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Chapter 1: A Thousand Times Over

The smell in the market was oppressive. Someone needed to do some basic maintenance on the air filtration system if they weren't going to bother upgrading to something from this century. It was times like this when Tony thought it would be much nicer to just stay on the Stark 1 indefinitely, maybe with a few short stopovers at Avenger Tower. But sadly while he had managed energy self-sufficiency—because he was brilliant and awesome, thank you very much—he wasn't quite there yet with, well, anything else. They still needed food, for one. And raw materials, though these grubby little ports on these grubby little planets never seemed to want to sell them raw.

Still, sometimes it was easier to re-work existing parts than to fashion what he needed from freshly-mined ore. Sometimes. And Pepper kept telling him it was better for...something. Less wasteful, maybe? Using metal that had already been extracted and processed. Though how planets and asteroids could mind being drilled for their shiny little centres, Tony never understood. But still, if nothing else, it was easier to go shopping from time to time at these glorified junkyards than listen to yet another of Pepper's reservedly irritated, painstakingly researched, wholly grammatically correct speeches.

Also, these markets usually sold alcohol. So that was a plus.

Unfortunately, this one also sold slaves. Not exactly surprising this far out, and with the current utter collapse of anything that had resembled order in the wake of the Second SHIELD-HYDRA War, it was inevitable that slavery would spread across the entire galaxy—unless some other ostensibly moral government stepped in to fill that power vacuum, and right now there didn't seem to be a long line of hopefuls. Most people with the means to seize such an opportunity were probably far too wisely wary of the scattered fragments of both HYDRA and SHIELD to poke around in the remnants of their territory for the time being. And it really had been 'their territory,' considering the way HYDRA had infiltrated SHIELD to its highest possible levels. Not for the first time since that war had exploded across the greater part of the galaxy, Tony was infinitely grateful for his own deep-seated trust issues and the long list of reasons SHIELD hadn't wanted him anyway. No, it was much, much better to be free and unattached when huge military governments started devouring each other from the inside out.

Gods—or just the one God in this case, he supposed—but speaking of wars, there was his own personal pet fossil: the walking, talking, living, breathing legend from the First SHIELD-HYDRA War, the man out of time, Captain Steve Rogers. Woken from his decades-long cryo like Sleeping Beauty minus the kiss or the prince, but just as much a figure from a bedtime story, or at least the stories Tony's father had bothered to tell, whatever time of day it might actually have been—Tony had of course always assumed his father was at the very least exaggerating when he said he'd known Captain Rogers. Had Howard still been alive, perhaps Tony would have owed the man a bit of an apology, because Rogers corroborated every damn one of those stories.

And if the general atmosphere of Port Whatever-the-hell was bothering Tony, someone who had more than thirty years experience with places just as bad and many worse, it was making his companion downright mopey. Tony's first thought would be to have a few drinks with the man to help him relax, but the stuff that made sickly boys into supersoldiers seventy years ago apparently also left them entirely impervious to even the best effects of alcohol. Which was inconvenient, because seeing Captain Rogers mopey was just downright disconcerting.

Maybe part of it was that he missed his shield, but flashing that thing around in the current political climate was akin to painting a target on one's back. In fact, that was very nearly literally the exact same thing. And as much as Steve would have been willing to just hole himself up in his cabin aboard the Stark 1 for the rest of, well, eternity, Tony was sure that wasn't good for him. Pretty sure. He really should ask Bruce. Or ask Bruce to talk to Steve. Bugger that whole 'I'm not that kind of doctor' bit. He was the only doctor they had right now, so he'd have to do. It wouldn't hurt for the man to show a bit more gratitude for the free room and board Tony allowed him. And the paycheck.

Of course it didn't help that slavery symbolized everything Steve had ever fought against.

And that obnoxious merchant was shouting out prices and vaguely-worded qualifications—"Healthy! Strong! Well-trained! Ideal!"—while gesturing grandly towards the people in the cages.

But—what the hell?—were Tony's eyes playing tricks, or did that one slave really have a mechanical arm?

o0o

The slave known as Winter leaned back against the bars of his cage, legs stretched out across the scuffed metal floor and arms folded across his broad, bare chest, watching the dull mill of the market with half-closed eyes. He was supposed to be standing, flexing, showing off his attributes for potentially interested buyers, but he couldn't make himself care. This merchant wasn't his Master. His Master would never have sold him. His Master was dead. Winter had little reason to obey anyone, since the merchant would have to feed him anyway if he wanted his merchandise to keep its value, if he ever hoped to find someone willing to buy an assassin slave. The food was basically crap of course, nowhere near enough protein to keep up an impressive-looking physique, but it was still food—it filled the emptiness in his belly, and that was enough.

