Death Threats
At the time, neither Tony nor the Avengers knew that Tony was not talking to James “Bucky” Barnes. In his defense, he hadn’t talked to Barnes ever—save for, well, Siberia. And that didn’t really count as a conversation, so…
The team’s defense, however…
So technically, Tony didn’t hang around the common areas of the Tower if he could help it. Like he showed up to the (mandatory) team meetings—though he stubbornly skipped the bonding exercises—and showed up for at least one team dinner every few weeks, but he hardly ever went in for anything other than food. No movie nights or morning breakfasts like fans loved to imagine. (It sounded nice though, in concept. A shame.) So really, Tony and Bucky’s conversations easily fell under the radar due to the fact they mostly encountered each other at random hours in the night.
“What do you mean ‘no, poison’?” Tony asked, scandalized, mouth agape as he stared at Barnes in betrayal.
Barnes leveled an unimpressed look at him, “No poison.” He said, with all the gratuity of telling off a naughty puppy. It was a little insulting, actually.
“Why?” Tony demanded, “What’s wrong with poisons? They’ve been a tried and true method of killing for centuries. Are you too good for poisons, Barnes?”
“There are more efficient ways to kill,” Barnes stated, lifting his mug to take a sip. His face contorted into an interesting expression as he looked down into his mug.
Tony had made them a matcha latte on this particular occasion, after hearing that Bucky had never tasted matcha before. Which of course had to be remedied immediately. Tony was sitting on the counter near the stove, legs swinging back and forth above the floor, his head just under the cabinets lining the upper walls. On the other side of the stove, leaning against the adjoiningzcounter, Barnes seemed unsure of how he felt about the concoction Tony had handed off to him.
“This isn’t a matter of efficiency,” Tony argued with a whine. “Efficiency is… so impersonal. No, no! This is an art. Because if I’m gonna go out of my way to murder you, there will be drama. And cinematic potential,” Tony insisted. “Like… maybe I’d lower a string down from a vent and drip poison into your mouth. If the coroner determines your cause of death, they wouldn’t have any idea as to the means of delivery. Kill you in your sleep, no fuss, no muss, and mysterious as fuck. You can’t do that with a gun, Frosty.”
Barnes leveled him with an unimpressed stare, “That wouldn’t even—”
“You want to do what?” another voice frantically asked.
When Tony turned, he saw Steve standing in the doorway, eyes wide and filled with horror. He looked about ready to drop the scarlet red mug he held in hand, and his sleep rumpled hair further exaggerated his startled appearance.
“Oh hey, Steve,” Tony said, forcibly keeping his voice calm and the grip on his mug steady. Trying his very hardest not to show ‘I’m fighting back a panic attack with a stick right now’ on his face.
“What did you—”
“Steve,” Barnes said, his tone sharp.
“You can’t threaten a fellow Avenger,” Steve insistently declared, his eyes wide and hurt despite Barnes’ implied warning.
Tony’s eyes flickered over to Barnes, who didn’t look like he was being threatened. He was now looking at Steve with the same unimpressed stare he’d leveled at Tony only a moment before, except that his blue eyes were growing dark, as if the man were passing into the shadow of an approaching storm.
“And I won’t let you talk like that to Bucky, regardless of—”
“Steve,” Barnes said again. Only now, a hint of steel accompanied the sharp reprimand, and the danger implied was enough to bring Steve up short.
When Steve’s gaze had turned away from Tony, the man stood and blinked dumbly at his friend for a moment as Barnes stated, “We’re fine here. Go back to bed.”
Steve hesitated, but his tired, sleep-addled brain finally seemed to register Barnes where he was casually leaning against the counter, unconcerned with any threats Tony had just made in regards to killing him in his sleep. At the look on Barnes’ face, Steve’s shoulders returned to their sleepy slouch as he decided his friend wasn’t in danger of immediate attack.
When Steve’s posture relaxed, Barnes asked, “Did you need something, Captain?”
“Didn’t want my dirty mug collectin’ ants,” Steve muttered as he waved his outrageously red mug and stepped into the kitchen.
“Put it in the sink,” Barnes demanded. “I’ll wash it along with mine when I’m finished with this. Go back to sleep.”
When Steve left, Tony turned to Barnes with furrowed eyebrows, “Are you and Steve fighti—”
Barnes cleared his throat and interrupted Tony, “Poisons have a low success rate. Too many variables. Antidotes can be administered. If the poison isn’t mixed correctly, it might not be potent enough to kill the intended victim—”
“Oh, like Rasputin and the rose cakes.”
“—When poisoning a super-soldier, you’re more likely to give them a stomach ache than kill them. And while administering poison by letting it drip down some string does sound suitably dramatic, the slightest breeze might disturb the string. I’d wake up when droplets started falling on my face, and you aren’t agile enough to escape the vents in a timely manner.” Conclusively, Barnes rolled his eyes and commanded, “Just use a knife.”
“Good point. Maybe if Rasputin’s rose cakes had been filled with knives instead of poison, the first attempt to kill him would have been successful.”
Barnes inhaled sharply, “Fuck Rasputin.”
“No, do not fuck Rasputin!” Tony indignantly replied. “The syphilis rumors may not have been true, but people were so quick to believe them because the guy was just… so gross.”
Rolling his eyes, Barnes muttered into his glass with disdain, “Sex-crazed bastard.”
He was an idiot for thinking that would be the end of it.
The next morning, Tony was subjected to a Team Meeting. The horror. No matter how he tried to wriggle out of it, Steve refused to budge—since, when it came to Barnes, it had to be dealt with right then and there, or there would be war. (Literally.)
