Chapter Text
After that initial shock Tony scuttles back to his workshop and things don’t actually change for a while.
Steve is almost offensively chipper and nobody and nothing seems capable of getting his mood to go down.
Tony knows, he’s tried.
Steve hadn’t even blinked at Tony showing up to dinner covered in grease. He’d just smiled, said it was a good thing they were having stew, and kept right on going.
For his part, Barnes is in and out of the Tower so much that Tony doesn’t bother to have JARVIS keep track of his movements unless they’re about to run into each other.
So, new semi-resident aside, Tony goes about his life as he always does.
His days consist of things like inventing, avoiding board meetings, avoiding Pepper, maintaining the armor, hiding from Pepper in Happy’s car, and then running from Pepper when she finds him.
When he’s not doing that he’s normally doing team dinners and movies, playing his specially modded and vastly superior version of Viva Pinata online with Rhodey, playing ding-dong-ditch on the Baxter Building with Clint, going to charity or SI galas, or getting dragged to board meetings by Pepper.
Throw in a few battles here and there, playing his specially modded and vastly superior version of Words With Frenemies with Coulson and Fury, and a few nights helping the bots polish the mid sized steel statue of him in the armor that they built him for Christmas the previous year and that’s his schedule.
Like he said.
The usual.
So the last thing Tony’s expecting to have happen when he stumbles into the kitchen at 4 a.m. on a Mesturday morning (Is it Monday? Saturday? Wednesday? Tony isn’t sure thus Mesturday) is a voice speaking up from the room’s darkest corner.
“You’re Iron Man,” the low, gravely voice declares from the shadows.
“Marie Curie,” Tony yelps as he automatically twirls and throws his coffee cup in the direction the voice had come from.
Barnes, because of course it’s him, catches it before it can hit him or the wall behind him, because of course he does. There’s a distinctly amused expression on his face when he looks back at Tony.
“Did you just curse at me in scientist?” Barnes asks as he stands, cup in hand, and wanders back over towards the coffee pot.
Tony, doing his best to get his heartbeat back under control, just stares at Barnes wild-eyed as he pours a fresh cup of coffee and then wanders over to place it on the counter in front of Tony.
“It’s ah,” Tony clears his throat as smoothly as he can and reaches out to grab the cup off of the counter, “it’s how all the cool kids curse nowadays, Barnes. Didn’t you know that?”
“Been a little out of touch with what’s in style these days,” Barnes says with a wry twist to his entirely too attractive mouth.
“Right,” Tony hides his wince in his cup cause, yeah, his bad. “Probably didn’t spend a lot of time on pop culture while you were playing HYDRA’s Frosty the Murderman.”
There’s a small, awkward pause as Tony slurps his coffee and Barnes stares at him.
“You’re Iron Man,” Barnes finally says.
For a long, frozen, second all Tony does is blink up at him.
Then, finally, the realization slams into him with the force of a blow as it registers to Tony that it’s the second time Barnes has come out and said as much.
‘Holy Hubble,’ Tony realizes as a giddy sort of awe explodes to life inside of his chest.
Barnes actually believes that he’s Iron Man.
And that is, of course, the exact moment Tony ruins it for himself.
Because of course he does.
“I beg your fucking pardon?” Tony hears himself say as if from a distance as indignation suddenly roars to life inside of him, sweeping the awe away. Because that is, apparently, how he rolls at ass o’clock on a Mesturday morning when someone finally believes what he’s been trying to tell the entire world for years now.
How, why, in the hell does Barnes of all people believe him when nobody else will?
‘Abort mission, abort the fucking mission,’ Tony’s mind starts to scream as the little man who lives in the back of his head immediately hits the panic button.
“You’re Iron Man?” Barnes says again even though this time it comes out more as a question than a statement.
“How dare you?” Tony clutches his cup to his chest and slowly begins to back out of the kitchen.
“Stark?” Barnes blinks at him in what looks like shock.
“How dare?” Tony says again as he reaches the kitchen doorway and slides around the jam and out into the hall.
Unable to help himself Tony pops his head back around the edge of the door and glares at Barnes one last time before he pulls back again and scuttles back towards the elevator.
~~~
Ten minutes later finds Tony in his workshop, coffee cup once again empty and abandoned.
He’s laid out face first on the floor and mumbling to himself while the Butterfingers pokes at him with a broom.
“Stupid,” Tony hisses into the concrete. “I’m so stupid. Why the fuck did I do that? Why?”
Tony sighs, flops over onto his back, and stares up at the ceiling.
“I panicked J,” Tony announces morosely. “All this time trying to convince everyone that I’m Iron Man and Barnes pops up like some kind of sexy robo-hobo and calls me out on it and I fucking panicked.”
“It’s rather unfortunate but not entirely unexpected, Sir.” JARVIS tells him. “You’ve invested a rather large amount of time and effort into your attempts to gain acknowledgement from the other Avengers. In my opinion your panic stems from the fact that you have always been afraid of success on a personal level.”