Winter was a little too specialized for this market, which is why the other slaves—the untrained children, the labourers, the cooks, the cleaners, the mechanics, the pleasure slaves, even that one wet-nurse—all sold while he languished here day after day. If the merchant was smart, he would take Winter to a larger market at a more important port; there were still some among the galaxy's rich and powerful who could see the value in a highly-trained assassin, surely. But the merchant wasn't smart.

And he hadn't exactly asked Winter's advice. Likely wasn't the sort to ask a slave's advice about anything.

Slaves came and went, customers came and went, but nothing ever happened that was worth Winter's attention. Most of the customers ignored the slave section of the market entirely, either because they could never afford the price of another sentient life, or because of some distaste for the institution of slavery—the 'ignore it and maybe it'll go away' approach seemed to be working remarkably well for that second set, because if SHIELD was as dead and gone as the constant buzz of gossip insisted, it seemed slavery in this galaxy wouldn't be going anywhere for a very long time.

Rolling his shoulders, Winter shoved his flesh hand through his hair to push it out of his face.

"Bucky?" The voice stood out somehow over the general din of the market, cutting through the haze like a momentary flash from a beacon, from one of those lighthouses they'd used back when humanity sailed upon the seas rather than the stars.

Winter's eyes flicked up, focusing instantly and involuntarily on the speaker. He was tall, muscularly—dangerously—built with short blond hair, and he was grabbing the bars of the cage, peering intently at Winter with a mix of confusion, hope, and horror on his cleanly-shaved face.

"Bucky!" The man said it like a name, but who the hell was 'Bucky'? And perhaps more importantly, who the hell was this man saying it? He seemed...familiar, somehow. But Winter couldn't...couldn't remember why.

It really took the merchant far too long to notice a potential customer taking an interest in his merchandise, but that wasn't exactly surprising. Still, he finally did approach Winter's cage with an obsequious smile for the blond man. "Ah yes, sir, you have a good eye for quality." The merchant's voice was old oil slicked across the surface of water so dirty it toyed with being mud. "Such a fine and, yes, rare specimen. Surely worth the price, yes?"

"What?" The look on the blond man's face as he tore his eyes away from Winter momentarily was far too confused, far too helpless. Inept as the merchant might be, he could easily best this customer if he was going to start the negotiations like that. Though...he really didn't seem the type to want an assassin slave—maybe he'd misread the sign...or not read it at all. He didn't seem quite 'all there,' and Winter wondered briefly who had let him wander around unattended in public.

Only wondered briefly, because another man, this one with dark hair and an air of self-assured confidence, appeared at the blond man's side and smoothly took over talking to the merchant. So Captain Strangely-Familiar turned his entire attention back to Winter. "It's me, Steve, remember?"

Well, Winter did remember...something. He just wished he could figure out what. But this crazy guy—Steve—and his companion looked like they just might be wealthy enough—and kind enough, if he was good, if he could remember to be good—to feed him well. To give him a better place to sleep than the cold metal floor of this cage. It was a gamble, but it seemed likely it was in Winter's best interests to be bought today. And it had been a long time since Winter had truly wanted anything, but he wanted to know who this 'Steve' was and why he seemed so familiar. He nodded his head once. "Yeah, Steve." He swallowed against the sudden shakiness in his chest. "I think I do."

o0o

Steve felt tears in his eyes, but he didn't care, couldn't make himself care enough to try to brush them away or try to hide them. Bucky was alive! He was in a cage and he had a metal arm and his hair was too damn long, but he was alive. And he only said he thought he remembered Steve, so maybe there was something off there, but...it was going to be okay now.

It was all going to be okay, because Tony was...Tony was going to get Bucky out of the cage, and they'd all go back to the ship together.

Steve couldn't condone the exchange of money for a person, but when that person was Bucky, he couldn't condemn it either. He'd do anything in his power to help Bucky, and right then he was gladder than he ever had been that Tony was insanely wealthy and willing to use his wealth to give his friends anything money could buy. Even if that was a human being.

Tony didn't have any slaves, of course, disagreed with the institution on principle much like his father had. And yet he was buying Bucky. Steve would have to find some way to thank him later.

Steve really didn't want to hear Tony bickering over the price, but he tried to make himself listen to the parts of the conversation about Bucky's health.

"Oh yes, sir," the merchant said, wringing his hands in front of his chest and grinning. "He's very healthy, well-fed too. No recent illnesses—fully checked out by a qualified medical professional—all his immunizations current and on record."

If the man started talking about Bucky's teeth, Steve might just have to punch him.

"Oh, I'm sure." Tony sounded bored as he poked distractedly at his Stark Phone. "What have you been feeding him anyway?" He looked up, eyes running over Bucky's exposed chest, assessing. "Some sort of grain-based carbohydrate mush with a few vitamin supplements mixed in? We'll need at least a week if not a month or more of feeding him decent food before he's fit for anything worthwhile. And I will, of course, have my own physician take a look at him." He gave the merchant a smile so sharp it reminded Steve of a bayonet. "Just in case yours happened to miss anything."

