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Tony pulls on the lapels of his coat, wraps it tighter around his shoulders, and tries to stay as close to the buildings as possible. The rain pelting his face makes him regret everything, but calling Happy back now would just be… embarrassing.
Go on without me, Hap, he had said, I’m gonna get some fresh air and walk back to the Tower.
In his defense, the sky looked perfectly fine thirty minutes ago, but fifteen minutes into his stroll, the gods decreed his day going too well and opened up the skies to dump cold, late-autumn rain onto his head.
Tony wonders if he can blame this on Thor.
He shivers again, curses under his breath, and keeps on walking. The streets have mostly cleared by now, the rest of New York evidently smarter than Tony. Briefly, he thinks about making his way back to the busier intersections, hailing a cab and getting home that way, but sue him, he’s stubborn.
He’s committed and the Tower is only a few blocks away anyways.
The ground has turned wet and slippery beneath his shoes, which are now more muddy than shiny, and as the wind keeps on howling, Tony retreats further into his coat, wishing he had a scarf.
Between the wind and the splashes of rain, he almost misses the whimper.
Tony stops and strains his ears, tries to listen for something beyond the sheets of rain surrounding him.
There.
A low, low whine, tempered by the ambient noise, but it’s a noise of hurt, that much is obvious.
The noise tugs on his heartstrings and carries him around the puddles gathered in every pothole before it leads him to an alleyway. There’s a large dumpster on one side, boxes and more trash on the other. Tony blinks, tries to peer into the darkness without stepping into the piles of wet cardboard, but when nothing else happens, he wonders if this was his mind playing tricks of him.
He almost turns, ready to get home and be done with this weather, but then something does whine, again, the sound much closer this time.
“Hello? Is anyone there? Are you hurt?” Tony calls out.
There’s no answer at first, but when another whine reaches him, some of the boxes tremble with movement. The tower teeters and sways, but it doesn’t fall.
Tony takes a deep breath, regrets it immediately because the alley is saturated with stench of garbage and rot, and ignoring his most basic instincts about things bigger and badder than him lurking in dark alleyways, he makes his way in, shoes sinking into the mud now, the bottom of his pants drenched by the rivulets running between the broken cement.
“Hello?” he tries again. He’s not sure if this is a person at all, but it never hurts to communicate your peaceful intentions. “I’m here to help, okay? Just your friendly, neighborhood superhero, here to… Oh.”
He moves a large cardboard box to reveal a huge lump of mud and fur and limbs that ends in a dog-like muzzle that looks bigger than Tony’s whole head.
“Oh, honey…” Tony can’t help but whisper when he takes in the state of the dog—and he assumes it’s a dog, albeit one that could give a wolf a run for its money. The dog is soaking wet, caked with mud and what looks like—god, Tony hopes it’s not blood, but by the way the dog tries to lift its head and its whole body lurches as it whines in pain again, Tony has to assume the worst.
“Hey there, friend,” he says, trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible. He’s not good with dogs, but injured, skittish powerhouses, that he can deal with. Lord knows, he has several at home that routinely need tender love and care and approaching one with caution and gentleness always seems to work best.
Tony lowers himself onto his knees, wincing at the wet squelch made by his very nice pants—and damn it, that’s definitely blood seeping from a nasty gash in the poor dog’s side.
“You’re alright, bud, not gonna hurt you. Life out here on the streets is rough, isn’t it? Was it a hit-and-run?”
The dog blinks at him, the eyes glassy and fur around them caked with more muck. It whines again and tries to scoot closer, but its body fails to do what it wants.
“No, easy, easy, don’t move,” Tony tries to coo, afraid any unnecessary movements will just make everything worse.
The poor pup still tries to move closer though and it doesn’t seem threatened at all, hasn’t bared its teeth, hasn’t growled. Maybe it can’t though, not in the state that it’s in, but Tony forgets all of that and reaches out to run a gentle hand over the wet, matted fur.
“It’s alright, you’re gonna be fine, okay? You gotta take it easy though, don’t hurt yourself.”
There’s that pitiful whine again, but at least the pup settles, seemingly gratified by the touch.
