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riotwritesthings · 3 months

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Unrequited Dreams

WinterIron, M, 3.5k - Soulmate AU, Angst, hopeful ending

I can finally share my piece from the Reforged WinterIron Zine! I'm so excited, I'd had the idea for this fic for years and it was delightful to finally bring it to life. And now I get to share!

Thank you to all the mods over at @reforgedzine for making this happen!

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The night before his thirteenth birthday Bucky is so excited he can barely fall asleep, because he’s going to have his first dream about his soulmate.

The anticipation has been building for weeks, for years; his family has taken to fondly rolling their eyes because Bucky can't talk about anything else. He can’t wait to find out something, anything about his soulmate, about how they'll meet for the first time. He can't wait to start trying to make sense of the hazy details the dream will leave him with.

In the morning, Bucky wakes up sobbing, because now he knows that his soulmate is gorgeous and graceful. That knowledge is crystal clear even if few other details are.

And now, Bucky knows that he's going to put a gun in his soulmate's face and pull the trigger.

Thirteen year old Tony wakes up feeling cold and hollow except for a sharp ache settling deep in his chest.

Apparently, it was stupid to be excited, just like Howard always said. Because now he knows that their first meeting involves his soulmate pushing him away.

Literally.

Tony knows that dreams are funny things. He read all about soulmate dreams and how easy it is to misinterpret them, how they tend to exaggerate, back when he was dumb enough to look forward to them. But he would swear that the shove felt hard enough to knock the air from his lungs, felt strong enough to throw him clear across the room.

The ache in his chest lingers the entire day, and every morning that he wakes up from the same dream, the pain is agonizingly fresh, digging a little deeper.

So Tony grows up and learns how to push people away first. He tells himself that when he meets his soulmate, he’ll be ready.

Bucky never tells anyone about the dream, even when his parents give him concerned looks. Eventually people stop asking.

Every time he has the dream, Bucky remembers a little more. His soulmate is dressed in mostly black, moving gracefully and carelessly through a room in chaos. His soulmate has gorgeous eyes and a wicked, beautiful smirk.

Every time, Bucky shoots his soulmate in the face and wakes up nauseous.

At least when he joins the army, no one else talks about their dreams either. Most nights, Bucky is too exhausted to dream at all, and it’s almost a relief when nightmares start to overtake the few times that he does.

Most nights, Tony drinks until he falls into a short, restless sleep, just to avoid the one dream he doesn't want to have.

He doesn’t want to see his soulmate’s cold, emotionless eyes. He doesn’t want the all-too-brief feeling of his soulmate's hand beneath his own before he's shoved away.

When Tony does dream, it’s of clenched fists, feeling frustrated, helpless. Feeling like his entire life is falling apart around him, and it’s all so stupid.

So he refuses to figure out any other details because he’s already going to have to live through it at some point. He doesn't want to know if that fleeting contact of hand against hand is a first meeting, doesn’t bother trying to remember anything about the large, bright room the dream takes place in or the people around them. He doesn’t care if it's a charity gala or something else. None of it matters.

Tony wakes up and drinks more.

He builds and smiles for the press. He does his best to not lose the few people he has, and tells himself that he won’t care when his soulmate doesn’t want him.

Sometimes he even believes it.

The Winter Soldier doesn’t dream at all.

Not during the short, fitful sleep he gets on missions. Certainly not while he’s frozen.

He forgets.

When the moment finally happens in real life, they don’t recognize it.

Bucky isn't in his right mind. He’s barely clinging to awareness past the hold of the conditioning in a room in chaos. He doesn't recognize the graceful motions of the gorgeous man who jumps into the fight, or the moment he points his gun in the man's face.

The bullet doesn't connect, and when Tony doesn't die, the Winter Soldier rips his hand away from Tony’s, shoves him across the room and knocks the air out of his lungs.

Tony isn’t thinking about the brief contact of his hand on Barnes’ over the barrel of a gun, of Barnes’ hand splayed across his chest. He’s thinking about the fact that his life is falling apart, and that he needs to stop a rampaging Winter Soldier. He doesn’t have time to think about the splinter itching at the back of his mind.

They don’t even notice when they stop having the dreams, after that moment.

Tony is alone in his workshop, in the too-empty compound, when it hits him that he doesn’t even remember the last time he dreamt of his soulmate.

