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Bucky is fourteen when he discovers he's a bit different.
Stevie, the little punk, has finally bitten off more than even Bucky can chew. Johnny and his friends are right behind them; Bucky can hear them shouting and laughing, the pound of their feet. He can also hear the whistle of Steve’s breath; the kid shouldn't be running like this. They turn down an alley, and Bucky snarls a curse his mama would cuff him twice for even thinking. A chain fence with a padlocked gate sits mockingly at the end of the alley.
“C’mon, I'll boost ya.” Bucky says, tugging Steve towards the fence.
“But what about you?” Steve immediately argues, because of course he does.
“I can climb, punk.” Bucky responds, with more confidence than he feels. Steve looks like he wants to argue some more, but their pursuers are getting closer and Bucky knows there's no time. He grabs Steve around the waist and hauls, pushing against the smaller boy until he gets the hint and starts climbing.
“Down here!” He hears behind him just as Steve clears the fence, and Bucky knows he's out of time. He throws himself behind a sad pile of boxes, barely large enough to disguise him. On the other side of the fence, Steve tucks himself into a tiny ball behind a trash can; on another day Bucky might laugh at how small the kid is. He hears Johnny and his gang pound down the alley, and knows he has next to no hope of hiding. He desperately wishes they'd somehow miss him, doesn't want to have to explain another beating to his Ma. More than that, he doesn't want to see the guilt in Stevie’s eyes.
“They musta climbed over and kept goin’.” The voice comes from directly above him, and Bucky snaps his gaze up. Johnny is looking right at his hiding place, scowling. Bucky freezes, like a rabbit caught in a hawk’s gaze, waiting for the strike. Johnny’s gaze slides away after a moment, with no change in his expression to indicate he’s seen Bucky.
“We’ll get ‘em later.” He decides, and with some grumbling and pushing amongst themselves, they walk away.
Steve later tells him that he was staring right at Bucky when the air went really hazy, and it made his head hurt to look.
☆☆☆
As a sniper, his ability is a boon. No one ever sees him coming.
After Steve rescues him from HYDRA? He's even stronger.
☆☆☆
The Asset is standing in the shadows of an alcove, hands twitching without the familiar weight of a gun. Around it, people in glittering outfits and sharp pressed suits mingle, all false smiles and tinny laughter. Waiters weave through the crowd, almost as invisible as The Asset. Soft classical music played by a live orchestra accompanies the constant hum of chatter. The party is as elegant and sophisticated as one would expect of the Stark family. The Asset is aware of none of this, it's sharp eyes trained constantly on it's targets. Howard (primary target, must appear accidental) holds court in the centre of the room, head tipped back as he booms out a laugh designed to attract attention. Maria (secondary target, not essential to mission) is a quiet presence at his side, a decoration. It steps back as a guest passes almost close enough to touch, the woman's eyes sliding past the space The Asset occupies without registering it's presence.
The Asset contemplates the Waiters and their trays, but poison is a risky endeavour when it isn't sure Howard is guaranteed to pick that drink. Likewise, most weapons are ruled out, as the mission calls for the death to be ruled an accident. The Asset shifts deeper into the alcove, more habit than anything since no one can see it, and considers the stairs leading further into the manor. Perhaps suffocation, though it would be difficult to eliminate both targets in such a way without an alarm being raised.
“You a new member of security or somethin’?” A voice drawls to The Asset’s left. It turns it's head, and discovers a dark haired youth eyeing it speculatively, wavering drunkenly where he stands. The Asset blinks, and recoils a little to discover the young man is looking at it.
“You're definitely not dressed for the occasion.” The boy continues unprompted, and The Asset flinches. “Though, I'm definitely on board with the whole black leather gig you've got going on.” He continues, apparently oblivious to The Asset's panic.
It was not supposed to be seen. It shouldn't be seen!
The boy is frowning now, confusion and a hint of suspicion in his gaze. The Asset's heart pounds, and it, no, he doesn't understand why; he knows only that this is wrong. The Asset steps back,
“Perimeter check.” He grunts, leaping upon the convenient excuse his unexpected visitor has provided. The boy’s brow clears, and he waves The Asset away with an indolent hand. The Asset wastes no time, and melts into the crowd of the party, all but fleeing for the exit.
Abort mission.
☆☆☆
Howard and Maria Stark never see the man who kills them. No one will ever know that Maria died, choking in the grip of a hand she couldn't see. The traffic camera that catches the crash shows footsteps appearing in the snow, Howard arching up as though lifted.
