Army Dreamers

Tony’s time in the Alps was harsh and depressive. Even with the special flight suit, he struggled to remove the chill from his bones each time he returned to the plane for a break. The howling winds and freezing weather made for difficult work. It had been days since he left the comfort of his lab, and the solitude was starting to wear on him. He thought back to the team he’d left at home, memories of their voices like a comforting echo in the back of his mind. But now, all he had was the howl of the wind and the distant hope of finding something—someone—out here. He was nearing the half-way point of the search area, scouring 100-meter square sections each time he went out. It was his fifth trip to the Alps now but the work was slow and tedious for just one man.

Even with the suit and JARVIS, scanning through thick ice and snow for signs of a human was extremely difficult and finicky.  Heat sensors were useless when looking for a frozen soldier, as were nearly all the usual land-penetrating sensors. His best technique were sensors that listened to the acoustics below the icy surface, waiting to hear the woosh of a slowly beating heart somewhere beneath him.

It was just a few more sections later when he heard it finally. He’d found him, he found Barnes. He was down there and he was alive.

He scrambled to drill more probes into the ice to pinpoint Barnes’ exact location. Once the section had been narrowed down to a small enough square, Tony began to carve out the ice. Slowly, careful not to cut too deep or too fast, he was able to use his laser beam to remove the block in under an hour.

He hadn’t seen Steve in person when he was saved and still in stasis but he can’t imagine it being this bad. Bucky Barnes had frozen here after falling from a moving train overhead. From what he could tell, the fall must’ve knocked him out and he froze before he woke again. At least he hoped that was the case, for Barnes’ sake. It was like he was a perfect still shot of a terrible movie stunt gone wrong.

Through the ice he could see a bloody mess all over and his arm—his arm was a mangled mess of blood and exposed bone and muscle. All he could hope for was to get him thawed and into the cradle before he awoke and had to feel that.

Lugging the ice block back the plane proved harder than anticipated, but he was more worried about not letting Barnes awaken until he was within the cradle and hopefully at least partly stitched back together. Finally, he gave one last tug with the armor and had the block solidly inside the plane.

He stepped out of the armor, shaking off the cold once again.

“Up and at ‘em JARVIS, we’ve got a super soldier to defrost and put back together” he said, running his hand over his face and through his hair as he set off to gather the equipment to melt the ice.

There was a fine balance in this process; too slow and he risked Barnes’ wounds beginning to bleed again before he was in the cradle, but too fast and he risked the heat awakening Barnes from stasis before he was in the cradle healing. He had JARVIS closely monitoring body temperature, vital signs and brain activity as he melted the ice.

When he finally had a moment to breathe while Bucky (somehow still alive despite the horriblylengthy list of injuries JARVIS had found) defrosted, it felt like the culmination of everything. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders; heavier than the suit he wore. This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. It was about the promise he made to himself and the people he cared about—to bring everyone home, no matter the cost.

Thankfully the process went off without a hitch and soon enough there was a cold, but alive, super soldier on the floor of the plane. He had to don the armor once more to carry and lift Barnes into the cradle. He had managed to wipe the blood off his face during the melting and he just looked so young like this.

The logical part of Tony knew this was an excellently trained sniper with an extensive kill list. But like this he was more reminiscent of a tough kid who got wrapped up in something he shouldn’t have. He’d had the same thoughts about Steve too. Just wishing he could’ve saved them both from the horrors they had faced.

He’d thought that especially often when Steve was first recovering. When he had to remind the man time and time again, he was a man before he was a solider, and he still had that right. It had taken time to convince him of it, to get him to believe it himself too. Steve would never give up the shield or the job, but now he wasn’t only a soldier. He was Steve Rogers as well; a young man from Brooklyn who loved art and had never had a chance to pursue it until now.

He’d do the same for Barnes, whatever he wanted that to be. He’d heard stories from Steve how Barnes had always been entranced by Howard’s creations. He’d show him just how great the future could be, give him all the gadgets he’d ever want. All he had to do was heal him and ensure he woke up first. A two-step plan—really it was just that easy.

Tony set the cradle to repair what damage it could, though the arm was a lost cause. It was hard enough fighting the super soldier serum coursing through his blood, which hindered the cradle’s ability to do what it needed. Two healing forces trying to work at the same time was more of a hassle than a help. Barnes would be an amputee now, but Tony was already planning the best prosthetic arm he could make. Barnes would be alright; he’d make sure of it.

With the sergeant secured in the cradle and healing, Tony began the trip back to Stark tower. Call him an optimist but he’d been building a small recovery room in one of the storage lockers of the workshop. It wasn’t a fully stocked hospital room but had a bed, monitors and basic medical supplies that JARVIS had advised. Based off of what he’d read from Steve’s awakening from the ice, he figured having Barnes close and under the watchful eye of JARVIS would be best.

