybody.

Of course, the side effect of Tony not asking for help from Steve meant that a few months later, Steve didn't ask for help from him either. And boy, could he have used it. Stupid, self-sacrificing asshole.

He probably didn't need to wake up with Sam 'getting coffee' and Tony standing at his hospital bedside and glowering at him. But whatever. Captain Apeshit was his friend, and Tony tended to get bitchy and impulsive when his friends were hurt. Inviting terrorists to bomb his house being a case in point.

"So. Apparently you broke D.C.," he said. "Good one."

Steve blinked at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm asking myself the same question," Tony said. The Voice of Reason in the back of his head—which sounded a lot like Pepper, come to think—told him that he was being kind of mean to someone who'd been shot at and nearly beaten to death just a few days ago. Tony just jammed his fists deeper into the pockets of his expensive suit and ignored it. "As in, why am I here now, instead of, oh, a week ago when you could've really, really used Iron Man? And the answer I keep coming up with is, because you never called me."

Steve blinked at him again, but now there was a lot less big-eyed confusion and a lot more glaring. "Sorry, Tony. I didn't realize that taking down Hydra before they murdered twenty million people was actually all about you."

"Never said it was about me, Capsized," Tony responded breezily, hiding how much that hurt. He was angry because he'd been scared as hell. It had nothing to do with his ego. "I said it was about how you could've used Iron Man, but chose to be stupid instead."

"We don't have that kind of relationship, Tony," Steve said. "You don't call me, I don't call you, right? Isn't that how it works?"

"Seriously?" Tony demanded, "that was your reasoning, here? You almost get yourself killed out of tit-for-tat passive-aggression?"

Steve's jaw worked. It made his still-healing scars look like red yarn. "What do you want, Tony?" he said on a sigh. "I'm tired and my injuries hurt. So if you came here just to scold me for doing exactly what you did, then consider the message delivered." He pointedly closed his eyes and turned his head away. "Take care, Tony."

It somehow sounded exactly like, 'Fuck off and don't talk to me again', which was, admittedly, not what Tony was going for when he'd quietly stormed into the hospital room. He took a breath, thought of Pepper, and tried again. "I'm sorry," he said. "I found out what happened on the news like everyone else. And I saw the footage of you falling and…I was scared. I was really scared you'd died because I wasn't here to help you."

"It's still not about you, Tony," Steve said, but he looked at Tony again, and there was a tiny smile on his wounded face. "You know," he added a lot more seriously, "I was just as scared when I found out what happened to you."

"You were?" Tony blurted.

Steve frowned. "Of course I was. You're my friend. All I could think about was what if you hadn't gotten out of your house in time? What if Killian's soldiers had killed you? You could've died, and I was doing bullshit busy work for S.H.I.E.L.D.. I didn't even know anything was wrong."

"Missed my awesome press conference, huh?"

"Believe it or not, not all of us have our eyes on screens 24/7." Steve smirked a little before being completely serious again. "If I'd seen it, though, you can bet your ass I would've been on a quinjet to California. What you did was a really bad idea, Tony. I'm just glad you survived it."

"Yeah, Well." Tony cleared his throat, chagrined at how much Steve had really worried about him. "I'm lucky you didn't see it, then." He yanked up a grin. "I think I would've rather had my house bombed than have to deal with Captain America's Disappointed Face."

Steve laughed, then winced in pain, but he waved off Tony's concern. His smile turned self-depreciating. "In retrospect, it might've been prudent to have your help."

Tony's smirk was just as rueful. "And in retrospect, I should've probably called Captain America when fake-fucking terrorists bombed my house." He stuck out his hand. "Next time we have to save the world, we won't be dicks and we'll just fucking pick up the phone. Deal?"

Steve grinned and clapped his hand with Tony's. His grip was as strong as ever, which made something tight and miserable in Tony finally relax. "Deal," he said.

"Good man." Tony let go and stuffed his hands back in his pockets. No fists this time. He rocked back on his heels. "So, while we're not being dicks and helping each other, a little spider told me that Hydra's favorite assassin was actually a murder slave named James Buchanan Barnes?"

Steve's expression crashed like the helicarriers. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I thought he'd died, back in '45. I mean, he fell so far…." He swallowed. "Hydra experimented on him, when he was captured in '43. I didn't know…I didn't know they'd changed him, made it possible for him to survive the fall. But he did. Somehow he did. And they've had him all this time—" Steve's voice cracked, and his eyes filled with tears.

"Hey. Hey, don't cry." Tony reached for him, then hesitated, then decided fuck it and took Steve's hand. "Please don't cry, Steve. It's okay."

"It's not okay!" Steve barked, though he didn't let go of Tony's hand. "He's been their prisoner for nearly 70 years, Tony! 70 years, and I don't even know what they did to him! His left arm's metal and he didn't even recognize me, and how the hell could that be okay?"

"It's not," Tony said immediately. "You're right, it's not. It's not okay. In fact it's like, the complete opposite of okay. But, Natasha pulled a Born Free with all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s and Hydra's dirty little secrets on the Web, right? So, we can use all that to find him, and find out what they did to him and how to fix it."

"I don't know where he is," Steve said miserably. "I don't know what shape he's in…I don't even know if he's free. Hydra's still out there. What if they captured him again?"

"Then we find him and get him back," Tony said. He had no idea if anything he was saying was actually possible, but he was very, very good at faking conviction. Steve was Tony's friend, and Tony wasn't going to let him down again. "I promise, Steve, wherever Barnes is, whatever shape he's in, we will find him and bring him home."

"Thank you, Tony. The depth of the relief and gratitude in Steve's voice made Tony wish they'd always had the kind of relationship where they called each other. He promised himself that they would from now on.

"You don't have to thank me, Cap. I…" Tony hesitated, bit his lip. But, there was no reason not to say it, was there? And weren't you supposed to share personal stuff with your friends anyway? "I know what it's like to lose your Consanguinity. I'd never wish that on anyone."

Saying that Bucky and Steve had achieved Consanguinity was a gamble, but not much of one. Howard Stark had been certain Steve and Bucky had that level of Unity, just like all the biographies full of decades' worth of rampant speculation. Steve and Bucky had to have achieved Consanguinity; everyone thought so. How could they be so close otherwise?

"I'm so sorry, Tony," Steve said, heartfelt. "I didn't know that you've had to go through that. I can't think of anything worse."

Tony shrugged, looking down at their still-joined hands. "It was a long time ago. And, well, you know what it's like. So…." He shrugged. "You know what it's like," he repeated softly.

"Yeah," Steve said, "But not first hand. My parents had Consanguinity," he explained, when Tony's head snapped up. "My dad died before I was born. I grew up with my mom's grieving that loss as well as her husband. I think that's why she didn't live very long. But, Bucky and I didn't have that depth of Unity. We had Affinity. I know a lot of people think we were more than that, but we were just friends. Really, really close friends. Like brothers. But we never had Consanguinity. I think—I know we could've. But…After what happened to my mom, I never wanted to. And Bucky didn't mind."

"Oh," Tony said quietly, stunned. "I guess that's good, then?" he added inanely. "I mean, my Consanguinity was a total accident. I only knew my Half for a couple minutes when I was a little kid. But…it's never stopped feeling like I just lost him. Every day. It feels like that. It's, uh…." He swallowed, suddenly fighting back tears of his own. "It's pretty bad."

"I'm sorry," Steve said again. "It's horrible, to grieve like that." He took a breath. "Even Affinity was…it was bad enough." He turned his hand over to clasp Tony's properly. "I could feel what he felt, if I was close enough to him. Just emotions, but…" He grimaced, breathing harshly through his nose. They were both ridiculous messes. "I felt his terror, until he fell too far. It was…."

"It's okay, Steve, you don't have to tell me," Tony said, because Steve was in a hospital bed and barely holding it together and Tony felt guilty as hell.

"Thank. But, I'm okay," Steve said. He was lying through his perfect teeth, but Tony was too familiar with that kind of not-coping method to call him on it. "Bucky had only fallen a few days before, when I took the Valkyrie into the ice. It was still only days for me when I woke up. After three years I was just beginning to figure out how to live without him. And then he came back." His next breath shuddered a little. "I can't help thinking that if I'd agreed to Consanguinity, if I hadn't been so selfish and held back, I would've known he survived. Instead I only found out in Washington, when we were fighting. And it wasn't enough. To…to bring him back, I mean. I don't even know if he felt anything. He still didn't remember me."

"That sucks. I'm really sorry," Tony wiped his eyes with his free hand, stupidly hoping that Steve wouldn't notice if he did it quickly. "We'll find him. I promise, we're going to find him."

"Thank you," Steve said again. He squeezed Tony's hand. "And we'll find your Half too. You're not alone, Tony. You don't have to keep looking by yourself."

"Oh, I gave up looking years ago, Capslock," Tony said. He tried to make his voice breezy, could hear how badly he didn't manage it. "I was just a little kid, right? I'm pretty sure I was three, but my memory sucks shit and…" He couldn't help the nasty little smirk. "And even if I'd known it'd happened, I was three. It's not like anyone would've believed me. I mean, who the hell even achieves Affinity, let alone Consanguinity, spontaneously? Leaving aside doing it when they're three?"

"You wouldn't be the first child who did," Steve said. "One of my neighbors achieved Consanguinity with her daughter the day she was born. They were like two peas in a pod, despite the age difference. Always knew where the other was, how they felt, no matter how far apart they were. The young woman got married shortly before the war started, and her mother moved in with them."

"That…that's nice," Tony said. For a second he allowed himself to imagine it: growing up with a father figure who loved him unreservedly and unconditionally, who was genuinely interested in him as a person. Who actually wanted to spend time with him and who cared how he felt. He and Jarvis had been close, but Jarvis' loyalties were always first and foremost to the man who'd given him a home and saved his own Affinity's life.

"I don't even remember his face," Tony said quietly. "All I remember is that he had brown hair, and that he seemed like a giant when he picked me up." He swallowed again. "And…the rasp of his jacket. That's it. I've remembered the rasp of his jacket for forty years, but I can't remember his face. Or what he sounded like. Or if he even told me his name."

"That's still a place to start," Steve said. "Where were you when you met him?"

"Fucked if I know," Tony said. "I mean, other than Central Park. Somewhere in Central park, since the fucking thing's the size of a small country." He clapped his hands. "But anyway! We have your actual, existing long-lost Affinity buddy to find, and I have ideas! Really excellent ones, because me."

"Tony," Steve said. He looked guilty all of a sudden, but then lifted his head and put his shoulders back as best he could while semi-reclined in a hospital bed. He put on his Captain America face, and Tony was pretty sure his stomached dropped to the center of the planet. "It's about Bucky," he said, resolve ringing in his voice. "You need to know something."

"Hey, Nat? I know you're in the middle of keeping you, Cap and Volleybird out of jail, but Steve just told me that Bucky Barnes killed my parents and he's Steve's Affinity, and I know you've both told me Hydra forced him to do that but he killed my parents and I really, really don't understand how you could kill two helpless civilians and not have a choice about it. So I need to know what Hydra supposedly did to him to make it not a choice. Because if Steve has to choose me and Bucky, he'll choose Bucky, and if I have to choose between Steve and my parents I'll choose my parents. And right now I hate Bucky so much I kind of want to puke and—"

Because they were kindred spirits, Natasha's interrupting him didn't include a crack about the lack of pleasantries. "And you'd like to prevent World War III."

"I was thinking Civil War. But, yes. Yes, I would like very much to prevent that," Tony agreed, nodding fervently even though she couldn't see it. "So, I need your help. Oh, I'm in D.C.," he added, in case she hadn't gleaned that immediately from the background noise or something.

He could hear her walking, the click of her high heels on the pavement. "I can give you the proof you need, but not over the phone. I'll meet you at your hotel suite in half an hour. Get me room service, I'm starving."

Tony chuckled. He hadn't felt like his world was crumbling this badly since he was a teenager, but he knew Natasha would make it all right. And if she couldn't… Well, if he was going to burn the bridge he'd just built between him and Steve, at least he'd have a good reason. "What can your humble minion order for you, your Widowness?"

He grinned at the sound of her dry smirk. "Steak. Rare. Like the flesh of my enemies."

"Here," she said without preamble as soon as Tony let her in to his suite. She put a thin, battered-looking file folder onto the bed. "Nice," she said, looking around. "Is the bar stocked?"