Tony looks down the alley, but of course, there’s no one around and even if someone were out there…
He looks back at the dog and that nasty gash in its side. Tony can’t leave it behind, he knows it would haunt him for the rest of his days if he did.
His exhale is both decisive and weary. If it were a little dog, or a cat maybe, he could pick it up, wrap it up in his coat and carry it back to the Tower—or to the vet, because that’s obviously the smart thing to do in this situation. This dog though, it looks like it weighs almost as much as Tony, even as skinny as it is, and unfortunately, he doesn’t have his suit nor are there any handsome super soldiers with lovely muscles around to help him.
Pfft. Of all the days for Bucky and Yasha to choose not to trail him around like two overgrown puppies.
The comparison is both apt and timely, but the handsome super soldiers he’s secretly pining for are not what Tony should be thinking about right now, so he banishes the thought back to its proper place in his mind and with his free hand, reaches into the inner coat pocket, searching for his phone.
He sticks it between his ear and shoulder, shushing the dog while the number dials.
“Hey, Happy? Yeah, about that ride. I think I’m going to need it after all.”
“Here, Boss. As black as your soul.”
“Thanks, Hap. And thanks again for picking us up.”
Happy sinks into a chair after handing Tony the coffee, then gives him a side-eyed glance.
“You’re still soaking wet. Want me to take you home?”
Tony sighs and slides just a bit further down, clutching the coffee to siphon off some of its warmth. The hard plastic chair digs into his back with vigor.
“What about the dog though?”
Happy shrugs, eyes scanning the empty lobby. The vet clinic is a 24-hour emergency place, but it’s late and it’s still raining cats and dogs out there (ha!), so they’re the only ones here. “Didn’t see a collar and they said he didn’t have a chip, right?”
“Yeah, and I had Friday scan the internet for a missing dog that would fit his description. Nothing hit her radar so far, at least not locally. So probably a stray then, or abandoned.”
“Yeah, probably got hit by a car, poor guy. Or got into a fight.”
“There are even bigger dogs roaming Manhattan?”
That earns Tony a chuckle. “Don’t you worry, Boss, I’ll protect you. Either way, if he recovers, a shelter is next, I guess.”
Tony remembers that soft whine and the way the dog tried to scoot itself closer to Tony. His chest aches—and oh god, is this what dog people feel all the time?
He’s never been a pet person—as Howard never wanted pets in his house and once Tony had been free to do what he wanted, his lifestyle never allowed for one either—but now he can’t get those sad eyes out of his mind.
The vet comes out then, smiling, but it’s obvious she’s as tired as they are. “Hello, gentlemen,” she greets them, then props a hip against the front desk counter. “Your furry friend is resting now.”
Tony sits up. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I think so. He’s definitely a fighter, and surprisingly gentle too, given his state. He let us do our thing, not a peep out of him.”
“I’m sure he knew you were helping.”
“Try telling that to the tiny Pomeranians that try to gnaw on my ankles. You did the right thing though, bringing him in. I’m not sure he would’ve lasted through the night without our help.”
Tony’s heart does that weird, painful clench again. It’s worse than the arc reactor. “So, what happens now?”
“He’ll stay with us for a few days, until we’re sure he’s stable and on his way to recovery. Then, hopefully, we can find a shelter or a foster that’ll take him in. He’s big—by the looks of him, he’s a mutt—”
“Definitely part wolf,” Happy mutters. He’d know, being the one to help Tony carry the poor thing into the car. The back seats will stink of wet dog for weeks.
The vet laughs. “Trust me, if he were part wolf, you’d know. Wolfs are much bigger that you think. Either way, not everyone wants a dog that size, but he seems very friendly, which bodes well for him.”
Tony swallows and before he can second guess the niggling thoughts pushing their way to the forefront, he stands up in a hurry to find the nearest paper and pen.
Thankfully, the front desk is well supplied and he scribbles his name and a personal number on a brightly colored sticky note before handing it to the doc.
“Can you—I mean, I know I’m not the owner or anything, but can you just call me? Whenever he’s better? Just in case I might be able to, uh, help somehow?”
By the resigned sigh Happy makes behind his back, Tony assumes his delivery is less than smooth. The look on the vet’s face all but confirms it as she smirks knowingly and plucks the note from his fingers.