The flight was about 6 hours back to New York which allowed Barnes to heal a good amount. His arm, or what was left of it, now looked swollen and had scarred but no longer had an open wound of any sort. His myriad of cuts, scrapes and other lesser injuries had also been healed though he was still startlingly thin, just like Steve had been. It’d be a long road ahead for the man to regain his health, learn to adapt with one arm and adjust to the new world he’d soon awaken to.

Tony had a van at the airport and was able to load the cradle, Barnes still inside, then set off to Stark tower. It was a bit more of a feat to get the unconscious man from the van to the bed in the workshop but with the help of the armor he was able to do it. With JARVIS’s guidance and his mediocre medical experience Tony got him situated in bed with an IV and vital monitoring quickly.

Having just accomplished the seemingly impossible, Tony finally sat in the chair at Barnes’ bedside. He leaned forward, putting his head in his hands before running them through his hair. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He’d come this far but now that it was really happening, he had no idea what to do. That’s not true though; the real problem was he had too many ideas and no clear path ahead.

He needed to design and manufacture a prosthetic arm, needed to find a way to integrate another World War II soldier into modern life, needed to announce to at least the team that said soldier was not only alive but down in his workshop. He needed to tell Steve. He needed Barnes to wake up.  

It was at JARVIS’s insistence on needing a proper shower and meal that he stepped back into his business suit and headed to the Avengers floor to pretend he had just arrived back home.

Tony straightened his tie as the elevator ascended to the Avengers floor. He’d spent the last several hours going over every possible scenario in his head—how to explain Bucky’s situation to Steve, what Steve’s reaction might be, how he could possibly justify keeping such a monumental secret. But now, as the elevator chimed softly and the doors slid open, all those thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind. He needed to keep up appearances, at least for a little while longer. 

The common area was buzzing with the usual activity. Clint and Natasha were in a heated debate over the best type of pizza, while Bruce sat in the corner, nose buried in a book. Steve wasn’t in sight, which was both a relief and a source of anxiety for Tony.

“Hey, Tony,” Clint called out, noticing him first. “Back from your trip? How was it?”

Tony forced a smirk, slipping easily into his usual banter. “You know, same old. Boring meetings, lots of paperwork, nothing too exciting. But I’m back now, so you can all stop missing me.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, sensing something was off but not pressing the issue. “Glad you’re back. We could use some of your ‘excitement’ around here.”

Tony chuckled, though it felt hollow. “Don’t worry, Nat. I’ve got a few projects in the lab that should spice things up.”

With that, he made his exit, following JARVIS’s advice of a sandwich and a shower before heading back to the sanctuary of his workshop. His heart pounded in his chest as he paced the ‘shop, nerves crawling under his skin as he faced what would happen next with Bucky still in a state of limbo, his life hanging in the balance of whether or not he woke up. If he told Steve now, and something went wrong—if Bucky didn’t wake up—Tony wouldn’t be able to bear the look in Steve’s eyes. He wasn’t ready to shatter that hope.

Bucky’s body had been stabilized, his vitals consistent, but there had been no sign of consciousness. JARVIS advised he simply needed time but patience and Tony had never been friends. Tony had done everything possible, yet felt helpless with nothing to do but wait for the soldier to awake.

But right now, Bucky looked more like a pained child—clad in medical monitoring devices, his face still pale, his chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly. Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to think about the what-ifs, the fear that was slowly eating away at his optimism.

He slid closed Barnes’ door and turned to his workstation, intending to throw himself into something—anything to distract from the anxiety gnawing at his gut—but before he could take a step, JARVIS’s voice echoed softly in the room.

"Sir, Captain Rogers is waiting outside the lab. He appears concerned."

Tony froze. Of course, Steve had noticed his return, and it wouldn’t take long for him to realize something was off. His visits had been growing shorter, the tension between them growing thicker. Tony hadn’t been avoiding Steve intentionally—well, not entirely—but there was no denying that things had been different.

"Don’t let him in, JARVIS," Tony muttered under his breath, pacing restlessly. "Not yet."

"Are you sure, sir? He has been waiting for approximately fifteen minutes."

Tony let out a low groan. Steve never could let things go, especially when it came to his friends. And Tony knew he’d have to face the music soon anyways.

"Fine, let him in," Tony said finally, rubbing a hand over his face. "Might as well get this over with."

The doors hissed open, and Steve stepped in. His expression was hard to read, but Tony could feel the tension in the air like a wire stretched too tight.

"You didn’t come see me when you got back," Steve said quietly, his tone calm, but the undercurrent of hurt was there.