"Of course." Tony picked up the file. The label was in Russian. He opened it, then blinked in shock at the two photographs. One paper sized, the other much smaller and attached to it with a paper clip. The small picture was clearly from the 1940s, given the subject and the sepia tinge: Sergeant Barnes looking like a goddamn movie star, dapper as fuck in his dress uniform as he grinned at someone off camera. The larger picture was Barnes again, only this time his hair was a lot longer and his eyes were closed. It looked like he was in some kind of metal cylinder with a glass porthole over his face. The effect was very Snow White, but he didn't look peaceful. He looked empty. Empty and sad.

Tony put the pictures on the bed and flipped through the rest of the pages. There wasn't much, and all of it was in Russian. "What does it say?"

"The cover says, 'Sargent James Barnes: Deployment and Maintenance.'" Natasha handed Tony a glass of scotch. She had a bottle of beer; she could be surprisingly downmarket when she felt like it. "The rest of the file concerns keeping his arm functional, putting him in and bringing him out of cryofreeze, and electrocuting him until he can't walk." She lifted her eyebrows mildly as Tony gaped at her.

"That's bullshit."

"Nope." Natasha shook her head. She was being her typically unflappable, know-it-all self, which Tony knew meant she was actually upset. "I can read it to you, if you want. Or I suppose you could have J.A.R.V.I.S. translate it."

Tony stared at the yellowing, typewritten pages. Even the uneven ink of the font looked sinister. "Why did they electrocute him?"

"Why do you think?"

Tony took a gulp of his scotch. Natasha had chosen it well, not that Tony would expect any less. "I have no fucking idea, Nat. That's why I'm asking you."

She gave him a look that was distinctly unimpressed, then plucked the folder out of his hand, closed it and put it on the bed. "I'll tell you everything I know," she said before Tony could voice his protest. "But after I've eaten. I'm starving and I don't want to lose my appetite."

"Is what's in there really that bad?"

"Yes, Tony, it's really that bad," Natasha said, no artifice whatsoever. "Oh, great. Perfect timing." She leapt up at the discreet knock on the door.

Tony let them in, waiting impatiently as the woman made a big show of setting up everything on the table of the kitchenette attached to the suite. He tipped her what was probably a ridiculous amount, put out the 'do not disturb' sign and locked the door behind her. "What am I supposed to do while you're eating?"

"You could've ordered something." Natasha shrugged as she sat down. "Fine, here." She took a small memory stick from her pocket and put it on the table. "That has video. I was going to give it to you after I've eaten, but you obviously can't wait so you can have it now. Just, keep the sound off. I don't want to listen to it again."

He picked up the memory stick. "What the fuck did they do to him?"

"Watch it." Natasha shrugged a shoulder as she cut into her steak, but she wouldn't even look in Tony's direction. "Just, watch it in another room."

"It sounds like a fucking horror movie."

"It is a horror movie," Natasha said.

It wasn't a horror movie; horror movies tended to end better. Or at least end. This went on and on and on.

Tony watched it on his tablet, with J.A.R.V.I.S. translating. The films went from 1943 all the way to April 2014, because Nazis loved filming shit. The very first one was from March 1943, which Tony knew because it was narrated by a pudgy guy in glasses named Arnim Zola, who looked absolutely nothing like the evil mad scientist he obviously was. Just reading the impromptu subtitles made Tony want a shower.

Barnes' was 'Subject Twenty-Six', which was a chilling indication of how little time the other poor bastards survived. Apparently Barnes had managed to live through part one of the experiment. That was injecting him with knockoff Serum, as Dr. Menglezola gleefully explained. So now they were on to part two, which was 'memory alteration.' As in, the electrocution Natasha told Tony about.

The prototype…thing they used was basically a metal, bucket-shaped helmet-analog with a Lovecraftian number of wires trailing from it. It was slid over Bucky's head while he was drugged to the gills and strapped to a chair bolted to the floor. The machine hummed obscenely as it powered up, but the only indication in the grainy, black and white footage that it worked was when Barnes started screaming.

Zola kept the hellbucket on Bucky's head for five minutes—one of his assistants had a stopwatch, because this was science—but Tony had to stop the playback at the three minute mark. He'd kept the sound down for Natasha's sake, but even Bucky's muted screaming was more than he could stand. J.A.R.V.I.S. kindly jumped to the end, where Zola's minions pulled the bucket off Bucky's head. Bucky was drooling, tears streaming from his eyes and his nose running with blood and snot. There were asymmetrical bruises on his face, blood in one ear and absolutely nothing going on behind his eyes.

A minion wiped Bucky's face the way serial killers clean their victims, and then Zola snapped his fingers in front of Bucky's sightless eyes a few times. He said, "Sergeant Barnes…Sergeant Barnes…" in a singsong voice, like a parent calling a kid in for dinner instead of a fucking sadist with a fetish for Tesla coils.

Obviously Bucky had somehow survived this more-or-less intact, since he was alive in April 2014. But Tony was still shocked when Bucky slowly lifted his head, eyes focusing with a clear and terrible effort.

"Welcome back, Sergeant Barnes," Zola said in English. "Now, can you tell me please, what is my name?"

Bucky stared at him, just blinking. Tony wasn't sure he'd even understood the words. Zola looked ecstatic. "Can you tell me, please, what is your name? Your full name, of course."

Bucky kept staring at him. His mouth moved, but the sound he produced barely qualified as human. He swallowed, tried again. "J…James…Bu…Buc…Bucky?" His voice sounded exactly like he'd spent the last five minutes screaming. "Bucky?"

Fear crept into the blankness of his eyes, as if he'd just realized how wrong all this was. His gaze sharpened and he craned his head, trying to look around. "Where am I? What are you doing to me?" He pulled on the straps holding him to the chair, face contorting in panic. "What are you doing to me? What are you doing to me? Let me go!"

Tony stopped the video again when Bucky began calling for help, and then crying out for Steve. It felt like a betrayal, not bearing witness. Somehow it didn't matter that this had happened decades ago. Tony still couldn't make himself keep watching.

And that was just the first. "How many of these are there, J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

"Over 100," Natasha said, startling the hell out of him. "They're all pretty much the same." She was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, protecting herself with put-on insouciance again. Tony hadn't heard her open the door. "The Chair gets automated later, but the only real difference is who's pressing the button. For that, anyway."

"For that," Tony repeated. He looked at her. "And the other 'real difference'?"

"Ask J.A.R.V.I.S. to jump to the missile silo."

"Well, that sounds happy," Tony muttered. "J, you heard the lady. Missile silo, please."

"Tony, wait," Natasha said suddenly. She came into the room and put her hand on his shoulder. She looked concerned in a way that Tony could tell was real. "This is…they deployed him from there. For your parents."

Tony froze. He was clutching his tablet; he wanted to throw it at the wall. But this was what he'd called her for: He'd wanted to know how his parents really died, what Bucky had done.

"Yeah, okay," he croaked. "Show me that, J.A.R.V.I.S.. Please."

J.A.R.V.I.S. did.

Tony watched Bucky being dragged out of the giant cylinder where they'd kept him like leftovers, still trembling with cold and too weak to stand. He watched him get dumped into the new, improved Chair and scream in agony as the electricity ripped him apart. He watched a Red Army colonel read a list of words that seemed almost completely random when Natasha translated them for him, but made whatever human light remained in Bucky's eyes go out.

"Good morning, Soldier," Natasha translated quietly. "Ready to comply." She hadn't moved her hand. Tony was grateful for it.

Tony watched the robot who had been Bucky Barnes be briefed on his mission. He needed to retrieve something, terminate the target and leave no witnesses. Howard was the target. Maria Stark was just collateral damage.

His parents died in the middle of nowhere, so it was kind of strange there had been a camera. On the other hand, they were supposed to be heading to Washington. Knowing his dad, that road was probably the route to a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility where Howard was supposed to drop off whatever it was he had.

Which meant S.H.I.E.L.D. knew Tony's parents were murdered. They had to know. Did they keep that from Tony to protect him? Or because they were all fucking Hydra? And did it even matter anymore?

It didn't. What mattered was how that wasn't Bucky in the lousy monochrome footage. That was a blank-faced automaton who had just enough of his own personality left to hesitate when Howard recognized him, but not enough to go against his programming. If Tony had just seen the murder, he would've thought that Barnes didn't give a shit about what he was doing. Tony probably would've blamed him, even knowing what Hydra had done. But Tony had watched the 'maintenance' part of the maintenance and deployment, and it was obvious Bucky wasn't capable of caring about anything at all.

Tony was crying when Winter Soldier shot out the camera and the footage finally stopped. Not tears of grief, he was too angry for that. This was rage, the kind that left him cold and hot and shaking.

"They killed them, and they didn't even have the guts to do it themselves," Tony spat. "They murdered my parents, and they used Captain America's fucking best friend to do it. Did you see that?" He gestured at the tablet screen. "Of course you saw that. Bucky hesitated. He hesitated! He didn't want to do it! But he couldn't stop. And my parents…." He gritted his teeth until he knew he wouldn't start bawling. It made his jaw ache.

Natasha rubbed his shoulder and along his back to his neck. "For what it's worth, he could have hurt them a lot more than he did. Those kills were quick and clean."

"Not worth much," Tony rasped. He swallowed, wiped his eyes. "He and Steve could've had Consanguinity. Steve told me that. Steve didn't want to—which was dumb, but hey, it's Steve so whatever—but they had Affinity, so they were close enough. And now Bucky gets this instead: Killing his friends for the same assholes he died fighting." He wiped his eyes messily, snuffling like a little kid. "You weren't going to show the video to Steve, right?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. I was just going to bring him the file."

"Good." Tony swallowed again, wiped more tears. "I have to find him, Nat. Before Hydra get their fucking tentacles on him again. He can't…no one should have to live through that. It's inhuman. It's worse than inhuman. I wouldn't do that to a cockroach."

Natasha hugged him. She gave remarkably good hugs for someone normally so reserved, comforting but not too tight. "Sam and Steve are already going to look for him."

"I know." Tony rested his chin on Natasha's shoulder. It felt almost like hugging Pepper, except Nat was so tiny. "But, Steve charges in everywhere. He'll scare Bucky away. Or, Hydra will just follow him and get to Bucky first."

"Then we just have to find him before they do."

Tony pulled back to look at her. "'We'?"

She shrugged. "Steve's my friend, and I hate Hydra just as much as you do. Probably more, actually. And you and I are a lot more likely to find him than Steve and Sam."

"Oh," Tony said, because, You're a lot kinder than you let on probably wouldn't go over well. "Yeah. That'd be good." He disentangled himself, wiped his eyes one more time then pulled up a reasonable facsimile of a grin. "With my genius and your mad spy skillz? We'll find Barnes, like, yesterday. Hell, he'll probably find us, just to save himself the embarrassment."

As an attempt to lighten the mood it was incredibly lame, but Natasha was kinder than she let on, so she smirked anyway. "Well, that'll be boring, but it would be expedient."

"'Boring Expediency' could be the title of my autobiography," Tony said.

The majority of the S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra files were encrypted. A man with experience and patience could have found everything he needed in a year, probably. Tony, however, was a man with a genius I.Q., a super computer, and no patience at all. He got their first lead in less than a month.

It didn't find them Bucky, but it did find the red book the colonel was reading from in the video. And incidentally it found them the colonel as well. Tony and Natasha payed him a little visit in Cleveland fucking Ohio of all places. That was fun. If by 'fun' Tony meant 'really fucking awful'. Which he did.

It wasn't that Karpov put up a fight or chomped on cyanide or anything. It was that he kept insisting how kind he'd been, how he made sure the Soldier was never abused under his care. This was the same guy who read the robot word list while Bucky howled in agony, and he couldn't get why Tony might be inclined to shove him through the fucking wall.

Truth was, Tony wasn't entirely sure why Bucky mattered this much to him. Tony would have saved anyone who'd been treated like this, but something about it being James Buchanan Barnes made Tony want to throw up or start sobbing every time he thought about what'd been done to him. Tony knew he wasn't all that compassionate, despite what anyone said. But the torment on Bucky's face lit a visceral horror in him that he'd only felt watching Yinsen die, or Pepper reach for and miss his hand.

Except Yinsen had been his friend and saved his life, and Pepper was his friend and former lover. Tony didn't know Bucky, not beyond his father's stories or what he'd been forced to learn in school. And yet here he was: seriously contemplating murder on behalf of a man he'd never met.

It didn't make sense. Then again, not much in Tony's life did.

Sense or no, Natasha found the red book with the black star on it, along with all kinds of nifty documents that she sifted through before they left them for the new, improved and 100% less Hydra compromised S.H.I.E.L.D. to enjoy. Along with Karpov tied up and swearing in his basement.