But no one is there. The video is written off as corrupted, or damaged. The Stark’s died in a tragic accident.
☆☆☆
Tony Stark is seventeen years old and newly orphaned; he is also blind drunk, spread eagled on the floor of his apartment. DUM-E, his newest creation, his first AI, beeps dejectedly as the glass of water it was carrying smashes on the floor. Tony laughs softly, and tries to ignore the slightly hysterical edge to it.
“Thanks for trying, buddy.” He whispers, and reaches for the bottle of scotch at his elbow. It's mostly empty, and he knows Howard will pitch a fit when he sees Tony used the good scotch to get wasted. Would have pitched a fit. Because he'd dead. Tony laughs again, and this time it's definitely edging into hysteria.
“Rest in peace, you miserable fuck.” Tony toasts the ceiling with his bottle, and then spills a good portion on his face in a sloppy attempt to take a swig. He splutters and giggles, and spends a good few minutes trying to wipe his face of with the hem of his shirt. He doesn’t even register the slow motion of his window gliding upwards. He does, however, notice the lithe, shadowy figure that slides through.
Tony blinks at his intruder with blurry eyes,
“If y’re here to kill me,” He starts, and then trails off into a befuddled silence. The man moves, quick and silent across the room. A face hovers above him, ice blue eyes over a black mask and framed in lank, brown strands of hair.
“You see me.” The words are said in a guttural growl, and Tony blinks owlishly.
“Yeah?” He replies, his tone lilting upwards. At this point, either he’s about to be brutally murdered in his college apartment or his drunken brain is hallucinating.
“How?” The man demands, fisting one hand in the front of Tony’s shirt and hauling him up. Tony groans at the movement, scrabbling at the man’s hands with both of his own.
“Wha’ddya mean, how?” He cries.
“The Asset cannot be seen.” The man growls, his face inches from Tony’s own. His breath rasps noisily behind the mask, and this close Tony can see it fits more like a muzzle.
“I don’ understand.” Tony mumbles, and reaches up with one hand. The man watches Tony’s hand warily, like an animal expecting pain, but doesn’t flinch back. A moment of fumbling later and Tony finds the latch to the muzzle. The black contraption falls away and Tony stares up uncomprehendingly at the handsome face revealed. A moment later, the hammer falls,
“Y’were at the party!” He accuses, and renews his struggles to get free. “Who are you?” He yells, and now DUM-E joins the fray, the bot panicked by his creator’s fear. The stranger drops Tony, unceremoniously, and the knock to the head proves too much for Tony’s fragile stomach. He rolls over, and dedicates his next few moments to expelling everything he’s drunk in the last few hours. The stranger retreats to the window, chased by an angrily whistling DUM-E.
He pauses at the window, his eyes lingering on Tony in pained confusion. A moment later and he’s gone. When Tony wakes, hungover and grieving the next morning, he almost dismisses it all as a hallucination. He would have, in fact, if he hadn’t woken with the black muzzle clutched in one hand.
☆☆☆
New York is being buried under record amounts of snow the next time Tony sees his mystery guest. He’s at yet another party, smiling as though the loss of his Mama, his Jarvis, doesn’t throb in his chest with every heartbeat. Tony feels like he could crawl out of his skin, and every light touch from perfect strangers just makes it worse. His eyes slide away from the woman he’s speaking with as his attention wanders from the conversation. A flash of movement is just enough to catch his gaze, and Tony just barely manages to control his reaction. His mystery man stands outside in the garden, knee deep in snow. He has a new muzzle on, and Tony imagines he can see the clear blue of his eyes even from this distance.
"Excuse me, please." Tony murmurs, barely waiting for an acknowledgement before he heads for the terrace doors. The air is freezing outside, and even in his suit jacket Tony finds himself shivering. The man waits patiently as Tony walks down the stairs and battles his way through the snow; he's not shivering, despite the fact he's only wearing a black leather vest and black pants. Tony stops a mere foot away, and tries to pretend his shivering is only from the cold. Cool, empty blue eyes assess him, and Tony forces himself not to fidget under that gaze. The man doesn't speak, however; he seems content to stand in the freezing cold in Tony's company.
"You know," Tony says eventually, when the silence grows awkward. "For someone who 'can't be seen', you sure stand out." As he speaks, Tony unwinds the garish red scarf Jarvis got him last Christmas from his neck and loops it carefully around the other man. He freezes awkwardly, hands coming up as though to fend off an attack, but he slowly relaxes when Tony steps back a moment later.
"See you around." Tony murmurs with a small smile, and then he turns away.