"I went to the common floor, you weren’t there. Came down here after, I have work to do," Tony replied, his voice clipped. He turned his back to Steve, staring at the monitors instead of the man who had been his closest confidante in recent months.

"That’s not the point, Tony." Steve’s voice was firmer now, more insistent. "You’ve been shutting me out for weeks. First, it was little things—locking yourself in the workshop, skipping meals—but now you’re barely around at all."

Tony’s jaw clenched. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him, searching for answers, and it made him feel cornered. Exposed.

"I’ve been busy, Steve," Tony said, his tone flat. "Business trips, upgrades, you know how it is."

Steve, now frustrated by his friend, was unaware of the storm brewing beneath Tony’s composed exterior. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Tony’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and Steve noticed how tense the genius seemed. Tony was usually so confident, so sure of himself, but now… now he looked like a man on the edge.

"Business trips?" Steve scoffed, taking a step closer. "The team might buy that excuse, but I know you. This isn’t just about work. You’re hiding something."

Tony closed his eyes, his exhaustion catching up to him. He didn’t have the energy to keep this up—to keep lying, to keep pretending everything was fine. He could feel the weight of Steve’s disappointment already settling on his shoulders, the thought of telling him the truth nearly paralyzing.

"I can’t do this right now, Steve," Tony said, but his voice cracked on the last word. He hated how vulnerable he sounded, how his defenses were crumbling in front of Steve’s unwavering concern.

"Why won’t you talk to me?" Steve’s voice softened, but the hurt was still there, clear as day. "We’re supposed to be a team. If something’s wrong, I can help. But you keep pushing me away, and I don’t understand why."

Tony turned around at that, his expression a mix of exhaustion and frustration. "Because if I tell you, I’ll be putting hope in your head, and I can’t bear the thought of being the one to crush it. Not you, Steve. Not when it comes to him." It felt like the whole of his friendship with Steve rested on this moment. How could he tell him he’d spent months lying to his face and keeping something so important from him?

Steve’s eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering in his gaze. "Him? Tony, what are you—"

Tony exhaled shakily, cutting Steve off before he could finish. "I found him, Steve. I found Bucky." He knew this moment was inevitable, but it didn’t make it any easier.

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, there was silence. Steve stared at Tony, his face a mask of disbelief, of hope mingled with fear.

"Where is he?" Steve whispered; his voice barely audible.

Tony hesitated, glancing toward the far side of the lab, where the door to Bucky’s room stood closed. He had wanted to wait until Bucky woke up, but the look in Steve’s eyes—the raw hope that had sparked to life—was too much.

"Come with me," Tony said, his voice quiet but steady.

Steve followed without a word, his heart racing as Tony led him over to the renovated portion of the workshop. The door slid open, and Tony stepped aside to let Steve enter first.

Bucky lay motionless on the bed, hooked up to various machines, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Steve’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of his oldest friend, looking pale and fragile, but alive. The blanket was pulled up to his chest, and Steve’s eyes tracked right down his arm- or what was left of it. It was healed over but still red, looking raw and angry even from afar.

“Bucky,” Steve breathed, voice wavering. His breath hitched on the next inhale as he came to realize this was really happening. His knees gave out then but Tony was there to catch his arm on the way down.

“Woah, hold on there soldier. Can’t have two of you down for the count.” Tony was nervous, he always had mindless chatter when he was nervous. And Steve couldn’t have that, he needed to get it together.

“C’mon, let’s get you up.” And yeah, he was still here kneeling in the middle of this makeshift hospital room in Tony’s workshop, now with both Tony and Dum-E fretting over him on the floor. He nodded slowly, trying desperately to shake off the shock he was still reeling from.

“You alright, still in there Winghead?” Tony was standing beside him, hand resting on his shoulder and thumb making slow circles. He finally got his bearings back and was able to be coaxed into the chair at Bucky’s bedside, his whole body trembling with the weight of the moment.

“Is he… how was… wha-” He tried to get the words out but his brain felt scrambled still.

“Easy, just take it in for a few. I know it’s a lot and I’ll explain everything. Just breathe, you need a minute first,” Tony urged, worried he had broken his friend with this revelation.

Steve exhaled shakily, realizing only then how tightly he’d been holding his breath. Tony’s hand moved to rest on Steve’s back, staying there—steady, reliable. Steve clung to that, using Tony’s presence to steady his own spiraling thoughts.

Head in his hands, Steve heeded Tony’s advice and started using the breathing technique his therapist had taught him. It was hard to focus with Bucky lying there, with Tony beside him. But the slow rhythm of his breath started to calm the chaos in his mind, enough that he could start piecing together what had happened.