Tony had no idea what Natasha read. She insisted it wasn't important, but all of a sudden she had to go to Siberia and do something he couldn't help with. And no, she wasn't going to tell him what it was. She gave Tony the book, another hug and a kiss on the cheek, and disappeared.

The only thing in the book aside from nightmare fodder was the word list. Tony had J.A.R.V.I.S. make a copy of it and put it in a separate, firewalled server that only Tony could access. Then he used his gauntlets to turn the book to atoms.

And then he started looking again.

James Buchanan Barnes, whose nickname was Bucky, kept going back to the museum.

It was terrible strategy. He knew someone (Hydra) would eventually find him if he didn't vary his movements. He knew the danger of people recognizing him, or someone (Steve) guessing he might be found there. He was especially aware that someone might see the similarity between his face and the man in the displays. He kept going anyway; it helped him remember.

He was almost sure he knew what the blue jacket felt like, and the weight of the rifle on his back. He read about the Commandos' missions and could picture them. He knew things about what they'd done—what he'd done—the exhibit didn't mention. He knew things about Steve.

He could find him. It wouldn't be difficult. Bucky wanted to find him. He wanted to go home. But he was dangerous. He had the triggers in his head, and if Hydra wasn't hunting him right now it was only a matter of time. He didn't want anyone to be hurt because of him, but Steve….

Bucky wouldn't hurt his Affinity Half. He'd rather die.

That was another reason he couldn't keep doing this. He should leave D.C.. Leaving the country would be even better. The best thing for everybody.

He wanted to stay, but he hadn't done anything he really wanted since before the War. At least he could choose where he went.

Except when he left the museum, Steve and a bearded man Bucky didn't know were waiting for him.

"Hey, Buck," Steve said. It was mid-afternoon. They weren't near the main entrance to the building, but there were still tourists and locals going back and forth. Enough people were around to notice if things went bad. Steve hoped that worked to his and Tony's advantage, that Bucky wouldn't want to do anything drastic in front of a crowd.

He looked bad. Not as bad as Steve feared, thank God, but unkempt, undernourished and disheveled. Steve wanted to ask him where he'd been staying, if he was all right, but he could tell by the fear flowing like waves between them how precarious this moment was. People or no people, one wrong move or word and Bucky would bolt.

Bucky didn't answer. He licked his lips, looking between Steve and Tony like he was accessing the greater threat. Steve had his hands up with his palms out, trying to look harmless. He hoped Bucky could feel Steve's desperate hope and concern. Tony's hands were in his pockets, studied nonchalance. Bucky's were in fists. This could go very bad very easily.

"We're not going to hurt you," Tony said. Bucky's attention snapped to him. "In fact, I was hoping we could feed you." He tilted his head in the direction of the limo idling illegally on the nearby street. "I've got sandwiches in the car. Roast beef. Steve said that's your favorite."

"Do you remember me, Bucky?" Steve asked when Bucky stayed silent.

Bucky's eyes darted back to Steve. He nodded jerkily, but the fear Steve could feel a little worse. "You're the man in the museum."

His disappointment was like a fist in Steve's guts. He did his best to shove it down before Bucky felt it. "You saved me from the river. Why?"

"I don't know." Bucky backed up a step. Steve wanted to hug him so badly it hurt. "I don't know why I saved you. I don't know who you are. Let me go."

"I think you do, though," Tony said. Steve glared at him, but Tony's expression wasn't the smug arrogance Steve expected. He was frowning, like he was actually trying to understand. "You're the—" He winced. "You're exceptionally skilled. You know we can't stop you if you want to go. But you're terrified. I mean, you looked terrified," he amended, as if worried he'd offended him. "Maybe you're not, but…you look scared, and you don't need to be. And I'm sure you're not scared of me. So, why him?"

Bucky looked between Tony and Steve, bit his lip. "I don't want to hurt you," he said. "I shouldn't…I shouldn't be here."

"You won't hurt me," Steve said. He risked a step closer. Bucky's eyes widened a little but he didn't move. "You had a chance to hurt me before, and you didn't. You saved me. I know you won't hurt me now."

Bucky shook his head. Steve felt his misery and resignation. "You don't understand."

"Yes we do," Tony said. "We found it. The red and black thing. And I'm pretty sure I can fix what it did."

Bucky backed up another step, his eyes huge. He started panting. His fear was like a physical pain.

"Wait! Wait, please!" Steve caught himself before he lunged for him. "Please, don't run. It's gone. Tony destroyed it. I swear, Buck. It doesn't exist anymore. We'd never use it against you."

"I have video," Tony said. "I'm reaching into my pocket for my phone, so you can see that it's gone. All right? That's all I'm doing."

Bucky watched, tense as a cornered animal, as Tony slowly and carefully pulled his phone out of his breast pocket. "Red and black destruction video," he murmured to it, then held it out so Bucky could see.

The video started on the roof of Avengers Tower. Tony stood with his back to the camera, wearing his usual jeans and heavy metal tee-shirt but with his Iron Man gauntlets on his arms. The red book with the black star on the cover was on the concrete, open to a page with a list of words in Cyrillic. He'd used a couple pieces of scrap metal as paperweights, making sure the page stayed visible. "This is for you, Barnes," he said over his shoulder, then aimed at the book. His gauntlets whined as they powered up, then twin blue bolts of energy shot out of his hands. The book and paperweights blasted apart, destroyed so completely there was nothing left but a faint layer of dust that blew away in the wind.

Bucky watched silently. He reached for the phone but hesitated, looking uncertainly at Tony. Tony nodded and held it out at the full extent of his arm, only gripping it by one corner between his forefinger and thumb. Bucky all but snatched the phone out of his hand. He played the video three more times, eyes narrowed with concentration, then handed the phone back.

"Erase Red and black destruction video," Tony instructed the phone, then slid it back into his pocket. "No one can use that to hurt you anymore," he said to Bucky.

Bucky swallowed. He looked like someone who wanted to hope, but didn't know how. It stuttered and trembled over the link between him and Steve. He shook his head. "Everything they put inside me is still there. That won't…. It's not enough."

"I know," Tony said seriously. "But I think I know a way to fix it."

"No one can fix it."

"Will you at least let us try, Buck?" Steve said. He risked another step, bridging the distance Bucky had just created. He was close enough to touch now, but made sure to keep his hands at his sides, unthreatening. "Do you trust me?"

He was sure that was a stupid question. How could Bucky trust anyone, after what had been done to him? But Bucky looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

"Yeah," he rasped. "I trust you."

A curl of affection crept towards him like a shy kitten. Steve gathered it up, wrapped it in his own and sent it back as strongly as he could. Bucky's tiny smile was worth everything.

"I do trust you, Stevie," Bucky said, and Steve could feel it now, too.

Steve beamed, though he was on the verge of tears. He had been sure he'd never hear that nickname again. "Thank you, Bucky." He said. "Well, I trust Tony too. I trust him with my life, which means I'm willing to trust him with yours. If he says he thinks he can fix something, then he can." He sent Bucky as much of his faith and confidence as he could, hoping that would make a difference.

Tony blinked at Steve in shock, then cleared his throat. "Capsi—Steve's right. I know I can help you. Will you please let me try?"

Bucky didn't respond. He was staring at Tony again, something like wonder and fear in his eyes; wonder and fear flowed to Steve. "You…you're Iron Man," he said, as if he just realized it. "Tony Stark."

"Got it in one," Tony said breezily. Steve knew he'd seen Bucky's attitude change and didn't understand it any more than Steve did. But Tony was nothing if not an expert at brazening things out. He offered his hand. "Anthony Edward Stark, at your service."

Bucky went white. All Steve could feel was his terror. Bucky backed up a step and looked behind him, obviously preparing to run.

"Bucky, it's okay," Steve said quickly. "Tony's my friend. He's not going to hurt you. Nothing bad is going to happen. We just want to help."

Bucky barely glanced at Tony, then behind him again, then finally looked at Steve. "He can…he can get what they put in me out of my head? You promise?"

Steve nodded, trying to encourage the tentative hope threading through the inexplicable sudden fear. "Yes, Bucky. I promise."

"O-okay," Bucky said. He was still terrified, but the hope was getting stronger. "I-I'll go with you. But j-just until you fix me. All right?" He glanced at Tony again, as if he didn't want to but couldn't not.

Longing, despair and more fear, mixed with that little bit of hope. "You can stay as long as you want, Buck," he said. "The Tower is one of the safest places on the planet."

"I'm not staying," Bucky said.

"Why not?" Steve asked. "Bucky, I don't understand."

"It doesn't matter, Steve. He said he doesn't want to stay longer than necessary, he doesn't have to. It's fine." Tony grinned, big and bright and so false it hurt to look at. "I get it. I really do. Hell, I can barely live with myself."

Bucky sat on the couch in Steve's apartment—on Steve's floor, he lived on an entire floor for fuck's sake—staring at nothing and wringing his hands.

He'd taken a shower in a bathroom so big and luxurious it felt like walking into a movie. When he'd finished, there was a complete set of brand new clothing waiting for him: soft cotton underwear and jeans, and thick socks and a bright blue tee-shirt with Steve's shield on it. Bucky thought it'd come from Steve, but Steve said Tony had had it all delivered for him.

There was also a brand new StarkPhone and laptop, just in case he wanted them, and a whole case of nutrition shakes Steve said had been created just for people with their kind of metabolism.

"We thought you were looking a little thin," Steve explained. "They taste pretty good. I make hot chocolate with them."

Bucky had eaten the promised sandwiches in the car, so now he was clean, shaved, warm and full for the first time in longer than he wanted to think about, in case it made him start screaming. Steve had put a mug of nutrition-shake hot chocolate on the coffee table, quietly steaming into the bands of afternoon sunlight. Steve had left it for him with a soft, gentle smile and so much affection, concern and hope that Bucky could barely stand it. Then Steve had gone to his studio at the back to paint. Bucky could hear him moving around, but he didn't think he was painting.

Maybe he was waiting for Bucky to snap. Bucky wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't. Not…not like what Hydra forced into him. Just, he wanted to run.

No, he didn't want to. He wanted to drink the hot chocolate and watch Steve paint. And then when he was calmer, Bucky really, really wanted go find Tony. He wanted to take him in his arms and—

And nothing. Not a damn fucking thing. It didn't matter what Bucky wanted. What mattered was that Anthony Edward Stark wasn't the little boy from the park over 40 years ago. He was a grown man, and he deserved a hell of a lot better than the broken weapon who murdered his parents.

Tony always had; Bucky had known that from the beginning, even when he had no name for the soul-deep recognition he'd felt when he held Tony for the first and last time.

Bucky knew what it was called now: Consanguinity. An almost perfect compatibility between two souls. Bucky had looked it up on the laptop Tony had given him. There was an irony in that, he figured. Bucky using a gift he hadn't earned to find the name for a Unity he shouldn't have. And both because of the same man.

Tony Stark was too good for him. Tony Stark was good. And Bucky wasn't.

He was almost certain that Tony hadn't recognized him. That was perfect. Bucky would make sure they didn't touch, and when—if—Tony could get the trigger words out of his head, Bucky would leave him alone.

The only bad part was that Tony wouldn't be able to achieve any kind of Unity with anyone else, as long as Bucky was alive. Bucky hated that. He'd already fucked up Tony's life enough. But, you didn't need to have Affinity or Consanguinity with someone to love them. Most people never achieved either, and lived perfectly happy lives. So Tony would be okay.

Bucky also wouldn't be able to Unite with anyone else, but that wasn't important. He knew he was a lot luckier than Tony anyway. He still had Steve, and they still had Affinity. Bucky was so grateful he could feel Steve again, Steve's gentle, constant warmth centered around his heart. That hadn't broken, even when Bucky had.

(Steve sure as hell didn't deserve Bucky either, but at least he could Unite with someone else if he wanted. Thank God Bucky hadn't fucked that up for his best friend too.)

And it wasn't like Bucky even wanted to have Unity with anyone else. After everything he'd done, it was stupid to think he was capable of love anymore.

He just wished there was some way of giving Tony back everything he'd stolen from him. Or at least of repaying him for his kindness. Tony was going to a hell of a lot of effort for a man he didn't know. Bucky had never liked feeling indebted to people, he could remember that much. Being indebted like this, to a man he'd hurt so badly, gnawed him to the core.

The worst part was, Tony would have never taken him in if he'd known what Bucky really was, what he'd done. Bucky was sure of it. And if he wasn't such a coward, he'd confess he'd murdered Tony's parents. Tony should know who he was harboring under his roof, if nothing else. Bucky owed him that. He should get off Steve's couch right now, find Tony and tell him. Get it over with.