He looks back when he reaches the top of the stairs, but the man is gone.
☆☆☆
Tony is 21 years old and the brand new CEO of Stark Industries; he's overwhelmed and about thirty seconds away from a panic attack. The chair at the head of the board feels intimidatingly huge as Tony gingerly sits, and his heart thumps double time in his chest as he faces down the men at the table. Obadiah looms over his shoulder, supporting him with a big hand on one shoulder.
"Congratulations, Tony, your old man would be proud." He booms, and Tony wants to sink into the chair, wonders what exactly he's done that would make his dad so proud. He wants to say something, but before he can so much as open his mouth, Obie drops heavily into the chair immediately to his left and starts the board meeting. Tony is quickly forgotten as Obie takes the floor, effortlessly steering the board's attention away from their young CEO. Tony quickly finds himself bored, and his mind wanders to the workshop he abandoned to sit in a room of stuffy old men and be ignored. He's staring into space, idly wondering how long the average board meeting takes, when the door to the meeting room slits open. Tony watches, wide eyed, as his masked man slides through the gap and pushes the door until it's just barely open.
"Tony, be a champ and get that door, would you? Damn thing must have unlatched." Obie interrupts himself to say. Tony blinks owlishly, his gaze darting wildly from the door Obie is indicating to the man he's apparently completely ignoring the existence of. A moment of short silence later, Tony coughs awkwardly and scrambles to get the door shut. The man remains standing along the back wall for the entirety of the meeting, calm and still. Tony can't help but notice the scarf is missing, though he does catch the man playing with a small, frayed square of fabric of a suspiciously similar material. Tony wonders at the man's presence, and the way he continually, irregularly turns up. He doesn't get the chance to ask, however, as the man disappears in the flurry of everyone getting up to leave.
☆☆☆
The man continues to visit Tony over the years; sometimes he stays for a while, the longest of which being two days. Sometimes Tony never even gets the chance to approach before he disappears. He never speaks, but he listens to Tony, and sometimes Tony could swear he sees a glimmer of reaction in those cool eyes. It's...nice; Tony feels like he has a friend.
Until one day the man stops coming.
☆☆☆
Tony is, for all intents and purposes, a genius. So when his friend, who Tony has begun to affectionately refer to as Red (after the star on that seriously cool metal arm), kept showing up over a period of years, and never looked older? Tony got suspicious first, and then he got curious. Where did he go when he left? Why was it so irregular, when he turned up? Why would he never say his name, or where he was from? Why did, on the few times he spoke, he call himself "The Asset"?
Of course, it wasn't the first time Tony's smarts had gotten him into trouble, but it was probably the first time it had been this bad. Tony's last memory was of working late at Stark Industries, a kink in his lower back from hours spent hunched over paperwork. His first is waking up tied to a chair in a room lit only by a single, dirty globe. Blood runs a slow trickle down the side of his face, and the side of his head feels like one big exposed nerve. Ah, a kidnapping; something sadly familiar to his childhood, and yet still pants wettingly terrifying.
"Someone's been poking their noses in places they shouldn't be." A voice drawls in the semi darkness. Tony squints, but with his head pounding out a particularly obnoxious drum beat, concentrating is difficult.
"You know, I'm usually a fan of impromptu getaways, but this is a little below my standards." Tony replies, forcing his voice into a lightness he certainly doesn't feel. "I mean honestly, is this literally the least comfortable chair you could find? Your reviews are going to be terrible."
"You've been looking a little too closely into our operations." The voice interrupts, and a moment later a tall, hawkish looking woman steps into the light. Tony eyes her warily,
"Well, I'll give you points for dramatic flare." He says, and flashes her a grin.
"Very funny, Mr Stark. But I think, you will not find this so funny." The woman smiles, and it's a horrible caricature of the expression; her eyes are cold and dead. She gestures to the side of the room, and Tony blanches at what he sees. A table of surgical instruments, the majority of them encrusted with dried blood, sits waiting.
"Well, uh...That looks hygienic." Tony finally manages, trying desperately to hold onto his composure. The woman smirks, reaches out to hover one hand teasingly over the tools. She keeps her eyes steady on Tony as she deliberately taps her nails against the metal handles.
"Now," She murmurs, nudges the tray so the implements rattle and clearly enjoys Tony's instinctive flinch. "What were you looking for?" She continues. She wheels the table of instruments closer, the smile on her face never shifting. She picks up a rusted scalpel and straddles Tony's lap, even as he tries desperately to sink into the back of the chair.
