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“Go to sleep, Barnes.”
The train wreck of Bucky’s senses slipped into freefall and he was gone.
In the morning, he crawled into awareness. Somewhere ceramic slid against tile, the accompanying coffee scent mixed with pine and log cabin, and light bloomed through a window. The cream ceiling hid cracks in the corners.
“Morning sunshine. My name is Tony Stark, I’m entering the room unarmed, it’s ten forty-two AM, and you are safe.”
“You don’t sound like a liar.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things, but that’s a tricky one. Do you feel unsafe?”
He swallowed. “You didn’t hurt me?” It was easy to do, the wrong fabric, too much light, a door slamming. But everything was muted right now, distant.
“You were zoning, and in a suggestible state. I took advantage of it, but you wouldn’t have crashed if you didn’t want to. So, grey area. Are you in pain?”
“No?” Bucky had a secret. If he didn’t move, didn’t think, everything hit together and balanced against each other—a house of cards with agony at the bottom. So, if he didn’t move, he didn’t have to find out. “I didn’t hurt you?” That was the real question.
“You’re a teddy bear, Barnes, you didn’t touch me.”
“Thought you weren’t a liar.”
“Not even a scratch.”
Fabric shuffling over skin, the cup again, what should be a tap was a clatter. His eyes. The sun.
“Ah, ah, ah. Easy there, slugger.”
And it was easy. The cup was just a cup, the sun retreated. Bucky shifted, painstakingly, and the fabric didn’t grate like he was flayed raw. “How do you do that? How’d you make me sleep?”
“You’ve heard of Guides?”
Bucky snorted. Steps slip gliding across a wooden floor. Soft-soled shoes, maybe slippers. “I’ve heard of fairies too.”
A pair of shoulders tipped into his field of view, cool, pale blue shirt, soft soft eyes.
“That I have been called before.”
“Your eyes.”
Amusement danced around them, a smile that looked real curled tender lines into his face.
“Okay, we’re going to take this nice and slow, you probably aren’t usually such a babe in the woods. We think you were zoning for a while.”
Bucky had no reason to tell Tony Stark anything, but he didn’t feel like Bucky right now. Nothing hurt. The sounds of the forest and the skittering things outside stayed outside. Tony didn’t bring any new scents with him, just the coffee, and that was tolerable, distant, subdued. “It’s always like that.”
Tony’s eyes lost something, narrowing. Bucky had done something wrong.
“Longing.”
“No—” The sun was gone. There was only darkness and the void and the scream of silence.
Tony was speaking, his voice was soothing. Bucky’s hand was suspended, held in both of Tony’s. “—next time, all right? I won’t do that again.”
“Knew you were a liar.”
Tony winced. “That’s fair, I’m sorry we ended up here.” He paused. “Would you like to sleep again? Regular sleep.”
Bucky didn’t answer.
“Okay, scooch over. We don’t usually do this. It’s a lot for Sents, but it seems like ‘a lot’ is SOP for you.”
Bucky’s wrist and elbow folded when Tony tried to direct him to one side of the bed, but Bucky shifted to accommodate him, anyway. Tony slipped into the bed next to him—“I think I know why they called you a fairy.”— and his shirt was as soft as it had looked.
“Are we flirting? Is that what this is? I can’t wait till you’re over the hangover and I get to meet the real you.” Tony sat against the headboard, still holding Bucky’s hand in one of his. That was nice.
“May I?” Tony asked, slipping his free hand behind Bucky’s shoulder and pulling their joined hands out to the side. Bucky nodded and found himself pulled into Tony’s chest and wrapped in his arms.
“Am I dead?” Suspicion pricked the bubble of fuzzy calm that smothered everything.
“I think you’ll pull through.” Tony’s voice was a lodestone. A pinprick pulling Bucky’s attention, blanketing what should be chaos. Old instincts insisted he was uncomfortable, threatened, afraid. He tensed, muscles seizing in snap down his spine, only to be interrupted by the lulling soft thing that Tony made him feel.
“Answers, now, please.”
“Did I mention, I’m Tony Stark? I’m Tony Stark. I know you’re James Barnes, we dug up your file. You’ve been missing since the war, since before my aunt founded an initiative.” His fingers, still trapped with Bucky’s twitched. “Guess we know why now. She called it Shield. You know, because Guides shield Sents from all the shit your senses do in freak out mode.” His fingers twitched again, fine tremors, like he was stifling the need to fidget. “That’s the technical term, by the way.”
The quality of light pattering across the ceiling changed in the time it took Tony to continue. “I’ve got some talents of my own, fancied the place up a bit, started looking for the sentinels who got lost. Ferals, shut downs, dormants.” Bucky’s eyelids drooped low. “They never found mine. Had to do something.”
Tony wiggled their joined hands. “You still with me, Jellyfish?”
He nodded, Tony’s shirt and his own hair brushing against his cheek.
“Had a test run through here a few days ago. That’s how we found you.” Tony hesitated. “You remember anything unusual in the sky?”
“Screaming red, and the burning blue augur.” Bucky shifted in agitation. His senses usually came for him all at once. But a few days ago sight and sound slammed him to his knees and scraped through his veins until the sun came again. He needed to move, to pace, to stalk off the energy janking through him.
“That sounds about right. You mind if I touch you?”
Bucky stopped pulling away. “Little late for that, isn’t it?”
Tony didn’t move, barely breathed, Bucky had to tilt his head until his cheek and temple rested against him again to hear the beat of his heart, and the sweep of air in his lungs.
“Touch what?”
“Your scalp, temples, forehead maybe, I’ll be careful.”
There wasn't enough air in his lungs to rush the words out. “That would be okay.” scraped out of him.
“Only a few minutes of this, it’s not safe otherwise. Call it an apology. What you saw was a test run for waking latents. Not pleasant for a Sent who’s awake. Can’t imagine what it would have been like if you were zoning.”
“Conflagration.” The memory faded. Shocks of tingles scored down Bucky’s scalp and neck, popping back the way they’d come after Tony’s fingers like hunting champagne bubbles.
“I’m sorry.”
“But who are you?”
“I’m your guide.”