But Bucky couldn't make himself do it. Tony was his Consanguinity Half, even if he'd never know. Bucky didn't want Tony to hate him.

Pathetic. Bucky was pathetic. A pathetic, broken weapon. He deserved Tony's hatred. He'd earned it, unlike anything else in this wondrous tower Bucky had no business being in. And there was no way Tony's hatred could be worse than anything Hydra had ever done to him. Tony would probably even help Bucky get rid of the trigger words anyway. Because he was a good man.

Bucky knew all that. It didn't change anything.

Well, he'd get out of Tony's life as soon as he could. That was the best and least he could do.

"Why does Bucky hate me so much?"

Steve stopped mid-chew, but managed to swallow the glob of peanut butter toast in his mouth before he choked on it. Tony wasn't exactly subtle or quiet; it said something to how preoccupied Steve was if the man could sneak up on him in the kitchen on the common floor. "Bucky doesn't hate you."

"Steve," Tony said with the kind of patience that really wasn't, "this morning he was trying so hard to avoid me that he walked into a fucking wall. He hasn't said more than two sentences in a row to me since Washington, and at least one of them was, 'I'm sorry'. He won't even look at me. Seriously." Tony ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. "It's like he thinks I'm Hydra. And I don't even know what the hell I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Tony." Steve put his empty plate into the dishwasher, then pulled a mug out of the cupboard and poured Tony a cup of the coffee Steve had just brewed. "He hasn't really talked to anyone, other than me."

Tony gave him a flat stare. "You may not have noticed this, Cap, but we're the only Avengers in the tower right now."

Steve grimaced. "I meant any of your employees, or any baristas or shopkeepers or anything. You know what I mean! Hell, he's barely gone outside."

"Understandable," Tony murmured. He took a loud slurp. "I just don't get it. I'm trying to help him. Why can't he stand even being in the same room with me?"

"I don't know," Steve said honestly. "You can be kind of intense." He shrugged at Tony's mild glare. "It's true. You can be overwhelming, sometimes. Especially to people who don't know you. And Bucky's not used to that anymore. He's not used to people at all," Steve added softly. "At least, people who don't want to hurt him. I think it's hard for him to remember that you won't."

"I haven't done anything to him! Hell, I haven't even touched him! He won't let me!" Tony smacked his mug on the counter, then hissed when hot coffee splashed on his fingers.

"Are you okay? Do you want ice?" Steve asked, already at the freezer.

"I'm fine, Capsicle. Thanks." Tony sucked the coffee off his fingers, then wiped his hand on his pants. "Not nearly as bad as the one time I let DUM-E help me solder." He picked up his coffee again, then sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't get it. Your best friend hates my guts and I don't even know what I've done."

"He doesn't hate you, Tony," Steve said again. He got himself a cup of coffee, then leaned on the counter. "I'm worried about him. Almost the only thing I can feel from him is anxiety and fear, and he's too quiet. And yes, I don't like how much he's avoiding you either. But believe me, if Bucky hated you, I'd know it. Hell, he would've said."

"He's not the same man he was before the war, Steve," Tony said, not unkindly. He slurped his coffee again.

"I know." Steve stared at his big hands wrapped around the mug. That was why he'd been alone in the kitchen. The long, tense silences with nothing but Bucky's misery and Steve's concern flowing back and forth had become too much to bear. He'd have to go back soon, Bucky hated being alone even if he didn't want people near him. But Steve wasn't ready to yet. "I hate seeing him like this. He was never afraid of talking to people. He was always…big." Steve made a useless gesture with one hand, trying to portray the size of a man's soul. "He owned any room he walked into. You two would probably have been best friends the same day you met." He ignored Tony's incredulous snort. "Now it's like Hydra stole part of him and he can't get it back."

"Maybe he'll be happier once we've neutralized the triggers," Tony said. "At least that way he won't have to worry about his own brain screwing him over. That should help."

"I hope so." Steve finally drunk from his own mug. It was too strong. He'd made it the way Bucky liked it. "You're going to a lot of trouble for a man you think hates you."

Tony blinked at him, then looked hurt. "You really think that I'd be that petty?"

"No, of course not." Steve grimaced at himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I meant, you normally don't care if people like you or not. I know I was a real ass to you during our first Avengers mission, and that made no difference to you at all."

"Oh, Steve, you have no idea." Tony's grin was both wistful and bitter. "The disappointed face that could sink a thousand ships, and all of it directed at little ol' me?" He shook his head, still smiling. "You could've picked up my heart with a spoon."

"I'm sorry," Steve said again. "I said a lot of things at the time that I regret."

"Hey, don't worry about it. I gave as good as I got. Which I regret too, if I never said it." Tony held out his hand. "Still friends?"

His tone was light, as if it didn't matter to him, but Steve could see how much it really did matter in the tension Tony couldn't hide around his eyes. Steve took his hand in a firm, warm grip. "Always."

"Cool." This time Tony's grin was big and beautifully real. They let go and he leaned against the counter next to Steve. "You're right, though. I don't know why I give so many fucks about him not talking to me. It's just…" He shrugged. "I don't know. I feel like I know him. And, he's so goddamn sad, Steve. I just…want to take him home and wrap him in blankets and feed him soup."

Steve smirked a little. "You've actually done almost exactly that." He took a big drink of his rapidly cooling coffee. "It doesn't surprise me that you feel like you know him, though. You probably heard about the Howling Commandos all the time, growing up."

Tony grunted as he sipped more coffee. "Yeah, that's probably it." He stared at the opposite wall, cradling the mug in his hands. "I just…really want him to be okay. He deserves to be okay."

"Thank you," Steve said. And, "Yeah. He does."

"You wanted to see me?"

"Oh, hey, great. You're here. Just a sec." Tony finished adjusting a silver, baseball-sized sphere on a long stick, set at the corner of a big rectangle on his workshop floor. He turned around and gave Bucky a big, welcoming grin. It was the same kind of smile he'd given Bucky every time he saw him, as if Bucky was a regular, decent person. And just like every time Bucky saw Tony, he wanted to cup Tony's face and kiss him. Let himself taste that beautiful smile.

He put his hands behind his back so he wouldn't reach, made sure he kept a respectable distance. He tried to smile back through a yearning that went deep as his soul. The way Tony's grin flickered and faded made it obvious Bucky hadn't managed it. "Can I help you with something?"

The question was polite enough, but it came out all wrong: hostile instead of friendly. Bucky bit the inside of his lip, cursing himself for his complete inability to act normally around this man. Whatever 'normal' meant for him these days. They couldn't touch, but that didn't mean he had to be an ass. "I mean, can I help you?" he tried again, making his voice as warm as possible. That was better.

"Ah! But what you should be asking, Armed and Dangerous, is, can I help you? And the answer is yes. Yes I can. Because right here is the fully completed B.A.R.F., ready and able to de-winterize you."

Tony had talked about the machine before, so Bucky knew 'B.A.R.F.' stood for "Binarily Augmented Retro Framing", which made a ridiculous acronym but might just save Bucky's life. If it worked the way Tony said it would, it'd allow Bucky to go into his own memories and change them.

The idea was for Bucky to, in Tony's words, clear the memories associated with the trigger words that had been in the red and black book. Tony's hypothesis was that if the words didn't bring up the same emotions, the triggers wouldn't work anymore.

Of course that depended on the triggers actually working like that in the first place. Bucky didn't know. It was possible that the words reminded him of specific things, but it wasn't like he was paying attention when he was desperately fighting to keep control of his mind. And afterwards he couldn't remember them anyway.

He wanted the triggers to work like that, thought. Maybe more than he wanted the gorgeous, amazing man standing in front of him. The thought that he wouldn't have to worry about hurting anyone, that he could be free….

Tony stepped closer, concerned. "Are you okay? You look like I just punted a kitten." He reached for Bucky, automatically trying to comfort him, because he was a better man than Bucky could ever hope to be.

Bucky backed up. He blinked and wiped his eyes, trying to ignore the flash of hurt Tony wasn't quite good enough to hide. "I'm fine. It's just…if it works…." He managed to pull up a smile that felt real, even if it was fragile and wan. "I just, r-really want it to work."

"It'll work," Tony said, with a confidence Bucky couldn't help but believe. "The only things we have to worry about are, the killer headache it's going to give you—sorry, nothing I can do about that—and which words we're going to take out of the laundry list from hell."

"What do you mean?" Bucky said, confused. "I thought we were changing all of them."

"Yeah, I thought we were too, at first. But then it occurred to me, why read the whole book when you can still pass with the CliffsNotes?" You know what CliffsNotes are, right?" he asked when Bucky looked at him blankly. "Okay. Well, they're little yellow books you can buy that have all the important stuff in them from whatever you're supposed to be studying, so you don't have to actually study it. They're awesome. But the point is, I figure that whichever Hydra asshole was controlling you needed to read all the words in that specific order for it to work. So if, say, two or three of the words don't work anymore, none of them will. Genius, right?"

"I don't know," Bucky said. He bit his lip, then released it when Tony's gaze immediately dropped to his mouth. "What if the rest are still enough to…half control me, or something?"

Tony rubbed his chin with his forefinger over his lips. "I don't think that's possible. But, we could test it…?"

Bucky's heart hit his throat so hard he thought he'd choke on it. He backed up again, then barely managed to clumsily dodge Tony when he tried to touch him in reassurance. "No." He couldn't force his voice above a terrified whisper.

"Whoa. Okay, okay. All the words. We'll do all the words," Tony said immediately. He lifted his hands, almost stepped forward again, the caught himself and stayed still. Bucky hated how he was both relieved and disappointed.

"Th-thank you," he rasped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, angry at the sweat dotting his upper lip. He was safe here. He knew he was safe here. He was shaking with fear over nothing. If he hadn't already known Tony deserved better than him, this would have proved it. "I-I want to be certain." He couldn't even control the shake in his voice.

"Okay. Sure. We can do all of them. That's fine. Whatever you need, Bucky, I swear." Tony's fingers twitched, as if he still wanted to touch. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's just, you've been hurt so fucking much. And I'm not kidding about the headaches. I mean, migraine city." His smile was oddly self-depreciating, as if he'd made the B.A.R.F. painful on purpose. "I'd kind of like to not do that to you more than strictly necessary, you know?"

"Thanks. But…you don't have to w-worry about it." There went the stuttering again. Fuck. "I'm used to p-pain."

"Yeah," Tony said on a sigh. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, as if he was the one hurting. "Kind of the point, Buckaroo."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize. None of this is your fault." Tony took another breath. "We're going to have to test it no matter what, though. You know that, right? We don't have a choice about that part. We can't know if it worked otherwise."

Bucky swallowed, but he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I just d-don't want it. More than once." Or at all. But there was no choice about that either.

"So, how 'bout if we compromise, then?" Tony said. "What if we do five words? Five words has got to be enough to break the programming, without putting you in more agony than strictly necessary."

Bucky really didn't give a shit about the pain. But the faster they could get it over with, the better. He nodded. "Okay."

Tony beamed like Bucky had done him a huge favor. "Okay, great!" He clapped his hands together. "Half the laundry list from hell it is." He put his hand over his mouth again, staring at Bucky as he thought. Bucky resisted the urge to back up again. "My plan was for J.A.R.V.I.S. to pick three words at random from the list. I told you how they're quarantined on a completely separate, hidden and pretty much un-hackable server, right?" He waited for Bucky's nod. "Yeah, good. But I figure you can't be too careful, since it's your brain."

Bucky nodded again. He hated that the list still existed anywhere at all. Logically, he knew Tony couldn't help him without them, but even the bare possibility that Hydra could find it again made him sick with disgust, anger and fear.

"Are you all right? You're still looking a little green around the sculpted jawline. Do you want to sit down?"

"No," Bucky managed. He shook his head, then swallowed what little saliva he had left in his throat. "I'm f-fine."

Tony looked like he didn't believe that, and Bucky couldn't blame him. But he only smiled sympathetically and went on. "Okay. So, J.A.R.V.I.S. will pick five words in random order, instead of three. And then you'll go through them, and make them less horrible. Should be simple as pie. Other than, you know, terrible pain. But—"

"H-have Steve here," Bucky interrupted him. It had to be obvious he wasn't fine. He couldn't stop his voice from shaking, or the cold sweat at his temples or dampening his shirt. "If anything goes wrong, m-make him knock m-me out."

Tony grimaced. "Going right for the cognitive recalibration. Right. I'm sure he'll be ecstatic about that."

Bucky shrugged. "B-better than me h-hurting anybody."

"You won't," Tony said simply, as if there were really no question.

"Y-you don't know that."

"Maybe not." Tony spread his hands. "But I know you. And I know you would've never hurt anyone if Hydra hadn't forced you to."