Tony’s gotta give credit where credit is due, Steve didn’t come outright, guns blazing, and start accusing Tony of murder. No, apparently the star-spangled douchebag had actually learned something in Wakanda: subtlety. And, apparently, new torture methods.
Paper-work.
“Is this a cease and desist?” Tony asked, equal parts incredulous and amused. It was more of a wannabe cease and desist, fashioned as a letter of request, but impressive nonetheless. Between this and that letter given with that damn flip phone, Rogers could make for a pretty decent lawyer, given how good he is at pissing Tony off. “Can you even—This grossly violates freedom of speech, Cap, you do know that, right? I feel like you should know that given you’re Mr. Paragon of American Values and what-not.”
“Long nickname,” Rhodey commented, coming over and peering at the paper from over Tony’s shoulder as he rambled. They were supposed to be in the Lab trying out Tony’s latest and greatest prosthetics for his honey-bear, but someone decided it was dire to get nutrients other than coffee in Tony’s system, and they’d found Steve lying in wait there.
What Tony was saying was that this was all Rhodey’s fault for even making them come up here.
Rhodey snatched the page out of as his eyebrows flew up to his buzzcut the more he read, “What the hell is this?”
“Good question,” came a drawl from behind them, and Tony jumped a damn near foot in the air.
“Godamnit, Barnes, you nearly gave me a heart attack. I have a condition, you know.”
“I know,” came the prompt response, “That was my intention.”
“I outta lace your food with arsenic, Elsa.”
“How many times do I say,” Barnes looked disappointed, “No poison, котенок.”
“See this.” Rogers finally barked, gesturing pointedly towards the two of them. He failed to notice how both Tony and Barnes held still at his movements, eyes trained on his arm, poised for a threat. “Is what I’m talking about.”
“Not to agree with Steve’s methods here,” Sam pipped up from the island, “But yeah the explicit threats are a bit much. And we lived with in close quarters with Natasha and Clint.”
“And who’s fault was that,” Tony muttered under his breath, making the two James’ snort.
“It’s not conducive to a team environment,” Steve began, gearing up for what Tony knew from experience to be an Olympic-level rant, which would quickly devolve into an argument. And Tony wanted no part in it.
“Steven,” Barnes said sharply, warningly, “Drop it.”
And surprisingly, Steve’s mouth clacked shut.
“Tony doesn’t mind,” Barnes looked at him, that piercing blue stare, “Do you?”
“It’s how we show affection, don’t you know?” Tony sniffed.
“So it’s like their love language?” Sam asked.
“Love Language: Death Threats,” Rhodey snorted.
“Ok, so no poison.”
“No poison,” Barnes confirmed.
“Well…” Tony drew out the word, “What about bombs?”
Barnes put down his mug, intrigued.
“Man, y’all are so weird,” Sam said, staring at them from the entrance to the kitchen.
Well, it turned out Tony wasn’t talking to Barnes. He wasn’t talking to Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. He wasn’t talking to Steve Rogers’ best friend from the 40s. Tony was talking to the Winter Soldier.
This slight misunderstanding resulted in Tony voicing a death threat to Bucky.
“I could replace your toenails with your teeth,” Tony said, pouring the coffee he made into his mug.
He had frowned when there was no fresh coffee made since normally Barnes had a pot ready for their nightly encounters, but he had just shrugged and put on a new pot. Maybe Barnes had an exceptionally bad night, Tony would just have to make up for that with something creative. Toenails were creative!
He hummed, “Or is teeth in your toenails grosser? More gross? I like grosser better. Maybe we could do a switch-a-roo? Teeth where your toenails are and toenails where your teeth are supposed to be. Because like what am I gonna do with a bunch of teeth? I’m a billionaire, not a tooth fairy,” He rolled his eyes at the mental image, “But whatever, you’d be dead by the time I replaced them, so maybe that’s a lost cause.”
There was a crash behind him, and when Tony turned he was greeted by the sight of the island stool on the ground, and Barnes’ behind rushing out of the kitchen.
“Uhhh…” Tony blinked, “Was that too far?”
How was he supposed to know that toenails were where Barnes drew the line?
“Steve, Stark just threatened to kill me,” Bucky exclaimed, bursting into their suite with all the grace of a spooked elephant.
Steve blinked, and tilted his head, confused.
“…Ok?” Wilson yawned next to him, “What else is new?”
“What the—” Bucky blinked, “I have never talked to this man except for Sib—”
“Don’t invoke that place’s name,” Steve cautioned, “Bucky what is going on, last time I tried to bring it up you shut me down!”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Bucky looked confused, and more than a little scared.
“Barnes, man, we had that extremely ill-planned confrontation—”
“Team meeting!” Steve corrected, looking liked a kicked puppy.
“Confrontation,” Sam continued with a roll of his eyes, “In the kitchen a couple of weeks ago? The one where Rhodes looked like he was about to take Steve’s head off? The one where you nearly gave Stark a heart attack?” And Bucky’s extremely worried look, Sam raised his hands in surrender and reassurance, “Hey, his words not mine.”
“I don’t—” Bucky looked lost, and it pulled on Steve’s heartstrings. Vindication rose in Steve, his discomfort wasn’t unfounded. Bucky wasn’t ok with Stark’s words, Steve was right in being worried!
But then… why now? Why not during the meeting, or much much earlier?
Something wasn’t right.
“I think,” Steve looked to Sam, eyebrows furrowed, “We need to talk to Tony.”
“Oh boy,” Sam looked pained.