Chapter Text
Okay.
Tony took a deep breath, staring at the door to the containment floor of the tower. He didn’t really think of it as a Capital-T Tower anymore; that made it seem like it was something special, and nothing about what he had built with the Avengers seemed special anymore. Not important. Focus. He squared his shoulders, a dull ache throbbing through his body. He was glad to be out of his battered armor and the freezing cold, but the beatdown in Siberia hadn’t been the kind of fight that brushed off easily. Forty-eight hours broken up into restless sleep on a plane, a hospital visit, an emergency meeting with Ross, and a very important phone call didn’t do much for broken bones and busted blood vessels. Not important. Focus. Here we go.
He pressed his hand to the palm reader—archaic, he knew, but some levels of the tower just didn’t need the latest tech—and waited for the doors to slide open. He strode the halls until he came to a large door toward the center of the building. He had already gotten an update from the guards, he was dressed in one of his sharpest suits, and he told himself he was ready. He was definitely ready. He dealt with the… stuff… on the phone, and he had a plan. It was a slipshod, improvised, MacGyvered plan, but it was a plan, and he was ready for this.
Tony leaned forward and let the scanner read his retina before leaning down a little more and opening his mouth. A small stick came out, and he closed his lips to deposit a saliva sample on the sanitized rod. Let’s do this. He stepped back and ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth, concealing battered hands in his pockets and incessant pain in his ego. Once again, the doors parted with a hiss, and Tony walked inside, not daring to let his gait betray the twinge in his knee he knew would soon be a stabbing, throbbing pain.
It took only seconds to absorb the mostly empty room of white and silver, and the metal chair welded to the floor in the center was the only thing Tony really cared about anyway. He leisurely made his way across the room and looked down his nose at the man held firmly in place. Dark bags, swelling, bruises, cuts… Well, he couldn’t pretend his own body didn’t look the same way. His was hidden by clothing, though, and his eyes were different. Tony knew for certain his own gaze, while equally hollow, wasn’t plagued with guilt and or tinged with an almost imperceptible fear.
Reaching out, Tony took a strand of hair between two fingers. “H.Y.D.R.A. doesn’t care about split ends, I guess.” He crinkled his nose and let go, returning his hand to his pocket. “Tony Stark, by the way. I don’t think we ever really had a formal introduction. Well, not without fists and blood and betrayal, trying to shoot me in the face…” he waved it off, “…all the good stuff, y’know.”
Bucky offered nothing but a silent, level stare aimed at Tony’s stomach.
“That’s fine. I prefer to be the one talking, anyway.” Tony held back the wince as the hairline fracture in his left arm rejected his attempt at a shrug. “So, Sargeant, do you prefer Bucky or James?” He waited a beat. “Cool. Dully, I’ve got a couple questions for you.”
If Bucky was doing anything to calm himself, it was invisible, which Tony figured fit the bill of someone who had been tortured extensively and needed, above all else, for both his victims and his handlers to think he was emotionless.
“Did you kill my parents on that road?”
Bucky kept staring at Tony’s stomach.
“Barnes.” Tony’s voice dropped to a dangerous level, and he leaned forward. “Did you kill my parents on that road?”
Inhaling deeply, Bucky lifted his head and met Tony’s eyes for the first time since the billionaire entered the room. He answered with a simple, “Yes,” his jaw flexing.
“Do you remember killing them?” Tony fired back immediately.
Bucky worked his jaw again—not from anger, but from the immense effort of trying not to buckle beneath an unbearable weight; something Tony understood all too well—and then swallowed thickly.
“Barnes.”
“I told you,” Bucky whispered, “I remember all of them.”
Tony shook his head. “I didn’t ask if you remember them.” Because that wasn’t the question that mattered to him. “I asked if you remember killing them.”
Confusion flickered in the green-tinted shades of blue and gray, followed immediately by an acute awareness of the danger in an incorrect answer. “I… remember the road.”
Tony took his own turn with the Silent Stare, his face expressionless.
But Bucky was apparently able to sense the answer hadn’t been wrong, and he cautiously continued with eyes caught between remorse and caution. “I remember…” His voice died, and suddenly those eyes bore nothing but an instinct to survive.
“Barnes.” Tony leaned in a little more, lip pulling up as he all but growled his demand. “Finish the sentence.”
Bucky swallowed, but to his credit, he maintained solid, earnest eye contact. “I remember my hand on her throat. I remember the—the feeling of it.” And then his gaze darted away. He knew what he did.
Tony knew what he did, too. What he didn’t know was how that fact would impact the situation moving forward.
“I…” Bucky pressed his lips together, and it was clear from the look on his face that no threat from Tony would get the rest of the words out of his mouth.
Okay. You asked the question. And you decided what happens next before you even came down here. Tony felt a hot, twisting sensation in his chest. Nope. We have a plan in place for that. He discreetly calmed his breathing, cycling two seconds in and four seconds out until he got to eighteen. Here we go. Let’s do this.