"Now, now, pet. Don't be rude." She whispers, and runs the blade delicately along Tony's cheek, drawing the thinnest line of blood. "We're going to be best friends." She murmurs into his ear, and Tony can't stop the full body shudder.
"I really fucking doubt it." He manages to get out around the sheer lump of terror that seems to have taken up residence in his throat. The woman tips her head back and laughs, and even that is horrible to witness. She glides the scalpel down the side of his neck, and taps the flat side of it against his collarbone, clearly enjoying the way Tony flinches every time. Tap, tap, tap.
"All you have to do, pet, is tell me why you were looking into us. What were you looking for? How did you know where to look?" She presses the flat of the scalpel uncomfortably hard against the side of his throat, and Tony swallows heavily.
"No idea what you're on about, lady. If all you wanted to do was ask me questions I don't have the answer for, you really should have made an appointment. Granted, I'm a busy man, but this is just overkill."
"Mister Stark, I think you are grossly underestimating the seriousness of the situation." The woman interrupts, her voice a low snarl. She stands abruptly, and a moment later Tony screams as she drives the scalpel into his thigh. Blood immediately wells, but though it's hurts like hell, she's clearly aimed well and hasn't hit anything important.
"If you survive your stay here," She growls, and leans down until they're almost nose to nose. "I would get tested. I have no idea how many different people's blood is on that blade."
She storms from the room, then, and the light bulb flickers off, leaving Tony in darkness, with nothing but the screaming agony in his leg for company.
Time passes, with the woman occasionally visiting to poke him with various sharp implements. The scalpel gets left where it is, and by the second (or maybe it's the third day) Tony can feel the heat of infection in his leg. He entertains (terrifies) himself with thoughts on how he'll live his life with only one leg. He's dozing, or something approaching it, when he hears an explosion go off somewhere else in the building. He startles a little, but nothing else happens, and at this point it's exhausting to hold any state of alertness. After a prolonged silence, Tony finally allows his head to droop back down. He barely reacts when the door creaks open.
"I told you," He offers on a quiet sigh. "I dunno what you're talking about."
Tony flinches as warm, calloused hands cup his cheeks, gently angling his head upwards. He almost sobs in relief when he sees Red, his usually cool eyes soft and sad, his face bare of muzzle. He looks dishevelled, and there's a streak of blood on his cheek, but he's the most beautiful thing Tony has ever seen.
"Time to leave." He growls, and then his eyes catch on the scalpel. For a moment he looks furious, and then he reaches for it.
"No don't!" Tony yelps, and Red pauses, tilts his head consideringly. "The bleeding has stopped, pulling it out will just start it again." Tony whispers. Red seems to accept this, and a moment later he is tearing his shirt into strips, which he uses to bandage Tony's leg so the scalpel won't shift when he moves. He puts his usual leather vest back on afterwards, and on another day Tony might find all that bared skin extremely tantalising. The ropes, he tears through like they're nothing, and he spends precious seconds gently massaging the feeling back into Tony's hands and feet.
"You can walk?" He asks, and Tony nods. He's honestly not sure he can, but to get the fuck out of this hellhole he'll give it his best. Red helps him stand, and gets one of Tony's arms around his broad shoulders, supporting his bad side.
Together they limp from the room, and through a warehouse Tony finds suspiciously empty.
"Where are all the guards? The woman?" He asks, somehow able to find the energy to be curious, now that rescue is at hand.
"Dead." Red responds, terse and flat. He says nothing more as he takes Tony out to a waiting car and bundles him into the back seat. Tony finds himself weighed down by blankets, and the look on Red's face is almost tender as he gently tucks them around Tony.
Tony's asleep before the car even starts.
He wakes as Red gently scoops him from the car, holding him as easily as if he weighed no more than a child.
"Where 're we?" He mumbles, pressing his face into Red's bare shoulder.
"Hospital." Red replies, and then the doors slide open and they walk into the chaos of the ER. The mayhem folds around them, and Tony soon finds himself on a gurney surrounded by medical professionals. He frantically looks around for Red, and finds him standing just inside the door.
"Don't look for me." He says, and then walks through them before Tony can so much as call after him.
☆☆☆
Tony does look, but it's like searching for a small needle in a particularly large haystack, and Red never comes back. Over the years, Tony's hope of ever finding Red slowly dwindle into nothing, but he never stops JARVIS' search routines.
Life moves on; Afghanistan happens, and Tony is weirdly disappointed that Red doesn't ride in on his shiny white horse to save him. After that, Iron Man, and The Avengers, and before he knows it Tony's lonely life is full of people. His tower, once an essentially empty shell containing himself, JARVIS and the bots, is now full of superheroes.
