@dracusfyre sent this prompt on my other blog, and I thought I’ll post it here since it’s mild and came out fairly nice!
I’m so excited you are taking prompts! I have a scene in a story I’m writing where Bucky rushes to rescue Tony wearing only his boxers, so I would love to see a picture of Tony in his suit admiring Bucky in his underwear 🙂
In 2017 the Earth is about to end. In 1987 Howard Stark might have the answer. The solution seems simple, except Tony has the worst of luck, and he might just be stuck.
In which Tony hates magic, time travel, babysitting amnesiac assassins and being seventeen.
Tony was pretty sure that the small human left on his doorstep was just a (really fucking frightening) attempt at extortion, and mostly just wanted child protective services to show up yesterday. Then an extended trip to Afghanistan puts life, the universe and everything into perspective, and somehow, miraculously, Tony might be closer to happy than he’s been in his life. He’s even willing to accept the enormous pieces of the puzzle he’s obviously missing. He should’ve learnt long ago that what you don’t know will always come back to bite you in the ass.
When the Winter Soldier fails to kill Howard and Maria Stark and is taken prisoner in the summer of 1967, his salvation comes in the unlikely form of a Russian-speaking, father-disobeying, endlessly-tinkering seventeen-year-old: Tony Stark.
Pairing: Gen (pre James “Bucky” Barnes/Tony Stark)
Completed: Yes
Tony’s practically become an old hat at being taken hostage, but something’s fishier than usual this time around: his captor looks twenty-eight but claims to know Howard Stark, the NYPD negotiator is a SHIELD plant, and what’s this about a fleet of helicarriers set to launch?
“March 27th, 1971,” comes from the video. There’s a baby gurgling, pudgy hands swiping for a bottle. “Subject has been given two doses of the serum over the course of six months, but shows no outward signs of change or internal. This is test three.”
Howard insists on a Thanksgiving dinner. He serves Tony his own plate, cranberry sauce on turkey and mashed potatoes. A roll with butter on the side.
“Thanks?” Tony questions, raising an eyebrow. “You’re being weird.”
“Just eat your food,” Howard says. “It’s Thanksgiving, Anthony.” He shrugs. Puts the mashed potatoes into his mouth.
Finishes everything on the plate. Howard waits until the last possible moment to go to his board meeting. There’s no change with Tony.
They drink to celebrate early admittance into MIT. Howard pours the drinks. Tony wrinkles his nose as the taste hits the back of his throat.
“God, this wasn’t aged correctly.”
Howard is in his lab, recorder on. “It seems that the subject has had no effect with the serum. He is still…himself.” Not strong. Not America’s next hero. Just…just another Stark, and not even Howard at that. “Will resolve to end the testing.”
Tony doesn’t notice it until he hits around twenty-nine. Usually, something changes in the diet, in the intake of food. He should be slowing down, just a little bit. But he isn’t. He’s not even aging. He still looks like he’s twenty-two and straight out of Monaco from a vacation.
He wants to know why.
Finds out his genetic sequence is really fucked up.
And then he accesses Howard’s archives, something Tony swore he’d never touch for the longevity of his life.
His own father hadn’t even called him his own fucking name. It was subject. He had been experimenting on Tony for years, fucking decades. And all to see if Tony could finally measure up to perfectly little Captain America, paragon of virtue and manliness. Not a son who was “off,” not a son who was too sarcastic and too much of a freak.
He decides he needs to learn how to do make-up, special effects.
Makes a new technology that he sells to SHIELD as disguise-wear, and they don’t even think that he’s using it on himself.
At least he looks his age now. Drinks to that.
He can barely get drunk. He used to just think he had the tolerance of a damned giant. Now he knows that he was forced to be that way, and he didn’t even know.
Howard had a lot of “special occasion” bottles of choice.
He drank them all on an uneventful Wednesday, and only woke up with a slight hangover that was gone by eleven. He felt a little bit vicious, a little bit prideful.
Tony Stark is not Howard Stark’s Son anymore. He’s Tony Stark, inventor of the brand new, revolutionary phone, the weapons that make terrorists shake in fear, and Tony Stark, the Best One.
(Turns out he’s still as shitty as he always thought he was, he makes weapons that others sell because they can, and he really should’ve known about it, but stupid fucking Obie–)
He survives Afghanistan because of the serum. He knows it. He can feel his chest slowly on the mend, but it won’t be enough.
