#WinterIronHolidayExchange

[winterironholidayexchange]

Welcome to the 2019 WinterIron Holiday Exchange!

I’ve taken a page out of our favourite Tin Man’s book this year, and decided to arrive fashionably late. Nevertheless, I hope there will still be plenty of you who are willing to work with the somewhat tightened schedule. We can do it, anyway, I promise!

Information:

Sign-ups are open from October 28th to November 10th. If you want to participate, all you need is an AO3 account, and to fill out this AO3 form.

Even if you won’t be participating this year, please share this post and spread the word.

There will be a mandatory email check-in.

All finished works will have to be published to our AO3 collection by December 31st at the latest.

You can find all the dates and countdowns to important deadlines on our dates page.

If you want to sign up as a beta to assist people with their gifts, simply send us an Ask or an email.

If you want to sign up as a pinch hitter, go and fill out this form.

For more information, check out our tumblr.

Please make sure to read the info page before signing up. If you have questions, suggestions, or concerns, don’t hesitate to contact us.

Tumblr: Ask Email: winterironinfo@gmx.ch

[winterironspringfling]

Welcome to the 2019 WinterIron Spring Fling!

You like Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes? You want to ignore the Endgame trailer and have everyone be happy (and alive) instead? Sign up for the WinterIron Spring Fling make it happen!

Information:

Sign-ups are open from April 17th to April 28th. If you want to participate, all you need is an AO3 account, and to fill out this form.

The minimum amount of people required for the exchange to take place is 20, so share this post (even if you don’t want to participate yourself), and let your followers know. Spread the WinterIron love!

There will be a mandatory email check-in.

All finished works will have to be posted to our AO3 collection by June 2nd at the latest.

If you want to sign up as a beta to assist people with their gifts, simply send us an Ask or an email.

If you want to sign up as a pinch hitter, go and fill out this form.

For more information, check out our tumblr.

Please make sure to read the info page before signing up. If you have questions, suggestions, or concerns, don’t hesitate to contact us.

Tumblr: Ask Email: winterironinfo@gmx.ch

[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

A super last-minute/replacement gift for @hazelestelle for the @winterironholidayexchange. I will apologise again, and there’s nothing you can do about it. ❤

Demonic Accidents

The bathroom is hot and steamy when Bucky comes back from gathering his supplies, the little window and the mirror above the sink all fogged up. He puts the candles, the matches, and the six-pack of beer down on the closed toilet for now, then goes to check the state of the tub. It’s a little more than half full, the water hot enough to make him hiss.

Perfect.

Bucky shucks his clothes, leaving them on a pile on the floor, then goes to rummage through the cupboard for one of the lavender and valerian bath bombs he saves for days when he needs an extra dose of relaxation. And the whole security department at work celebrating Brock and Jack getting engaged—a mere three months after Bucky got dumped by the former for the latter—definitely warrants an evening of drinking and getting all pruny, he figures.

While the bath bomb fizzes and bubbles away, Bucky lights the candles, arranging them along the edges at the foot end of the tub. Their myrrh and citrus scents go perfectly with the more flowery notes of the bath bomb, and Bucky inhales deeply, already feeling some of the tension starting to seep out of his shoulders.

He cracks open one of the beers, taking a long drink, and slowly, carefully lowers himself into the tub. He sighs happily once he’s submerged up to his chest, tipping his head back as his eyes flutter closed, and fumbles around a little with his toes to turn off the tap.

One of the candles gets shoved to the side a little in the process, but it doesn’t tip over, so Bucky doesn’t bother opening his eyes again. At least, not until there’s a loud crack of thunder, followed by a heavy weight settling on Bucky’s lower legs, sending a small wave of water towards Bucky’s face.

Spluttering and coughing, Bucky heaves himself upright, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “What the fuck?” he demands, blinking furiously.

“Well,” comes an amused voice from the other end of the tub, “isn’t this cosy?”

Bucky screams.

(More after the break!)

And rightfully so, he thinks, gaping at the other man suddenly sitting in his tub.

Although, man might be a little bit of a stretch. He has four thick horns Bucky’s pretty sure are actually growing out of his skull, a tail with a viciously pointy end that’s draped over the edge of the tub, his pupils are cat-like slits, and, Bucky sees when he opens his mouth to talk, his teeth are definitely too long and sharp to be human.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” the probably-not-a-man asks, gaze curiously roaming around the room before coming to settle on Bucky. “Jinxing someone? Tricking your boss into giving you a promotion? Oh, no, I know; growing a new arm, right?”

“What the fuck?” Bucky says again, clutching at his prosthesis, and pulling his legs up against himself. He’s not usually a self-conscious kind of guy, but he is bare ass naked, while the—the creature watching him is wearing what looks like a ridiculously expensive and, somehow, completely dry suit. “What—who are you? What’re you doin’ here?”

The name, supposedly, the creature introduces himself with is nothing Bucky could ever hope to even begin to pronounce. Which the creature must realise, too, laughing a little and offering, “Call me Tony. I’ve been told that rolls a little easier off the tongue for you mortals.”

Bucky keeps staring, heart beating wildly.

“This summoning has been an accident, I take it?” the creature—Tony asks, and doesn’t look too surprised when Bucky nods dumbly. “Ah. Don’t worry about it, it happens more often than you’d think.”

“People—summon you? On accident?” Bucky asks in disbelief. “What, are you some kind of—of demon or somethin’?”

“Demon sums it up pretty nicely, yes,” Tony says.

And doesn’t laugh. Because he’s serious. Demons are a real, existing thing. And Bucky just so happened to summon one with his scented candles from the dollar store.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Bucky groans, and downs the rest of his beer.

When he looks back at Tony, Tony is as naked as Bucky, holding the rest of the six-pack and frowning at it. Bucky can feel himself blush, and says a silent thank you to whoever might be listening that the bath bomb has turned the water a deep, dark purple, and he didn’t end up with an eyeful of demon junk.

“I don’t like this,” Tony proclaims with a grimace, setting the beer back down again. He snaps his fingers, there’s a small cloud of red smoke, and then he’s holding a bottle of champagne and two flutes, looking satisfied. “Much better.”

Tony pops the cork, fills the glasses, and Bucky takes the one he’s offered on autopilot, watching speechlessly as Tony puts the bottle down in a bucket filled with ice that has appeared on the floor next to the tub.

“All right, gorgeous,” Tony says once he’s done, settling in more comfortably. “Talk to me. What has you so messed up that you unintentionally reached across plains to bring me here?”

“Are you flirtin’ with me?” Bucky demands incredulously, then shakes his head, changing tracks. Gesturing at his glass, he wants to know, “No, wait, hold on. Can I even drink this? Will you take my soul or somethin’ like that if I do?”

“That’s the fae you’re thinking of,” Tony dimisses, as if that makes any sense at all. “And my company doesn’t deal in souls anymore, anyway. The stocks have gone down drastically over the last couple of centuries, and, let’s be real here, trading in souls is a total dick move. You can tell mortals they’ll end up in hell without a soul, but they won’t ever really be able to understand what that means. Not really fair, if you ask me.”

Before he can stop himself, Bucky blurts, “What do you deal in, then?”

Tony shrugs, taking a sip of his champagne. “This and that, whatever is currently in demand on our plain. Gold and silver are always popular, jewels, anything with personal value. KFC, ice cream, Swiss cheeses—”

“You’re shittin’ me,” Bucky snorts, but stretches his legs back out again so he can lean in a little closer. “People summon demons an’ try to barter with cheese?”

“Hey,” Tony raises an eyebrow, “have you ever had Gruyère? I’d give my soul for a lifetime supply if I had one. Here.”

Another smoke cloud, this time revealing a bathtub tray filled to bursting with cheeses, crackers, dried meats, an assortment of fruit, and two glasses of red wine. Bucky’s stomach gives a traitorous grumble, making Tony laugh softly.

“Go on, handsome, dig in.”

Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice this time.

It should be weirder, probably, and definitely scarier, to sit in his tub with a demon, sharing food and sipping wine, and arguing good-naturedly about what tastes best and what goes best with what, while the water somehow never goes cold. But Tony’s charming and engaging with a wicked sense of humour, regaling Bucky with stories Bucky’s about 50% sure are exaggerated because Tony’s trying to impress him, like the fact that Tony is a magical creature alone isn’t blowing Bucky’s mind already.

And it definitely helps that Tony’s pretty easy on the eyes, too.

Bucky has no idea how long they’ve been talking when there’s another crack of thunder. He drops his glass, but at least he doesn’t scream. Much.

“Aw, come on,” Tony whines, and pouts up at the woman standing on Bucky’s bath mat in heels that make Bucky’s feet hurt just from looking at them. “Five more minutes? Please, Pep?”

The woman sighs, rubbing at her forehead between the two horns growing there. “You’ve missed two meetings,” she scolds, but Bucky’s pretty sure she’s trying not to smile. “Five minutes, not a second longer, or I’ll be back to personally drag you to back to our plain.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tony says, grinning, saluting her jauntily.

The woman sighs again, nods at Bucky, and vanishes with a pop.

“That’s my cue,” Tony says with an apologetic smile. “She didn’t look like she was kidding, so I better head back. Here, give me your arm.”

Bucky does, and Tony traces his finger along his forearm, leaving behind a series of black, faintly tingling digits. “Call me sometime?” he asks, almost shyly. “I still want to know what had you so upset earlier. Maybe over coffee this weekend?”

“Wait,” Bucky is still looking down at the numbers, wide-eyed, “you have a phone?”

Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s 2019, sweetheart.”

He grins, leans forward to brush a feather-light kiss across Bucky’s cheek, winks, there’s another pop, and then he’s gone.

Bucky stares at the air where Tony used to be for a moment, then glances back down at his arm and the shimmering phone number there. “Well,” he mumbles to himself, “here’s to hopin’ hell has decent service.”

(It does, he finds out the next day, but the charges are kind of, well. Hellish. He stocks up on cheap candles instead.)

[sopherfly]

It Must Have Been the Mistletoe (Winteriron)

A/N: Written for the Winteriron Holiday Exchange for its_inherited. Fluff at the beginning, smut at the end! (If smut isn’t your thing, skip the Epilogue.)

Summary: Tony goes a little overboard with the mistletoe. Bucky can't say that he minds.