Bucky gritted his teeth. "Y-you don't know me either."

"Yeah, I do," Tony said with the same simplicity. "I know you're the guy who protected Steve his whole life, up to and including falling to your apparent death doing it. I know you're the guy who spent decades being brainwashed and tortured, and then occasionally frozen like hamburger meat, and still managed to break through all that and rescue his friend." He smiled, warm as sunlight, and with such fucking admiration that it made Bucky's heart hurt. "And you're the guy who's so scared about hurting anyone that he's stammering like a middle-schooler on his first date. And who argued with me about finding a less painful way to—"

"I'm the guy who killed your parents!" Bucky shouted, then watched with a kind of satisfied horror when Tony reared back in shock. "I didn't break my programming then! I did exactly what I was told and they're dead because of me! Because of me!" He stalked forward, heart battering his chest in anguish and self-directed rage. "You don't know me at all! You don't know what I am, or what I did! You don't know anything!"

He stopped a couple of feet from Tony, but Tony retreated anyway, until he bumped into the silver sphere. Bucky dropped the guilt for that small transgression into the pit inside him with all the rest of it.

"I know about my parents," Tony said.

The air froze in Bucky's lungs. Every drop of his blood froze in his veins. He wanted to say something—anything—but he couldn't force the words out of his mouth.

Tony nodded. "I know what happened to them, Bucky. I know Hydra killed them and they used you to do it." He winced. "I probably should've told you. Yeah, I definitely should've told you. I'm sorry. I was chickenshit. I kind of thought it'd be easier if we didn't have to deal with it."

Bucky agreed with that. He'd never intended to tell Tony what he'd done. But Tony singing his praises like he was a good man had been more than Bucky could take. "I d-didn't want you to know."

"Hey, I didn't want me to know either. I really preferred all the issues I had thinking my dad had been driving drunk. But turns out Hydra sent one of my dad's friends to kill him, just like they sent you after Steve. Which was such beautiful, cruel irony that it's like…" Tony slow clapped, shaking his head. "They used you, Bucky," he continued earnestly. "They used you as their weapon. It wasn't your choice. You were as much a victim as my parents were."

Bucky shook his head, frantic to make Tony understand. "I wasn't a victim! I did it! I killed them w-with my own hands! I…I broke your m-mother's neck—!"

Tony sucked in a breath, but nodded. "Yeah," he said, rough. "I know what happened to them." He hesitated, glancing away for a second. "I watched the video feed."

"Oh, God." Bucky's blood drained so fast he swayed, but he backed up again before Tony could reach him to help. "Oh, God, Tony. I'm sorry."

"I saw my parents die," Tony went on, relentless. "But I didn't see you killing them. I saw what those assholes did to you beforehand, though. Do you even remember being dragged out of that cryofreezer? You were barely conscious, and all they did was dump you in Ol' Sparky and crank it up to eleven. And then Comrade Tentacles read Hell's Laundry List and turned you into a robot." Tony stepped closer again. He moved to touch Bucky as if he couldn't help himself, then grimaced and yanked his hands back. "It was one of the most brutal, disgusting things I've ever seen, and I had open-heart surgery in a cave. Bucky," he went on, adamant, "you didn't kill my parents. You weren't even there. Yes, it may have been your body, but it wasn't your will. It wasn't your volition. I know you would've never hurt them if you were aware of what you were doing."

"Stop," Bucky choked. "Please, stop." Tony's kindness hurt more than his anger would have. His anger would have been welcome. Bucky deserved anger. He didn't deserve to be told the devastation of Tony's life wasn't his fault. He clenched his jaw until it ached but he had himself under control. Tony shouldn't have to deal with Bucky's tears on top of everything else. "Just, please. Stop being nice to me."

"Why can't I be nice to you?" Tony asked, as if truly he had no idea why Bucky would refuse his misguided kindness. "Life handed you one hell of a raw deal. Actually, you got pretty much the rawest deal I can think of. And I can't change that. I can't do a damn thing about what you had to go through. But what I can do is this." He touched the sphere with his fingertips. "Clear the traumatic memories that Hydra used against you. And I can be nice. Because I want to be."

"I don't want you to be nice to me!" Bucky yelled. "I don't deserve it!"

"Why don't you deserve it? Because of what happened to my parents?" Tony blinked. "Is that why you're so freaked out about me touching you? Because you think it's your fault?" He came towards Bucky again, hands extended. "It's not your fault, Bucky. I don't blame you. I blame Hydra. It was them. Everything that—"

"Don't touch me!" Bucky back-peddled, so clumsy in his panic that he tripped over his own ankles and sat hard on the floor.

He scrambled to his feet and fled before Tony could help him.

"All right. You know how this is going to work, right? You put these on, the B.A.R.F.—yes, still a terrible acronym, I'm aware—activates, and then J.A.R.V.I.S. will say one of the five random words from the LLfH—"

"The what?" Steve asked.

"Laundry List from Hell," Tony said. "It's a list of words and it's evil. Work with me here, Cap. Anyway, hopefully, the word will trigger a memory." He turned to Bucky. "Your job will be to change the memory to what you wish had happened, instead of what did. Doesn't matter how crazy. Impossible rescues, your mom, flying unicorns... Whatever you want. Go crazy. The only thing we need is for the memory to be different. Got it?"

"Got it," Bucky said.

Tony had already explained this four times—twice the evening before and once over the breakfast they'd all been too anxious to eat—but Bucky listened just as intently as he had the first time. Steve didn't miss how he barely looked at Tony at all, though, even when Tony was speaking directly to him. And he definitely didn't miss how he and Tony wouldn't even go near each other, as if they couldn't stand the idea of even touching accidentally. Steve would have assumed that they weren't getting along, except the glances Tony gave Bucky were as equally full of hurt and longing as they were of anger.

Bucky, of course, was a mess of contradictory feelings, half of which Steve couldn't even begin to sort out. He barely looked at Tony at all.

Steve did his best to ignore it, though it made him feel a little like crying and a little like shaking his friend until his teeth rattled. This was so far from the man Steve knew. It was like Bucky had been hollowed of everything except shame and self-loathing, and Steve had no idea how to even begin to help. Hopefully getting the trigger words out of his head would be a good enough place to start.

"I'll be right here in case you need me." Steve smiled with as much confidence as he could manage, trying to feel enough of it to put Bucky more at ease. Bucky nodded, but he didn't smile back.

"Whenever you're ready, Bucky. Just put the glasses on," Tony said. His voice was incredibly gentle. Whatever he felt, he was trying very hard to keep it to himself.

Steve was surprised at how thoughtful that was, then annoyed at himself for being surprised. It wasn't as if he didn't know what kind of man Tony was. It was just that Tony was so expert at hiding his fundamental decency under the bluster and Babylonian towers of words.

Bucky swallowed, squared his shoulders, and put the glasses on. They lit up blue, and the spheres stanchioned at each end of the large rectangle lit up as well. Bucky was at the far corner of the stage Tony had built. The space was covered with featureless cubes and rectangles, all available to become part of whatever scene his mind built.

J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke a word.

Steve couldn't speak Russian, so he had no idea what the A.I. said, but Bucky took a short, pained breath and the floor rippled blue and became a dank, filthy cell, wet in the corners and illuminated by a single, flickering light. The thick, rusting bars faced what looked like a larger room, though it extended farther than Tony's machine could accommodate.

Bucky was sitting with his legs splayed on the blood-spattered floor, and his back against the pitted concrete wall. He was shivering so badly his teeth chattered, wearing nothing but a dirty, bloodstained singlet and the ruins of his uniform pants. His feet were white, bare and bleeding and his lips were tinged blue. He was hugging himself as best he could with only one arm. His left ended just above the elbow, wrapped in dingy gauze just as bloodstained as his shirt.

Steve glanced at the real Bucky. He had his hands clenched and his eyes closed, breathing like he was preparing for a fight. Every emotion from him was bloody and freezing. Steve really didn't want to know what happened next.

In the memory, Bucky looked up sharply at the sound of footsteps, and then Zola materialized out of the missing room, looking just as smug and unctuous as Steve remembered.

"Sergeant Barnes," he said, all put-on, big-eyed concern. "You look very cold. Would you like a blanket?"

"F-fuck y-ou," Bucky juddered out.

Zola's expression didn't waver. "I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news. Captain America has died in a plane crash. He was lost somewhere in the Arctic."

Bucky froze for a second, then scowled. "Bull-bullshit."

"Oh, no. I'm afraid it is true, Sergeant Barnes," Zola said. He pulled a folded newspaper from his breast pocket, then passed it between the bars. He dropped it on the floor when Bucky didn't move to take it.

It was a copy of the New York Times. The part of the headline Steve could see had his name on it. His blood ran cold as the ephemeral room.

"I will leave it there for you to peruse at your leisure, Sergeant Barnes." Zola screwed up his face in patently fake sympathy. It made Steve's skin crawl. "I am terribly sorry for your loss. I know how much you were counting on him rescuing you."

Bucky didn't answer, but as soon as Zola slithered away he climbed painfully to his knees, then stretched out with his good arm and snagged the paper. He spread it out painstakingly on the floor, reading the banner headline that took up most of the page: CAPTAIN AMERICA MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD IN ARCTIC.

Bucky's eyes went huge. He fumbled the paper open with his trembling hand, then leaned over so far his nose practically grazed the paper. His lips moved along with the words of the news story, as if to make sure he understood it. He read it three times, then sat back on the floor.

He started crying, eyes welling and then spilling over in deep, gut-wrenching sobs. He clasped his right arm over his stomach, curled around it like he was in unendurable pain. It looked like he was trying to keep himself from coming apart.

Tony made a tiny, horrified noise, then dug his fingers into his hair, scraping them to the back of his head. "C'mon, Buckaroo. Change it. Change it, change it," he chanted under his breath.

Bucky—the real Bucky—was completely still, except for how his chest heaved with the breath wracking his lungs. He was crying as well, tears slipping unnoticed down his cheeks. His link with Steve writhed with his agony. Steve wanted to comfort his friend so badly he started towards him before he registered that he was moving. He didn't know if he should touch him, in case it jarred Bucky out of the memory completely.

He was still caught with indecision when the holographic stage filled with the distant but unmistakable sound of gunfire and Steve's shield. In the cage, Bucky's head snapped up and he gasped, then hurriedly wiped his eyes. A second later Captain America barged in.

"Steve!" Bucky lurched to his feet, stumbled, then caught himself on the rust covered bars. Steve smashed the lock with his shield and wrenched open the door, and Bucky all but threw himself into his arms. "Zola told me you were dead!"

"He lied to you, Buck." Steve jerked his chin at the paper under his boots. "Hydra made that to demoralize you, so they could break you more easily. But you're safe now. Let's get you out of here."

The real Bucky yanked the glasses off, and the scene froze into a tableau of Steve helping Bucky walk. It faded from the ground up, vanishing like the hopeless dream it had been.

Steve all but ran to him and pulled Bucky into his arms, hugging him tight. "I'm sorry. I would've done anything to have been able to rescue you. You know that, right? God, Buck. I'm so sorry I wasn't there."

"S'okay, Stevie," Bucky murmured, and Steve could feel he meant it. Bucky pulled back, wiping his eyes. "Was…was that enough?" he asked Tony, then rubbed his forehead, squinting in the light. He was in a hell of a lot of pain.

"Christ, I sure fucking hope so." Tony took an abortive step towards Bucky, then just clasped his hands. "We won't know for sure until the testing phase. But, it looked like it was enough. It had to be."

Bucky nodded. He sniffed, then wiped his nose with the side of his hand. "The word was 'rusted'. I guess because of the bars. I'd forgotten what that place looked like."

"I'm so sorry," Steve said.

"Not your fault." Bucky took a couple deep breaths, then lifted his head. "I'm ready for the next one."

"Maybe you should take a break first," Tony said. "Have some water or something."

Bucky shook his head. "I wanna get this over with."

"Yeah, I figured," Tony said on a sigh. "Just, remember we can stop anytime, all right? This goes at your pace, no one else's."

"I'm fine," Bucky said.

He wasn't, but Bucky knew Steve knew that. "You look like hell," Steve said. "I think Tony's right."

"Can you move out of the way, please?" Bucky asked him. "I need to see the whole stage."

There was no point in arguing. Steve went back to where he'd been standing next to Tony.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., next word, please," Tony said.