“Will do, Mr. Stark. I’m sure our furry friend will be very happy to see you whenever he’s feeling better.”
Tony thanks her and with an awkward wave, hurries out of the office with Happy close on his heels.
“Boss, we’re not getting a dog, are we? Pretty sure Cujo over there would eat you alive.”
“Pfff, don’t be silly, Hap. I don’t have time for a dog. Between SI, the Avengers, and just general nonsense in the life and times of Tony Stark, a dog is the last thing I need.”
“Anthony, I would be remiss if I didn’t inform you of the lumbering beast trailing your footsteps. Hello, furry beast, are you friend or foe?”
Tony blinks at Thor, then the kitchen, which has been taken over by yet another zany experiment with ‘Midgardian delicacies’—the counters are chaos—before he looks back down at the ‘beast’ plastered to his side.
“I, uh…”
Peter pops out of the pantry a second later—no doubt here to enable the chaos—and his brows are already climbing up his forehead.
“Oh my gosh, dog! Why is there a dog? Is he gonna live here? Do we have a dog now, Mr. Stark?”
“Well, I have a dog now. Apparently.”
“Seems like a fine companion. Well done, Anthony.”
“Thanks, Point Break,” Tony says.
He’s still not sure how he ended up here.
All he wanted to do was to visit the dog, make sure he was doing alright at the shelter, and hand over a generous check, before going off on his merry way.
That was the intention at least, but then the dog recognized him, wagged his tail, started to make those cute little whines—much happier now—and when he bumped his big head into Tony’s hand, Tony’s heart did that awful, no-good lurch again and what was he supposed to do?
There was still no owner, no leads, and the dog’s fate was to stay at the shelter, possibly for the rest of his doggy life…
“Did you adopt him, Mr. Stark?”
“Uh, something like that. Found this handsome guy outside in the rain with a big gash in his side. Happy and I took him to the vet who fixed him right up and the rest… Well, the rest is history, as they say.”
Peter, of course, is beaming. “That’s so awesome. What’s his name?”
“Fang.”
“Oh, like Harry Potter?”
“Er, no, more like Jack London, but calling him White Fang felt a little pretentious.”
“Well, he’s the most handsome dog I’ve ever met,” Peter declares without an ounce of doubt. “Can I pet him? Please?”
Tony takes another look at the dog—now sitting prim and proper and leaning the full extent of his weight against Tony’s legs like an absolute menace. He doesn’t appear bothered by the others, content to observe the new surroundings and the vet wasn’t wrong, he’s a complete softie. He reacted well to both Pepper and Rhodey, and Happy is an old friend by now.
Pepper herself was exasperated, yet still charmed by the ‘handsome dog’—and he was a charmer—and Rhodey muttered something disapproving about Tony’s habit of picking up strays, but ended up playing fetch with Fang the whole time, because he too is a softie.
“Sure, Pete, just be gentle with him, okay? His side is still healing.”
Peter is already on his knees in front of the dog, Fang’s face in his hands so he can give it little smooshes and rubs, cooing endearments like, “What a good doggo you are,” and “Best pupperino. Yes, yes, you are,” the entire time.
Fang weathers the treatment like an old, wise man who’s dealing with a four-year old.
Tony gives him a scratch behind the ears and tries not to laugh.
Dog ownership is not something Tony expected, but with Fang’s warm presence at his side, Tony can’t find it in himself to regret the impulsive decision. Besides, with Fang’s gentle temperament and cuddly disposition, the entire Compound is bound to fall in love with him in no time.
Bucky walks into the kitchen to find Yasha glaring death through the glass doors that lead into the backyard.
“That sort of morning, huh?” he says as he grabs a clean mug to brew himself a nice cup of tea. Yasha and Tony can keep their paint-peeler black coffee, thank you, but unlike them, he has taste.
Yasha grunts.
With them no longer sharing the same body thanks to some magical handwaving and the miracles of modern science, Bucky can no longer tell what his formerly other half is thinking by simply willing that knowledge into existence, but he still knows Yasha well enough to see that this isn’t anger, exactly. Neither is this the morose darkness that settles over them sometimes.