“Woah,” Tony holds one hand up towards the ceiling in a halt gesture. “Let’s roll it back now Dr. Phil. If I wanna have my issues psychoanalyzed I’ll use that gift certificate for a therapist Pepper gives me every Christmas.”
“Of course Sir,” JARVIS says dryly, “whatever was I thinking?”
“Yeah, well, just remember it for next time.” Tony grouses.
Tony lays there, star-fished out on the floor, for a long moment and does his best to ignore the way DUM-E and U have joined Butterfingers in his game. They seem to be enjoying poking at him with a piece of steel pipe and a mop handle respectively so Tony doesn’t bother to make them stop.
“I’m in too deep,” Tony finally admits with a sigh. “I’ve dug myself so deep into this that I didn’t know how to handle someone actually confronting me with the truth. How in the hell did I manage to do something that fucking stupid?”
“A question I’ve asked daily for the better part of a decade now Sir,” JARVIS pipes up because he’s not so secretly an asshole.
Tony gives the nearest camera the finger because, while he’s proud of JARVIS' dickish tendencies, he’d prefer not to constantly get dragged through the mud in his own house, by his own kid.
“I guess the only option is to be upfront with him about it since he’s the only one who realizes the truth.” Tony muses. “Maybe I can finally tone it down a bit now that he knows. Hell, maybe the team will believe him.”
“I’m rather proud of you Sir,” JARVIS says warmly. “You’ve chosen the mature path for once.”
“On the other hand,” Tony’s frown slowly begins to morph into a small smirk. “None of them believed me so maybe they won’t believe him either. Now if that happens I finally won’t be suffering alone.”
“Sir …” JARVIS trails off with what sounds like a sigh.
“Oh J,” Tony claps his hands together brightly, “this is going to be fun.”
~~~
Bucky’s seen a lot of stuff in his life, both before and after HYDRA put his brain in a blender and made him spend the better part of a century as their murder-puppet.
The future he’s found himself in now, the future that has him out of HYDRA’s hands and living in a Tower filled with superheroes, is still more of a surprise than he’d ever thought it could be.
Or, more specifically,Tony Stark is more of a surprise than Bucky had thought he could possibly be.
After seventy years as a slave for HYDRA Bucky’s learned to be honest with himself so he isn’t afraid to admit that his first face to face glimpse of Stark had been burned into his brain.
He’d been in the kitchen of the Tower with Stevie when Stark had stumbled in, sleep pants hanging deliciously low, tank-top clinging to his chest, and a circle of light glowing against his sternum.
He’d been heavy eyed, clearly exhausted, and sporting hair that made him look freshly fucked.
Bucky had appreciated the sight immensely.
And, if Stark’s adorable little half asleep mumble had been anything to go by, the feeling had been mutual.
Bucky hadn’t allowed himself to linger over that moment too much in the time that passed afterward but he certainly hadn’t forgotten it either.
All of that leads him to where he is now, standing in the same kitchen once again, confusion causing him to blink slowly after Stark’s retreating form.
He isn’t sure what, exactly, he’d said or done to offend Stark but he’d like to find out. It couldn’t be the Iron Man thing because that was just blatantly obvious in Bucky’s opinion, despite what the press might say.
Stark and the armor have only came up once or twice between him and Stevie but there’s no way in hell it was any kind of secret in the Tower. Not with the Avengers being who they are.
So it couldn’t be that.
Maybe it was the coffee? Maybe he’d messed it up somehow? Or Stark didn’t like people to touch his food/drinks or something? Or maybe it was because he’d accidentally scared him when he first came into the kitchen?
Either way Bucky’s going to have to find out.
He might not be the smooth, well adjusted guy from Stevie’s memories who had a date whenever he wanted one but he also isn’t dead.
Stark’s a damn fine man on top of being an Avenger and being good enough to let him live in his Tower and join the team without any fuss.
Bucky’d rather not have him pissed off at him if he can help it.
Especially not over something as petty as coffee or accidentally startling him.
~~~
It’s not the coffee Bucky realizes a week or so later.
It’s not the coffee or the fact that he startled him.
It is, Bucky discovers with something like horror sputtering to life in his chest, absolutely about the Iron Man thing.
“Armor’s pretty impressive,” Bucky says to Steve in an aside as they watch the latest sparring session between Stark and Natasha with Clint providing support from a distance. “Wouldn’t mind seeing what he can do outside of it.”
“So would we,” Steve agrees, “but Iron Man doesn’t take the armor off. Ever. We keep telling Tony and Shellhead both that his secret’s safe with us but I guess he just doesn’t feel comfortable enough yet.”
Bucky blinks once, twice, a third time.
“What in the fuck are you on about Stevie?” Bucky twists around to face Steve as he barks the question out.
“He doesn’t take the armor off, ever.” Steve repeats, voice somehow bright and kind of sad all at the same time. “He’s got a right to his privacy though so we won’t push it unless we have to. I’m pretty sure you’ll like him once you two officially meet. He kind of reminds me of you sometimes. Well, you before.”