Tony straightened up and turned toward the corner on his right, gesturing at the hidden camera. “Alright, Dully.” He turned back toward the chair. “You were checked out a hospital in Siberia, which you probably don’t remember because you were mostly unconscious, but we’re back in the States now, and it’s time for your annual wellness exam.”
Bucky’s brow twitched just slightly.
“Most of my staff are too scared to come near you, but you obviously can’t stay in this chair for the foreseeable future, so I made magic happen.” Tony heard the doors open behind him, and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “This is your medical te—hey. Hey!”
Bucky pushed back into the seat and screwed his eyes shut, trying and failing to control his breathing. It was almost like what Tony had done just moments prior… if Tony had been wrought with panic and painfully obvious.
“Dully, listen to me. It’s just a physical, just a patch-job. Nobody’s frying your brain, capice?” Tony could tell his words were largely going unheard, so he took a step back and allowed the team to move in. He had been briefed—they were hand-picked by him—and he had much more confidence in their ability to make the situation better than he did his own.
“Hi, there.” Dr. Ling, a sweet woman with the darkest and kindest eyes Tony had ever seen, leaned forward and braced her hands on her knees. “My name’s Maria, and I’m the head of your medical team. I was told you’ve had some bad experiences with doctors and medical procedures, so we’re gonna talk through everything as we do it, okay?”
Bucky tensed even more, muscles so tight they were trembling, and he gradually began to pull air through his mouth rather than his nose.
He thinks it’s a psychological game. Some kind of good cop routine. Tony began walking a half-circle around the front of the chair, keeping his distance as he hovered. “They want to help, Dully. Let them help.”
Dr. Ling gestured over her shoulder to the left, indicating the curly-headed ginger. “This is Dr. Michael Barnes. He’s my resident, so he’s still learning, and he’s not even going to try and do anything advanced.” She laughed warmly and exchanged a teasing glance with her student.
“Hello, my fellow Mr. Barnes. Call me Mikey.” He lifted his freckled hand with a sparkling, lopsided smile. “I solemnly swear I am up to no bad.”
Tony rolled his eyes and continued to orbit the chair in the half of the room Bucky could easily see; he knew how unnerving it was to have a captor out of sight.
“Michael thinks he missed his calling as a comedian, and this over here,” Dr. Ling pointed to a black man with dreadlocks pulled back by a paint splatter headband, “is my favorite phlebotomist, Derrek Daniels.” She paused, searching Bucky’s eyes for a moment. “I know the hospital in Siberia said they didn’t see signs of a traumatic brain injury, but I’d like to take a closer look now that you’re conscious. Dr. Michael is going to get your vitals, and Nurse Daniels is going to draw some blood, alright?”
Bucky looked up, eyes frantically searching for something, and when he didn’t find it, he started looking over his shoulders. He mumbled in Russian, looking up again as the panic set in.
That’s not good. Tony pulled a small disk from his pocket and walked up to the chair, considering his options before pressing the disk to his right palm and holding it in place as the disks started spinning. Rods and wires spread across his skin until the arm was fully encased in armor, and he hurried to get behind the chair. “Hey, Dully.” He reached over Bucky’s right shoulder and pressed his hand to the bruised left side of Bucky’s ribcage. “Listen to me for a second.” He cupped his other hand on Bucky’s forehead, pulling him back against the headrest. “Hey, listen to me.”
Shouting in Russian, Bucky tried to throw his head, but Tony grit his teeth and held on tight despite the objections traveling up and down his arm.
“Nope. We’re not doing that. Hey!” Tony gave him a hard shake—as much as he could while pinning him to a chair—and shouted in his ear. “Barnes! Listen to me!”
Bucky panted, looking left, looking at the medical team, looking up, looking right, looking up again, looking to the team, and then finally closing his eyes with a whimper.
“That’s it. Stop fighting and just calm down.” Tony tried to ease up on his hold a little, but he didn’t want to give Bucky an opening. “I don’t want to hurt you. You probably won’t believe that, but I don’t care. It’s a fact. You are not free to go, and you may not ever be again, but that doesn’t mean I want to strap you down and fry your brain.”
Bucky tried to lift his hips from the chair, unable to move any other part of himself due to Tony’s unrelenting grip and the restraints on his legs and wrist.
“You are safe.” Tony kept his voice low and steady. “Let the doctor look at you.”
“Stark… don’t—” he swallowed, “—do this.”
Tony looked at Dr. Ling, a silent understanding passing between them. It doesn’t matter what we say; he’s not going to calm down or believe us. He held on a tighter when Bucky tried to move his head again. “Don’t,” he warned.
“I just want to make sure you’re okay, James. I have this penlight with me,” Dr. Ling explained as she pulled it from her shirt, “and I want you to follow it with your eyes. That’s all.” She smiled. “I’d tell you to make sure you keep your head still, but I think Mr. Stark has that covered.” She clicked it on and lifted the light. “Just follow it with your eyes, okay? It’s not gonna hurt, I promise.”