More than that, it's full of family.
So when Steve asks if he can bring his recently recovered, long term brainwashing victim of a best friend to the tower, what else could Tony say?
He's in the kitchen when they arrive, a fresh cup of coffee in one hand. He hears the elevator doors slide open behind him, and then Steve's soft voice.
"It's okay, it should just be Tony here. You can meet the rest of the team whenever you feel ready." Tony takes that as his cue, and turns around with the gentlest smile he can manage. The expression freezes and drops away, along with his coffee cup, when Tony locks eyes with Barnes.
Because it's not Barnes, it's Red.
"Jesus, Tony!" Steve yelps, and lunges across the room to quite literally pick Tony (and his bare feet) up and plant him several feet away from the deadly spillage of hot coffee and broken ceramic. "Are you okay?" He demands a moment later, and then seems to note the way Tony is staring fixedly at an increasingly agitated Barnes. Tony gives himself a mental shake, and summons back the smile.
"Sorry, sorry! Steve, stop mother henning, I'm fine big guy. I was just surprised is all; it's weird enough seeing one childhood hero walking around in the flesh." He lies through his teeth, and is beyond grateful when Steve seems to accept his explanation. Barnes still looks uncomfortable, pressed back into the corner of the elevator, but not outright fearful.
In fact, he's looking at Tony like he's a stranger.
"In fact, if you'll excuse me, I might go find some shoes before I clean this mess up." Tony announces, almost winces at how abrupt it sounds, and promptly flees the room.
☆☆☆
Over the next few weeks after Barnes' arrival, Tony sees him around the tower multiple times, though he's careful to never acknowledge doing so. It's clear that, while Barnes doesn't remember Tony, he remembers his ability, because only Nat seems to have some inkling of when he's around, and Tony's pretty sure that's not because she can see him. The status quo continues for some time, with even Steve starting to get frustrated when he can't find Barnes, despite JARVIS' assurances he "hasn't been seen leaving his room, Captain Rogers".
Finally, Tony's had enough. He gets his opportunity to act, conveniently enough, the night after he finally decides to do something. It's 3AM, and Tony is shuffling his way down the hall to the kitchen in search of more coffee, dressed in baggy sweatpants that are more engine oil than fabric at this point and a tank top with more holes than the plot of Twilight. He sees something move in the living room, and almost jumps out of his skin. He can't hold in a swiftly bitten off yelp, either.
"JARVIS, lights at 15%." The lights brighten the room just enough Tony can see the figure curled into the corner of the couch, face wet and looking like a deer caught in headlights. "Jesus, Barnes, give a guy some warning. I've got a heart condition." Tony says, and softens the words with a smile. Barnes blinks at him, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and wonder.
"Y'can see me?" He whispers eventually, and Tony's stomach drops a little at the question.
"Wait here." Tony responds, and almost runs to his room. He finds what he's looking for tucked safely at the back of his closet in a box, and is grateful when he returns to find Barnes in the same position.
Tony plops down on the couch next to him, careful to maintain enough space not to crowd the guy. Barnes eyes the box, but he seems curious rather than afraid.
"I've always been able to see you." Tony whispers, and runs a tender hand across the lid of the box. He opens it a moment later, and tilts it to show Barnes the muzzle, worn and cracked after years in storage. Barnes recoils like it might bite him, but he still seems curious, and he doesn't bolt.
"Sorry, I know it's a pretty awful thing to you, but...It's all I had." Tony shrugs self deprecatingly, and puts the box down on the coffee table. "Well, that and this." He adds, and shamelessly yanks his pants down enough to expose the knotted scar tissue of his stab wound. Barnes seems arrested by the sight of it, and without seeming to notice what he's doing, he reaches out to run a careful hand over the scar.
"Scalpel." He whispers, and there's the beginning light of recognition in his eyes. He reaches into the pocket of his pants, and slowly holds out a worn, ragged scrap of red fabric. Tony's eyes well at the sight, and he gently places his hand on Barnes', the remainder of the scarf sandwiched between their palms.
"You kept it." He whispers, and Barnes smiles, the expression tentative and hopeful; it's probably the second most beautiful thing Tony has ever seen. He's not sure who moves first, or when it happens, but somehow they're sitting in each other's spaces.
"You used to call me Red," Barnes murmurs, his free hand coming up to gently cup Tony's cheek. "Call me James, now." He continues, and leans in to press his lips to Tony's.
He doesn't need to hide anymore.