“Stark is Iron Man,” Bucky points out slowly. “Steve, you’ve got to know that.”
“Don’t be mean Buck,” Steve actually frowns at him. “Tony’s a good man and he does a lot of work on the armor and on our gear but he’s not Iron Man. We’d know if he was.”
Bucky stands there waiting for the punchline but Steve just looks at him all serious like.
It’s in that moment that Bucky’s forced to realize that he’s serious.
That Steve is telling the truth as far as he knows like it’s not the stupidest thing Bucky can remember hearing come out of his mouth since that time in southern France with the Howlies.
Bucky … well Bucky’s honestly not sure how to handle that.
~~~
So … yeah.
That’s the Problem™.
Aside from Bucky himself, no one else in the Tower seems to believe that Stark is Iron Man.
And the worst part of it all is that this whole thing isn’t even Stark’s fault as far as Bucky can tell.
The man couldn’t be more obvious if he wandered around the Tower in a shirt that said ‘I Am Iron Man’ on it.
Not that Stark would.
The tank tops and sweatpants he’s already seen him in aside, Bucky’s pretty sure that the man doesn’t lounge around decked out in stuff like that.
That would be ridiculous.
~~~
A few days after his disastrous conversation with Steve in the gym Bucky leaves the Tower and promptly gets cornered by SHIELD.
Or, more specifically, Nick Fury who seems to be surprisingly alright with the fact that he’d tried to kill him not too long ago.
Bucky follows him to a nearby park and they settle down together in surprisingly comfortable quiet. There’s a small rustle and Bucky looks over at Fury only to blink at the bag of what looks like hard candy being held out in his direction.
Bucky stares.
Fury rattles the bag meaningfully.
Bucky takes a few pieces of candy.
The bag disappears up Fury’s sleeve and Bucky pops a piece into his mouth.
It’s good. Some kind of coffee flavored stuff with cream in the middle. Also probably not poisoned. Not that it’d matter as he’s pretty much immune to everything anyways.
“Sorry for trying to murder you,” Bucky feels compelled to offer the words after they’ve sat in silence on the park bench for a handful of minutes. He’s eaten all of the candy Fury gave him and is trying not to think about how much he wouldn’t mind some more of it.
“You’re not the first, won’t be the last. Besides you’re an Avenger now,” Fury shrugs nonchalantly, as if it’s really that simple. He hasn’t even bothered to look up at Bucky the entire time, his one good eye focused down on his phone where he seems to be playing some kind of word game. “As long as you’re not a HYDRA mole and you keep working with the team against any threat they face then I’m willing to call it even. Otherwise I’ll do my best to make sure you become an actual ghost story this time, friend of the Captain’s or not.”
Bucky can’t help but find that outlook kind of refreshing. Especially after the way HYDRA’s half remembered but decidedly less than gentle recruitment speech keeps popping up in his nightmares from time to time.
Plus HYDRA had never given him candy.
“So,” Bucky starts off, “about Iron Man.”
“Iron Man’s identity is a closely guarded secret that must be kept in order to maintain Stark’s continued patronage for the Avengers.” Fury rattles off without ever looking up, each word obviously said by rote and empty of any true emotion.
“Stark put you up to that?” Somehow Bucky sincerely doubts it.
“No,” there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of Fury’s mouth then, “we insisted on it.”
Oh this bastard totally knows and is refusing to say anything. Bucky is sure of it.
“Good talk Barnes,” Fury pushes up onto his feet then, phone suddenly gone and the bag of candy back in his hand. This time he holds the entire bag out for Bucky to take. “Give those to Stark.”
Bucky stays where he is as Fury saunters off.
He eats a few more pieces of the candy.
He’ll give them to Stark alright, just not the entire bag.
He’s an assassin, not an errand boy.
~~~
“Oh you’ve seen Nicky,” Stark actually visibly perks up when Bucky drops the bag onto the counter in front of him. The coffee cup he seems to be constantly attached too is quickly forgotten as he pulls the bag closer to him and hunches over it like a little dragon hoarding its stuff. “He has the best candy. Not sure where he gets it or how but I do know it’s why his trench coat's so big. It’s full of snacks.”
Stark has that pleased little smirk he always gets when he makes a reference of some kind.
It’s adorable and Bucky kind of hates him for it.
Until he gets a good look at just what Stark’s wearing.
The shirt’s red and the lettering is gold.
It says “I Am Iron Man ” and there’s a pretty accurate replica of Stark’s fancy beard right below it.
It’s just the kind of thing Bucky had been so sure Stark wouldn’t seriously wear and has now been officially proven wrong about.
Now Bucky really does hate him.
And, if the evil light that glints in Stark’s attractive eyes is anything to go by, he’s pretty sure Stark knows it too.
Bucky snatches the candy back and stalks out of the room, ignoring Stark’s indignant shouts from behind him.
If this is how Stark wants to play this game then Bucky’s more than happy to oblige him.
Stark’s secret or whatever he’s doing isn’t going to last long.
Bucky’s going to make sure of it.