No, Yasha just seems… disgruntled.
Bucky sidles up to him to see what the fuss is about and his eyes widen.
“Okay, now I am worried. Why are you glaring at Tony?”
Yasha huffs. “Not glaring at Anton. Glaring at that damn beast.”
The beast in question is Fang, who is proudly carrying a tennis ball back to Tony. Tony drops to his knees to pepper the dog’s face with kisses, no doubt showering him with praise that’s just out of ear shot for Bucky and Yasha. Fang’s tail is wagging a mile a minute.
Bucky tries to see the scene from Yasha’s perspective, but fails to spot the part that’s upsetting. If anything, it’s adorable and endearing and makes his heart ache in all the right places. Tony is, and always has been, everything that is good in the world and adding a cute pup to the mix is enough to make Bucky’s heart burst with love.
Someday soon he’s gonna convince Yasha that something between the three of them is in fact possible and drag both of these oblivious idiots to a real date.
Well, once he gets up his own nerve, because he may talk the talk, but any time Tony bats those long lashes at him and smiles so sweetly and just exists anywhere in Bucky’s vicinity, Bucky’s brain fizzes out into static and he walks into walls.
Surprisingly, Yasha is somehow smoother, never seemingly tongue-tied around Tony, but he’s got it in his dumb head that Tony would be better off with just Bucky.
Call it co-dependent, but even in separate bodies, they’re still a two-for-one deal and so far, Tony hadn’t exactly been… opposed.
Just entirely oblivious to their attempts to woo him.
Outside, Fang knocks Tony down to the ground and proceeds to lick his whole face, sticking what has to be a cold nose into Tony’s ear as Tony half-heartedly tries to get the dog off him.
Yasha actually growls and it takes a second for Bucky to see it.
“Oh my god,” he says through the laughter that’s bubbling up. “Are you actually jealous? Of the dog?”
“I am not jealous,” Yasha declares, but there’s something off about his expression, like he just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar and Bucky just knows.
“You are literally jealous of a dog, I can’t believe it. Pal, listen.” Bucky throws an arm over Yasha’s shoulders, gently patting the metal that’s no longer a part of his own body. “This is a new low. For you, not for me, but we’re in this together an’ all.”
“I’m not jealous,” Yasha repeats, but his eyes are still on Tony. “Damn dog is too smart for his own good.”
“Yeah? How so?”
“Nearly bit Rogers’ hand off earlier today.”
Bucky nearly chokes. “What? But Fang is such a softie. I saw Laura’s kids practically climbing over him the other day.”
“Like I said, too damn smart. Rogers was trying to placate Anton, get something out of him.” Yasha curses Steve’s name in Russian and Bucky concurs. “I was down the hall, heard the conversation.”
“Ready to step in and defend Tony, I presume?”
“Of course, but the dog beat me to it. I walk in and Rogers is in the opposite corner, the dog is growling, and Anton is trying not to laugh.”
“Well, that's one good boy if I've ever seen one, which leaves me confused as to why you’re glaring at ‘im.”
Something about Yasha’s expression falls. “What good am I to him?” he whispers and Bucky knows he’s talking about Tony. “All I had to offer was keeping him safe, from outside threats, from these fools that still act like they own his affections. Now a damn dog can do my job better than me.”
Yasha looks down and the glare is gone, replaced by familiar melancholy.
“I think we both know a man like Tony needs no protection and he’s just soothing our egos when he lets us defend him. Nine times out of ten, he’s the one saving us.”
“So I am useless then.”
Bucky smacks Yasha lightly on the shoulder. “Contrary as hell too.”
“No, simply honest.”
“Yasha, come on…”
“Anton deserves… good things. Bright things,” he says and they both turn to watch Tony, who’s bathed in mid-morning sunlight. His grin is infectious and it makes Bucky’s heart light all over again, but he wishes it didn’t bring so much doubt to Yasha’s heart.
“Tony has never shied away from you. He was the one to stick by you, to bring you into the fold when so many others wanted to turn their back on you after we separated.”
Finally, Yasha looks at him. Their eyes don’t match perfectly anymore, Bucky’s blues less steel gray, but they’re still undeniably familiar. “You never left either.”