Bucky kept breathing, and it was a labored and heavy breathing, but it was steadier than it had been. Tony couldn’t see Bucky’s eyes, obviously, but after a few moments, Dr. Ling went to the next test, so Bucky must have cooperated.
“Now I want you to look right here at my nose, and I’m going to move the light in your peripherals to see how your pupils react. Again, this isn’t going to hurt.” She paused with her finger on her nose, and he must have looked there, because she started moving the light.
Daniels spoke up from just behind her, a rumbling bass that somehow bridged the gap between hard and soft. “And if the light makes you feel strange or dizzy or nauseous, just close your eyes and tell us. Dr. Ling will find a way to work around it, no problem.”
Tony tuned out some of what happened at that point, letting the noise fade into the background as he focused more on himself. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be hurt. You’re not allowed to lash out. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be hurt. You’re not allowed to lash out. You’re—
Tony startled when Bucky began struggling again, quickly realizing Daniels had started collecting blood samples. “Dully!” He gave the soldier a shake like before and held on tighter as he lowered his voice. He didn’t know why he always went for that method—maybe because Yinsen had possessed a soft and rasping voice—but he relied on it in situations like this nonetheless. “Everything is fine. He’s just drawing some blood.”
Bucky twisted, groaning through clenched teeth.
“You were with H.Y.D.R.A. for a long time, right?” Tony tried to get a better hold on Bucky’s forehead, several strands of hair tangling around his fingers as a result. “Lots of decades, lots of countries, lots of contact with blood that wasn’t yours. You could have any number of blood-borne diseases from that time, and even if they told you about it at some point, you wouldn’t remember it anymore, would you?”
Bucky yanked his head again, twisting his arm frantically as more and more animalistic noises started to rise in his throat. “S—Stark…” His attempt at speech quickly dissolved back into incoherency.
“Did you know I actually can’t donate blood?” Tony mouthed a command to hold off on collecting any more tubes. “I spent my Sweet Sixteen in Germany. You know what else was in Germany in 1986? Mad Cow Disease. So, now I can’t give blood.”
Shoulders heaving, Bucky kept his eyes locked on the needle in his arm.
“These tests might help you learn some things about yourself.” Tony shifted the hand on Bucky’s forehead, swallowing the pain and continuing. “You might learn where you’ve been. Maybe get some vital information that’ll keep you alive.”
Bucky shuddered. He swallowed. He inhaled… and he went still.
Tony indicated with his eyes that the blood-drawing could resume, and once Daniels did so, Mikey moved in with his stethoscope.
“Where’s Steve?” Bucky asked, just barely getting the words out.
Tony suppressed the fire rising in his throat. “We’re not talking about him now.”
Bucky watched the stethoscope, waiting until it left his skin to speak again. “Is he—is he here? Or did you…?”
“No, I didn’t.” Tony kept it clipped and cold. “He was unconscious the last time you saw him, not dead, and after receiving medical attention, he was taken into custody.”
Bucky jolted back as much as he could, which wasn’t much, when Dr. Ling extended her hands toward him. “Where?”
“Not here,” was the response Tony gave, hard and cold and final, making it very clear there would be no more questions about Steven Rogers. “Now, sit still.”
Dr. Ling smiled kindly, her hands hovering a few inches away from him. “I’m going to feel around a bit and look for any swelling or abnormalities that might be concerning. Just let me know if anything hurts or feels strange, alright?” She waited, and even though Bucky didn’t indicate any kind of permission, she carefully closed the distance and placed her hands on either side of his ribcage. She gently pressed, over and over, as she travelled down and maneuvered around Tony’s metal arm as best she could. She moved inward and then upward, slowing with a crease in her brow.
“Don’t,” Tony warned when he felt Bucky shift.
“Your collarbone looks pretty red and swollen.” Dr. Ling leaned from one side to the other, getting a good look without making contact. “Your x-ray from Siberia said you didn’t have a fracture, but…” She met Bucky’s eyes then. “I’m going to touch the area very lightly. I need you to tell me if there’s any pain or discomfort.” She waited until Bucky gave a miniscule nod, and then she began her examination.
Tony watched her hands move from the left shoulder—or at least, the part of the left shoulder that wasn’t mechanical—to his right one, and Tony moved his arm as necessary. “You’re not reacting, Dully. Tell Dr. Ling where it hurts.”
Bucky stayed perfectly still, and Tony opened his mouth with a threat on his tongue.
“I think he’s dissociating, Mr. Stark.” Dr. Ling waved her hand in front of Bucky’s eyes, and even though Tony could feel the soldier tense a bit—maybe his subconscious brain thought something was flying at his face?—it was clear she wasn’t seeing the eyes of a cognizant person.
Of course. Tony sighed and fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Trust your instincts, Doctor. If it looks like it hurts, assume it does.”
Dr. Ling nodded, and the room lapsed into a one-sided dialogue as Bucky maintained his near catatonic state. Not that Tony didn’t understand, but he had been hoping to learn a little more about what was going on in the scrambled, defunct brain through observation and interaction. But Bucky was protecting himself the only way he could, and Tony wasn’t about to stop him.