Tony's bed was the most comfortable thing Bucky had ever slept on.

Bucky still wasn't quite used to waking up in Tony's room instead of his own. It was too big; Bucky preferred smaller spaces, ones with lower ceilings and fewer windows, even if the blinds gave them as much privacy as Bucky could've wanted. The bedroom carpet was thick, always feeling too luxurious between his toes, and the bathroom’s heated tiles made Bucky feel more like a guest in a hotel than Tony Stark’s - what? Boyfriend? In the three weeks they'd been together, they hadn't quite gotten to that conversation. Not that Bucky minded. Whatever they decided to call it, this thing between them was good. For the first time in a long time, Bucky felt wanted. Needed. Necessary, and not because he was the Winter Soldier. Just because he was Bucky.

Bucky stretched, glancing over at Tony's side of the bed. Empty. Not surprising. Tony rarely slept for more than a few hours at a time, no matter what kind of bad behavior he and Bucky had gotten up to the night before.

“JARVIS? What time is it?”

“The current time is seven-thirty a.m.”

Bucky blinked, shoving a displaced pillow underneath his head. He still had an hour before his run with Steve. He glanced toward the door, wondering if he should go looking for Tony-

And there it was, hanging from the door frame.

Mistletoe.

(Watch out for the break, or continue reading on AO3.)

Bucky couldn't believe he'd forgotten about the mistletoe. It was like a weed growing all over the damn tower. He had counted - since the beginning of December, he'd gotten caught under the mistletoe seventeen times. He had even started a list to keep track of every place he'd found the stupid plant (which, according to several articles he'd read, was actually a parasite). Bucky grabbed his notebook from the bedside table drawer, reaching around for a few seconds before finding a pen. He frowned, reading through what he had so far.

Kitchen doorway.

Entrance hall.

Balcony awning.

Media room.

Quinjet pilot’s seat.

Curtain rod.

Bedroom doorway.

Steve's shield.

Backseat of Tony's car.

Redwing.

Dining room chandelier.

Freezer.

Swimming pool showers.

A couple more notable places to add. Bucky uncapped the pen and scribbled them down.

Elevator. Right. The elevator. Thinking about that still made Bucky’s face heat in embarrassment, not because anyone had caught them, but because Tony had barely touched him and he’d gone off like a rocket.

Ceiling fan. Bucky laughed. That one had been creative, at least, and more than a little entertaining. He and Tony had gotten competitive about it until Sam had turned off the fan and ruined the game.

Tailpipe. He still didn't understand why Tony had wanted to kiss him while he'd been on his back, sweaty and covered with grease, still halfway underneath the damn car.

Dum-E. Oh. Right. Bucky probably owed Dum-E an apology for the not-so-subtle threat of violence. The bot had only been following orders (by holding mistletoe above Bucky’s head and following him around the workshop until Bucky had had just about enough).

That was the last one. Bucky read through the list again in its entirety: kitchen doorway, entrance hall, balcony awning, media room, Quinjet pilot’s seat, curtain rod, bedroom doorway, Steve's shield, backseat of Tony's car, Redwing, dining room chandelier, freezer, swimming pool showers, elevator, ceiling fan, tailpipe, Dum-E.

Bucky shook his head. The list looked like it belonged in CLUE. Tony Stark with the mistletoe in the elevator. That sounded about right.

Of course, Tony still hadn’t admitted to hanging the mistletoe in the first place. He hadn’t admitted to any of it, even though Bucky knew Tony was responsible for all the decorations in the tower. Bucky had to hand it to him - Tony didn’t do anything halfway. Lights in all the windows, holiday music piping in from the sound system, a sixty-foot Christmas tree, not to mention that the kitchen always smelled like cinnamon or pumpkin or peppermint. Bucky had never experienced anything like it, not even before the war. The sheer magnitude of it all was overwhelming.

Bucky didn't hate it. He just didn't quite understand it. “Hey, JARVIS?” he asked, looking up at the ceiling.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Tony's been puttin' up all this mistletoe, hasn't he?”

A long pause. “I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say.”

Bucky snorted, dragging a hand through his hair. That answered that question, then. Sitting up, Bucky crossed his legs under the blanket and leaned forward. What did that mean? Was Bucky supposed to feel flattered? Or was he not giving Tony enough attention?

You oughta just ask him.

Except that asking Tony didn’t guarantee a straight answer. Tony was as stubborn as he was smart. Bucky could ask, but the conversation might get shut down with a breezy, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” No, Bucky would have to come at it a different way.

Bucky chewed on his lip. If Tony was hanging mistletoe, that meant he could catch Tony in the act. Then Tony would have to come clean. That would work, right? All Bucky needed was the right moment.

“Hey JARVIS,” Bucky said, trying not to feel too much like a traitor for conspiring with Tony's AI. “When Tony leaves the room tomorrow mornin’, could you turn on the lights and open the blinds?”

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes. Consider it done.”

“Great. Thanks.” Bucky slid out of bed to stand on the carpet, wiggling his toes. “Oh, and JARVIS?”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“I'd appreciate it if Tony didn't know I was onto him.”

Bucky knew it was ridiculous, but for some reason he felt like JARVIS was smiling at him.

“I understand completely.”

~

Bucky woke the next morning to too much movement.

"Stop," Bucky said, even as Tony wriggled out of his grip. He missed the warmth of Tony's body almost instantly, and he rolled onto his side, trying to grab Tony's hand. "Stop," Bucky said again, not entirely faking the sleepy rumble in his voice as he reached out and found only empty mattress. “Stay.”

“Shhh,” Tony replied, leaning over to kiss Bucky’s temple. “It's early. Go back to sleep.”

Bucky growled a little, then nodded, closing his eyes. “’Kay.”

Tony padded quietly out of the room, and Bucky heard the door creak as Tony's footsteps grew distant. Damn it. Tony always left so early. Why did Tony always leave so early?

Bucky frowned. Something about that was important. Tony. Early. Mistletoe. Finally Bucky's mind caught up with his body, and it was a good thing too, because the lights were fading up, the blinds rising to reveal a pink and orange sky.

"Thanks, JARVIS," Bucky whispered, slipping out of bed and pulling on a shirt. Three minutes. He’d give Tony a three minute head start. Hopefully that would be just the right amount of time.

~

Tony hadn't gone far. There were only so many places a person could hang mistletoe, and this - the common room’s stupidly high vaulted ceiling - had been Bucky's first guess.

Game over, Stark. Finally caught you.

The evidence was damning. Iron Man was only holding a single sprig of mistletoe, but an entire basket of the stuff sat up on the ledge by the small windows near the ceiling, just out of reach.

Bucky leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “So,” he said, smirking at the way the Iron Man froze in place at the sound of his voice. “That’s how you’ve been doin’ it. I was startin’ to wonder.”

Slowly, looking almost sheepish, Iron Man lowered the mistletoe, hiding it behind his back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” came the metallic reply.

“Sure you don't.” Bucky raised an eyebrow and gestured with a nod of his head. “What's that in your hand?”

There was the sound of a repulsor powering up, then a brief flicker of light. “Nothing,” Tony said, sounding too innocent as he held up empty gauntlets, wiggling robotic fingers.

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. That was one way to destroy the evidence. “C’mon, doll. Take that armor off and come down here.”

The suit took an eternity to descend to Bucky's level, and Bucky watched, eyes trained on the faceplate. Finally the armor peeled away, and Tony stepped down in front of him, flashing an embarrassed smile.

“Hi,” Tony said.

Bucky’s heart clenched with affection. Tony was still wearing his pajamas, the too-long plaid bottoms covering all but his toes.

“Hi,” Bucky replied, reaching out to rest his hands on Tony’s waist. He traced his thumbs over the soft fabric of Tony's shirt, the heat from Tony's body radiating through to his palms. Would he ever get tired of this, of being able to hold and touch whenever he wanted? Bucky didn't think so.

“So," Bucky started, drawing Tony just slightly forward. "You're the one puttin’ up all the mistletoe.”

“Yeah. Guess that's me.”

“How come?”

Tony bit his lip. “I didn't do it the first time, I swear that one was just a fluke. But after that, I… I guess I wanted an excuse to kiss you.”

Bucky smiled a little. “Don’t need an excuse to kiss me, doll.”

“I just…” Tony sighed, looking away. “I didn't want to have to explain myself every time. I didn't want to seem needy.”

“You're allowed to be needy.” Bucky took a step closer, tracing his fingers gently through Tony's hair. “It's nice, bein’ needed. Stevie used to need me, back before the serum, but - I like takin’ care of people. Of you.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked, uncertain and hopeful.  

“Yeah.” Bucky moved his hand slowly, threading his fingers into the hair at the nape of Tony's neck. It was getting longer than Tony usually let it grow, and Bucky got lost for a moment in the softness of the strands.

Tony blinked, his lips parting softly. “So. I have permission to kiss you whenever I want?”

“Whenever you want,” Bucky replied, pressing closer to nuzzle at Tony's temple. Damn, but Tony smelled good. Bucky trailed a slow, deliberate line of kisses down toward Tony's ear, then nipped at the lobe with his teeth; Tony made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan, entirely too gratifying.

Bucky took Tony's hand with his metal one, lacing their fingers together. “C’mon, doll. Leave the mistletoe. Let's go back to bed.”

~

Epilogue

“Good morning, sunshine.” Tony stood in the doorway to the bathroom, still dripping wet, a towel wrapped low around his hips. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Bucky replied from his seat on the edge of the bed, his mouth going dry at the sight. He licked his lips, and that couldn’t have been subtle, but Bucky couldn’t help it. Tony looked good. Tony always looked good. It was a miracle they ever made it out of the bedroom with Tony looking like that.

“There are presents for you downstairs,” Tony said as he crossed slowly toward the bed, “but I was thinking we could celebrate Christmas morning just the two of us first.”

Bucky sat up straighter, swallowing when Tony stepped close to him and nudged his knees apart in order to stand between them.

“What do you think?” Tony traced a thumb over Bucky’s lips, then a finger, smirking when Bucky sucked the digit into his mouth. He released it with a wet pop, licking his lips again.

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a nod. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“Good.” Tony sank to his knees, rubbing his hands over Bucky’s thighs. “Take these off for me?” he asked, tugging gently on the fabric of Bucky’s sweatpants.