He becomes Tony Stark, pioneer for renewable energy and Iron Man. God, he loves Iron Man. He’s his own hero, and he cries when he sees a little girl in her red-and-gold tutu, grinning up at him through face paint.
“Hi Mr. Iron Man!”
He grins at her, signing a postcard. “Keep doing your thing, kiddo.”
They find him. He can’t even believe it. He drops the scotch, drops the ball. Shows more emotion than he should. Coulson probably realizes it.
Steve Rogers, of course, hates him. Because why not? Everyone else should, and it’s a damned miracle that Rhodey, Pep, and Happy don’t. Or maybe they do, and they like their perks and paychecks too much to say anything.
But…
Over the course of a couple months, things start to get better. Steve kind of thinks that Tony isn’t as bad as before? Natasha is nicer now, and they have drinking nights when everything is too much.
“I’m surprised at your tolerance,” she says one day. “You drink like I do.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had more years of experience.”
“Have you?” she teases. “I’m Russian.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he replies in her native tongue, sipping on wine more expensive than anything she’s ever seen. He’s like that. So casual with all the dripping decadence surrounding him.
They find Sergeant Barnes. Tony asks Steve how many Commandos he’s actually planning on having back, because he had met Dernier, and not all of them had to come back. (Uncle Jacques had been an asshole, but a funny one who could teach how to flirt in French.)
Steve just smiles sadly.
He needs a new arm, but no one knows how to give him an arm. The traditional cocktail of drugs won’t work, and Steve has a higher concentration of the serum.
Bucky and Tony are almost an exact match. Not that Bucky knows that, but then again, he probably also couldn’t tell the average Joe how to work an oven. The expression in his eyes is heartbreaking, devastating to see. He has lived too much of this life, but he does not remember it. (It would be such a Mood if it wasn’t so damn depressing.)
After Tony sees Bucky whimpering in pain over the arm when he thinks no one can see him, that settles it.
Tony drags out the tapes. Ignores how fast his heart beats, ignores how Friday asks him if he would like some chamomile tea because “your heart is at an alarming, rate, Sir.”
“I’m used to it, honey pie. Come on, let’s see those tapes.”
He studies them. Drinks a shit ton. He thinks it’s three bottles? It’s high alcohol-proof, so he can actually feel a little bit more buzzed than usual after three. God, isn’t it sad that this is his life? Putting on make-up to advance his actual face, dying his hair to go gray. (It’s fashionable, no?)
He grimly takes another sip of scotch and writes down that if they up the levels of morphine, it might work. Like, a ninety-two percent success. Which is pretty good.
Tony Stark gets to the last tape.
“I am delivering more serum to the facility, and the house. I am thinking that the subject might react more positively with more serum, perhaps I should do this in a hospital scene–”
He breaks down. Of course he does, twenty years too damn late. He can’t stop crying, ugly tears burning hot tears. Make-up streaks. He’s breaking at an alarming rate.
Friday alerts Rhodey, which alerts the rest of the team.
Tony is tired, and sad. They see more of his life.
“Tony…” Rhodey says, eyes wide. “Tony, what the hell did that monster do to you?”
Tony looks up, alarmed. “What the hell are you guys doing here without access?”
“Friday was concerned,” Rhodey answers. “As she should be, considering you never told me or anyone else that Howard injected you with serum and you were…”
There are bottles lying on the floor. Tony is drunk.
Bucky stares at him.
“You’re like me.”
“Had a little bit more time to be a fuck-up,” Tony says. “And that was by my choice.”
Bucky makes the first show of contact since his return two months earlier. It’s large.
40. “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”
The Asset grunted as he hiked Stark higher on his back. He did not grumble, but he did silently fume about having to bring Stark with him. He would have just left the man at the burning Hydra base, but Stark was friends with Captain America, and the Asset was hard-pressed to upset Captain America when he might need to use him for help.
It didn’t help that Stark did not have the Asset’s stamina, and had dropped to his knees after only eight miles of hiking. He’d begged the Asset to leave him, and the Asset had seriously considered it, but they were still miles from civilization, and if Stark died from the elements, the Captain would probably be pissed about that too. So he’d had to scoop Stark up and carry him. At least this way, if they were attacked, he could just drop Stark and stand over him to defend him.