"Oh, of course, of course, sir!" The merchant waved his hands before him in the air. "But I assure you..."

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch." Tony tapped the edge of his phone against his lips. "I'm going to buy him." He gestured towards Bucky with his phone while raising one eyebrow at the merchant. "Because my good friend has his heart set on him, as you have no doubt noticed. And I'll even pay a bit more than I know he's worth because I myself like that metal arm he's got."

Bucky flexed the metal arm at that, apparently pleased with Tony's interest. A crooked smile twisted his features into something disconcertingly similar to his old, familiar cockiness. Steve tried very hard not to think about how Bucky might have lost his real arm, how it must have hurt, how an injury like that could have been fatal, how the prosthetic itself might still be painful.

"He got any trackers anywhere?" Tony asked. "HYDRA or SHIELD or...anything?"

The merchant shook his head quickly. "No, nothing like that at all. Very safe, this one. Belonged to a private citizen with no ties to either side of the war."

Bucky snorted a laugh, and everyone turned to look at him, but he just waved them off with his metal hand, please do go on. It was a familiar gesture, one Steve had seen Bucky make many times before, but never with a metal hand.

"Uh-huh." Tony didn't seem convinced. "I'm sure an honest merchant like yourself would be extra careful to make sure of such things. In the interest of your customer's safety." Yeah, definitely not convinced. Steve had known Tony long enough now to appreciate how Tony could say one thing and mean the exact opposite.

There were more details about the legal ownership of a person that Steve couldn't help letting slide past him like tall grass in a field. He just needed Bucky out of that cage. He swallowed down his disgust when he was handed a tablet to scan his fingerprint, declaring to whatever passed for law and government in this sector that he was now the legal owner of the trained assassin slave; designation: 'Winter.'

The merchant held out some garishly coloured pamphlets, babbling something about, "retraining protocols" and "binding his loyalty," but Steve just stared blankly at them until Tony took the leaflets and tucked them into his breast pocket.

Placing a comforting hand on Steve's shoulder, Tony leaned in and said, his voice low, "Let's get both of you the hell out of here."

o0o

So it seemed Steve was Winter's new owner. All official, documented, recorded, and now the merchant was unlocking the cage with shaking hands. Winter pulled himself up slowly to his feet.

"You have made me some money today, Winter." The merchant grinned, showing off brown and yellow teeth. "But I'd rather not see you again, so try to make this new owner happy, yes?" The merchant was blocking the door to the cage, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to the other, leering at him. "I suppose it's not your speciality, but..." He licked his lips, eyes raking over Winter.

No, making people happy had never been Winter's specialty. But maybe if he decided he liked Steve, he'd try to keep him alive. Maybe he could do a better job with that than he had with his old Master. He should try to keep Steve alive long enough to solve the puzzle, anyway. And Steve did seem like the sort who would likely have someone somewhere trying to kill him. Security might not be the reason he wanted Winter, but it was something Winter actually knew how to do.

It wasn't that he didn't know how to do sex—because that's what the merchant was implying, that Steve wanted him for sex. He understood the basics, anyway. And Steve was by no means an unattractive man, so there was that. But his skills were just far greater in other areas.

When the merchant finally moved out of the way, Winter stepped down from the cage onto the dirty market floor and into Steve's waiting arms. That wasn't exactly a surprise, so Winter tried not to flinch or otherwise react negatively. Instead, he carefully raised his own arms to return the embrace as Steve murmured softly near his ear, his voice choked with emotion, "It's so good to see you again, Buck."

He was probably supposed to say something back. Something like, 'It's good to see you, too, Steve.' But all he could think of was the warm scent of Steve as it filled his nostrils with shattered fragments of fragrant wheat fields and vibrant sunsets, distracted card games and easy laughter. He couldn't stop himself from jerking back then to stare into Steve's enigma of a face.

Before either had a chance to say anything else, the dark haired man cleared his throat quite deliberately. "This is all giving me cavities and diabetes and the whole bit, but do you think we could get back to the ship before...with the..." He made small figure eights in their direction with his phone.

"Yeah." Pulling back but keeping one hand on Winter's flesh arm, Steve gave it a gentle squeeze, nodding to his companion. "Let's go."

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Of course Bucky didn't actually have anything, no bag of personal belongs, just the black pants and buckled boots he was wearing—property couldn't own property, so even that likely belonged to the merchant, or had before Tony had purchased the clothing along with the slave wearing it. But they could fix that, easily enough. Steve wasn't about to actually treat his best friend like a slave. Like people usually treated slaves.