This time the scene was a park in the late evening of an early spring, resplendent with semi-trampled grass and the edge of a duckpond that rippled gently in the wind. Bucky was on a bench in a jacket and gloves, with the same kind of long, unkept hair he'd had when Steve fought him. This was the Winter Soldier. The hair made it obvious, as did his complete, unnatural stillness in the fading light. He looked so much like the remorseless, unhesitating assassin Steve faced on the helicarrier that it sent chills down his spine. Except for the fathomless anguish in his eyes.

Steve knew where he was, because he never forgot anything. "That's Central Park!" he said, probably too loudly. What year was this? When the hell had Hydra sent Bucky there? And why had they?

Tony whipped his head around to stare at Steve. "It is?" he whispered. "I thought maybe I recognized it, but—" His eyes widened. "Holy shit! What is he doing there?"

"Shh." Steve put his finger over his lips, then shrugged, shaking his head in the same bafflement. He hoped Bucky would be able to explain, even if he doubted the reason even mattered anymore.

On the far side of the electronic stage, Bucky didn't seem to have heard them. He was staring at his counterpart, but this time it was impossible to tell what he thought. In the scene, the Winter Soldier was completely motionless except for his ragged breathing. Until he pulled a small gun from a shoulder holster and put it to his temple.

"No!" Tony cried, just as Steve yelled, "Bucky, don't!" in an instinctive, horrified reaction neither of them could contain. But it was too late. Bucky pulled the trigger and slumped over, dead.

Bucky took the glasses off and the scene froze, then disappeared.

Steve pelted heedlessly over the stage to grab Bucky by the shoulders. Bucky flinched, alarm roiling between them, but Steve didn't let go. He was too angry. "What the hell was that?" he demanded. "Jesus Christ, Bucky! You really wish you'd died?"

"Yes I did." Bucky shrugged violently out of Steve's grip, then staggered, but jerked his arm away with a black glare when Steve reached to help him. "Tony said I should change the memories to what I wish had happened. That's what I wish had happened, that I'd been able to pull the trigger."

Steve swallowed. "Do you still wish that? That you'd died?"

Bucky glanced at Tony again, who'd run as far as the stage this time before he'd caught himself. Bucky nodded, though he couldn't meet Steve's eyes. "Would've been better for everybody."

He meant it, Steve could feel exactly how much. "Oh, no. No, Bucky. That's not true." Steve hugged him again, clutching him tight. "Please don't think that. Don't ever think that. I'm so glad you're here. I am so glad you're here. You're my Affinity. I can't believe how lucky I am to have you with me again."

Bucky's emotions didn't change. "Tell that to all the people who are dead 'cause of me."

"That was Hydra, not you. They're dead because of Hydra," Tony said. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here, too. You deserve a chance to be happy after what those fucks did to you."

Bucky didn't answer him.

"Don't hurt yourself, Bucky. Please. Promise me you won't hurt yourself," Steve pleaded. How close had he come to losing Bucky for real? Forever? And he wouldn't have even known….

"I promise," Bucky said. "I don't…I don't really want to die."

Steve let out a heavy breath. He hoped that was true. Bucky was feeling so much, and so much of it was terrible, that it was impossible to tell. "Thank you."

"You don't want to die, but you don't really want to live, either. I get it," Tony said. "Been there, done that, bought the tee-shirt and puked alcohol all over it." He gestured at the stage just in front of him. "This is just part one, Bucky. Once you don't have to worry about the triggers anymore, we'll work on getting you officially back in the world. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes will be recognized as the longest suffering prisoner of war, and you'll be able to reclaim your life. And then maybe you'll feel more like living it."

"You d-don't have to do all that, Tony," Bucky said.

"I know."

"I really think you should take a break now. Maybe come back tomorrow," Steve said. "That…. Having to experience those two memories in a row like that would take a lot out of anyone. You should rest."

"I'm fine."

"I'm with Captain Anxious," Tony said. "You also look like you're in a fuckton of pain, Buckaroo. When I tested that thing I was in the memory for less than two minutes and I wanted to gnaw my head off. You've already been using the stage for more than ten."

"I'm fine." Bucky pushed away from Steve. "It's nothing. I've had worse than this. That was 'one'. The word, I mean. I felt…." He rubbed his nose. "I was just really lonely, and I'd failed my mission and I didn't wanna go back."

"When were you there?" Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged. "I don't remember," he said. Maybe a little too quickly, but Steve didn't want to pressure him. "But, it's just one memory, right? The other words…most of 'em probably aren't that bad."

"'Probably'?" Tony parroted. "How can you say that when you don't even know?"

"'Cause I don't care!" Bucky snapped, then gritted his teeth through another wave of pain. "This is my choice, alright? It's my choice and I want to keep going. I'll be fine. You don't have to stay, Tony," he said pointedly, then looked at Steve. "Or you. Probably be better if I was alone, anyway."

"I'm not leaving," Tony said.

"Me neither," said Steve. "But, you're not fine, Buck. I can feel that you're not. It's okay to rest a little bit. All this will still be here later."

Bucky purposely shifted away from him and put the glasses back on. "I'm ready for the next word. Let's go."

"Well, I know where you get your stubbornness from, Steve-O," Tony said.

J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke the next word.

They were at the Azzano labor camp. Steve could tell instantly because of the ragged prisoners working on the metal skeleton of what had to be a wing of the Valkyrie. Bucky was there, of course, in his ratty military sweater. His face wasn't bruised and his ear wasn't bleeding, but he looked terrible. Almost as bad as in the first memory where Zola was taunting him.

He was shivering again, pale as death except for the flushed red of his cheeks. He kept coughing: awful, rattling barks that Steve remembered all too well from the pneumonia he used to catch every winter.

Bucky was working with Joe Mickle, who everyone called 'Mousey' because of his small size and last name. Mousey didn't look so great either, but he was in far better shape than Bucky. He quietly picked up Bucky's tools every time he dropped them, and worked on Bucky's part of the wing as often as his own, so Bucky could just lean against it and try to breathe.

It was frighteningly obvious Bucky could barely keep himself upright. He clung to the wing through each wave of ragged, wet coughing, desperate for air as a man about to drown. Until his strength gave out completely and he slid, senseless, to the concrete floor.

"Bucky!" Mousey threw himself to his knees next to him, then let out an anxious breath when he saw Bucky was still alive. He glanced around, then hefted Bucky around his too-bony chest and dragged him under the half-finished wing, hiding them from the guards. He laid Bucky gently on his back, then knelt again and patted his cheek. Bucky tossed his head, then moaned and opened his eyes.

"Thank the Lord." Mousey slumped in relief. "I thought you'd been called home."

It took a couple seconds for Bucky to parse that. "M'not dead. Just cold."

Mousey felt Bucky's cheeks and forehead, then grimaced. "You're burning up." He glanced over his shoulder. "You gotta get up, Sarge. 'Fore someone sees you and you're done for."

Bucky's ashen face went white. He tried to push himself up to sit, but couldn't do it without Mousey's help. Then his legs kept giving out when he tried to stand. Mousey wasn't strong enough to help him. After the third time they tried, Bucky coughed so hard he slumped back to the floor.

"No! Get up! Get up!" Mousey said. "Please, Sarge! You gotta do it! I can't help you!" He looked around frantically. "No one's close enough to help. The guards'll spot 'em. It's gotta be you, Sarge. Please!"

Bucky managed to lever himself up onto one elbow. He shook his head. "I'm sorry….I'm…trying…." He coughed again and only Mousey kept him from falling back to the floor. "Don't let 'em…take me, Mousey," he gritted between breaths. "I don't wanna die…in the Isolation Ward. Please, Mickle. Kill me first. Don't let 'em take me."

"No!" Mousey shook his head, expression suffused with horror. "I can't do that! You're my friend!"

"Then don't…let…'em take…me," Bucky panted. He looked up at Mousey with eyes bright with fever and fear. "Joe. Please. Please. Don't…let 'em take me."

Steve knew how this memory really ended—of course he did, since Bucky was here and alive—but this was what Bucky had wished for, about to play out in front of them. Steve couldn't help holding his breath, silently begging Mousey to say 'no'. For Bucky to make a different choice than the one Steve was horribly certain he would.

But on the stage, Mousey breathed, "Okay, Sarge." Then he picked up the screwdriver Bucky had dropped and plunged it into his heart.

"Jesus Christ." Tony whirled away from the machine and put his hands on his knees, head hanging. He swallowed a few times like he was trying not to throw up. "Jesus Christ," he said again, more quietly. He rubbed his forehead, swallowed a few more times, then slowly straightened and turned back around. "Why the hell didn't you change it to Steve rescuing you?"

"'Cause I thought he was back in Brooklyn, safe and sound." Bucky shrugged, all nonchalance, but Steve didn't miss the decades-old anger through their link. "That's what I'm supposed to do, right? Change it to what I wished happened."

"Why didn't you want to escape, Buck?" Steve asked him. "Why did you die?"

Bucky shrugged again, then closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, the only outward sign he was in pain. "Couldn't imagine ever getting outta there, except as ashes from the furnace they used to burn the bodies. That was the word: 'Furnace'."

"Furnace," Steve repeated softly. "I'm so sorry, Bucky."

"'Not your fault." Bucky took a few breaths, then put the glasses back on. "I'm ready."

"The hell you are," Tony growled. He worked his jaw like he wanted to say something else, then just sighed and shook his head. "J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

The stage rippled into a nearly featureless room. The concrete floor was scratched and cracked, and the walls had been whitewashed at one point, but now were dark with grime. The sole visible thing was a narrow, military-green cylinder with a round glass window. It was one of the early cryochambers. Steve recognized from the file Natasha gave him.

Bucky was dragged into the room, naked and carried between two soldiers. He was clearly drugged, by the way his head was lolling. One of them hauled open the door, then helped the other maneuver Bucky inside. Bucky didn't try to fight, but he slurred something in Russian that sounded like begging.

The soldiers didn't even acknowledge him, just locked the door on his pleas. One of the soldiers signaled someone out of sight, and the cryochamber powered up with a sound like a humming refrigerator. Bucky cried out, lifted his metal hand as if to push at the glass. But it was too late: between one frosted breath and the next he was turned to ice.

Steve supposed the memory would end there, when Bucky lost consciousness. Instead, a fine coat of dust suddenly covered everything, as if time had sped up. Other signs of decay appeared: more cracks in the floor, water damage on the walls, rust on the hatch hinges and ringing the round window. Spiders spun webs in the corners and across the cages for the fluorescent lights. The lights flickered and failed one by one. Then the green light on the cryochamber began flashing, and then it switched to red. And then the electric humming stopped and the light went out. The room went dark, and still, and silent. Like a tomb.

Bucky took off the glasses.

"'Benign'," Bucky said. He had his eyes closed, forehead resting in his palm. Stress, sadness and resignation rolled between them. "I couldn't hurt anyone, like that. But they always woke me up." His voice sounded like chipped stone.

"Bucky," Steve said, anguished. But he couldn't find any other words.

"You sound like you're halfway to an aneurism," Tony said.

"M'fine," Bucky growled. "Just one more. I can do it."

Steve pulled in a breath. "Buck…"

"Please." Bucky forced his eyes open. "Please. It's just one more. I can do it! I swear I can do it. I've taken worse than this. It's almost over. Just…Please. Let me finish it. Just one more."

"It's always 'just one more' until someone's head explodes," Tony said.

"Then let it explode!" Bucky snapped, then closed his eyes again, wincing. "'Rather have that than hurt anyone."

"Fucking hell." Tony dropped his head, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked up at Steve. "I know what I'd choose. But, it's his life. And he's right, next one's the last."

"If you're sure, Bucky," Steve said.

"I'm sure," Bucky said, and put the glasses back on.

They were in the park again.

"Huh?" Tony murmured. He looked at Steve, who shrugged. It had to be the same day as the earlier memory, where Bucky's best case scenario was shooting himself. He was in the same clothes, on the same park bench. The only differences were that it was earlier in the afternoon, and Bucky's expression was…deader, Steve decided. Bucky's face had been hard enough to look at before, but he'd at least been present behind his eyes. Now it was as if Bucky no longer inhabited his own body. That was much, much worse.

Hydra had done that to him. Steve wasn't even surprised anymore that he could hate something this much.

Bucky was sitting almost perfectly still, staring at nothing. Until the late afternoon park noises were eclipsed by the sound of a crying child.

In the reality of the tower, Steve heard the hiss of Bucky's sharp inhale, felt the surge of his shock. On the stage, the Winter Soldier's forehead furrowed in confusion, and he turned to watch a little boy with dark hair wander into sight. The child looked about three or four, crying piteously when he wasn't distracted by the ducks or twigs and leaves on the ground. It was adorable, but mostly very, very sad.