“‘Course not”
“Rogers certainly thought you would. Turn back into ‘his Bucky’.”
Bucky rolls his eyes and wrinkles his nose. “Shows how much he knows. Separated or not, I’m still a different man and I’ve never been his. And besides, without you, I’d no longer have snarky commentary in my head.”
“You and Anton would be happy together.”
It’s a deflection like no other, but Bucky is undeterred. “I’d like to think the three of us would be happier. Keeping Tony safe, happy, and satisfied is a job meant for two.”
He’s not convincing enough though because Yasha just sighs and carefully extricates himself from Bucky’s embrace. “I should go. Certainly there is work to be done elsewhere.”
“Yasha…”
“I am fine. Simply… maudlin.” He tries to smile, but the expression he manages is the definition of a murder grimace.
“Fine, fine. If you miss dinner tonight though, I will end you, Yakov,” Bucky threatens, trying to lighten the mood. “Understood?”
“Of course, although I am certain we will be relegated to all but invisible in favor of the dog.”
It’s almost a joke, an offering meant to make up for Yasha’s bad mood, so Bucky lets Yasha skulk off into the darkness while his gaze returns to the window.
This time, Tony catches a glimpse of him and waves back before getting distracted by the tennis ball being thrusted into his stomach. Bucky can’t hear him, but he knows Tony is still cooing praises.
He sighs. Okay, Yasha’s dramatics are a bit much—he’s Russian at heart though, it’s only proper—but maybe Bucky is a touch jealous too.
Just a little bit.
After all, he wouldn’t mind having Tony calling him ‘sweetheart’ and ‘handsome’ either. Hell, he wouldn’t even mind being a ‘good boy’, if push came to shove.
He huffs, equal parts amused and frustrated by his own thoughts. His tea is ready now, so he goes to grab it, wondering how to get Yasha to see the brighter, happier possibilities for all three of them.
The Compound is never truly dark, not with the scatter of technological pinpricks and the emergency lights that illuminate every inch of this place.
It’s better like this, Yasha knows that, but sometimes he wishes he could lose himself in the shadows. Just disappear, out of sight, out of mind.
It isn’t possible though. Friday always watches and thankfully, it isn’t a cause for paranoia anymore. She is kind, careful and far too mischievous for her own good, but more importantly, she’s a friend.
Yasha walks the quiet halls, wanders down until he finds himself in the basement, between the laboratories he still tends to avoid—unless it’s Tony’s own workshop—and the gymnasium everyone uses for training.
It’s cold down here, which is fitting for the dark thoughts clouding his mind.
A breath escapes him as he slides down a wall and onto the floor, uncaring that there are a hundred better spots to settle and brood.
The nightmares are much better these days, his mind healing with time and effort and so much love that it frightens him, but they are still his nightmares to bare, far more than they are Bucky’s. Bucky remembers, of course, he remembers all the horrific things they were forced to accomplish, but the body he occupies no longer remembers them, only his mind.
It is Yasha’s hands that committed the crimes and so they are his sins to bear. He was the instrument of death and destruction.
Wasn’t he?
Sometimes he wonders whether there’s truth to Bucky’s and Tony’s words. To the others’, who accepted him as family and a friend. They treat him as one of their own, even though sometimes he doesn’t feel fully human.
They still see him though, separate and whole. Tony sees him.
Tony is too kind for his own good though, too generous with his love and that has come back to bite him too many times. Yasha doesn’t want to be one of those mistakes, doesn’t want to ever betray the trust Tony had placed in him.
He would do anything, take a bullet for him, face down and eliminate anything that would threaten Tony’s happiness.
Bucky would laugh at the grandiosity of these thoughts though, when Yasha cannot simply ask Tony to dinner.
His darkening thoughts are interrupted by soft click-clacks coming down the hallway. It’s a new sound around these parts, but he recognizes it easily enough and so he isn’t startled when the dog turns the corner, striking an intimidating figure as he looms in the shadows.
What does surprise Yasha however is that the dog trots over instead of carrying on. Yasha tries to glare at him, but the dog is undeterred, so much so that he flops on his behind right in front of him.
They’re eye to eye like this.