It’s not just because he barely sleeps, not just because when he does dream it’s of his friends falling from the sky, of cities and worlds crashing to the ground. He’s spent so much time trying to ignore the dream, apparently he’s even been ignoring the fact that it’s gone.

It’s a stupid thing to be upset about.

Tony has always known how they would feel about him, known they wouldn’t want anything to do with him, but he still has to sit on the cold tile floor as his legs give out. He blinks back tears, wondering how far he must have fallen, if he doesn’t even deserve a soulmate who pushes him away anymore, doesn’t deserve anyone.

He wonders if his soulmate dreams about someone else now.

Bucky is in Wakanda, trying to find peace, when a doctor asks about the dream.

For a second Bucky doesn’t remember. And then he does. And he can’t breathe.

He doesn’t dream much anymore. When he does, it’s always nightmares. He hasn’t dreamt of his soulmate since before the war.

Before the Soldier.

And Bucky realizes he’s probably already killed his soulmate, and doesn’t even remember it. Everything goes fuzzy.

No one asks about the dreams again. Bucky has so many regrets to move past, he just shoves this one down with all the others. His soulmate is probably long gone. There’s no need to think about it.

So, he tries not to.

Having everyone back at the compound is exactly as awkward-as-hell as Tony thought it would be. It only makes him feel a little better that he’s clearly not the only one feeling it.

The reasoning is sound, the threat is coming, but that doesn’t mean Tony has to be happy about it.

But he smiles, shakes hands when he has to, and reminds himself this is for the best. He can bury his hurt feelings for the good of the world. He can be an adult, pretend everything is fine. He shows everyone to the residential wing, despite most of them already knowing their way around, and doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he says to make themselves at home.

Slowly, they start putting the team back together. There’s lots of talks about trust and honesty that feel hollow and stilted, but Tony supposes it’s progress.

They still work well together in the field, but that was never the Avengers’ problem.

Around the compound, though, the split remains obvious. Everyone seems torn between walking on eggshells and the urge to act like nothing’s changed even though it has, Tony among them.

The different sides of the war still give each other wide berths in the hallways, and Steve still stands protectively between Tony and his shadow of a best friend when they happen to run into each other in the gym.

Tony spins on his heel with a lazy wave, doesn’t even care if he’s too obvious. For just a moment, Tony’s gaze meets Barnes’ as he turns.

For just that moment, Tony finds himself caught in that deep blue stare before the doors slide closed behind him.

Bucky spends a lot of time wandering the compound.

He’s aware everyone thinks it’s a paranoid-perimeter-check thing, which it partially is. But it's also just him enjoying the novelty that he can spend his time wandering aimlessly. He can go where he wants when he wants, never has to sleep unless he chooses to.

He’s still getting used to it; remembering how to enjoy the freedom.

Which is how he runs into Stark in the kitchen at three AM, when he’s trying to outrun his nightmares. Tony is apparently making pancakes.

Bucky freezes in the doorway as they stare at each other. Just when he’s preparing to back away, Stark’s lips curl into a tiny smile. Stark tips his head towards the rest of the kitchen, obviously inviting him to stay instead. Bucky grabs an apple and sits at his usual spot at the far end of the table, trying to look comfortable, and it’s somehow easier than he’s expecting.

It’s only a couple minutes before Stark finishes making and neatly stacking his pancakes on a plate. Then he dumps everything in the dishwasher and shoots Bucky only the briefest look before leaving with his plate of food.

Bucky tells himself to avoid the kitchen around that time. He should give Stark some space, because he’s so clearly uncomfortable with everyone being back.

But two sleepless nights later, Bucky’s feet carry him on a familiar path without thought.

Stark is making waffles this time. He barely even looks up as Bucky takes up the same space at the table. Stark glances at him again as he’s preparing to leave, at the power bar Bucky’s been picking at, then transfers one waffle to a smaller plate. He sets the small plate on the table, just within Bucky’s reach. Then to Bucky’s surprise, Stark sits at the counter instead of leaving.

Bucky pulls the plate closer, and they eat in total silence. They’re not even facing each other and Bucky is actually a little relieved. He doesn’t know what to say to anyone these days, much less Stark.

It’s the first time they’ve done more than pass in the hallways, but it’s not as uncomfortable as it should be. When Tony stands to leave with a wave and a small, warm smile, Bucky finds himself disappointed.