Bucky didn’t need to be asked twice. He stood only far enough to pull the sweats down, and then Tony was pressing closer, lips skimming along the inside of Bucky’s thigh.

“Shit,” Bucky gasped, his cock already rock hard. Just looking at Tony shirtless was enough to turn Bucky on, these days. “Tony, you don’t have to - Christ.”

There was no point in arguing, not when Tony had already wrapped his lips around Bucky’s cock. Bucky’s head dropped back, and Tony took Bucky deeper, his tongue tracing the vein before circling experimentally around the head.

“Damn it,” Bucky groaned, muscles tense, determined not to arch forward into Tony’s mouth. “Damn it, Tony - Tony, stop.”

In the evening, Bucky had endurance for days. In the morning, it took Bucky an embarrassingly short amount of time to reach his threshold. He threaded a hand into Tony’s hair and tugged as gently as he could. “Too close, doll, already too close, can't-”

Tony pulled off, a devious look in his eyes. “You and I both know you've got more than one in you.”

Bucky groaned as Tony sucked him down again, taking him even deeper.

“Tony. You're - nng.” Bucky wanted to say that Tony was too damn good at this, but the words didn't make it from his brain to his mouth. How could they when Tony was sucking him off, looking so goddamn beautiful between his legs, tongue sliding along the underside of Bucky’s cock, perfect mouth and throat taking almost all of him? Shit, that was already so good, and then Tony hummed, the vibration traveling all the way down to Bucky’s toes.

Bucky tugged Tony's hair again in warning. “Tony. Please.” Bucky cursed, struggling to stay still.

“You’re holding back,” Tony accused as he pulled away, only a little out of breath. “Don’t.”

Bucky nearly whimpered, and then Tony’s mouth was on him again, hot and wet. The suction was incredible and too much and not enough, and Bucky gave in, fucking into Tony’s mouth with as much restraint as he could muster. Shit. That was - fucking damn it. Bucky was so close-

“Tony - gonna come, gonna-"

Bucky gasped and came hard, both hands tangled in Tony's hair as he pulsed down Tony's throat. Tony swallowed it down, and when Bucky finally opened his eyes, Tony looked up at him with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Ready for more?" Tony asked, standing up slowly.

Bucky shifted back onto the bed, pulling Tony down on top of him. "Ready for you to take that damn towel off."

Bucky yanked the towel away before Tony even had time to react, and then Tony lowered his hips. Yes, there it was, the friction Bucky so desperately needed. Their cocks brushed together, and Tony grinned, reaching down to take them both in hand.

“See,” Tony said with a wicked twist on the upstroke. “You’re already hard.”

“Nobody likes a know-it-all.” Bucky reached up and grabbed the lube from underneath his pillow, slathering it onto his palm, then replaced Tony’s hand with his own. “Let me.”

It took minutes to bring Tony off, and Bucky wasn’t far behind, the second orgasm punching through him hard and hot like gunfire.

“Hmm.” Tony hummed, wiggling his hips in what Bucky assumed was satisfaction before dropping a kiss on Bucky’s mouth. “So, be honest - would saying Merry Christmas right now not be appropriate? Because I really want to say Merry Christmas.”

Bucky laughed, a wry smile spreading across his face. “Go ahead and say it, doll.”

“Okay then. Merry Christmas." Tony's eyes sparkled as he looked meaningfully at the ceiling above their heads.

Bucky followed his gaze. “You gotta be kiddin’ me." He gave Tony an incredulous look. "I thought we were done with the mistletoe.”

Tony laughed, brushing a strand of hair fondly out of Bucky’s face. “Last one. I promise.”

"I'm gonna hold you to that," Bucky said, not objecting when Tony drew him into another languid kiss.

~

[aint-nothing-but-a-drifter]

this is my lovely gift fic from the WinterIron Holiday Exchange

written for me by GenericUserHere

[massivespacewren]

My gift for @akira-of-the-twilight for the Winteriron Holiday Exchange 2016! I hope you like it! The first picture is supposed to be more of a colour sketch because I didn't have time anymore.... I'm sorry only one of them is finished!You reblogged a post about Dragons glowing on the inside, and I couln't resist! :D I imagined a huge plot in a fantasy AU, where Tony is a dragon and Bucky gets sacrificed to the dragon. After some misunderstandings, they get to know each other and are very close, and Tony might count Bucky as part of his hoard.Then Steve and Clint show up to slay the dragon and save Bucky. Tony of course thinks he needs to protect Bucky from the people attacking them! (Picture 1)After all the misunderstandings are cleared up, they all end up in a relationship together (and Tony builds Bucky a metal arm). (Picture 2) On AO3 HERE

[imaginetonyandbucky]

If you haven’t already, go check out the amazing works in the 2016 WinterIron Holiday Exchange collection.

[tonystarktogo]

Here it is, my entry from the @winterironholidayexchange for Ehiel. This fic was supposed to be around 3k. Naturally I ended up writing another 7k in the last three days before the deadline *facepalm* I really hope you like it because, not to pressure anyone, but I might break down crying if you don’t. (Kidding. Well, mostly.) And don’t forget to check out the other works in the exchange!

Turning into a mindless killing machine isn’t what one might call a conventional reaction to a panic attack. It’s a good thing for Bucky then that Tony has never cared much for conventions anyways.

You can also read this on AO3.

The first time Tony Stark meets Bucky Barnes he is decidedly unimpressed.

Granted, Tony isn’t as caught up on the Hydra business as he’d like to be. But what little he’s read up on is more than the general public will ever know and the amount of time he’s spent revisiting security footage is bordering on obsessive.

Nevertheless Tony is intimately aware of the fact that this isn’t his fight, if only because he hasn’t been asked to join. It’s disheartening, just a bit, that Steve hasn’t thought to call him but contrary to popular opinion Tony is capable of minding his own business—or leaving the stalking up to JARVIS and playing obvious for as long as he dares to remain on the sidelines.

The mess is over and done with before it gets that far, the expected explosions and proprietary damage included, and Steve, Sam and Barnes drop off the grind before Tony has finished reaching for the phone. He considers searching for them half a dozen times, but the world is still standing—and in need of someone ensuring it stays that way—and Pepper only lets him flunk every third board meeting unless the apocalypse is involved, so.

A few weeks of radio silence later Natasha drops by. She lets him know everyone is alive and accounted for, does pointedly not apologise for exposing all of Hydra’s dirty secrets to the Internet without a single word of warning and disappears before Tony has a chance to needle her for the good answers.

Knowing when he is being told to back off without saying so, Tony decides to take the wait and see approach most people don’t believe him capable of. JARVIS keeps an eye out for unusual activities, impractical arrest orders especially, but except for a small incident in Turkey the lonesome trio does a good job of covering its tracks. Meanwhile Tony’s life goes on as it always does, weekly villain encounters and all.

Until Steve calls him three months later, asking for a place to stay and stumbling over every word in his shoddy attempt to explain the presence of a recently recovered friend. As though there is any way Tony—or anyone else for that matter—could have missed a god damn exploding helicarrier. As though Tony hasn’t gone beyond what humanity is supposed to be capable of to retrieve all accessible information on the Winter Soldier project and erase as many references to it as possible.

Honestly, Tony would be insulted by Steve’s obviousness if it wasn’t so damn endearing.

It takes seventeen hours and thirty six minutes after that phone call for Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and the officially still dead James Barnes to arrive at his Tower. And suddenly, for the first time ever—because comic books absolutely don’t count—Tony comes face to face with Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s most infamous side-kick.

Tony isn’t sure what exactly he expects when he finally lays eyes on the man but what he doesn’t expect is how, for lack of a better word, underwhelming the entire experience is.

Tony didn’t realise that he has already built an image of Barnes in his mind. Based on stories Howard used to tell on the occasional good day, memories Peggy shared with him while they were still there to be told, an off-handed comment Steve makes sometimes, most likely without noticing. At least Tony didn’t realise until he gets confronted with the real deal. One that doesn’t measure up to any of his expectations.

For one thing, Barnes is quiet. And it’s more than just the soundless movements you would expect from a feared assassin. It’s in the man’s very presence. Barnes’ posture is all hunched shoulders and bowed back, eyes fixated on the ground when they aren’t restlessly taking notes of his surrounding. He is- vacant. To a frankly unsettling degree. It makes Tony question whether there is anything left to save of the person Barnes used to be.

Because what Tony meets during that first encounter isn’t Steve’s best friend or Captain America’s most trusted companion, isn’t even the infamous Winter Soldier. It’s a shell wearing a familiar face, nothing more, and Tony can’t help wondering how Steve can stand looking into those lifeless eyes and not see anything look back at him.

Clearing his throat Tony nods into the man’s direction in acknowledgement. “Barnes,” he says and if his voice comes out a little more gruff than it should have nobody comments on it.

Blue eyes fixate themselves on him, empty of recognition but sharper than glass shards all the same. In that single moment Tony sees a cold-blooded killer appraising his next victim, sees an abandoned boy crying out desperately, sees a sniper taking aim, sees a fighter trapped in a war he can neither win nor loose.

“Stark,” Barnes rasps, void of any emotion, and after a long moment of uncomfortable silence Tony decides that’s all he is going to get.

“You two know where your rooms are,” Tony tells Sam and Steve, continues talking because that’s what he does best. “Barnes, there’s an empty floor right below Steve’s if you’ve seen enough of those two after the last few weeks, otherwise I’m sure Steve here is willing to share. Who knows, maybe you even get to sleep in the top bunk! Get yourselves situated, if you need anything tell JARVIS. And Wilson, if there’s a single bowl of Ben&Jerry’s missing when I get back, we’ll have words.”

Barnes doesn’t smile once during his tirade—Tony isn’t sure why he expects him too—and he makes his escape before he can think more deeply about it.

All in all meeting Barnes’ isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to Tony but it’s hardly under the top ten either. If anything it could be describe as rather anticlimactic.

In hindsight, Tony should have taken that as a warning.

*

The next time Tony sees Barnes is almost three weeks later. It’s impressive really, how successful the man avoids him. Even more so because Tony still isn’t sure if it’s him personally Barnes stays away from or just people in general.

