It seemed like Bucky was in for another sleepless night. He wasn't all that surprised, though it had actually been a couple of weeks since the insomnia had really kicked in.
When it hit 2 in the morning and he was still wide awake, Bucky clambered out of bed, pulled a shirt over his head and headed out into the hall.
When the sleepless nights came, it was always a toss-up as to what he would do until the morning. He had somehow taken up baking? Natasha had wanted to make traditional Russian cookies one day and Bucky had offered to help out. He'd found that it was actually calming. Measuring and stirring and tasting and cleaning up afterwards.
Natasha had only smiled at him, watching as he got stuck in, and the next day, the kitchen had been filled with any possible baking tool one could ever need. He'd gotten completely into it that morning and without realising a whole day had passed and there were shit tons of cookies, cupcakes and brownies on every possible surface.
They'd been eating those treats for a week straight. Not that anyone had had anything bad to say about it all. Clint had been very pleased.
But Bucky didn't feel like baking. In fact, the horrors behind his eyelids that forced his brain into overdrive, had left him feeling off kilter and vaguely nauseous.
The idea of cookies made that worse.
He could go swimming. It was always a shame that the massive pool on one of the lower levels rarely got used.
But that seemed like too much effort and he wasn't in the mood to go and get changed.
Already in sweatpants and a shirt, he decided the gym was a good idea as any.
He was nine times out of ten always alone when he went there so early. Sometimes Steve came with him, sometimes Natasha was already there. If anybody was there, he was expecting it to be the redhead, he was not expecting to see Tony going to town on a punching bag.
His form was off and his face was pinched with something Bucky couldn't determine, but he was definitely going for it with everything he had. It seemed like he was most certainly not in the mood for interaction so Bucky grabbed a towel and his water bottle from the shelf and headed over to one of the treadmills.
Tony didn't seem to even notice that Bucky was there, which was somewhat troubling but a lot of them got caught up in their heads. It was often harmless but Bucky decided to keep an eye on the other man just in case.
Using the hair tie from his wrist, he pulled his hair back from his face and secured it. Eyes on Tony, Bucky started out his pre-run routine.
The whole process took about ten minutes, because the last thing he needed was Natasha laughing at him if he pulled a muscle. Again.
During one of the last stretches, arms above his head, he noticed that Tony hadn't once stopped wailing on the bag. That in of itself was pretty impressive, because the bags they had were pretty damn heavy and Bucky had no idea how long Tony had been there doing the same thing.
The man seemed out of breath and a little flushed but he looked to be...okay, from what Bucky could distinguish.
Something in him murmured softly, not yet. If he went over too fast, Tony would reject both any help offered and reject the very thought that anything was wrong.
He knew that wild, half glazed look. The one that contained so many emotions that he could almost see the very essence of them flitting in the brown orbs.
Also, Bucky noticed, Tony hadn't even wrapped his hands up. He could see how red they were, could almost see what the result would be later; bruises, maybe cracks in the skin, blood.
But despite all that, Bucky had to move slowly. Tony was a wild animal contained in human skin and he was likely to bolt if tested too early.
So Bucky turned on the treadmill, settling on a very low setting before hopping on and starting to walk.
He kept his gaze on the numbers flashing across the screen, though he couldn't help but continue to flick his gaze up and look over at Tony.
That continued for another twenty minutes. He felt weird, like he was staring far too much, but Tony didn't even notice once. He was starting to think that maybe the situation would go better if Bucky went to get Bruce, or Nat, or someone the other man trusted a whole lot more.
But then there was a sharp shout and a string of curses from the other side of the room.
Bucky's head snapped up and he immediately stepped off the treadmill and onto the floor. Tony was still swearing, clutching one hand in the other, breathing hard.
Bucky took a couple of cautious steps towards him, "Tony?" He asked quietly.
Tony stiffened, frantic gaze pulling from his hands. For the first time that night, he finally noticed Bucky. "Fuck."
"No thanks, you've got Bruce for that." Bucky said, voice still pitched low. He gestured at Tony's hands. "Want me to take a look at that?"