At first, the Soldier just kept staring at him as if he'd never seen a child before. Which, God help him, might have been true. And then, bit by bit, the Winter Soldier's dull incomprehension slid into the animated, human concern of Bucky Barnes.

He stood up and went to the boy, moving slowly and uncertainly as if didn't quite understand what he was doing. Then he crouched, resting his gloved hands on his knees. "Hey, little guy, are you lost?" he asked. He sounded exactly like Bucky.

"Oh my God," Tony said.

Bucky's head snapped to him instantly, and then he whipped the glasses off his face. The scene froze and Bucky moaned in pain, staggered and dropped to his knees. He ended up bent over with his left hand on the floor and the glasses still clutched in his right. The scene shimmered into particles as it vanished.

"Bucky!" Steve ran to him yet again and threw himself to his knees, afraid he'd find his Affinity dying of the aneurism Tony had blithely predicted. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Bucky shook his head, then gagged. Definitely not all right. Everything Steve felt from him was terrible. "Different word. Give me…a different word. Please."

"That was me, wasn't it?" Tony said.

Steve gaped at him. "What?"

Tony ignored him. "That was me," he said. He trotted across the stage, until he was standing just beyond Bucky's reach. Bucky drew back from him anyway. "I don't understand," Tony said. He didn't crouch, didn't move to touch, just stood with his hands at his sides. "I wasn't sure, but I remembered those words. I remembered you saying that. You're my Consanguinity Half, aren't you? That was you."

Steve gasped. "Are you serious?"

Of course Tony was. Steve could feel Bucky's assent before he nodded. "I'm sorry."

"That's why you don't want to touch me," Tony said. "I thought you hated me, but…." He laughed, a sick, miserable little noise that barely crawled out of his throat. "Well, I guess you do."

"No! No, Tony, I don't!" Bucky pushed himself onto his knees. His hand jerked towards Tony before he yanked it back. "I swear, I don't h-hate you."

That was true. Bucky didn't hate Tony; he was terrified of him.

"Yeah, I can see that," Tony said acidly. "I can see how much you don't hate me. Real convincing."

"Wait," Steve said. He put his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You know why! You saw why!" Tony snapped. "He can't even fucking bear to look at me, Steve! What the hell other reason do you need? He hates my guts."

"He really doesn't, Tony," Steve said.

"I don't!" Bucky cried desperately. "Tony, please. I don't! I just—"

"Stop it," Tony said. Bucky shut up instantly. "Just stop. Fucking stop it. You don't hate me. Great. I don't care." His jaw worked, eyes dark with the kind of fury that comes from pain. "Why don't we have J.A.R.V.I.S. test the words now, and if it worked you can fuck off and never have to see me again, okay?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. Then, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, me too." Tony's smile was a thin, cruel line across his face. "Gotta admit though, I wish I knew what the hell it was I even did, you know? I mean, you haven't even seen me for forty years. You killed my parents—"

Bucky made a tiny, wounded noise.

"Tony, come on!" Steve said. Bucky's guilt felt like hitting a wall.

Tony's jaw worked again. "Right. My bad. No need for both of us to be a dick here." He put his hands on his hips, turned his head away. "But, I don't get it." All the hostility had bled from his voice, replaced by sad, helpless confusion. "I just, don't get it. Is it my reputation? Is that why?" He looked back at Bucky, imploring. "What did I do?"

"You d-didn't do a-anything, Tony," Bucky said.

Tony flattened his lips. "Fine. Whatever. Just tell J.A.R.V.I.S. when you're ready. Good luck." He strode across the stage, but stopped half way and turned back. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I didn't try to achieve Consanguinity with you. I wasn't trying for Unity at all. I was a kid, I didn't even know what the fuck had happened." He smirked. "if it's any consolation, my life's been kind of fucked because of it. So. It's not like it was all cake and roses for me either."

"I-I'm sorry," Bucky repeated. "I-I was t-trying to…make it b-better—"

"How?" Tony exploded. "How was avoiding me like the plague supposed to make this better, Barnes? You don't want to complete the Unity, fine. Okay. I get it. Sure, I suck. I'd hate me too." He barreled right through Bucky's wordless denial. "But the only way to fix this is if one of us dies. And, hate to break it to you, Barnesy, but I'm pretty sure that's not happening anytime soon. Sorry," he snarled, then turned and finished stalking away.

Bucky said nothing, just curled into himself with his arms wrapped around his torso, radiating misery. Steve pulled him into a hug.

"I have to admit, I don't understand either, Buck," Steve said. "Tony's a good man. I'm proud to have him as my friend. I would've offered to be his Affinity, if that was possible for him. And…I can feel that you don't want this distance between you. I know you're longing for him, Bucky—"

Bucky gave an awful little laugh. "The word was 'longing'."

"So why are you rejecting him?"

"Because he deserves so much better than me," Bucky said.

"Maybe you should let him decide that?"

Bucky pushed himself away from Steve. "He just thinks he wants me, 'cause of the Consanguinity. But he was a little kid, and I fucked him up so he could never Unite with anyone else. So he doesn't know any better."

"That's not how it works," Steve said. "He achieved Consanguinity with you spontaneously. That's unbelievably rare. It can't even happen unless two souls are almost perfectly compatible. He doesn't want you because he doesn't know any better, he wants you because you belong with him."

"A bullet belongs in a gun," Bucky said wearily, "but that doesn't mean it should be."

"Guns can be used to protect people," Steve said.

Bucky's smile matched the ugly darkness of his emotions. "Hydra told me that too."

Tony fled to his workshop. He was adult enough to admit it was fleeing, and upset enough not to give a damn. But he kept watching the B.A.R.F. (really had to change that name) anyway, via one of his holographic screens. He told himself it was so he'd know if things went sideways and he needed the armor. But he was also adult enough to admit he wanted to watch because Bucky was important to him.

Because Tony was an idiot. Obviously. But that didn't stop him.

J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke another word aloud. This one produced a scene of Bucky—long hair, scruff, haunted eyes—being dragged into the electroshock chair and getting lightning fed through his skull. What he wished had happed was that the electricity killed him. Of course it was.

J.A.R.V.I.S. translated the word as 'homecoming'. The idea of having that to look forward to, in place of any rest or comradery or even a fucking shower made Tony feel sick again. Not as badly as when he'd watched his Consanguinity wishing he'd get shanked with a screwdriver, but bad enough.

He had no idea how someone's spirit could be destroyed so fundamentally that they were left completely without hope. But Hydra had done it. Tony wondered if Bucky had any hope now, or if he'd fallen too far down to ever climb back out.

Tony kind of figured it was door number two.

Bucky actually agreed to rest before J.A.R.V.I.S. tested the trigger words, wonder of wonders. Tony watched him stare in mild shock at the bottle of blue StarkAid Steve fetched for him, then chug it anyway. Bucky smiled a little at the taste. Despite everything, Tony was pathetically glad he'd had a hand in something that made Bucky happy.

Steve could probably feel that Bucky liked the drink, just like he shared all Bucky's emotions. For a moment Tony envied Steve so viciously he couldn't breathe.

Bucky stayed on the floor while J.A.R.V.I.S. recited the words, sitting cross-legged like a child. He had his hands clenched together in his lap, so tightly that Tony was concerned he'd crush his fingers. Bucky was wild-eyed, trembling again with his chest heaving. He kept glancing at Steve, as if making sure his friend was ready to stop him.

J.A.R.V.I.S. said the last word in the list, and then one more: Soldat?

Tony's hands were clenched too. He held his breath, waiting.

Bucky blinked, blinked again. He looked at Steve. "I'm still here," he said, hushed, as if speaking out loud would make it not true. "I…I'm still here." His face lit up with wonder. "I'm here, Steve! I'm right here!"

Steve whooped and hauled Bucky into a hug. They held each other for a long time. Bucky clutched at the back of Steve's shirt, obviously crying on his shoulder. Tony wished he'd stayed in the room now. Not to hug Bucky too—he would never get that; no best-case scenarios for him—but to congratulate him, at least. Tell Bucky how brave he was. How proud Tony was of him.

He stayed in his workshop instead, watching as J.A.R.V.I.S. went through the words again, then five more times before Bucky was certain Hydra couldn't control him anymore. He hugged Steve again, his eyes shining. I'm free, he said over and over. I'm free, Stevie! I'm free!

Tony was incredibly happy for him. He was. He would've been happy for anyone who'd managed to drag themselves out of a hell nearly a century in the making. But Bucky was his Half, even if the Consanguinity would never be completed. Tony understood his joy, relief and triumph as if it were his own.

And that was when Tony remembered that Bucky could leave now, and that he absolutely would. There was nothing in the tower to keep him. Certainly not Tony.

Tony flicked the screen away, then stood with his arms crossed, staring at his shoes. It didn't matter, he told himself. Plenty of people never United with anyone, not even platonically. He had friends. He had very, very good friends. Hell, Steve actually liked him, surprise-surprise. Tony had been in a relationship with Pepper, even if it hadn't lasted. He'd find someone else. It'd be okay.

It didn't feel okay; it never did. But it was all Tony had.

Tony was sprawled on the ratty couch in his workshop, dead to the world when Bucky came in. J.A.R.V.I.S. hadn't said that Tony was asleep when Bucky asked him where he was. He'd wanted to at least say goodbye before he left, do the responsible thing. But he would have never have come down here if he'd known. Maybe that was why J.A.R.V.I.S. hadn't told him.

He owed Tony more than to just skulk away like a thief, but now he didn't know what to do. Tony was sleeping so soundly that Bucky didn't want to wake him. The man had to be exhausted. Bucky hadn't been in the tower long, but he already knew that much. Tony didn't sleep well, so he was often in his workshop at night. Bucky wished he could watch him there. He loved engineering, and all the sci-fi stuff Tony created as easily as breathing. Bucky wanted to be a part of that, somehow. He hadn't had a chance to learn much science, growing up, but he knew from engines and gears and he was pretty handy. Maybe Tony would be willing to teach him…?

No. Of course not. Even if Tony didn't hate his guts—and deservedly—for how Bucky had treated him, Bucky wasn't sticking around. It was kind of funny, in a way. Bucky had wanted to see the future his whole life, but now he was here, there was no place for him.

He knew the smart thing would have been to take the excuse and leave, but he couldn't make himself turn around. He went closer instead, despite himself. Tony looked so…. 'Innocent' was the wrong word. But, 'gentle', maybe. Smoothed out, with all the rough edges he showed the world dulled in sleep. He was beautiful like this, but not as beautiful as he was awake, with that glorious intelligence snapping behind his dark eyes. Bucky loved the words Tony chose, how he moved his hands when he spoke. Even the way Tony walked: the purpose behind it, like he always knew where he was going.

Bucky loved Tony. Completely. Hopelessly. He'd loved him since they first touched in the park, though he hadn't known it was love then. He wouldn't remember what that feeling meant for decades. Not until the adult Tony Stark introduced himself outside the Air and Space Museum, and it had come rushing back.

The love he felt for Tony was different now than it had been. The protectiveness was still there, just like how badly Bucky wanted to make him happy. But it wasn't platonic or parental anymore. Bucky wanted Tony, too. More fiercely or deeply than he'd wanted anyone. It was taking every bit of will not to simply pull the sleeping man into his arms.

He couldn't do that. If he held Tony like he wanted—God, if he kissed him….

Bucky wouldn't do that to him. He wasn't selfish enough to complete a Unity that would only bring Tony harm. No matter how much Tony might think he wanted it. Or how much Bucky wanted it too.

Bucky padded closer, crouched so he wasn't looming over him. "I'm sorry, Tony," he said softly. "I would have given you everything. You deserve that. But you don't deserve to be stuck with me. I just wish I could thank you properly. I mean, you don't even like me, and you gave me my life back. I can't repay you for that. I can't even tell you how much it means to me. But, it's everything, Tony. You gave me everything.

"I love you, Anthony Edward Stark," Bucky whispered. He ghosted his fingertips along Tony's cheekbone, allowing himself this one, final touch.

It felt like warmth, after decades in ice. Sunlight after years of darkness. It felt like a missing piece slotting into place, finally making him whole—

Bucky gasped and yanked his hand away, then curled it into a fist that he clutched tightly to his chest. He held himself completely still, not even daring to breathe.

He couldn't have completed the Consanguinity like that. Not from a single touch. Not when Tony wasn't even awake. It was impossible.

It was impossible. But Tony's nose twitched, and he made a tiny, distressed noise like a lost kitten. He turned his head towards Bucky, as if seeking his Consanguinity even in sleep. And Bucky could feel Tony's yearning, and his sorrow, like snowflakes swirling in a puff of wind.