To be fair, Tony has been out of town for most of the time, since apparently Stark Industries can’t run itself despite Pepper’s best efforts. There’s also the fact that JARVIS has labeled Barnes the biggest threat towards his creator within the Tower and has so far done an admirable job of preventing any accidental run-in’s between the two of them. Tony has had a few conversations with Sam and has slipped right back into his usual banter with Steve, but neither of them have made any comments in regards to Barnes. Which, Tony suspects, is a statement in itself.

All in all seeking out a mentally unstable, former Hydra assassin who doesn’t want to be found sounds like a stupid idea. Meaning that eventually Tony would have undoubtedly done so, but before he has the chance to do something drastic, Tony ends up stumbling upon his most elusive house guest on accident.

It’s somewhere between midnight and afternoon, as far as his internal clock can tell, and Tony is long past the point of knowing whether he suffers from a lack of coffee or a caffeine overdoes. Staggering his way to the kitchen—or his bedroom, knowing JARIVS’ secret identity as a badass mother hen—Tony enters the open living room area right when the AI’s urgent voice penetrates his foggy mind.

“Sir, I believe the elevator to your right to be-“ It never fails to impress Tony how well JARVIS manages to convey his rising worry, without ever dropping the posh tone he initially added to the program as a joke and the AI had taken an immediate liking to.

Had he been a little more aware Tony might have caught the implied warning before he literally stumbles over a shivering ball of miserable super soldier. As it is he doesn’t. In fact Tony doesn’t even realise what the unexpected obstacle in his way is until it lashes out, an arm—thankfully not the metal one, striking with lightening speed, causing him to loose his balance and topple over like a particularly ungraceful baby deer.

During the long seconds it takes Tony’s sleep-deprived mind to catch up with his body’s uncoordinated fall, all he does is lie on the ground, blinking. It will only be later that Tony will look back on this moment and realise how incredibly lucky he has been. Barnes on a mission is a challenge to begin with, had he truly attempted to kill him Tony would have been in no position to fight him off.

Thankfully by the time adrenaline finally does its job and kicks Tony’s mind back into business Barnes hasn’t moved from his position of sitting huddled together on the floor, slowly rocking back and forth.

Tony opens his mouth, though whether to pointlessly scold JARVIS or say something off-topic and very unhelpful to Barnes he doesn’t know, when Steve comes rushing around the corner, panicked expression and Sam hot on his heels.

“Tony!” Steve calls out and promptly winces when the sudden noise causes Barnes to curl into himself even more with a whimper. “I’m so sorry,” he continues, rushed but markedly softer than before, “today was a good day, I didn’t expect-“

“A full-blown panic attack in my living room?” Tony goes for dry sarcasm but the words come out more as mumbled mess.

Not that it matters. Tony has already lost the majority of Steve’s attention at that point. The man is too busy crouching in front of his friend, talking in soothing tones. Thankfully Steve doesn’t make any move to reach out and touch Barnes. Even with his limited understanding of Barnes’ mental health, Tony is sure it would be a very bad idea.

In Tony’s opinion—not that anyone has asked for it, mind you—it doesn’t sound like a good idea to crowd the almost hyperventilating man either. But Sam Wilson has previous experience with veterans suffering from PTSD and Steve is the guy’s closest friend and confidant. Or was, but semantics. More importantly, the two have spent the last two months in close quarters with Barnes and treat this like a common occurrence, so Tony figures they know what they’re doing.

Turns out they don’t know what they’re doing.

It happens too fast for Tony to see what exactly goes wrong. All he knows is that one moment Barnes is a ball of spiralling panic and the next he lets out what is either an inhumane sounding snarl or a very angrily spoken Russian curse. Then Barnes is on his feet, the movement almost too fast for human eyes and Tony freezes. He has always seen the Winter Soldier as more of a dramatic villain name chosen by Hydra and less like a separate identity but the current situation makes him reevaluate that assessment.

Because the man now positioning himself in front of Steve may wear Barnes’s face but he looks nothing like him. He’s standing tall and proud for one thing, his stance prominently displaying his metal arm—and dear lord, what Tony wouldn’t give to get a closer look at that beauty—instead of curling around it like he wants to hide it from the world. His entire posture conveys calm confidence instead of the usual worn-down guilt and his eyes are cold and emotionless as they assess their surroundings.

This, Tony knows with complete certainty, isn’t Bucky or Barnes, this is the weapon Hydra spent decades shaping and perfecting. This is the Winter Soldier. And even as a part of Tony recoils in disgust at the mere thought of the horrors Barnes must have suffered, there is another part that can’t help but applaud the fine job they have done.

Then Barnes moves, the suddenness of the motion catching Tony by surprise, and Steve lunges and it all goes downhill from there.

It is a small mercy that Tony doesn’t keep anything irreplaceable on this particular floor.

*

“It’s an instinctive response to highly stressful, emotionally taxing situations,” Sam explains once they have finally manoeuvred Barnes into the hulk containment room, much to Steve’s displeasure. “Slipping back into Hydra’s programming serves as a means to protect himself, emotionally and physically.”

“He doesn’t always attack,” Steve hurries to pacify. “Mostly he just stays in a corner and watches until he’s calmed down again but sometimes something startles him and that’s when he lashes out.”

“I need to sleep,” Tony says and that is the end of the discussion.

*

When Tony wakes up some twenty odd hours later, he isn’t sure what to expect. For Steve to guilty avoid eye contact for a few days probably and for Sam to not steal any of his bagels because neither of them has seen it fit to inform him of the highly efficient killing machine Barnes occasionally turns into.

Tony may or may not be a bit pissed about that.

Barnes on the other hand he expects to keep his distance even more than usual, if that is at all possible. Clearly the man is weighed down by his guilt, which, well. Tony certainly knows how that feels. He also knows how enticing the prospect to run away from it all is—and how well that usually works. You can’t blame a man for trying though.

What Tony doesn’t expect is for Barnes to approach him.

They are in the kitchen, which makes sense because now that Tony thinks about it Barnes doesn’t have access to his workshop. Barnes is definitely completely Barnes too, down to the lowered eyes, unhappy curve of his lips and hanging shoulders. He’s eluding such an aura of misery that makes Tony sort of want to grab a hold of his arms and shake him until he stops.

“Uhm. Stark.” It sounds like a question. Barnes clears his throat, fingers nervously playing with the hem of his shirt and Tony bites his bottom lip to keep quiet because this is physically painful to witness.

“I- I wanted to,” Barnes clearly struggles though Tony is unsure whether it’s because he struggles to remember how to use his words or because he simply doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” the man finally manages, voice raw and eyes wide and vulnerable.

It’s a look that feels like a punch in the gut, leaves Tony gasping for breath and close to speechless but he forces himself to answer anyways.

“It’s not a problem, Buckaroo,” Tony chirps, notes Barnes’ forehead crinkle in confusion at the nickname, “Pepper’s been wanting to remodel that floor for months anyway, says the colour pattern was off, which, ridiculous, right? You’ve seen the room, why would it look better in pastel and mint green?”

Barnes tilts his head and musters up the faintest of all shrugs but it quickly becomes apparent that he has used up his daily quota of spoken words for now. Tony doesn’t mind, fills the silence with his usual babbling as they both wait for the coffee maker to pour what essentially amounts to Tony’s life elixir into a cup.

When he finally turns around again Tony is alone, no sign of Barnes’ presence or where he might have gone. He could ask JARVIS of course but Tony doesn’t see the point.

“Keep an eye on him, buddy,” he mutters.

Tony swears the AI sighs in exasperation.

“Always, Sir.”

Perhaps there is more left of the original Bucky than Tony has initially expected after all.

*

When doors to the elevator open it takes Tony all but two seconds to take the entire situation in. Barnes is, once again, curled up in a corner, violently shaking his head while Steve is trying to talk him down, voice infused with as much calmness as possible. Sam is nowhere in sight. Considering the time he is probably out on a run.

“How long, J?” Tony asks reflexively, even as he slowly approaches the duo. The answered “Approximately seventeen minutes, Sir,” makes him suppress a sigh.

This is really not what he had in mind when he finally managed to escape Pepper’s sharp eyes. Tony isn’t a particularly empathetic person on a good day and today definitely hasn’t been one of those. Still, the last time he left this job to Steve he had to pay a couple of thousand dollars for proprietary damage. Although he can technically afford it, Tony prefers to keep his home intact for as long as possible. There are enough villains blowing it up when they feel like it already, he doesn’t need his own team to do it too.

“Alright then.”

Tony takes another few steps towards Barnes and pointedly sits down on the floor, trying very hard not to think about the disadvantages of this position, should his plan fail and the Winter Soldier lash out again. It won’t be pretty, that much he knows for sure, but Tony has never been good at following his common sense.

Tony is an inventor at heart, making leaps and taking chances is in his nature. It’s the only way to keep moving forward. That’s all he is doing right now, or so Tony tries to tell his pounding heart, and really, when has fear ever kept him from doing what needs to be done?

“Barnes!” Tony calls out, tone firm but free of any aggression. Unsurprisingly Barnes tenses anyways, eyes snapping towards the potential threat with lethal sharpness, but that’s to be expected. As long as he isn’t outright attacking, Tony is going to count it as a victory.

Steve doesn’t seem to share his assessment.

“Tony!”, he hisses, in equal parts confused and annoyed. “What do you think you’re-“

“Shut up, Cap,” Tony commands pleasantly, unwilling to risk alienating Barnes in his current state. He doesn’t have a death wish, thank you very much. Tony promptly proceeds to ignore the spluttering Captain America, who’s thankfully stumbled a couple of steps back and is no longer in Barnes’ direct line of sight. Instead Tony focuses on Barnes, forces himself to hold the man’s scarily intense gaze.

“Barnes,” he calls out again, as commanding as he dares, and Tony has never believed in all that windows of the soul bullshit but right now he swears he can see the ongoing fight in Barnes’ eyes, can read the desperation in the icy shade of blue. Or maybe Tony is hallucinating. He really should have eaten that sandwich JARVIS keeps nagging him about. “Tell me five things you see.”

“Five- Tony, what-“

“I said shut up, Rogers. Barnes!” Tony repeats beseechingly, voice hardening in spite of himself. “Tell me five things you see.”

Barnes blinks, brows furrowing. “I- you,” he forces the word out as though it causes him physical pain, breath heavy and chest heaving.