For a moment Bucky thought he would agree, but then his gaze hardened and he turned back to the punching bag. This time the punches were sloppier, harder.
"Tony, come on man, you might've broken something just then." Bucky sighed, stepping to the other side of the punching bag when Tony ignored him.
If he wasn't ready to stop, the least he could do was hold the bag to try and minimise some of the damage.
His hands, metal included, tightened against the bag, holding it firmly in place as Tony continued.
The only noise for the next ten minutes or so were Tony's soft grunts and the sounds of his ragged breathing.
Bucky knew it was only a matter of time before the ticking time bomb exploded. He braced himself for it.
It didn't take as long as Bucky thought it would.
Instead of hitting the bag next time, he pushed it with all his weight, a frustrated half scream leaving his lips.
Bucky stumbled a step back, getting his footing back as Tony struck the bag again.
"Easy, Tone, hey-" Bucky moved towards him, a small shiver down his spine. He knew that. He knew exactly how Tony was feeling. Exactly.
He wracked his mind for memories, how Steve and Natasha had stopped these attacks before.
Tony was cruising to do a lot of damage to himself if Bucky didn't de-escalate it.
So despite all the warnings screaming in his head, Bucky reached for him.
His flesh hand touched Tony's shoulder and the man immediately turned those fists on Bucky.
Not wanting to hurt him, but knowing how unbelievably guilty Tony would feel if he really hurt Bucky, he captured the hand coming towards him as gently as he could.
Tony growled low in his throat, eyes flashing with something dangerous. Now his attention was focused on Bucky and the man knew that he wasn't seeing Bucky, he was seeing a target, seeing something to attack, to let his frustrations out on.
Bucky understood. He took a couple of hits, barely feeling them because they were so frantic.
"Tony, hey, I know you're not really seeing me right now and that's okay. You do what you need to do." Bucky breathed, taking a small step back as Tony advanced, more shoving him than actually hitting him.
"You're okay." Bucky said quietly, getting increasingly worried, not for himself, but for the frenzied gasps of air Tony was attempting to take. Also worried for the fact that Tony might turn those hands on himself and really hurt himself.
The man had almost backed Bucky up against the wall when Tony's fist slammed into the plaster beside his head. It happened once more before Bucky knew he had to stop it. He'd broken many of his own knuckles that way and Tony's hands were so important to him and his work.
Making a decision, Bucky remembered Steve's arms around him and he mimicked the memory. His metal arm wrapped around Tony's torso, secure but not tight enough to hurt, and he brought them both to the floor.
Tony struggled immediately and Bucky loosened his hold to determine whether Tony was struggling because he was scared and/or triggered or because he felt like he should struggle.
Bucky could easily tell it was the latter when Tony, after the grip had loosened, didn't make any move to get up or run.
Bucky tightened his hold, bringing Tony against his chest.
"You're okay. You're okay, try and take a deep breath for me." Bucky murmured, leaning his chin against Tony's hair.
Tony shuddered, a whimper building up in his throat. His gasps were frantic and ragged, one bleeding hand clutched to the place his reactor used to live.
Bucky spoke softly, half rocking them both. "Deep breaths, Tone. I know you can do it, nice and slow." The fingers of his metal hand rubbed up and down Tony's back.
"Just like that, again Tony, match me, okay? In...and out..." Bucky blew out his breath and started again, soothing and quiet and trying to get Tony to mimic it.
"There we go, okay. There we go." Bucky's legs braced Tony on either side, his flesh hand against his chest and the metal hand on his back.
"You're doing so good." The man murmured, unthinking about the actions he took with the hand that had haunted him. That hand had killed the parents of the man sitting nearly in his lap. But Tony wasn't recoiling from that hand, in fact he was leaning into the touch, needing the touch.
The first few months of living at the tower had been rough, understandably so.
Even though Bucky had not been himself, his hands had still taken the lives of Tony's parents. Bucky had apologised so many times, they'd spoken about it on numerous occasions. They were friends now. Something Bucky had never thought possible. And now, amazingly, they were at a stage in their relationship where Bucky could comfort the other man.