As the weeks go by, Tony notices Barnes getting more comfortable around the compound, sometimes with Steve but most often alone.

Not that Tony lets himself wonder why he cares, why he scrolls through security feeds of the hallways like he needs to check on Barnes. It’s just morale has been slowly improving, and that’s the last bridge Tony has to mend. Or, the last bridge to build from scratch over a giant chasm, in this case.

He’s coming back late from a charity event, a little tipsy with plans to head to the lab, but gets sidetracked when he passes through the living room and realizes Barnes is on the couch watching Star Trek. Tony pauses for a second, filled with nostalgia, but he tells himself to leave Barnes to his marathon in peace.

To his surprise, Barnes looks at him with a tiny smile, unsure but devoid of suspicion or impatience. Tony sinks into an armchair, asking himself why. They proceed to watch four and a half episodes in silence.

Tony wakes up to Steve and Sam clomping through after their morning run, slumped down in the chair with a blanket carefully draped over him.

It becomes a habit, and Barnes becomes Bucky, even if they haven’t actually spoken yet.

So maybe Tony has FRIDAY alert him when Bucky is queuing up the next episode so he can head to the living room. After the first time, though, Bucky waits for him to arrive before hitting play and greets him with a smile that gets brighter every time.

Tony doesn’t let himself wonder about the why’s. Like why he spends so much time simply existing in the same room as Bucky, why that doesn’t feel awkward at all. Or why it seems to be the only thing that helps Tony ignore the empty pit in his chest.

One night, Tony realizes he hasn’t seen Bucky in a while. There’s been no marathon nights despite being due to start Next Generation. He tells himself it’s not creepy to flip through security feeds., He’s just curious how Bucky is spending his sleepless nights now.

Tony’s heart leaps into his throat when he finally locates Bucky on the roof of the hanger, standing on the ledge. He’s breathless by the time he makes it to the hangar, heart racing and legs shaking from the sprint. He doesn’t even know what he thinks is happening, except…

Bucky looks at him with wide, exhausted eyes when Tony bursts through the door, and he could swear Bucky’s shoulders drop in relief. Tony doesn’t have time to think. He just starts talking, because Bucky looks so haunted, and Tony knows a thing or two about distractions.

They’re still on the roof when the sun comes up., And Bucky has to stop pointing out all the constellations he can remember while Tony fills him in on the new star science he’s missed.

After the roof, something shifts.

Bucky can’t put his finger on exactly what it is, or even when it happens. But that one stilted conversation about the stars becomes less stilted conversations about whatever’s on TV becomes friendly debates about the merits of different toppings as they make pizza at midnight.

Before Bucky knows it, he feels like he’s home.

He finds a groove with his new life and starts branching out, starts connecting with the rest of the team. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be a person. To actually interact when he passes people in the hallway and eat with a group.

To be more than a ghost, to be part of something good.

Always though, he gravitates back to Tony. Because Tony actually makes him laugh and it fills a void in his chest Bucky has long gotten used to. Because Tony is always trying to do better and god Bucky wants to learn how.

Because when Tony’s been on an inventing binge, Bucky can trick him into taking a nap by putting on home improvement shows, and it makes Bucky feel like he’s doing something right. The team smirks when they walk in on Tony drooling on his shoulder, but it’s not like that.

He recognizes the look Steve and Natasha start to give him, smug and knowing. And fine, maybe Tony would have been exactly his type, before. But it’s not like that.

Because Bucky is the man who killed his soulmate. He doesn’t let himself think about that kind of thing.

When Bucky decides that he wants to officially join the Avengers, Tony leaps at the chance to make him new gear.

He does the same for the entire team, after all, making sure everyone’s safe. It doesn’t make Bucky special. No matter what the wide grins from Rhodey try to imply.

Tony just loves a challenge, loves the excuse to build something new. So maybe he gets more input from Bucky than anyone else, offers to help Bucky test all the gear on top of team training, but it’s not an excuse to spend more time together. He just sees what Bucky is trying to do, and he’s all too familiar with that struggle.

Despite the knowing looks from everyone, it doesn’t mean anything that he lets Bucky into the lab to see the prototypes, even if it is Tony’s only place of solitude in the compound. Even if eventually Bucky just hangs out there with him for hours.