Bucky rocketed to his feet and ran.

Tony woke up crying.

He wiped his eyes, staring in confusion at the shadows of his workshop. For a long, terrible moment he didn't know where he was. Wasn't he…. There had been grass. Somewhere with grass. And water. And—

And agony. Misery and remorse and sorrow. Despair, like a black, churning ocean in the center of his soul. He couldn't stand it. He didn't know where it came from, or why it was happening. It felt like someone had taken all his own pain, then doubled it and shoved it back—

Tony gasped, lurching upright. "J.A.R.V.I.S.," he said breathlessly, "was…was Bucky here? Did he touch me?"

"Yes, Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. said. He sounded contrite. "He wished to say goodbye, but you were sleeping. Given your previous interactions, I thought it most prudent not to wake you. Right before he left, he did briefly brush your cheek with his fingertips."

"Oh my God." Tony touched his cheek, as if he could still feel the warmth of Bucky's fingers. He bolted to his feet. "Where is he? Where is he right now?"

"I'm afraid I can't give you Sergeant Barnes' whereabouts, Sir. He left the tower roughly an hour ago. I didn't think to track him," J.A.R.V.I.S. added, as if ashamed.

"Not your fault," Tony murmured. The icy fear fisted around his heart was completely his own, but he could still feel Bucky's desolation underneath, surging and cresting like a maelstrom. "I think…I think he completed the Consanguinity, J," Tony said. "I can feel him. Oh, God. I can feel him. And…." He jogged towards the door of his workshop, then two steps in started to run.

"I need my suit. And wake Steve up and tell him where I land." He had no idea if Bucky was aware they'd completed the Consanguinity, but it didn't matter. There was only one way to break a Unity, completed or not, and that was if one of the pair died. Bucky knew that; of course he did. Hell, Tony had fucking reminded him. And this was a man with so little hope that four times in five memories, his best case scenario had been to die.

Tony threw himself out of the elevator car the second the doors opened on the tower's roof. He was wrapped in the suit between frantic beats of his heart. If Bucky could feel what Tony felt, then he had to know how Tony felt about him, and how very, very afraid he was. He hoped Bucky could feel Tony's fear for him. He hoped with everything he had that it might make a difference.

Tony hurtled off the launchpad, following the pull of Bucky's turmoil like a light in the dark. J.A.R.V.I.S. could handle the suit while he flew, so instead Tony concentrated on his emotions. He found every scrap, every iota of the love he felt for his Half; everything that he'd had burning inside him for 40 years. He found it all, then gathered it up as gently and carefully as a basket of kittens, and then passed it all to Bucky. He offered him his heart and soul, everything he was and everything he hoped to become. I am yours, he thought desperately, praying Bucky could hear it, that he might believe. I love you. I'm yours. Please wait for me.

Please wait for me.

Tony landed in Central Park, the same place as in Bucky's memories. He recognized it because it still looked very much the same, despite over four decades and the bleak darkness of the settled night. Bucky was on the same park bench too. Maybe that was symbolic, somehow: ending things where they began.

He didn't lift his head when Tony landed, probably because he knew he was coming. His hands were on his thighs, with a small kitchen knife clenched in his right. Funny how such a little, innocuous blade could look so deadly. But context was everything.

"Bucky." Tony stepped out of his suit then rushed towards him. Bucky's head snapped up, fear flaring along their link and in Bucky's eyes. Tony went still. "It's just me. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'm sorry," Bucky said. He'd been crying, his face was streaked with tears. "I'm so s-sorry, Tony. I d-didn't know touching you would be enough. I-I didn't mean t-to." He flipped the knife in his hand so he could use his knuckles to wipe his eyes, scowling at himself. "F-fucking stuttering."

"It's reasonable," Tony said quietly. "You're shaking." Bucky was: trembling all over like a trapped animal with nowhere to run.

Bucky shook his head. "I-I'm the f-fucking W-Winter Soldier. I sh-shouldn't…." He gritted his teeth, took a few deep breaths. "I'm sorry. I didn't know i-it could work like that. It was the last thing I wanted, I swear. I didn't w-want you to haveta live with…." He gestured angrily at himself. "This."

"So you came here to…to break it?" Tony didn't raise his voice or come any closer, didn't reach out. He could feel how precarious this was, how close Bucky was to shattering completely.

"I was gonna do that anyway," Bucky said. He flipped the knife again in his hand. The blade shone malevolently under the suit's blue light. "To fix this, like you said. Make it right. B-but I n-never meant for you to know when I d-did it." His remorse was thick enough to drown in.

"Please, don't." Tony edged closer, he couldn't help himself. He was trembling as well, overwhelmed with Bucky's emotions and his own. "Please, Bucky," he rasped. "Don't do this. Don't leave me." Another step, two more and they'd be able to touch. Tony forced himself not to lunge for him. "I've waited for you my entire life. I loved you before I even knew what that was." He put his hand on his chest, over the scars where his reactor used to be. "You can feel it, right?" Bucky gave him a tiny nod, teardrops glistening on his jaw. "It's real, Bucky. All of it. I love you. And I'm so scared that you'll use that knife and I'll never see you again."

"I know," Bucky said softly. He looked down at the knife in his hand. "I know it's real. That's…that's why I couldn't do it. Break the link. I c-couldn't do that to you." He lifted his head, and how could Tony have ever forgotten those beautiful, sad eyes? "I'm sorry. You deserve someone b-better. But I couldn't d-do it. I couldn't use the knife."

"Oh, thank God." Tony lunged across the remaining distance between them just as Bucky surged to his feet. Bucky hurled the knife hilt-deep into a nearby tree, then when Tony threw his arms around him, lifted him right off the ground.

For a moment Tony had a wild, dizzying feeling of déjà vu, being held safe and secure in another man's arms. And then the sense of being whole, finished, flooded through him like light. Tony was blazing with it: warmth and light and happiness like he hadn't felt since he was a tiny child, like he'd never thought he'd ever feel again. But here was Bucky's sweet, kind, sad, incredible soul entwining his own, and he was complete.

This was everything. Everything. And Bucky was…he was so good. Fierce, brave, strong, loving and loyal to the core, with a sweetness and decency that even the worst of Hydra's torture couldn't take from him. A will like iron, and intelligence that crackled like the lightning they'd tried to use to destroy him.

Compared to him, Tony's soul was a decrepit, miserable thing, full of cruelty and cowardly self-indulgence. Bucky thought he didn't deserve Tony? It was the other way around.

"No, Tony." Tony's arms were around Bucky's neck, so Bucky's breath was like a caress over Tony's ear. Bucky supported him effortlessly with his metal arm, his flesh and blood hand rubbing circles over Tony's back. "You got it all wrong. Your soul…. You're like…you're like a rocket, about to take off. Or…that second right before something amazing happens, when you know it's coming." He grinned, and Tony could feel it like a warm nudge in his heart. "You're like getting to the top of the Cyclone, right before that first drop takes your breath away."

"Really?" Tony asked softly.

Bucky nodded. "Yeah. That's how you feel to me."

"Wow," Tony said. "That's… Wow. I…." He was too stunned to smile; hoped Bucky could feel it anyway. "Thank you."

"Don't gotta thank me. It's true." Bucky cupped Tony's cheek, looking into his eyes. "And you know what I…." He winced. "What Hydra made me do. But you helped me anyway. Opened your home to me, even when you thought I hated you."

Tony shrugged. Bucky moved his hand to Tony's shoulder to steady him. "I had the resources to help you, so I did. No big deal."

Bucky laughed and shook his head, which made them rub noses. "You're crazy. You got no idea how good you are, do you?" He closed his eyes, and Tony felt what Bucky felt: gratitude, admiration, respect, awe. And love, so huge and bright Tony was amazed they weren't both glowing with it, that they could contain it under their skin. "Touching you that first time was what started breaking down Hydra's programming. They could barely use me, after that, 'cause I kept trying to escape," Bucky said. "I didn't even know why, but I knew there was something. Some reason that made it worth all the years in cyro and every damn bit of punishment. And it was you.

"It was you," Bucky repeated. "Because of who you are. Even as a little kid, your soul was like a map, trying to lead me home."

"Oh," Tony breathed. He had no other words, nothing that could even approach a response to what Bucky had just told him. So instead Tony took Bucky's face between his hands and kissed him.

Embracing Bucky had been completion. This was perfection. Bucky gasped, then breathed a needy growl into Tony's mouth, and then kissed him exactly like he'd been waiting to do it for seventy years. Want, desire and love flowed back and forth between them until Tony couldn't tell where his ended and Bucky's began.

When that became almost too much, Tony broke away from Bucky's lips to mouth at his jaw and neck. Bucky tilted his head, growled again in a way that sent flares up and down Tony's spine. Tony tried to recapture Bucky's mouth, but Bucky turned his head. He kissed the corner of Tony's lips, ignoring his unhappy whine, then touched their foreheads together.

"You gotta know how much I want you, sweetheart," he rasped, gravel in his voice. He was still carrying Tony, seemingly without effort. It meant Tony could look directly into his haunted, storm-blue eyes. "But not here. Not where…."

He didn't say it, but he didn't have to. Tony knew exactly what he meant: not where they'd first found each other, only to be immediately pulled apart. And not where Bucky had wanted so badly to die.

The idea that anyone, even Bucky himself, could want to remove his incredible soul from the world was too terrible to imagine. Tony shuddered, then hugged Bucky tightly, burying his face against his neck. "Thank you. For waiting for me. For still being here. For giving me a chance."

"No, Tony," Bucky said, warm and alive next to Tony's ear, "Thank you. For everything."

"Other way around, Bucko," Tony said.

Epilogue

Natasha came back from Siberia and achieved Affinity with Bucky the second she bussed his cheek. That was how he knew what she'd done. He recognized those emotions intimately, knew exactly what they meant.

All he could feel about her killing the other five soldiers was gratitude. There were some things in the world too dangerous to be left alive. He used to think he was one of them.

Bucky didn't think that anymore. It was impossible to feel like a monster when he was constantly bombarded with love and gratitude just for him being around. Steve loved him like a brother, and Tony loved him more than anything, and Natasha's fondness for a kindred spirit went all the way to her bones.

He had a feeling that he'd have Affinity with Sam Wilson, next time he came up. The man was a giant pain in Bucky's ass, but Sam had Affinity with Steve, after all; Bucky figured it was inevitable. It was probably inevitable with Clint, too, considering he had platonic Consanguinity with Natasha.

Hell, Bucky would probably have it with every one the Avengers soon, because that seemed to be happening with all of them.

He liked the idea of that, a big, web of compatibility joining them all together. For so long sadness, loneliness and fear had been the only things he'd ever known; Hydra had made him forget there could be anything else. But he had friends now. He had Tony.

And Tony….

Tony was everything Bucky had said he was in the park, but so much more than that too. He wasn't just a genius, his intelligence was incandescent. Just like his generosity, and the empathy he liked to pretend didn't exist, 'cause he'd been hurt so many times. He felt things so deeply, but hid it better than anyone Bucky knew, including himself. Tony hadn't grown up having Affinity with anyone, let alone his best friend. Bucky had learned there was no point hiding emotions when someone else could feel them just by being in the same room. Steve had learned that too, but Tony never got the chance.

He had the chance now, though. Boy, did he ever. Tony had Bucky, but he also had everyone. It was as if forty years of frustrated Affinity blossomed all at once. For a little while it was like everyone Tony touched achieved Affinity with him. Pepper Potts, James Rhodes, some guy named Happy who was in charge of security and constantly irritated about it. Steve, Natasha, and the rest of the Avengers. Nick Fury, for God's sake. The Hulk.

Bucky was so happy for him, loved seeing the delighted, beaming shock on Tony's face every time it happened. But it got so he was a little worried about Tony meeting anyone, in case the next pizza delivery guy ended up United with him too.

At least with Affinity you had to be near the other person to share their emotions, so it wasn't like Tony was swamped, or anything. And even when they were all together, Tony wasn't overwhelmed. Hell, he pretty much just smiled the whole time. Bucky loved seeing that, too.

Tony smiled a lot, these days. Bucky was smiling a lot himself. It was hard not to.

He didn't have to use Tony's memory machine with the dumb name anymore, but Bucky knew if he did, every best-case scenario would involve his surviving. He would never forget how he'd felt when he'd made those memories, and all the reasons behind his despair. But, he wasn't that man anymore.

He wasn't alone anymore. He had friends, he had Affinity. He had Consanguinity with Anthony Edward Stark and his beautiful, beloved soul. Bucky was whole. He was happy.

Life was good. He had plenty of reasons to stick around.

END