Tony nods in encouragement, holding up four fingers with his left hand and watching as Barnes’ gaze fixates itself on the digits for a moment before he visibly forces himself to glance around the room.

“Door,” Barnes continues slowly. The intonation sounds off, as though he only half remembers how to say the letters out loud. It makes Tony wonder if it’s easier for Barnes to recall his Russian vocabulary in his current state instead of the English one or if that would make the panic worse.

“Wall,” is Barnes’ next word. Tony’s only holding up two fingers now and it looks like they are on the right track after all. But then Barnes’ gaze flickers towards Steve and what little calm the distraction has managed to impair on him is swallowed up in a wave of pure fear.

Tony sees the exact moment it happens, the way the panic-stricken face slackens and wide eyes narrow in calculation, as easy as a switch that has been flipped. He’s scrambling backwards before he knows it, well-aware that he isn’t going to make it out of the room alive if the Winter Soldier so desires and frantically hoping he doesn’t, because Jesus Christ Pepper is going to be pissed if he leaves her alone with his mess of a company.

Thankfully Steve tackles the Winter Soldier to the ground before they get the chance to find out what assassins do when left unsupervised with fragile, human billionaires. Not so thankfully the Winter Soldier doesn’t take the attack lying down. Tony is getting sick real fast of renovating his living quarters because the modified members of the team lack the necessary control over their superior strength in a fight.

It’s time to take a more active approach to the Barnes Situation, Tony decides and watches with a wince as Barnes’ slams Steve’s head into—or through, it’s hard to tell from his current vantage point—the TV.

“JARVIS, initiate the Big Brother Protocol.”

*

A week of uncomfortably close observation of all the comings and goings and interactions in his Tower has taught Tony the following facts:

One, Steve is one hell of an amazing friend. The dedication the guy shows is honestly ridiculous and Tony wouldn’t have believed it could be found in real life if he hadn’t watched the evidence on tape. Multiple times.

Two, Barnes is all kinds of fucked in the head. Which isn’t surprising, never mind that it would be hypocritical of Tony of all people to demand sanity of his guests. Still. Tony has been informed about the seventy years of brainwashing part in the man’s CV but there is a difference between knowing it and seeing it.

Three, Steve is completely, utterly hopeless when it comes to dealing with Barnes’ panic attacks.

It is based on these three conclusions that Tony plans his next move.

*

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupts Tony’s recalculation of the maximum amount of storage he can put into his newest Starkphone mini, “Mr. Barnes is showing symptoms of high emotional distress identical to his usual behaviour patterns in the first stages of a panic attack.”

“Excellent!” Tony claps his hand because it’s been three weeks and he’s started to worry that Steve will never leave his BFF’s side long enough for the man to have an attack without Cap there to make it worse. Then he promptly winces, realising exactly how terrible that sounds. In Tony’s defence though, neither Barnes’ mental state nor Steve’s ability to calm the guy down have have shown any signs of improving.

“Have you notified Cap?”

“As per your request, I have refrained from doing so.” There is no mistaking the disapproval in the AI’s voice, though it has most likely less to do with locking Steve out and more with the rest of Tony’s plan.

“Right,” Tony is already at the door of the workshop and heading towards the elevator, far too used to ignoring JARVIS’ possibly very legitimate concern. “Let’s do this.”

“Sir, are you sure this is wise?”

“Probably not,” Tony admits with a shrug, “But when have I ever let that stop me? Now get me to our snow princess, J.”

*

There is one moment, right when he steps out of the elevator, where Tony honestly considers abandoning the plan and hiding in his workshop until Steve comes back. Barnes isn’t his problem after all.

Then Tony meets startled blue eyes from across the room and remembers that self-preservation has never been his strong suit for a reason. And really, what is life without a couple of near death experiences?

“You look like shit,” are the first words out of Tony’s mouth and something akin to a smirk withers away on Barnes’ lips before it has the chance to blossom into a full expression.

If anything the words are an understatement. Physically speaking Barnes is taller and broader than Tony but the way he’s currently sinking into himself makes him look brittle, like a harsh slap on the shoulder might break something worse than bones. Barnes’ lips are bitten raw to the point where Tony can make out smeared blood on rapidly healing skin. He is pale, to the point where his skin looks almost grey and his eyes are hazy and restless and so hunted.

Against his better knowledge Tony takes a step towards the curled up man. The motion causes Barnes’ head to snap around, body forced out of the vulnerable position so quickly Tony is sure he must have pulled a muscle or two, and suddenly prey is the last thing the man in front of him radiates. Tony freezes in his place, hands lifted reflexively. Barnes doesn’t attack though, for all that his eyes are void of humanity, and the faint tremor in his hands assures Tony that he hasn’t lost the man completely yet.

“Barnes,” Tony says, a statement and a question in one.

Barnes snarls, a terrible, biting sound and that’s it, Tony knows it, he’s done for. Only Barnes doesn’t close in on him, doesn’t attack. His hands are clenched so tightly by his side, they seem to vibrate with tension though.

“Leave,” Barnes forces the word out between gritted teeth, his focus on Tony slipping for a moment before it returns with the single-mindedness of a hunter narrowing in on its target.

Barnes still fighting the programming, the command is proof enough of that, but from the gasping breaths and sweat gathering on his forehead it’s easy to tell Barnes isn’t going to win this one.

Tony has no intention of letting it get that far.

“Tell me the first five things you can see,” he commands gently. It’s a tone he’s been practicing with a first aid instructor after the last time, supposed to be effective when dealing with people in shock. There’s no reason the same doesn’t apply for brainwashed, enhanced soldiers from the forties, or so Tony hopes.

Barnes’ eyes are flickering again, trying to take in everything at once as his body sags a little, looses some of the unnatural straightness to curl into itself again.

“You’re alright,” Tony continues, tries to keep his voice even and firm the way he has been taught. “You know what to do, you’ve done it before. Look around and tell me the first five things you see.”

For a long moment Barnes doesn’t respond. Doesn’t show any sign of having heard Tony in the first place. Then, Barnes tilts his head sideways, opens his mouth and speaks. It’s a single word, or at least Tony assumes it is, an unrecognisable, garbled mess of a sound.

It’s hard to tell if it’s some sort of wordless yell or Barnes’ attempt at doing as he’s told. But before Tony has the chance to make up his mind, Barnes’ intent gaze finally breaks away from him and this time, when Barnes says “Lamp,” it’s almost the actual, English word.

Tony could hug the man if it wasn’t for the high probability of getting his neck snapped.

“Window,” continues Barnes, the pronunciation audibly harsher compared to how he usually talks. It makes Tony wonder what he considers his native language nowadays. English? Russian? German? Whatever else Hydra’s come up with over the years?

The last two words, “Table,” and “Apple,” come a bit faster. It doesn’t escape Tony’s notice though that Barnes’ eyes flicker back to him in between every word, checking. Whether for signs of displeasure or threatening movements Tony doesn’t know.

“Good,” he says immediately, unwilling to allow Barnes to get lost further in his own head than he already is. “You’re doing great. Now tell me four things you can hear.”

“Voice,” is the immediate response. It catches Tony off-guard for a second, unsure whether Barnes means him or whether there are other voices he should be worrying about. Another question to file away for later.

“Bru-Breath,” comes next, the word catching on Barnes’ tongue before he manages to wrestle it into submission.

He manages the next two words with little trouble and Tony feels the first tendrils of relief rising from the bottom of his stomach. Panic is a complicated thing, Tony knows that better than most people. There are lots of coping mechanisms people have come up with over the years, some more effective than others.

Counting things in an effort to anchor yourself to reality is one of Tony’s favourites. People are different though, and he knows there are others who don’t deal well with an assigned task they don’t see themselves capable of completing. He has once met a guy who has driven himself even deeper into the panic because of the pressure of the countdown. In comparison Barnes appears to do fine, all things considered.

“Tell me three things you can touch,” Tony says, unable to keep his rising confidence from seeping into his tone.

There’s a moment between “Wood,” and “Wool,” where it’s touch and go. Barnes’ visibly looses his focus again, breath picking up until it turns into wheezing pants instead.

Tony clings to the calm confidence he’s started to build up but keeps his encouragement to a simple “Focus onto the cloth in your hand,”, worried that too much noise may do more harm than good.

Barnes hands clench and unclench again, perhaps a habit, perhaps an subconscious desire to reach for his weapons. He rips his sweatshirt beyond saving but manages a choked, “Carpet,” which is a decent trade as far as Tony is concerned.

Two things Barnes can smell end up being “Sweat,” and “Coffee beans.” Both are a fair assessment and Tony doesn’t succeed at hiding the proud smile that occupies his lips without permission at the fact that Barnes is starting to use longer words.

He leads Barnes through a small detour of “six red things in this room,” and “four blue ones,” just to be on the safe side. Only when the tension in Barnes’ shoulders abates, his body reflexively uncurling again and one of his answers ends up being “that fuckin’ lamp Sam never switches off,” does Tony deem it time to end the exercise with one last “Alright, now tell me one thing you can taste.”

Barnes winces at that one, a shadow flashing across the pale face that lets Tony know without doubt he’s made a mistake. The other man remains calm though, the white-knuckled fists by his side the only physical sign of his distress.

“Blood,” is all he says, blue eyes clear but filled with an anguish that is far too human, and Tony knows better than to ask if he means his own.

For a long moment after, the only sound to be heard in the room are their combined breaths. Tony is still standing right in front of the elevator, Barnes now more leant than curled against the wall he’s chosen to hide behind. The silence wraps itself around them like a heavy blanket, warm but stifling in a way that makes Tony’s skin itch.

Surprisingly it’s Barnes who breaks the quiet first.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, brows furrowing when Tony limits his response to a single question, accompanied by a pointed glance.

“Because you were doing just fine on your own?” The words are dripping with the kind of honeyed mockery Tony should know better than to direct at an enhanced assassin. They come as easy as breathing all the same.

“I could have killed you!” And there it is, a rare glimpse at the rage, the fury that has nothing to do with the savage survival instinct of the Winter Soldier. An emotion purely Barnes that is usually buried too deep under guilt and self-hatred for Barnes to recognise it as such.

“So could Pepper on a war path, those damn aliens or my own liver,” Tony snorts. “Get off your horse, snowflake, you’re not that special.”

“You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met!” Barnes growls. Honest to god growls.