Tony keeps telling himself it means nothing.

Watching Bucky try to teach DUM-E checkers is the final straw, though. Warmth fills Tony’s chest so fast and hard that he can’t breathe around it. And he finally admits that maybe it all means something.

But Tony is the man who doesn’t deserve a soulmate, who never even got to meet them. Who’s not sure he’d want to meet them anymore, as guilty as it makes him feel.

Maybe he can’t lie to himself anymore. Maybe he’s completely in love, but Tony knows better than to say anything.

Days spent in the lab with Tony run together in the best possible way. It’s a blur of playing with the bots, watching Tony create the future, and trying to convince him maybe the new reboots of Star Trek do have something to offer.

Bucky knows what a privilege it is to be here, to see Tony at his most relaxed and occasionally unhinged. He tries not to let it go to his head, give him ideas, even though every day he falls more in love. He’s even getting used to the pangs of guilt over the soulmate he should miss.

Until one day they’re watching a movie on the lumpy couch in Tony’s lab. When it’s revealed that Tony called the plot twist from the very beginning, he smirks at Bucky at just the right angle.

Bucky’s heart drops into the floor.

He knows that smirk. He’s seen it a thousand times in a thousand dreams, even if he hasn’t had it in years, he remembers.

And of course it’s Tony, who’s smart and gorgeous, graceful and just the right amount of wicked. Who Bucky already loves so much he can’t breathe sometimes.

Tony, who he still can’t possibly deserve.

So Bucky says nothing, as happy as he thinks he’ll ever be. Tony is here, alive. Bucky’s soulmate is too smart and too tough to die. Bucky gets to watch the way he laughs when their friends do something stupid, to watch Tony’s back in fights while they both try to do better.

He’ll never get to taste the edges of Tony’s smile, but he shoves that aside. Tony is alive. That’s more than enough.

Tony’s first thought when he wakes half-buried under rubble is that he’s officially over alien invasions. The second is that the power of the suit fading in and out, causing the concerned shouting over the comms to cut in and out, is really not helping with his throbbing head.

The aliens swarm into what’s left of the nightclub, stealing his attention before Tony can work up the breath to answer, and all the suit’s questionable power has to go to blasting the ones that get too close. The oversized bug-like soldiers just keep coming, and Tony starts to wonder if he’d be better off ditching the deadweight of the armor.

But he’s not sure he can make a run for it. His head is spinning and he’s dimly aware of blood filling the suit, and the aliens are still coming—

There’s a roar of approaching gunfire and then Bucky is bursting into the destroyed building, wielding a large knife and the only gun Tony has built in years.

And the thing is…Tony knows those movements.

He knows that brutal fighting style, the blank rage in those blue eyes. He recognizes the wrath of the Winter Soldier. He’d been dreaming of it most of his life.

Tony can’t believe he never put it together before, because of course it’s Bucky. Resilient and brave and so kind, Bucky who still deserves so much better than Tony. Of course.

Maybe it’s just easier to recognize him with unconsciousness trying to drag Tony under. Maybe Tony’s already dreaming.

He must be, because suddenly Bucky is leaning over him. His eyes are warm, and scared. Tony doesn’t know this part of the dream, doesn’t know what happens next.

Everything is going black. Tony struggles to find his words, to plead. To beg not to be shoved away again.

Bucky sits unmoving beside Tony’s hospital bed for three days, even though all he wants to do is run.

He saw the recognition in Tony’s eyes, he knows that Tony knows. He wants to leave before Tony asks him to, because what else could Tony want from a soulmate like him?

But that’s not what Tony had said. Tony asked him to stay while sounding so scared, so resigned. Like he knew Bucky wouldn’t and it was already breaking his heart.

So, Bucky stays.

He’s staring at his fists, trying to stop himself from wondering, when the heart monitor starts beeping triple time, giving away that Tony is awake. Bucky jerks his gaze up to meet Tony’s big brown eyes, watches the flashes of fear and hope that go through them.

Bucky knows he must look terrible, hasn’t slept or shaved in days. He’s barely eaten, and he can feel the lines of worry set into his face. But Tony’s still looking at him with something like awe, just because he’s here.

When Tony smiles nervously the wave of hope that crashes over Bucky nearly overwhelms him, could crush him beneath it.

Bucky smiles back.

#reblob

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