Things went smoothly for a while, with the only notable injuries being the fluid gathered around the collarbone and some broken ribs. If there was anything internal, they couldn’t detect it with palpation, and if Bucky refused to say what hurt, there wasn’t much they could do other than multiple full-body scans, and Tony wasn’t doing that, meaning everything was basically done.
And then came the hard part.
“We gotta talk, Dully Boy.” Tony walked around to the front of the chair, heaving a sigh he hoped showed more disinterest than exhaustion—because it was definitely from exhaustion. “You’re not gonna like this next bit. But we need to see what the damage is.” He waited, but Bucky was clearly not in the room with them. “Dully.”
“Mr. Stark,” Mikey started, peeling off his gloves, “maybe it would be best to just get it done while he’s dissociating. If we’re quick enough, he might not even realize it’s happening.”
Tony shook his head. “I’m not gonna risk that. There’s a good chance the trigger itself will pull him out of the trance, and if that happens and he doesn’t know what’s going on, it’s not going to be pretty.” He grabbed Bucky’s shoulder and gave him a shake, trying to avoid the collarbone but also half hoping it would hurt him just enough to wake him up. “Earth to Dully, come in Dully.” He snapped his fingers in front of the glazed eyes but got nothing. “Hey, what’s that? Did Steve Rogers just walk in the room?”
Bucky inhaled sharply and looked around dazedly.
“That was supposed to be a joke. Are you kidding me?” Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Listen, you’re almost done for the day, but there’s one thing left, and you’re not going to like it.”
“Don’t hurt him,” Bucky rushed, the haze clearing rapidly. “I was the—”
“This isn’t about Rogers. He has nothing to do with this.” And even though it made his chest burn to even have that name on his tongue, Tony stayed calm. “I’m not hurting him. I’m not even hurting you, but it’s going to scare you.” He braced himself, figuring there was no good way to deliver bad news. “We’re taking a scan of your brain.”
Bucky’s eyes went wide.
“It’s not going to hurt.” It was Tony’s turn to rush, deliberate eye contact and precise words trying to head off a meltdown. “I promise, it won’t hurt. But I know PTSD, and I know how it works, and having a device on and around your head is probably going to trigger something. Hence, you’re not going to like it. But you’re going to be fine.”
Bucky was already panicking, shaking his head and pushing himself deeper into the chair.
“You’re going to be fine,” Tony emphasized, but when it didn’t land, he found himself spreading his arms in an almost incredulous disbelief. “Come on, Dully! Don’t you want to know what happened to you? Don’t you want to find out how to fix it?”
Bucky peered up through a curtain of bangs, uttering a despondent phrase that seemed to cause him physical pain. “My brain can’t be fixed, Stark. It’s torn to shreds.”
“Yeah, that’s what they said about my heart.” Tony saw the confusion blossom and started unbuttoning his shirt. “It’s not exactly pretty, and the ladies don’t love it when I take my shirt off nearly as much as they used to, but it’s functioning.” He spread his arms, letting the prisoner in the chair get a good look. “Recovery is supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be hard. That doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”
Arm twisting against the restraint, Bucky dropped his gaze and tried to think, eyes darting back and forth.
Tony figured he better correct that kind of mentality right out of the gate. “Don’t stress yourself over it. It’s not like you have a say.” He smirked when Bucky’s head snapped up. “You don’t have a say in anything that happens to you, actually. Your extensive, international, very politically charged crimes and refusal to turn yourself in have landed you permanently in the hot seat.”
Breath hitching, Bucky once again moved the only part of himself that wasn’t fully restrained, hips lifting from the chair even if they didn’t get far.
“You were looking at a very unhappy ending with an undetermined amount of unhappy times in between now and then. Instead,” Tony produced a folded paper from his pocket, “your rights have been signed over to me. I’m your legal guardian and power of attorney. I decide everything that does or doesn’t happen to you from now on.” He slipped it back into his pocket. “I own you, Barnes. ‘Til death do us part.”
Clenching his jaw, Bucky fixed his gaze on Tony’s stomach and tried to force himself into the dissociation that had kept him so calm before. But he couldn’t, and even though a pettier, darker part of Tony wanted to watch him squirm a bit, the larger part of Tony wasn’t going to allow that to happen.
“Barnes.” Tony spoke as plainly as he could, every word defined. “I am not going to hurt you. I’m not. You might not be a fan of everything I choose for you, but I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not exacting my revenge, I’m not entering my villain era, I’m not backtracking to my Merchant of Death days. Just imagine Rogers and I got divorced, and I won full custody of the kids because he was unfit.”
Bucky seemed like maybe he heard a portion of first half of the monologue, but he had essentially been past the point of no return, so by the time Tony finished, there was nothing left but trembling and quiet gasps.
“Nicely done, Mr. Stark,” Dr. Ling commented dryly.