They were walking past some clothing stalls, and Steve paused, his hand still on Bucky's arm. "Wait," he said, and Tony stopped and turned to look at him. "We should—" Turning to Bucky, Steve asked, "Do you want to buy some clothes here? A shirt at least?"

Bucky gave him a blank look. Finally, he said, "If you want."

Well, yeah, Steve wanted. He didn't want his friend to be cold or uncomfortable or... "This is about what you want, Buck."

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All Winter wanted was to figure out what the deal with Steve was, but apparently he had to have opinions about other things now. Like what clothes he wore. But his pants and boots were both black, so... "A black one?"

Steve smiled and bought him a black shirt. It fit well enough—that was apparently very important to Steve. Though it would just be easier if Steve picked out the clothes he wanted his slave to wear—didn't he know how these things worked? No matter what kind of slave, it was always the Master who chose the clothes. That was one of the perks of owning another person.

"Yeah-haa, looking good," the dark-haired man said, glancing up from his phone, pointing at Winter and winking.

"Oh, gosh, sorry," Steve said suddenly, ducking his head. "Bucky, this is my friend Tony Stark." Keeping one hand on Winter's arm, he gestured between them. "I'm sorry I forgot to introduce you. Tony, this is Bucky Barnes. We grew up together on New Brooklyn."

"Yeah," Tony said, slipping his phone into his pocket. "I sorta gathered that. The, uh, the 'Bucky' part, anyway. And New Brooklyn? I did a report on that once when I was a kid—main exports include wheat and supersoldiers."

Winter didn't remember growing up anywhere, but clearly he was meant to be this 'Bucky,' so he just nodded once and hoped no one asked him about it. One possibility, of course, was that he just looked enough like Steve's childhood friend that he'd confused the poor guy. But since Steve did seem so strangely familiar, the other possibility was at least as likely: he actually was this 'Bucky'...or had been, anyway. He wondered idly if New Brooklyn ever exported assassin slaves.

At Tony's suggestion, they bought two more black shirts of slightly varying styles. Once that was done, Tony made them stop at a small booth to buy some roasted meat—which Tony called 'don't ask'—on skewers. Winter didn't ask, but it was the first meat he'd eaten in weeks so it tasted amazing. He would have readily eaten a second helping, but it was usually best for a slave not to appear greedy. Tony had said they planned to feed him well, and unless that had just been part of the haggling process there would be more food later, once they got to Tony's ship.

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As they walked the rest of the way to the airlock where Stark 1 was docked—and gods if he wasn't going to be relieved to go back to breathing air that didn't smell like a cross between a pile of dead dogs in the sun and an intentionally foul mixture of stale fossils fuels—Tony allowed himself to marvel at the sheer wonder that he now had not just one but two living, breathing relics of the First SHIELD-HYDRA War tagging in his wake. Assuming the metal-armed assassin was truly Bucky, Captain Rogers' closest and oldest friend—and wouldn't that mess with the history everyone thought they knew once word got out? Bucky Barnes would no longer be the only Howler to give his life in the service, just the only one to give an arm. Though, they'd had to re-write the files once already right before the Chitauri War when Rogers himself was discovered to be alive. Which had been convenient for everyone who wasn't Chitauri as his tactical genius led SHIELD troops to a swift and decisive victory.

But what if Winter turned out to be a clone, a relative, or someone who had been surgically altered to look like Barnes? Banner could no doubt rule those last two out with a simple DNA test, but a clone would be, well, rather harder to disprove. Not that it would matter to Rogers...

Tony glanced over his shoulder at how Steve was still holding his new slave's arm as if afraid he'd dissolve into a holoprojection if he stopped touching him for a moment, all the while radiating a downright angelic halo of hope and happiness. It made Tony's teeth hurt. It was kind of adorable. It was just a little disturbing.

But no, Steve was absolutely sure this was Bucky. There would be no convincing him otherwise. None whatsoever.

And it would break his heart a thousand times over to try. Tony couldn't think of a reason it might be worth it, and he found himself desperately hoping the first slave he'd ever bought was in fact Bucky Barnes. Or at the very least was someone who wouldn't mind pretending to be for the rest of Steve's very long life.

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So here's my much-anticipated massive Marvel "In Space!" AU. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it! :D

In case you were wondering, the slave merchant is an OC.

Notes on parings: This is, primarily, a Bucky/Steve fic; the paring is the primary focus, even before things like "plot." Happy/Pepper is a background paring, but it's there, so you've been warned or whatever. There is also some one-sided Tony/Steve (and Tony/everyone really), but the Tony/Steve thing doesn't show up until Chapter 4/5, and like I said it's entirely one-sided, but there's your fair warning on that. There will also be some minor Charles/Erik in (much) later chapters.

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