Chapter Text
They hadn’t found Barnes.
Tony didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. This was -
chest hurt left arm numb hard to breathe in out one two three four one two three four five six seven eight one two three four
don’t freak out if you freak out it’s over if you freak out they die just breathe breathe breathe
- a shitshow.
The German police hadn’t found Barnes, he amended to himself. He had no idea if Steve and Sam had found Barnes and somehow kept him under the radar of all the force the UN, General Ross, and the German government had brought to bear. He’d been a little busy trying to get Ross to hold back on sending tactical strike teams after Captain America and the Falcon.
As much of a shitshow as this was, he thinks as he opens the door to the heavily-secured Berlin apartment - conveniently located next to the UN, the usual location for visiting diplomats - it wasn’t as much of a shitshow as it would become as soon as somebody had Barnes in custody.
Still, he was here - someone had taken umbrage with his continued presence at about four in the morning, and very politely forced him to leave the couch he had taken up residence on in the undamaged portion of HQ.
Something moves.
Tony Stark is particularly attuned to the movement of metal, the whine of servos. It’s his work, his life’s blood, and, more often than not these days, him.
He hears it. He turns.
“Hi there,” he says with levity he doesn’t feel, starting to pull his gauntlet over his hand until the metal hand stops him.
“Don’t,” says someone who looks like the Winter Soldier. Looks like James Buchanan Barnes.
And oh god, Rhodey should be here. He can feel his chest spasm, his lungs frantically grasping for air. Rhodey had come back before him, and Tony knows from experience not to hold to notions that he would have
known
if Rhodey had - if something had happened to Rhodey. God, he should have just come back when Rhodey asked, he would have been here, why didn’t he
listen
to Rhodey, nothing good ever happened when - and god if the Winter Soldier has - has - has left so much as a
scratch
on Rhodey he’ll -
Tony’s hands are pinned to the table, and he can feel that the metal fingers pinning him could crush his hands in an instant, partially unfolded gauntlet and all.
Amidst all the fear of the day, amidst the crushing fear that Rhodey might be - might be hurt, he won’t think of the other thing - as the metal of the gauntlet digs into his hand, he’s finally afraid for his own life. It’s almost funny.
Barnes waits until Tony looks up, meets Tony’s eyes. “I didn’t do it.”
“Okay. Okay, buddy.” Tony says, “Is - is there anyone else here?”
Barnes blinks. “I just got here. I didn’t check the upstairs yet.”
Oh god, Rhodey must still be asleep upstairs, and Tony’s eyes burn and his limbs shake with relief.
“Okay. Okay, that’s good. That’s fine,” he says, trying to steady his breathing and focus on trying to keep the ex(?) Soviet/Hydra assassin calm while he tries to work out a Plan to a) get this arm off of his
hands
and/or b) get out a signal to Rhodey or Friday or
someone.
Now Barnes is watching the stairs, and okay, this would be a really, really bad time for Rhodey to come down in his boxers to use the bathroom.
As his breathing slows down, he finally registers something Barnes had said.
“Can - can I ask -”
Barnes is watching him now. Okay, good.
“What didn’t you do? Just, little more specific than ‘it’ would be helpful.”
“The bomb. At the UN. On the news,” Barnes says. “They were saying - it was me. But I don’t do that anymore.”
“Alright. You don’t do that anymore. Copy that. Just,” Tony says, the voice inside his head that sounds like Pepper telling him that this is a Bad Idea, “not bombs specifically, or the whole covert assassination-slash-terrorism in general?”
He can almost see Pepper covering her eyes, dragging her hand down to pinch the bridge of her nose.
Barnes looks at him funny, like he wasn’t expecting that kind of smart-talk, not now. Hey, it wasn’t like they had ever been introduced, couldn’t blame the guy for not knowing that the smart-talk came with the Stark territory.
(Though he - or someone with his name and face - had known his father. So maybe Barnes
should
have known better. He didn’t need to dwell on it. Wouldn’t.)
“None of it. I don’t kill people. Not - not anymore.”
“I gotcha. No killing. That’s good, okay buddy?”
“I didn’t do it.”
“I believe you,” Tony says. He doesn’t know if it’s a lie. “Okay? We good?”
“Are you going to try to kill me?”
“Well,” Tony says. “I try not to do that either.”
Barnes nods.
“I -” Tony starts, knowing once again that this is a Bad Idea. “I can’t just let you go. Do you understand that?”
“I didn’t do it,” Barnes says, and Tony’s stomach drops for a second. “But they think I did. It looked like me. And -” he says, not looking at Tony. “The stuff I did. Before.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Tony says. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t remember most of it.” He says. “I remember some - some stuff, before - before. And - I remember the faces. But - not why I did it. I don’t - I don’t remember years, or contexts. I don’t remember everything.”
“Look,” Tony says, trying to keep Barnes calm. Trying to stay calm himself. “If anyone’s got the right to throw stones about past - fuckups, it’s - its not me. Alright?”
“You look like him,” Barnes says, finally looking up at Tony. “Howard.” He looks down again. “I think I might have killed him.”
Tony’s vision goes white. He can’t think for a moment, then his legs give out under him and he looks up to see the gauntlet burned a hole through the table and all he can think is “they’re going to bill me for that.”
“Hey, Hey.” Barnes is still holding him, metal hand around his wrists now, trying to drag him back to his feet.
“Okay. S’okay. Just - just another panic attack. S’okay. Just. Just.” He tries to breathe, it comes out wheezing.
“I’m sorry,” Barnes says. “I didn’t - I don’t think I wanted to. It was a mission.”
“A mission. Yeah. Yeah.” Tony heaves out. “Copy that.”
He thinks he’s going to throw up. Throw up, or burn something else. He either needs the gauntlet off or he needs to kill Barnes. One or the other.
He can feel metal digging into his skin as he starts to get back feeling in his arms and hands. He thinks the gauntlet might be broken - irreparably or not, he’s not sure. He’s not sure whether to be grateful for that or not.
“I’m sorry,” Barnes says again, watching him carefully. “Are you okay?”
Not even remotely.
“Always.”
Barnes breathes. Tony starts to breathe again.
“I - I want to come in. I want to - fix this. I thought - I thought you might be able to. Help,” Barnes says. “I see you, on the news. With - Steve. Captain Rogers.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s right, buddy.” Tony says, still getting his breath back.
Silence. Barnes still hasn’t let him go, metal fingers pressing into the flesh between the tendons of his wrist.
“Does it hurt?”
When Barnes looks confused, Tony looks down at the metal arm and raises his eyebrows.
“I used to have - I used to have a big chunk out of my chest, right here,” he tilts his chin down as much as he can, pointing at his chest. “Big piece of - metal and electronics sitting right in the gap. It’d hurt sometimes. Not - not just around the edges, where it was sitting, though that hurt too, but - but right in the middle, where it was just - a reactor, a machine, where there was nothing I should be able to feel. Because something was supposed to be there, you know?” Tony breathes out. “And I just - I don’t know if your arm’s the same, or if they made it something you could feel, or -”
“It hurts,” Barnes says, words tripping off his tongue like he wasn’t sure how they got there, and then he looks away abruptly.
“Okay. Okay,” Tony says. “That may be something I can help with.”