Tony kept his eyes on Bucky. “Better to rip the band-aid off fast. Let’s just get this over with.” He was tempted to put away the Iron Man arm, but even restrained and disabled, Bucky was a super soldier. “Hey.” Tony moved closer as Daniels and Mikey adjusted the chair, leaning it back slightly.
Bucky mumbled incoherently, waffling between Slavic languages as he writhed in place. He contorted his arm, trying to pull it free from the padded metal, and his knees turned uncomfortably to the side as he lifted his back and hips.
“Dully.” Tony slid to the side of the chair as the team continued to move—they had been given strict orders to work around him—and pressed his armored hand to Bucky’s stomach. “Barnes,” he sang, wondering which of the two names did a better job of calming Bucky down.
Throwing his head to the side, Bucky rambled louder, occasional English making it through the slurred strings of foreign languages. “Not—not again.” He tried to arch his back again, but Tony kept a firm hand on his stomach. “No, no, no, please.” He sucked air through his teeth, chest heaving.
“You’re fine, Barnes.” Tony used his free hand to comb the soldier’s hair from his face, and once his hand was up there, it seemed fitting to trail his fingers through a few more times. “You’re fine. Everything is fine.” He glanced over his shoulder when the machine was rolled into the room.
“I knew him,” Bucky gasped, covered in a sheen of sweat. “I knew him. I’m sorry, I knew him.”
Tony looked at the bound hand desperately clawing the air and let out a soft sigh. “You better not make me regret this.” He lifted his armored hand and pressed his pinky and ring finger to the center of his own palm, the armor quickly disintegrating as it retreated back into the disk.
“Not again. Please. It doesn’t matter if you wipe me, I knew him!”
Tony stashed the disk in his pocket and grabbed Bucky’s hand, managing to get a couple of his own fingers in between the trembling, sweaty ones of his… well, he didn’t know what Bucky was, but he didn’t like captive, and charge sounded weird. Bucky was a prisoner in the eyes of the state, sure, but the term was far from accurate when it came to the daily life Tony intended to provide.
Not important. Focus. Whatever Bucky was to Tony, he clawed at the hand making contact with his own, hips lifting again as he struggled.
“Daniels, get his waist and thighs,” Tony ordered. “At this rate, he’s going to screw up some muscle or ligament in his knees.” He squeezed Bucky’s hand. “Dully!”
Bucky didn’t respond, per se, but his babbling died out in a way that was sudden enough to make Tony think maybe he was on to something.
“Is that the magic trick? I have to hold your hand?” Tony gave it another squeeze, and it was hard to tell with all the thrashing, but he was pretty sure he got a grab in return. “I need you to listen. We’ve got a machine to do the scan. It is not going to touch you. Nothing is going to touch you head except this chair you’re on.” He combed back the hair Bucky had gotten back in his face. “It’s going to make a loud humming noise, and if you open your eyes, you might see some bright lights at certain points. That’s it. It’ll take about ten minutes, and you won’t feel a thing.”
Bucky suppressed a whine as the scanner rolled closer, flexing his fingers and rolling his wrist like he wanted to clutch the armrest.
“Nope. You don’t need that. You’ve got me. Now, listen.” Tony waited a beat, and when Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes form the machine, he grabbed the stubble-shadowed jaw. “Look at me. Is there a place other than your head I can use to keep you grounded?
Glassy eyes flickered around, from the doctors to the device to the dashing billionaire, and he shook his head as much as Tony’s hold allowed.
“That’s alright. We’ll figure it out.” Uttering something between a sigh and a scoff, Tony released Bucky’s chin and pressed his hand to the heaving chest instead. “Does th—”
“Wait, please.” Bucky’s voice quavered. “I need the—the mouthguard. I don’t want to bite my tongue.” He panted, sweat pouring down his face and chest. “Please. I’ll comply. I just want the mouthguard.”
“You don’t need the mouthguard.” Tony gave a few hard pats on the chest. “You don’t—Listen! There’s no electricity, so there’s no muscles convulsing, so you don’t need a mouthguard.”
Bucky panted, wide eyes struggling to follow the doctors moving around his head.
“You know, even when electroshock therapy is used for legitimate reasons, it’s not like it used to be. Definitely not what you grew up with.” Tony wasn’t sure it was a good idea at first, but Bucky’s eyes seemed to come back to his face and linger longer when he was speaking. “If it weren’t for my heart, I would have had it done.” He moved his palm a little higher on Bucky’s chest in case a little pain from the inflamed clavicle could keep him grounded. “They put some pads on your chest to monitor vitals, a blood pressure cuff or two, and then you go to sleep. Anesthesia puts you under, they paralyze your muscles so you don’t flail around, and you wake up a little while later. You’ll be tired—” and some people had jaw pain, but that didn’t seem wise to mention, “—but you just go home and sleep it off. Back to work the very next day.”
Bucky stared at him, questioning but faintly hopeful, an expression that instantly vanished when Dr. Ling started lowering the headpiece.
“Here we go, James.”
“My name is Bucky!” he snapped back, bracing himself.
Dr. Ling spoke just loud enough to be heard over the machinery. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I’ll try to remember not to call you that.”