Tony. It was always Tony.

The man who had saved him from SHIELD’s clutches before Steve had even realized how trapped he was. The man who fought tooth and nail to make sure Steve knew he was more than just Captain America, more than a relic from the past. Tony had spent so much time pulling him back from the brink, and now he had brought Bucky back, too.

Tony, who had done the impossible—again.

Now here he was, in a home he loved filled with friends he couldn’t imagine not having. With a man in front of him he thought he’d left 70 years in the past and a man at his side who’d gave all he could to bring his oldest friend back. He picked his head up and reached a hand out to touch Bucky, just needing to ensure he was real but he stuttered inches from the bed. If this was a dream, if he had to wake up and mo-

“Steve,” Tony said, and now he was kneeling facing Steve. His hand had moved from Steve’s back to his knee and soon he felt another grab his hand. His focus trailed up Tony’s arm to catch his eyes and was greeted with a soft smile which he felt no choice but to return.

“He’s okay, he’ll be alright. I’m already working on making him an arm, but I need him awake for that. And JARVIS says he should gain weight back without any issues.”

“Thank you, Tony. Thank you.” And now Steve was pulling Tony into an awkward hug. One arm wrapped around Tony’s waist, the other finding its way to the back of Tony’s neck. It wasn’t graceful, but it was exactly what Steve needed. It took Tony a second to catch up to what was going on before he was hugging back.

“Of course.” Tony said, like all this was the easiest thing in the world.

But Steve knew it wasn’t of course. Not to anyone else. Only to Tony. That was the kind of man Tony Stark was—he might put up walls of bravado, wear his sarcasm like armor, but deep down, he was someone who gave everything for the people he loved. This was who Tony was at his core: he liked to act tough and tried to pretend he was a narcissist but then he went off and spent years fighting for his friends and doing anything he could (even the impossible, twice) for them. He loved Tony for it, even before he’d gone and done all this. Back in the start when he’d passed off those old sketchbooks he’d thought the s-

He loved Tony. He loved Tony. It gave Steve pause as he looked back over the past year and he wasn’t certain how he could’ve missed that, yet it was true. Tony, his Shellhead, his engineer, his best friend in the future; he was everything to Steve and had been since he came out of that block of ice. Tony housed him and kept him fed and safe but Tony also made that house a home, taught Steve how to treat himself with respect and told him he was his own person when it seemed nobody else agreed. The movie nights, team dinners, late talks on the balcony and the hours spent painstakingly explaining what he’d missed and helping him adjust to life now.

It all bled into where they were now, with Steve’s new sketchbooks filled with drawings of Tony. His favorite days the ones he got to venture out with Tony at his side, or a night in laughing and watching terrible movies that Tony insisted were ‘classics’. And even though Steve had long since caught on that Tony was trolling him, he’d allowed it and agreed to each and every terrible movie. He loved it, loved seeing how happy it made Tony, loved how happy he felt watching Tony be happy.

Steve could see it now, clear as day.

He loved Tony.

Steve and Bucky had been toeing the line between friends and more back even before the war. And now here he was with Tony at that same line decades later.

But before he could dwell on it, Tony cleared his throat.

“So,” Tony said, standing and smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt, “you probably have questions.”

Steve nodded, trying to gather his thoughts. “How… how did you find him? How did you even know to look?”

Tony looked down at Bucky, his expression softening. “You survived,” he said simply. “After that, I figured... why couldn’t he? So, I started looking.”

Steve stared at Tony, everything suddenly clicking into place. All those ‘business trips,’ the nights Tony had been missing, the growing distance between them these past few months. Steve had noticed Tony pulling away, but now he understood why.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, his voice low, as if he expected Steve to lash out at him. “I didn’t want to lie to you. To the team. I just… if I didn’t find him, if I couldn’t—”

“Tony, stop, look at me” Steve interrupted, his voice soft but firm. “I’m not upset or- or mad. I could never be mad at you for this. You did what no one else could. What I couldn’t.”

Tony let out a long breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I just couldn’t take the chance of raising your hopes if there was nothing there.”

Steve’s heart ached at Tony’s words, but before he could respond, a soft sound broke the silence—a groan from the bed. Both Steve and Tony turned toward Bucky as his fingers twitched, his eyelids fluttering.

Steve was on his feet in an instant, standing over Bucky, his heart racing. He glanced at Tony, who was already pulling up a chair next to Steve.

“He’s waking up,” Tony murmured. “Give him time.”

But time didn’t seem to exist in Steve’s world right now. It blurred as Bucky came to, his eyes opening and focusing on Steve. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, it felt like no time had passed at all—like they were still in 1945, side by side, fighting together. But then Bucky blinked, and reality came crashing back.