“But you haven’t killed me yet,” Tony replies without thought and resolutely suppresses a wince when his words catch up with him. Maybe this is cruel but Tony has never been one to shy away from the truth just because it makes for an ugly picture. “I’ll take what I can get.”

*

Barnes stays out of sight the next day, but freshly brewed cups of coffee and a variety of Tony’s favourite snacks make it a habit to appear out of nowhere in the most convenient places.

It’s not a thank you exactly. As far as Tony is concerned, it’s better.

*

For all that Barnes is scarily talented at evading Tony, it takes less than three days for them to stumble into each other again.

It’s a coincidence, but considering Barnes is moments away from turning into a blood-thirsty nightmare and Steve is nowhere to be seen, it’s probably a good one. Tony certainly doesn’t hesitate kneeling down, just shy out of the man’s reach, to make himself useful once more.

It’s not as easy as the last time, if dealing with Barnes stuck between blind panic and ferocious aggression can be called easy at all. Barnes keeps rocking himself back and forth, muttering indiscernible words in Russian. He’s half-gone but still hitting the wall at random intervals, yelling out numbers and single words as though they will somehow give him the strength to endure the maelstrom of blackened feelings swirling behind frightened, blue eyes.

Truth is, Barnes is rapidly losing it. He knows it. Tony knows it. JARVIS probably knows it as well. Barnes keeps fighting though, not giving up an inch for free, and that, right there, is something Tony respects. Too bad it doesn’t change that he needs to get out of here right now, before he shares the fate of his last four TVs.

Despite that Tony hesitates. Because Tony doesn’t like the thought of giving up any more than Barnes does and it’s that reckless determination that drives him to impulsively answer Barnes’ mumbling with the only command he can think of which Barnes might actually recognise.

All of Barnes.

“Cтоп!” Tony calls out sharply and hopes, wills himself to believe this will work. And Barnes freezes, caught off-guard for the first time.

It still takes a lot of counting, Barnes breaking a table and punching three holes into the wall before they’re done, but by the end of it Tony is alive and Barnes is sane again. Or as close to sane as he ever is these days.

Just like the last time Barnes doesn’t thank Tony but neither does he lash out. Instead he closes his eyes and runs a shaky hand through his tangled hair, the picture of hopeless exhaustion.

“I didn’t know you speak Russian, Stark,” Barnes mutters eventually, voice pitched two degrees softer than when Tony has to talks him down. It’s the first time Barnes has used his name, so Tony decides to cut him some slack.

“That’s because I don’t, Barnes.”

Barnes blinks at him, lips twitching like they want to form a smile or a question but have forgotten how. In the end he doesn’t ask and Tony is content to simply sit on the ground and enjoy the feeling of his still beating heart. Besides it’s not even a lie. Four words—Stop and three much less polite ones—hardly make up a language.

Tony suspects it might be time to change that though.

*

It becomes a regular thing. Tony has JARVIS monitor Barnes for signs of distress, this time with the man’s knowledge and implied permission, and when possible does his best to help Barnes calm down. Sometimes he comes too late. Sometimes it works better than others. Sometimes Steve is there and Tony’s living room turns into a battlefield.

The problem with regular things is, you get used to them. Sure, Tony knows the danger every time he approaches Barnes but it’s less distinctive, becomes a familiar awareness instead. And with every time he watches Barnes slowly wrestle his escalating emotions back under control, Tony learns more.

He learns when Barnes needs verbal guidance and when it’s best to back off and hope for the best. He learns how to tell when Barnes is safe to touch and when he needs to add another round of questions just to be sure. Learns that Barnes appreciates cutting jokes and dark humour once the edge has been taken off. Learns that speaking Russian is fine as well, as long as Barnes has a clear sight of Tony when he does it.

And so maybe Tony doesn’t just get used to dealing with Barnes’ panic attacks. He also gets used to dealing with Barnes. Spending time with him. Being comfortable in his presence.

Things grow from there.

When he has the time to spare, Tony hangs around for a time, even after Barnes is back to himself again. To keep an eye on him, in the beginning at least. And maybe to get some dirt on the Capsicle too.

The point is, they talk. Not always. Certainly not a lot. Sometimes all Barnes does is stare at a wall, eyes so dead Tony wonders if he’s really doing the man a favour by keeping his murderous side at bay. But on other days, Barnes lets things slip. Or asks a question. Or listens.

It starts with a “What’s a LOL?” here and a “I don’t like people touching the arm,” there. Barnes isn’t a good talker by any means, but Tony knows how to fill unwelcome silences and keep up meaningless chatter when the situation calls for it. He rants about stakeholders, board members and politicians, and complains about Steve’s tendency to clean up after him even though Tony is an adult perfectly capable of looking after himself.

“Or hiring your own cleaning stuff,” Barnes interrupts his rant, with less scorn and more humour than one might expect. Tony can’t help but beam at the other man at that, because Barnes has just made his first joke in Tony’s presence and that’s progress. Admittedly, they’ll have to work on the smiling part, but baby steps.

“It still counts!” Tony cries indignantly instead, gratified when Barnes’ smile becomes a shade more genuine.

*

The inevitable happens eventually.

Of course it does. Counting shit, as Barnes likes to call it, can be a surprisingly effective distraction technique. Especially considering how simple it really is. It is not a miracle cure however and can only do so much to combat a decade-old drill response.

“Sir!” JARVIS calls out, a pointless warning for all that it is part of the emergency protocols.

One moment Barnes watches Tony working on his suit and the next his features blank out. Like a switch that has been flipped the man changes, eager curiosity turning into cool calculation.

The workshop goes into lockdown before Tony has fully processed what's happening. It’s part of the security protocols he has personally installed—because they have all agreed that the only thing worse than Barnes on a killing spree is him not being contained in the Tower whilst on it.

On the bright side, Tony is confident Barnes won’t be able to escape the workshop. With his more recent designs added, it takes far more than enhanced strength to break down his doors. Of course Tony has never planned to be locked in with the man, should he loose control like this.

Which has apparently been an oversight on his part.

Alarms must be ringing all over the Tower by now, but here, behind the thick, sound-proofed walls, the only sound to be heard are the comforting beeps of Tony's machines and whirrs of metal. Help won’t come, won’t even be let through. This time there won’t be a Cap to fight the Winter Soldier until Barnes comes back to himself.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, Tony slowly puts the hammer down onto the table. Then, against all instincts, he turns his back on the suit to faces Barnes instead. He hasn’t spent the last weeks coaching this man on how to handle his panic attacks to fight him to death now, dammit.

There must be something wrong with him to feel this anger instead of fear, Tony considers absently, then dismisses the irrelevant thought. Focusing on the Winter Soldier, who has by some miracle not yet moved, instead chooses to appraise Tony from a distance, seems far more important.

And honestly, Tony has forgotten how striking the differences between this guy and the Barnes he has come to know are. It’s in the way he stands, broad shoulders drawn back and spine straightened with steel. A posture built on pride and confidence, two things Barnes decidedly lacks. It’s in the tilt of his head, lowered but not bowed. A fortress not built so overwhelm as much as to endure whatever enemy it may face. And then here is the sharpness to the Soldier’s eyes that makes them appear lighter, almost colourless, in the brightly lit workshop, and all the more lethal for it.

Then the Winter Soldier speaks, gruff and throaty but still recognisable as Barnes' voice on its most fundamental level.

“Вы не укладчик.”

You are no handler.

It could be anything, from accusation to compliment. The Winter Soldier’s countenance is free of any cues and it’s this, the complete lack of aggression, that makes Tony answer honestly. He's suddenly very glad to have invested some time into improving his Russian.

“Верный,” Tony agrees. He wonders how much of Barnes’ knowledge the Soldier has access to. How much of it he is capable of understanding.

The Soldier’s gaze dances across the room almost lazily, but Tony doesn’t doubt that he’s memorising every little detail. The Soldier still hasn’t attacked though. Instead an eerily calm aura has settled around the man, a thin layer of pretence trying to cover the rumbling beast within, and just as reassuring. Tony has a hard time deciding whether or not he should worry about that.

“You create,” the Soldier comments, gaze sweeping over the half-dismantled armour. The words aren't phrased as a question and it's this certainty that steals a derisive laugh from Tony’s throat before he remembers himself.

“I don’t create,” Tony sneers, unprepared for how easily this man, who is and isn’t Barnes, gets under his skin, brings memories of missiles and drones and ashes alive, along with every emotion attached to them. “I burn.”

For a long moment the Winter Soldier stares at Tony, as if to measure his sincerity.

Then, he smiles.

It’s biting and feral and blood-thirsty, and in all likelihood the single most terrifying thing Tony has ever witnessed. It’s also the first time he has seen Barnes’ face smile at all and it’s beautiful.

“Good,” the Soldier states. He sounds like he means it.

Tony spends the next hours pondering those words, cursing all his life choices up to this point and eventually continuing his work whilst pretending he doesn’t share the room with a trigger-happy assassin. Glacial, blue eyes watch him silently.

*

After The Incident, as Tony likes to refer to his encounter with Winter Soldier, Barnes goes back to avoiding him again. Which, whatever. It’s not like Tony misses hanging out with the man or anything. They have barely spent any time together outside of their little pseudo therapy chats, it would be pathetic of him to consider Barnes a friend because of it.

Not that Tony doesn’t see Barnes because the other man stops by every once in a while. In a manner of speaking.

It seems that the Winter Soldier has decided stalking Tony is a rewarding way to spend his free time and he makes it a point to drop by whenever possible. And if Tony just happens to be in a highly secured room beyond the Soldier’s reach or someone stands in his way? Well. He makes his displeasure known. Loudly.

As it turns out, one is never too old for a temper tantrum.

The funny thing is, when he gets his way the Soldier doesn’t actually do anything. He just stays in the corner of the workshop that has unofficially been declared as his and watches Tony tirelessly, sometimes for hours to no end. When Tony leaves the ‘shop, the Soldier follows in his shadow, observes movies and dinners from the sidelines. He doesn't participate, doesn't interact with anyone, just stays in Tony's shadow like it's the most comfortable place to be.

The first time the Soldier dropped by he almost gave Tony a heart attack, the engineer having been caught up too far in his own head to notice JARVIS’ warnings, but by now he has gotten used to the constant presence looming at his back. More than is probably wise.