Bucky ignored her, body shuddering from the excessive effort he put into keeping still.
“You’re fine, Dully Boy.” Tony pressed his fingers against the swollen collarbone, but he didn’t get a reaction, so he tried pressing Bucky’s abdomen just as the scanner lowered into place and stopped. It wasn’t a tight fit—it honestly looked like the Super Soldier was getting a perm at the Super Salon—but the hyperventilation was immediate. It’s too late. The scan already started, and if we stop now, we’ll just prolong the torture. Swearing under his breath, Tony looked over Bucky’s body and tried to think more like a machine than a man. I need to disrupt the familiarity of the situation.
“You’re doing great,” Mikey encouraged, but it was likely drowned out by the machine.
Holding his hand got a small reaction. In the videos, he’s either clenching his fists or gripping the armrests, meaning he’s not used to a grip back. So my hand won’t help if it doesn’t do something back. Tony squeezed the hand and began massaging the back of it with his thumb, pulling on the fingers periodically.
Bucky whimpered, writhing as much as the restraints allowed, which wasn’t much with the straps Daniels had added. Tony squinted, dark eyes darting from joint to joint and scar to scar. In the videos, he’s always quiet until the pain starts, and he shakes but he doesn’t try to fight back. Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek. He was free long enough to teach his brain a fight response. That’s good, at least. Not at that particular moment, maybe, but in an overall sense.
Still trying to engage the senses, Tony pressed his way across Bucky’s stomach. Disrupt the situation. Make it feel different. He grabbed the strap and loosened it enough to slide his hand behind Bucky, all but digging his fingers into the young man’s spine. Bucky jerked in the chair, letting out something akin to a yelp, but as Tony continued to massage the muscles coiled around the lower spine, Bucky struggled less. It’s better than nothing. For his first day learning Bucky’s brain, Tony would take it.
“Aaaaand now!”
They dragged the scanner away as fast as they could, and as Daniels and Mikey hurried it out of sight, Dr. Ling moved in and took Bucky’s face.
“Hey,” she rushed. “It’s gone. Do you feel my hands?” She spoke rapidly, but also soothingly, and Tony wasn’t sure how she pulled it off, but he knew he was jealous of it. “Open your eyes, Bucky. They already took it out of the room. It’s over.”
Bucky hesitated for a split second and then opened his eyes, gasping as if he had expected the act of opening his eyes to kill him on the spot. She let him go, and Bucky immediately looked around, head snapping one way and then the other as he searched for the machine.
“It’s over, okay?” Dr. Ling smiled. “It’s over.”
Tony withdrew his hands and took a few steps back as Dr. Ling took over. Bucky’s attention was fully taken as Daniels and Mikey reentered the room, and after a brief moment spent in bitterness, Tony made his way into the hall. He remembered killing them. It sucks. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be hurt. You’re not allowed to lash out. And he, for lack of a better term, closed the book on that, pulling his phone out instead.
19 New Messages
Ross And since we’re on the topic, everyone listed as an Avenger needs to submit…
Pepper Just left the hospital. Surgery went well. Rushing to my 4:30 and…
Rhodester eppre tol me to textt you. im wake now an feelin whoo
63145 Appointment Reminder from: Mount Sinai Fuster Heart Hospital for…
Spyder Hey, Mr. Stark! Hate to bug you, but I have a question about the new web fluid…
Happy I’m going to smack the new lobby security head. I won’t lose my job, right?
Tech Lead Please review and approve the updates to the StarkSIPs so we can launch…
And it went on like that for a while. It seemed like it always went on like that these days. Always something new, something wrong, something he had to fix or save or soften the blow of.
“Then we’ll do that together, too.”
Tony snorted. Yeah, sure we will. He rolled his eyes, taking a moment to decide which text to answer first, and then he swiped his screen, thinking the same thought he had been using to push through every new pitfall despite the fact he no longer knew who the pronouns referred to.
Here we go. Let’s do this.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t—
“James, it’s alright.”
Bucky tensed when he felt the latex glove on his shoulder, keeping his reaction as controlled as he could. Don’t pull away. He wasn’t allowed to do that. Don’t push. Don’t bite. Swallowing hard, he tried to get out of the haze and focus on the woman in front of him.
“You got lost in thought for a second there, and it didn’t look like they were good thoughts.” Smiling warmly, the woman—the doctor, she was a doctor, what was her name?—indicated a small packet in her hand. “I have some applesauce for you. That test was the last thing we had to do, and I’m sure you’re exhausted and want to sleep, but we want to get at least a little food and water into you before you pass out.” She gave him a sympathetic smile.
Swallowing again—his throat was so dry, why was it so dry?—Bucky tried to decide if he wanted to look down and assess his condition. Don’t take your eyes off the target. Injuries are inconsequential. He kept staring at her.