Stark had been blessedly silent for the first couple of hours. The Asset assumed it was because of the exhaustion; Stark had been escaping Hydra when the Asset had showed up, so who knew how long he’d been going by that time. (The Asset had been disappointed that he hadn’t been able to blow up the base himself, but had been pleased with Stark’s thoroughness.) The Asset knew it was only a matter of time, though–Stark could use talking as a weapon, so once he was able to, he would probably start chattering at him.
The sun went down, and the Asset considered whether or not to rest. If he kept moving, he could get rid of Stark sooner, but if he wanted to be in top condition, he would need to take a breather, especially if he was going to continue carrying him. Stark made a soft noise that sounded like a whimper, and the Asset felt the soft part of his psyche push. Rest, it said. The Asset couldn’t find a good argument, so he set Stark down on a log and set about making a fire. Then, once the fire was going, he picked Stark up, log and all, and moved him closer.
“Wha-! Holy shit,” Stark wheezed, clinging to the log. “Okay, Muscles, no need to show off. I was suitably impressed when you carried me for several hours.”
The Asset rolled his eyes and sat down next to him, wrapping an arm around him to draw him closer. No point in letting Stark get pneumonia or something after carrying him so long. (He thought, perhaps, that he remembered a smaller chest wheezing for air. He chased the memory, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
“You know, I used to do this as a kid,” Stark said after a moment.
The Asset glanced at him, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“Sit in front of the fire with my Bucky Bear, I mean,” Stark said, smirking.
The Asset stared at him, then rolled his eyes with a reluctant snort.
Stark stared at him, looking cautiously happy. “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”
The Asset tilted his head. “It’s not impossible that you’ve entered an alternate universe.”
“How dare you say such a thing to my face,” Stark said. “Also give me your shirt.”
“What,” the Asset said, and had to force himself not to smack Stark’s hands away when he reached out to try and take his shirt by force. He grabbed Stark’s hands and shoved them away. “What?”
“My blisters have blisters,” Stark complained. “Loafers weren’t meant for long hikes. You run hot, so you won’t miss your shirt if I rip it up for bandages.”
“Give me your feet,” the Asset said immediately. Stark stared at him, looking horrified, and then tried to squirm away. The Asset dragged him back. “What the hell are you–”
“Are you gonna cut off my feet?!” Stark blurted out.
The Asset could count on one hand the times he had been bewildered. It was once. This was the one time. “Why would I cut off your feet.”
“You can’t just–tell me to give you my feet with a face like that!” Stark exclaimed defensively. “Like you want to cut them off!”
The Asset considered this. He let his lips stretch into what felt like a smile. “Give me your feet.”
“…This is somehow worse,” Stark said.
The Asset grabbed for Stark’s ankle, impatient, only to nearly take a screwdriver to the eye–the only reason he didn’t was because he jerked backward when Stark screamed in terror. “Where did you get a screwdriver?!”
“I always have a screwdriver,” Stark said.
The Asset stared. Was that an innuendo? Somehow it was more intimidating if it was. He sighed. “Just let me see your feet.”
“I would rather die after the smile you just gave me,” Stark informed him imperiously.
The Asset did not scowl. He wanted to though. “That can be arranged.” He did make a frustrated sound when Stark only tightened his grip on the screwdriver.
Well, he thought with an internal sigh. Clearly the danger was past. If Hydra was coming after them, they would have found them already–especially after the way Stark screamed.
“…Why did the Asset shove me to the fore and say ‘your problem now?’“ Bucky asked. He jerked backward when he saw Tony was threatening him with a screwdriver. “What the hell?!”
“Bucky?” Tony asked, and relaxed minutely. “You don’t wanna cut off my feet, right?”
“What the fuck,” Bucky asked, and felt the tiniest bit of amusement from the Asset in the back of his mind.
But Tony threw his arms around his neck to kiss him in relief, so. He supposed he didn’t really need to understand.
-sometimes when they’re asleep tony stays up and wonders why bucky keeps him around and only sleeps when he comes to the conclusion that tony is the only one in close proximity to him to fix the arm
-bucky will have a bad day and see tony’s eyes dim and as he’s hugging tony he wonders why he’s so fucking useless all the damn time
-sometimes they both cry together because why are we the ones who can’t function why can’t we be like the other people
-they bandage each other up and tony sees all the scars, bucky sees things he shouldn’t on tony’s back
-sometimes they bottle up emotions until they get behind closed doors and everything comes rushing out
-but they always come out of it with a smile and a promise:
Smile It Won't Suck Forever 