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It bothered Bucky. It bothered him a lot.
He had returned the US with Steve and the others when they’d been granted their pardons about a month earlier. Each of them would have to make their way through a series of assessments before being approved for active duty once more, but Steve didn’t think that was going to be much of an issue. They had already been allowed to move back into the compound with the other Avengers and that had gone smoothly enough. It had gone so smoothly, in fact, that it set Bucky’s nerves on edge.
Their arrival had been just about what he’d expected, with the other Avengers, the ones who were still actually Avengers, gathered for their arrival and cautious in their presence. Stark had been there, too, all tense lines and burning fire in his eyes. He’d been cordial enough, but his smile was sharp enough to cut glass and Bucky could just barely make out the fear hiding behind it. Rightfully so, Bucky had felt, considering how things had gone the last time they’d seen each other. Bucky had been surprised he was willing to be in the same room as them at all.
By the end of the day, though, things had changed. Stark wasn’t sunshine and roses by any stretch of the imagination, but he had definitely relaxed quite a bit. His smiles had lost their biting edge, though he still made a number of very pointed quips about the Accords. The desperate fear was gone, too, and that was what really made Bucky’s skin crawl.
He watched quietly from the sidelines as Steve and Stark began to rebuild their friendship, the tension that lingered in Stark’s shoulders slowly bleeding out over the weeks that passed. He watched as Natasha settled back in at Stark’s side, making herself comfortable in the shadows his limelight provided. He watched as Sam and Clint made their peace with the man and moved past the events of the Accords conflict, as Scott toed the line between wary assessment of the law enforcement agent that had brought him in and technological fanboy.
None of it bothered him as much as the way Stark behaved with Bucky himself, though. He went out of his way to make sure Bucky was comfortable, providing access to his BARF technology for therapeutic reasons and always asking if there was anything Bucky needed. He seemed fascinated by the arm Wakanda had gifted Bucky before his return home but avoided asking questions about it in what seemed to be a show of compassionate understanding for something that had caused Bucky a great deal of trauma. He included Bucky in life in the compound, making room for him at meals, in training, and anywhere Bucky wished to be involved.
Steve had spoken at length of Stark’s generosity and kindness, and Bucky tried to write his actions off as that, but it still rankled him. He had killed this man’s parents, had torn his found family in two just by existing. Bucky had been the reason Steve lied to him and broken Stark’s trust. In Siberia, self-defense or not, Bucky had been the one who’s side Steve had taken, the reason they had beaten Stark and then left him there. Bucky still had nightmares about it, about more innocent blood on his hands and not being able to blame it on Hydra this time, of killing the child of a man who he had already murdered and being completely himself as he did it.
Just the thought made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t know Stark well, but it was impossible to miss his bright energy or selfless nature. He was a good man. He covered it with snark and banter, but there was an innate goodness to him that made Bucky think of standing in the sunshine on a warm Spring day.
It all came to a head the day Stark had a large crate delivered to the compound and had FRIDAY call for Bucky to meet him in the lobby.
“A lot of stuff is still on loan to the Smithsonian,” he explained, “but it came from dad’s collection, so we can get it back if you really want it. This is just what was left over in storage. I gave Steve access to all of his belongings after they defrosted him, of course, but yours have still been collecting duct. I figured you might want to poke through and see what’s here, though, I’ll admit, there’s not much.”
Bucky stared at the crate, then at Stark.
“I’ve got stuff in there?”
“Sure,” Stark said in a casual tone that belied the gravity of what he was doing, “from your life during the war, mostly. Dad was a big collector of all things Captain America and you were his right-hand man, so he snatched up pretty much anything that didn’t go to your family.”
Bucky’s hands were trembling and he backed away, shaking his head. His heart pounded in his chest. All this time, waiting for the other shoe to drop and he just couldn’t take it anymore. What did Stark think he was doing? How could he just stand there with that open smile on his face, gifting such priceless things to the man who’d killed his parents?
“Why are you doing this?” he gasped out, feeling the familiar tendrils of a panic attack winding their way through his chest and squeezing tightly.
He just couldn’t take the pressure of not knowing Stark’s game anymore. No one was this forgiving. There had to be something more involved and Bucky couldn’t take it. Stark looked alarmed, asking FRIDAY to call for Steve and raising his hands to show he wasn’t a threat. Still, though, there was no fear in his eyes, and it drove Bucky even crazier. After all he had done to Stark personally, how could he not be afraid of Bucky lashing out?
“Hey, hey,” Stark called out to him gently. “It’s alright. Just breath, okay? In, two, three. Out, two three. Just like me. See?” Stark took an exaggerated breath in, held it a moment, and then let it back out slowly. “Come on, just do what I do.”
By the time Steve arrived, Wanda in tow and both of them sweaty from the gym, Bucky had mostly managed to push the panic attack away.
“What happened?” Steve asked, not without a sliver of accusation in his tone.
No matter how much their relationship had improved over the past month, Steve, at least, still seemed unable to give Stark his complete trust when it came to Bucky.
“I’m not sure,” Stark said and gestured over his shoulder. “I had some of his things pulled out of storage, but he had a panic attack when I tried to give them to him. We didn’t even open the crate or anything.”
Steve turned to Bucky questioningly, Stark’s concern mirrored on his face. It made Bucky ill. There was no justification for Stark feeling concern for him of all people.
“How can you-“ he choked out, before changing tactics when the words were too hard to manage. “After everything, after everything we did to you, will you stop acting like it never happened?”
Stark’s brow furrowed.
“What? That stuff with the Accords? That wasn’t your fault, Bucky. Zemo framed you to drive a wedge between the team and it worked. That’s on him, not on you.”
Bucky wanted to yank at his hair and scream.
“He wasn’t the one who left you in that bunker.”
Steve winced, but Stark only just looked more confused.
“What?” he asked. “What bunker? What are you talking about?”
A frustrated noise drew their attention to Wanda, red already swirling around her fingers.
“Great,” she groused. “Good going, Bucky. Now I’m going to have to make him forget this, too.”