"What was it today, Tone?" Bucky asked quietly, chin still resting on Tony's head.
They all had their scars, they all had their triggers and bad days and a good handful of them had panic attacks and flashbacks and ptsd episodes. Sometimes Tony's were about his parents, something Bucky detested himself for, though Tony didn't blame him anymore. Some were about falling from the skies, dying in an alien atmosphere. Some were about the terrorists that almost killed him, that tortured him and gave him the shrapnel that had clawed towards his heart. Sometimes it was about Obadiah, plotting against him for so long, stealing the thing keeping him alive, nearly killing him.
Tony shuddered and closed his eyes, grinding the heels of his palms against them. He took a stuttering breath and carefully exhaled.
"Something new." He whispered, shaking his head. "It was...it was like the vision I saw when we fought Ultron. Everyone...Everyone dead but me. Because of me."
Bucky hummed, fingers still rubbing up and down Tony's back. "That sounds awful." He murmured, sighing softly. For a moment everything was quiet. "Who were you fighting over there, Tony?"
"Who am I always fighting, Buck? Myself."
"Oh, Tony." Bucky exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment, grip tightening. Yeah, he sure fucking understood that. "We're a proper bunch, huh?" He chuckled humourlessly.
Tony snorted softly, nodding. "Yeah, you could say that."
"Therapy's not going so well?" Bucky asked quietly.
"Oh it's definitely...going. I guess we'll see." The man shrugged, sighing tiredly, dragging his hands over his eyes. "How long was I here?"
"Before I came in? I have no idea. We could watch the cameras if you really want to know."
"Nah, I don't actually want to know. Jarvis?" He directed at the ceiling.
There was no answer and Tony cursed. "I guess I turned the system off before I came down. I better go re-boot that."
Bucky hummed, slowly shifting their positions. "I'll come with you. I'm sure Bruce'll be noticing you're gone soon."
Groaning, Tony tugged a hand through his still sweaty and touseled hair. "Poor guy." He murmured.
"Yeah, poor sap. Being saddled with such an amazing guy." Bucky rolled his eyes fondly and clambered to his feet. He offered his metal hand out and Tony took it without hesitating, using it to help him up to his feet.
"Get Bruce to wrap up your hands? And Heaven forbid you broke something, he'll put you on bed rest."
Tony nudged Bucky with his shoulder, "shut up, Barnes."
"Make me, Stark." Bucky grinned.
...
Bucky helped Tony turn the AI back on. Well, he bantered in the doorway and Tony worked.
When they'd done, he walked Tony back to his and Bruce's room. Tony headed inside with a promise he would talk out what had happened with his partner and that he would come to Bucky or one of the others if he needed someone else.
"Hey, Bucky." Tony paused outside the bedroom door, turning to look at him over his shoulder. "Thank you for tonight. And…I see the progress you make with that." He pointed at the metal hand resting at his side. "And in case you need to hear it again, because you're even more stubborn than Cap, you're forgiven."
They bid each other goodnight and Bucky walked to his and Steve's room, smile pulling at his lips.
He slid into bed, eyes burning with how tired he felt. Steve shifted a little and Bucky immediately slid his arms around the man, pulling him tight to his chest.
Steve hummed sleepily, placing his own hand atop Bucky's metal one, draped over his waist.
"I love you, Stevie." Bucky murmured against the shell of his ear, arms tightening in an attempt to get even closer to Steve.
Sighing softly against skin, Bucky closed his eyes. He didn't sleep much for the hours that followed, just enjoyed flexing the fingers of his metal hand, brushing it over Steve's hip and stomach and entwining their fingers, sometimes looking at it in the dim light from the window.
Natasha had forgiven him for their past but that felt different. They had both been controlled and brainwashed and it seemed like the horrors cancelled themselves out. But Tony. The only person he physically knew that he'd affected, the only person in his life that he'd caused so much pain to, had forgiven him, wasn't afraid of him or his hand.
Forgiveness.
Bucky curled his fingers around warm skin and closed his eyes, content.