What is much harder to get used to is the way the Soldier becomes Barnes again, a change too subtle to pick up on until it has already been completed. Sometimes Tony is too distracted to notice and Barnes simply disappears in the background with remarkable similarity to his other self. On days like today though, Tony has the questionable pleasure of watching the process first hand. It starts with the slumping posture and drawn together eyebrows, the unhappy turn of the corners of Barnes’ mouth as he takes in his surroundings.

At least there is no more panic and shock over where he is. Barnes has probably gotten used to this as much as Tony has. But the way Barnes immediately turns on his heels is still a bitter pill to swallow. It’s stupid, but Tony is tired of seeing the other man walk away from him.

“Barnes,” he calls out, gratified when Barnes pauses, shoulders tense, one hand already stretched out towards the door handle. Barnes doesn’t turn around but when Tony forcefully clears his throat in the silence stretching between them, he finds himself thankful for not having to face the man.

“You’re welcome here,” Tony ends up saying, voice a fraction too raw to hit the casual note he has been aiming for. “All of you is.”

Tony doubts Barnes believes him but it needs to be said. There are a lot of things that need to be said and they have to start somewhere.

*

“’S not wearing off,” Barnes says out of the blue, breaking the comfortable quiet they’ve fallen into.

It’s been a less intense panic attack, as far as Tony can judge. Barnes had calmed down almost all on his own, by the time Tony joined him, but that hasn’t stopped Tony from slipping back into the familiar role of the coach without a thought to their recent difficulties.

Now that Barnes is sitting on the ground, back against the wall and palms pressed flatly against the ground, focusing on him is no longer appropriate and Tony, who never lacks the words to talk about nothing, finds himself floundering.

“What do you mean?” he asks in a low voice, wary of breaking the unspoken truce.

“The freak-outs,” Barnes shrugs, the motion so slight it’s barely there. “The programming.”

Here he sighs, the action carrying a resignation that stems from somewhere deep within his very soul and leaves Tony feeling strangely like the air has been sucked out of his lungs. Turning his head sideways and allowing it to rest against his shoulder, Barnes’ fixates his vacant stare on a blank spot on the wall to Tony’s left and just- sags.

“Him.”

Tony doesn’t need to ask whom Barnes is talking about. He wants to though, because then at least he would have something to say instead of scrambling for words that refuse to come. When exactly has anyone seen it fit to turn him into a psychologist for traumatised ex-prisoners of war?

“It might help if you’d stop running away from everything,” ends up being what he says and Tony doesn’t need to see Barnes’s face to know that this is not how you comfort people. It’s too late to take the words back now though, so Tony plunges on like he always does. “You’ve got Capsicle and Sam watching your back. You’ve got SI’s doctors and the best brainwashing experts money can find at your service any time you want.”

“Stop!” Barnes hisses but Tony refuses to listen now that he has gotten into the swing of it, glares right back instead.

“No, I won’t!” he snaps, frustration, helplessness and the arctic but still too warm eyes of the man everything boils down to pushing the words he’s been biting back since Steve has first dragged Barnes through his door months ago finally forward. “Those panic attacks you’ve been experiencing for months, they aren’t just magically gonna disappear. Maybe they never will but sitting around, worrying over the next one won’t do shit! You need to deal with it. Find your triggers, learn to work around them, figure out loopholes, sources of comfort, whatever it takes. But stop your fucking pity party and do something!”

By the end of his rant, Tony is left breathless by the force of his own emotions. His simmering anger though has nothing on Barnes, who jumps to his feet in one fluid motion, whirls around and slams his fists against the wall so hard Tony thinks he can hear the bones break.

“I can’t!” Barnes screams. Then, quieter, a wounded sound fuelled by an entangled mess of agony and fury, “I can’t.”

The defeated aura clinging to Barnes like a heavy cloak that drags his head deeper under water is unbearable.

“Nobody expects you to be fine,” Tony states eventually, unable to cling to his own anger in the face of such unconditional capitulation, yet equally unable to accept it. “You have been the longest prisoner of war ever recorded. You have been tortured, experimented on, brainwashed and frozen alive. You have been used and abused for decades. That would change anyone and the fact that it’s changed you is no mark against you, do you understand that? Because you know what, Barnes?”

Tony’s body moves almost against his own will, and it’s the first time Tony is glad for his comparatively unimpressive height. It allows him to duck under Barnes’ arms and force frosty eyes to meet his own.

“You survived. You went through an unspeakable hell and you made it out alive.” The words hold the unshakeable conviction of someone who has been there, someone who has been remade not in ice but fire, but remade all the same. “You were strong enough to make it through everything Hydra threw at you. That’s how I know you’re strong enough to pick up the pieces now that you’re free.”

“Barnes,” Tony grabs a hold of the man’s broad shoulders and is at the same time surprised and unsurprised when Barnes doesn’t pull away from his touch, “You don’t need us. You don’t need me. You don’t need Steve or Sam or a world-class psychiatrist. But we’re here and we’re willing to help if you want us to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve got a real reputation for seeking help, Stark,” Barnes scoffs.

He hasn’t pushed Tony away yet though, and that is something.

“I didn’t say you have to get help, I said it’s there if you want it,” Tony corrects, refusing to rise to the bait. “You’ve been running from everything since you got away from Hydra and I don’t blame you for that. No one would. But this can’t be all you’re doing for the rest of your life. You’re not with Hydra anymore, Barnes! There are no handlers, there are no orders, and if I’ve got anything to say about it there never will be. You’re free. You have options now, and you need to learn how to use them.”

Barnes averts his eyes but not before Tony notices the bright shine in them. He doesn’t comment on the way Barnes’ hands cling to his forearms strong enough to leave bruises either.

“I-“ Barnes voice trails off then and his grip tightens just a little, forcing Tony to press his lips shut to keep the pained hiss from escaping.

“I remember Bucky,” Barnes chokes out eventually and there is a kind of desperation etched into his expression that belies the oh so simple words. “But I don’t remember being him.” The confession is hesitant, soft almost, but there is no mistaking the shame, the hopelessness in Barnes’ eyes.

Tony swallows, his throat suddenly too dry and his eyes too wet, as though his body fluids have forgotten where they belong. He gets it then, the way Barnes’ shies away from Steve’s attempts to reconcile, the way he avoids anything referring to his life pre-Hydra.

Still.

“You don’t really need to remember him though, do you?” Tony’s question appears to startle Barnes but Tony doesn’t let that deter him. “I mean, who really remembers exactly what kind of person they were five years ago, never mind sixty. It’s who you are now that matters, who you’ll be tomorrow that you should focus on.”

Because when it comes down to it, Tony has and always will be a futurist.

“And how do you suggest I go on a fucking self-discovery trip that with the damn programming stuck in my head?” Barnes demands, anger at ready once again.

“Woah, calm down!” Tony raises his hands. “I know you hate the Soldier but have you ever considered that maybe he isn’t as Hydra as you think he is?”

Silence.

This is why I don’t usually play Dr. Phil, Tony thinks in resignation. He decidedly did not mean to say that particular thought out loud. It’s just a theory, a suspicion that has been growing ever since that first time Tony has faced the Winter Soldier and come out of it without a scratch.

Barnes stumbles backwards as if he’s been slapped, eyes wide and filled with horror. “What-“

“Alright, stop!” Tony interrupts hurriedly before Barnes can work himself into a full-blown rage. “That came out wrong. It’s just, we’ve all worked under the assumption that the Soldier is the programming. Hydra’s ultimate creation, if you will. But we’ve never found any files confirming that assumption and I don’t know about you but if my evil organisation invented a way to slip a second persona I can shape however I want into someone else’s mind, I definitely would have kept the data,” Tony rambles.

“What are you trying to say?” Going from the dread in Barnes’ voice he already knows.

Tony licks his lips, feeling suddenly nervous under Barnes’ intense stare, so eerily similar to the Winter Soldier’s behaviour. Of course if what Tony suspects is true that doesn’t come as a surprise.

“I think we should consider the possibility that the Hydra didn’t create the Soldier at all. You did.”

This time, when the Soldier surfaces, he is anything but docile.

*

Tony wakes up with a headache bad enough to justify the private hospital room he finds himself in. His thoughts are scattered and foggy, which is why it takes him almost two minutes to come up with a viable reason for the Disappointed Frown Steve is gracing him with from where he sits in the visitor chair.

Right. Barnes. The Soldier. Shit.

“I’m guessing you aren’t here to congratulate me for my continued survival, are you?” Tony jokes with a bleak grin, dimmed by pain and sadness.

“Tony.”

The exasperated disappointment a single word can convey is amazing.

“I take it Snow White pulled a disappearing act again.”

“Tony.”

“Thought so.”

Tony closes his eyes and tries to blend out the world around him to the best of his abilities. Sadly Steve is much too stubborn to give up that easily.

“JARVIS gave me a quick run down but he wouldn’t let us watch the footage. Tony, what did you say to Bucky?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” A smile that holds nothing but teeth hushes over Tony’s face. “Something he didn’t like to hear.”

*

Tony stares at the package on the table with something approaching deep resentment.

The package appears entirely unmoved.

It’s been delivered two hours ago, close to thirty-two hours after Barnes has knocked Tony out and dropped of the map, and Tony fights the urge to burn the damn thing like his pride demands. Because he knows exactly what he will find should he open it. Stress balls. Twenty-one, to be exact. In an assortment of different colours and materials, just to be save.

They are just an idea, like so many others. Like his damn theory. But it hasn’t escaped Tony’s notice that Barnes’ fingers continue to twitch every once in a while, like he needs to get a hold of something that is no longer there.

So. Stress balls.

It’s a silly idea, stupid really. Not that it matters anymore with Barnes gone, no thanks to Tony.

He kicks the package into a free corner of his workshop and tries to concentrate on the newest report from R&D instead.

*

It’s a little after two in the morning when Tony stumbles through his abandoned living area. Steve is hunting down a cold trail somewhere in Iowa and Sam has a weirdly regular sleeping schedule for a superhero, so it’s quiet.

Whatever. It’s not like Tony is in the mood for company.

He takes a sip from his glass of very expensive scotch instead, closes his eyes and allows the slight burn in the back of his throat to take off the edge of the stress the last few days have brought him.