“We’re going to give you some pain medicine once there’s something in your stomach, but there’s really not a lot we can do for broken ribs or clavicular swelling.” Dark eyes almost sparkling, she moved the packet in her hand again and twisted the lid off. “I want you to eat a little and drink some water, and then Michael and Daniels are going to take you to a room with a bed where we can keep and eye on your vitals.” She held up her hands slightly. “It’s nothing serious, we just want to make sure you’re stable, and we don’t want you to have to sit up in this chair until we’re certain. We don’t need to take any more samples or scans, and we’ll explain all the equipment as we go, okay?”
Bucky nodded tightly, glancing down at the green packet. He opened his mouth just a bit, leaning forward and closing his lips when she put the end in his mouth. He sucked lightly, and whatever hit his tongue did seem to be applesauce—maybe with a hint of another fruit?—so he was willing to believe it wasn’t drugged. Probably.
“Don’t stress yourself over it. It’s not like you have a say.”
Bucky tried to focus on the smooth taste of the puree.
“Your rights have been signed over to me. I’m your legal guardian and power of attorney. I decide everything that does or doesn’t happen to you from now on.”
Bucky didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be an asset again. He was just starting to relearn what it meant to be a person instead of a weapon—to be free, to make his own choices, to reacquaint himself with who he used to be. He didn’t want to go back. But if Stark could be believed, it was a done deal.
“This isn't gonna change what happened.”
“I don't care. He killed my mom.”
Bucky wet his lips as the packet was pulled from his mouth, subconsciously wondering if he could have more, but he was distracted by a twisting in his chest. When Steve had said those words, he had been talking about Stark’s anger and violence not changing what happened… but Bucky’s remorse and recovered memories didn’t change what happened, either, did they? Like Stark said, Bucky had committed crimes—big crimes, politically charged crimes, crimes that altered the course of history—and the fact Bucky hadn’t been himself at the time… well, it didn’t really matter, did it? If the rest of the world had to suffer the consequences of the Winter Soldier’s actions, didn’t it make sense that Bucky should suffer those consequences as well?
“James?”
He pulled himself from his thoughts and saw a straw hovering inches away. Right. Water. Looking near but not directly into her eyes, he once again leaned forward and took what was given.
“Don’t drink too fast,” she cautioned.
His gaze flickered up long enough to catch a glimpse of a smile, and then he tumbled back into his thoughts. Maybe I should accept whatever punishment Stark dishes out. Steve insisted Bucky was innocent because his mind was being controlled, but… what was innocence? In his short time as a free man, he had researched the topic of brainwashing… not the kind H.Y.D.R.A. had used, certainly, but regardless, the victims of brainwashing were often held accountable for their crimes.
“Alright, that’s enough for now. We don’t want to overdue it.” Pulling the bottle away, the doctor tossed both it and the straw into a nearby trashcan. “Michael and Daniels will be in to get you soon. I’m going to get started with your scan and see if we can figure out what’s going on upstairs, okay?” She gave him another warm smile and then turned, sliding one hand into the pocket of her white coat.
“Hey, Dr. Ling,” the second Barnes said as he walked with his colleague through the open door in her direction. “Is he all ready?”
Dr. Ling! That was her name. But which one is the second Barnes? Daniels or Michael? He could hardly remember anything about the introductions, but the cheerful way the second Barnes had introduced himself and pointed out their shared surname had lodged in his brain.
“Awesome,” the dark-skinned man in scrubs responded. “We’ll take it from here.”
He is… Daniels. I think. So the other Barnes… is Michael. But Bucky didn’t remember the second Barnes introducing himself as Michael. Michael Barnes… Michael Barnes… Bucky hoped that was right; hoped he could at least form new memories even if his old ones were shot.
“I’m Mikey,” the redhead suddenly said, stopping in front of the chair with a bright smile. “I can see the rusty cogs turning behind your eyes, mam.” He laughed good-naturedly—probably, hopefully—and crouched down to press something on the side of the chair. “How are you feeling?” he asked as the metal restraint let go of Bucky’s wrist. “Do you think you’re steady enough to walk down the hall?”
Heart pounding, Bucky tried to figure out what he should do—my arm is free—and it took a moment for him to form a quiet, “I can walk.”
“Cool.” Daniels crouched down and went through the process to release Bucky’s left ankle. “It’s just down the hall, like Mikey said. It’s not far.”
They’re releasing me. They’re two normal people. I could easily beat them. But that train of thought screeched to a halt before it could even leave the station. No. When handlers give you an obvious advantage, it’s because they know they have the ability to put you down instantly. Never mind the doctors; Tony Stark would never allow Bucky to escape.
“I’m gonna hold onto you, okay?” Mikey took Bucky’s upper arm in one hand and slid the other to the center of the captive’s back. “Take your time.”
Bucky had a final second of hesitation, and then he eased himself onto his feet, surprised by how hard it was to stay upright. He hadn’t understood their question before, but maybe he hadn’t realized how exhausted his body was. And maybe that was why they were willing to release him.
“You okay?” Daniels stood across from his coworker, and while there wasn’t an arm to grab on his side, he did hold his hands near Bucky’s waist in preparation to grab on.