“You can join me, you know,” Tony says without bothering to open his eyes. Then, as an afterthought, “You really need to stop running off like this. Breaks Cap’s heart every time.”

There is no response, no sound to be heard at all, but when he finally does look, Tony isn’t surprised to find Barnes sitting on the love seat across the table like he has never left in the first place.

A couple of minutes pass in companionable silence as Tony savours his drink and Barnes watches him with an unreadable expression. It’s only after Tony sets down the glass for the final time that he finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Barnes blinks, clearly not having expected that but Tony isn’t finished yet.

“I don’t regret what I said but I should have handled it better, not just thrown all that baggage at you and especially not out of anger.” Tony holds Barnes’ gaze, wants him to realise how serious he is. Because he has had lots of time in the last week to replay their conversation and whatever the right way to broach a topic like that is, the way he did it wasn’t it. And Tony should have known that.

“I have a tendency to do things like this, push too far too fast.” And isn’t that the truth? “But it wasn’t fair of me to just load all this crap I’ve kept bottling up onto you.”

When Barnes just looks increasingly like a deer caught in the headlights, helpless in the face of an apology of all things, Tony decides to hand the poor guy an easy out. Before they repeat the abrupt end of their last talk, because Tony really, really doesn’t want to explain to Captain America how he lost his best friend again.

“Of course you knocked me out afterwards, so I figure we’re pretty much even now.”

That at least gets him something approaching a smile. It’s a tiny, flickering thing, gone mere seconds later, but it’s real.

For a moment Tony considers continuing their last conversation. The thought of having someone to share Bruce’s and his theories of the supersoldier serum with, of his ideas regarding the Soldier’s existence and all their implications, is certainly enticing. On a less logical level though Tony is well aware that Barnes may not be the best person to discuss these things with. Not yet at least.

Maybe some day.

“So,” Tony drawls, “You’re here to stay?”

It comes out a lot more like a question than he intends but when Barnes gives a short nod, Tony doesn’t find it in himself to care.

“Great!” he scrambles to his feet with more energy than Tony has felt in a while. “Follow me, I’ve got something for you.”

Tony does his best to hide it but when Barnes falls into step beside him, an uncomfortably tight knot in his chest finally eases.

That night Tony falls asleep with a gentle smile on his face as a shadow with glacial eyes watches over him.

*

The sad thing is that, for all his genius, Tony doesn’t notice the developing pattern that follows Barnes’ return at all. Oh, he notices the small things, the incidents and shared moments, but he’s too close to the situation, too involved, to take a step back and look at the entire picture. Or perhaps he is simply too obvious.

Steve and Sam aren’t.

For Steve’s heightened senses it’s hard not to pick up on the way Bucky keeps counting under his breath sometimes or begins to tap a rhythm on a nearby surface at random times. There is no apparent reason for those actions as far as Steve can tell, except that they somehow help Bucky calm down—and never fail to make Tony smile when he notices them.

It’s Sam who first notices that Tony has stopped calling Bucky ‘Barnes’ and instead seems to prefer a variety of nicknames ranging from snowflake, Snow White and Jimmy The Second all the way to sugar cake and rainbow-flavoured muffin heart. Ridiculous nicknames is something Tony is known for though, which is why Sam doesn’t think much of it.

The same can’t be said for the first time Bucky calls Tony sunshine.

In fact, once he processes it, Sam promptly chokes on Natasha’s favourite tea whilst Steve stares at his old friend like he has just revealed a magical cure to every sickness imaginable. Natasha raises a single eyebrow at them and asks what exactly they thought the term cолнышко the Winter Soldier prefers when referring to Tony means.

Sam wisely doesn’t point out that pet names have been the furthest thing on his mind where the Winter Soldier is concerned.

It is around that time that the touching starts. A light hand on Bucky’s arm to keep him calm and centred where Tony used to keep his physical distance. An excited half-hug after a scientific breakthrough and less than three hours sleep the previous night. It’s not overt exactly and Steve wouldn’t have thought all that much of it, if not for the fact that it doesn’t seem to make a difference whether it is Bucky or the Soldier who is in control. Not a difference for Tony at least, who reaches out to either one without hesitation. It is around that time that Steve starts researching a topic SHIELD’s modern day introduction has only briefly covered: the LGBT+ community. Clint, Sam and Natasha meanwhile continue placing their bets.

It’s the falling asleep that really stands out to Sam. Because Tony seems to put a lot of effort into always being as loud and energised as possible, and so of course everyone notices when their resident genius falls asleep at the dinner table or during movie night. That doesn’t mean it’s a common occurrence. But when it happens Tony always and without fail falls asleep on Bucky. Or curled around him. Or by his side.

And Bucky, Sam can’t help but grin, makes it his personal mission to ensure nobody disturbs Tony’s sleep. Clint has tried to play a prank on Tony one time and never again, and even Natasha makes it a point to stay out of their way.

When Bucky eventually joins them on missions, there is an unspoken rule not to mention how their enemies have a way of dying mysteriously and very violently when they come too close to Iron Man or the Winter Soldier. Not to forget the flirting over the comm lines, which, coming from Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes, is exactly as subtle as you would expect.

There are days where Sam wants to shake the two most stubborn, obvious men he has ever met—and that is saying something, considering he is friends with Steve Rogers—but then. Then he watches the Soldier squeeze a small stress ball in his hand with a focused expression that wouldn’t be out of place on a battle field. Observes Tony’s brilliant smile as he talks about improving the durability of the material. Sees Bucky whisper a quiet “Cпите мой пучик,” into the dozing engineer’s hair. And Sam can’t bring himself to say anything at all.

They’ll figure it out, he thinks with a surge of exasperated affection. Eventually.

It’s done. *lets out deep, relieved sigh* I hope you guys enjoyed it!

[betheflame]

NEW FIC: Maybe I’m Amazed

“Tony,” Bucky called out to alert the other boy to his presence. Tony’s head snapped up and turned in Bucky’s direction.

“Barnes, I’m fine, I don’t need rescuing.” Tony’s voice sounded tired and Bucky’s heart hurt.

“Good, because that’s Stevie’s job,” Bucky replied easily.

Tony barked out a laugh. “You’re trying to tell me that you asked me to dance because you wanted to? Hilarious.”

“Yes,” Bucky said simply as he reached Tony’s side. “I asked you to dance because I wanted to.”

Tony blinked a few times - as though needing to process that piece of information - before he glanced back down at his wings. “Yes, they’re fake. How did you know? No one ever knows.”

Bucky shrugged. “I pay attention.”

“To what? To me?” Tony laughed. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” Bucky said quickly, before he lost his nerve.

~*~

Read on A03 - part of the @winterironholidayexchange for @eirlyssa

[aurumacadicus]

@winterironholidayexchange​: Alright, match ups are sent out!

Me:

[juuls]

November 9th, 2017 — I want to write 1,000 words before I sleep. I would like to write the beginning of my @winterironholidayexchange piece. I outlined it already but haven’t written anything so it should be fairly easy to start from the beginning. :)

It’s ambitious but... I’d like to. I’ll settle for 500 words, but 1k would be nice!

After we finish watching War of the Worlds (2005)! I love this movie hahaha. :D

[winterironholidayexchange]

High School Romance by TheSopherfly for IronEyes Football captain Bucky Barnes asks math and science whiz Tony Stark on a date. Tony thinks it's a joke at first, but it's not long before Tony starts to fall hard and fast... that is, until Tony discovers that Bucky asked him out on a bet.

[winterironspringfling]

Hi. Sorry to bother you. It may just be me, or you may have already fixed it, but the stories in the third batch still say they're not revealed yet.

Sorry about that, everyone! It should be fixed now.

- Potrix

[27dragons]

I was tagged by @shi-toyu who is an utter delight.

1) How many works in progress do you currently have in progress?

Hm, let’s see... 

Mother of Tides (a Sandbridge novel, with @tisfan)

My collection of @mcukinkbingo shorts - does that count as a WIP? I say it does.

as-yet untitled novel-length PWP BDSM fic (with @tisfan)

My @winterironholidayexchange story, which is mostly done but just needs to be edited.

Everything else is... in the pile of “I may finish it someday but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

2) Do you/would you write fanfiction?

That’s about all I write these days.

3) Do you prefer paper books or ebooks?

Yes? Ebooks travel better, but I can still get to paper books when my internet is being flaky or the power is out.

4) When did you start writing?

I wrote my first story when I was four or five, I think? I’ve always written. I didn’t start sharing what I wrote with the general public (as opposed to a few trusted friends) until 2010, which is when my first novella was published.

5) Do you have someone you trust that you share your work with?

Yep! @tisfan either helps me write or cheerleads on pretty much everything I write. (Though once in a while, when I’m feeling very uncertain about a thing, I’ll hide it even from her until it’s done.)

6) Where is your favorite place to write? 

Mostly I write sitting on my favorite chair in the living room, but I’ll write anywhere as long as it’s relatively quiet and there aren’t any distractions.

7) Favorite childhood book? 

Books that I read to pieces include Arrow to the Sun and Princess Snip Snip and the Puppykittens. And then when I was older, the Little House on the Prairie books.

8) Writing for fun or writing for publication?

I used to write for publication, but I find writing for fun is far more rewarding, at least for me.

9) Pen and paper or computer?

Computer!

10) Have you ever taken any writing classes?

Not really, no. I wanted to, but they kept getting cancelled on me.

11) What inspires you to write?

These days, mostly @tisfan poking me with a sharp stick and telling me to write more. Or a lightning strike of an idea, or a prompt, or...

As always, if you want to do it, feel free to blame me!

[rightsidethru]

Secret Santa Status

@eternalstereksecretsanta - Finished, submitted, & uploaded to the ao3 collection

@stereksecretsanta - Finished, submitted, & uploaded to the ao3 collection

@frostirongiftexchange - Finished, uploading closer to Christmas

@winterironholidayexchange - 50% done, plotted but aiming to be done this Friday/weekend

@stetersecretsanta - *laughs nervously* >>;;;

@startreksecretsanta - *laughs nervously* >>;;;

(Luckily, giftees told me specifics as to what they want so I’ll be able to write and finish fics this weekend—or potentially on the flights to and from Florida this week. -_-)

[aint-nothing-but-a-drifter]

Forgot to link my own WinterIron Holiday Exchange fill.