Bucky nodded stiffly. I think I am. His legs were just so tired, quaking with every step. They didn’t hurt, oddly; they were just weak. But he could make them work, and while he was leaning against Michael more than he was probably allowed to, the doctors didn’t correct him, and they made their way down the hall.
“Here we go,” Daniels muttered, letting a scanner read his retina. “Aaand…” He went in as soon as the doors opened, murmuring under his breath as he turned on the lights and machines around what appeared to be a hospital bed… like the ones the soldiers would be in when they got the serum.
Bucky braced his legs, but they gave almost immediately.
“Easy, easy.” Mikey moved his hand from Bucky’s back to wrap the arm around his waist. “Hey, you ever get monitored after a mission or something?”
Bucky tried to stay calm despite the floor suddenly turning to gelatin.
“Did it hurt? Just monitoring. Not experiments or punishments or whatever else they did to you. Just some good, old-fashioned, lay there while things beepity-beep in the background. Did it hurt?”
Beepity-beep? Bucky swallowed. “No. Didn’t hurt.” Not for him. Sometimes another soldier was getting something other than monitored a few beds over.
“Well, this is the same thing.” Mikey helped him forward but stopped at the bed like he was waiting for something.
Okay. Bucky pulled lightly on his arm and stepped forward. Mikey didn’t let go, but he didn’t hold on, either; he just kind of let it slide free, keeping contact in case it became necessary. Necessary to do what, Bucky didn’t know, and he hated that.
But he took it slow and crawled onto the bed, struggling to get situated without being on top of the blankets he assumed would eventually go over him. Which was different. He wasn’t sure what that kind of luxury meant as far as the intentions behind it. H.Y.D.R.A. wasn’t a fan of Good Cop, Bad Cop. They did Bad Cop, Worse Cop. So Bucky was unfamiliar.
“Alright, so, you having one arm creates a bit of an issue.” Mikey indicated the limb. “Normally, we would measure your oxygen and pulse on one hand, and measure your blood pressure on the opposite arm.” He pointed toward a tangle of colorful wires. “These don’t hurt. They’re just sticky pads, and they’re going to keep an eye on things like your pulse and your oxygen levels so we can stick the blood pressure cuff on your arm and nothing cancels anything else out. Does that make sense?”
Bucky stared at Michael for a long moment and then shifted his gaze to the wires. They did appear to have sticky pads on the end of them, not metal prongs or hooks they might dig into his skin. “That makes sense,” he said quietly.
“Sweet.” Michael gave two thumbs up and pulled the wires down.
Bucky watched him for a bit, but then Daniels moved on his right, and he shifted his attention just in time to see a blood pressure cuff moving toward his arm. No needles yet… He kept waiting for a horrible thing to happen, but no matter how hard he looked or how long he waited, he just saw two medical professionals meandering around, occasionally chatting about sports or what ‘the wife and kids’ were up to. They explained everything, just as Dr. Ling said they would, reassuring him from time to time that nothing they were doing was going to hurt in any way.
And then Daniels grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair and let it tumble open, approaching the bed with a warm smile. “You’re lucky you’re in a rich guy’s hospital bed. Blankets in public hospitals suck.”
Bucky was trying to decide if he wanted to ask what that meant when the fabric came down on top of him. It just barely brushed his skin, but it was the softest thing he had ever felt, and it was warm to the touch with a bit of weight to it.
“Bathroom’s right there.” Mikey pointed to a door nearby. “If you need to use it…” he traced the wires from the pads on Bucky’s chest to something that resembled a plug where they all came together. “You just pull this free—might be a little hard with one hand—and carry it with you. It’ll make the machines beep, and someone will come and make sure it’s not a crisis. They’ll also come if you hit—” he pointed to a red button on the arm of the bed to Bucky’s right, “—this. If you need anything—or even if you just have a question or feel strange and don’t know why, please hit the button.” He braced his arms on the guardrail of the bed, wearing a wide smile. “Is there anything you want to ask before we head out?”
Frowning, Bucky looked down at his right arm, then at his lack of a left arm, then at the blanket spread over him, then at the monitors, and then back at Mikey. “I just sleep?”
Mild confusion flickered over the doctor’s face, and he tried to conceal it, but Bucky was too familiar with false faces to not notice. “What do you mean?”
“I just… have to sleep? I don’t have any other tasks or punishments right now?”
Mikey offered a soft smile. “No, Bucky. No tasks, no punishments. You fought hard in Siberia, and you’ve got some painful injuries. Get some rest and let your body recover.”
Recover for what purpose? Bucky nodded faintly and leaned back, easing himself into a reclined, somewhat comfortable position. I’m not really tired… but I can pretend. He had barely conceived the thought when his eyes started to drift, and suddenly… tired was a very good description of him. He was under a soft, warm blanket, and whatever they had done to his injuries was keeping him from any significant pain, so… despite the situation, and all he didn’t know about what would happen next, he let the fog of sleep drift in and drag him under.
“I own you, Barnes. ‘Til death do us part.”