“Hello, dog,” Yasha mutters. Fang studies him, dark eyes too damn intelligent, before he huffs, as if a dog could do such a thing, and moves closer.
For a split second, Yasha thinks he’s being attacked when the dog’s large head with those very sharp teeth is suddenly that much closer, but the fear passes as quickly as it had come when he realizes the dog is only trying to bump his furry head against his hand.
“Are you… asking to be pet?”
The pressure becomes more insistent until Yasha gives in and scratches the dog’s flank and the response is immediate as the dog’s tongue lolls out of his mouth and his tail starts wagging.
“Why did you leave Anton’s side anyways? Slacking on the job already?”
The dog doesn’t deign to respond with anything other than a few eager pants.
“Lazy beast,” Yasha mutters, but it comes out more affectionate than he intended. He doesn’t like the dog. No, certainly not, and the dog couldn’t possibly like him.
Dogs are meant to be intelligent about this sort of thing, instinct guiding them to spot good from bad. Certainly this dog has the right idea about Rogers and his ilk. In this week alone, there were several altercations that ended with bared teeth and squeals of cowardice. Yasha is only disappointed that no blood had been drawn, but he supposes it isn’t good for dogs to bite people who are simply obnoxious.
“If we need to make anyone bleed for threatening Anton, you let me know, yes? Don’t get that pretty fur of yours dirty.”
Fang doesn’t seem impressed with the offer. He flops onto his side and drops his head, along with half of his body weight, right into Yasha’s lap.
“Heavy beast,” Yasha scolds, but that is affectionate too. He can’t help it, the damn dog is too charming and Yasha would be lying if he said the warm weight wasn’t comforting. Almost no one touches him so easily these days. People try, because most people here are good, but most of the time, it feels like charity and Yasha wishes they wouldn’t bother.
Bucky and Tony are different, of course. They had been from the start. Bucky had never shied away, had never rejected him, even when he had every right and opportunity to do so. He could’ve chosen to wipe the slate clean and denounce Yasha as ever having been a part of him.
The first thing Bucky had done after waking up from their separation though was to ask for him and when they saw each other, Bucky drew him into his arms and held him until Yasha stopped shaking and weeping, having woken up to the horrid realization he was truly alone for the first time in his entire life.
Yasha’s metal hand clenches, but his flesh one is gentle where it brushes over soft fur.
Fang seems perfectly unafraid, just like his owner, who had never been afraid either. Not when Bucky and Yasha shared one body, not when they were two people made whole. Tony had touched him without fear, his only concern always Yasha’s consent rather than his own safety.
It makes him a sentimental fool to think this, but Tony’s easy affection has always been one of the things keeping Yasha from falling so deep that he couldn’t claw his way back to the surface. He doesn’t want to fail Tony and in a purely selfish manner, he doesn’t want misery to take away time he could be spending with the man he so desperately loves.
Tony makes him feel like enough, makes him believe he isn’t so monstrous after all.
Fang wriggles against him as he gets more comfortable, as if to inform Yasha that, yes, it is best never to question Tony’s judgement.
They sit like that for a while, Fang dozing off and Yasha relaxing with the warmth and the weight settled against him. He loses track of time, but after a while, Fang perks up to watch the hallway and Yasha listens as well and—oh, there goes his heart, doing those dangerous pitter-patters any time he hears these familiar footsteps.
He tries to school his expression into something less eager before Tony rounds the corner, but he probably fails, as he does every time.
Tony’s eyes fall on them and his initial confusion changes into something terribly soft. Affectionate even, if Yasha decides to be generous with such things tonight.
“I see I’ve been abandoned for greener pastures,” Tony says and yes, it is affection and he’s looking at Yasha rather than Fang when he says it, at least until Fang gets up and trots over to Tony, bumping his head against Tony’s side. Tony’s hands automatically bury themselves in the thick fur, scratching and petting wherever they can reach.
“Everything alright?” he asks when Yasha provides no response—too entranced by the sight of Tony, he tells himself, because no matter what Bucky believes, Tony makes him a tongue-tied fool too.
He manages a nod, which Tony takes as a cue to come closer. Fang dutifully follows.
“May I sit?” Tony gestures at the spot next to Yasha, probably still warm from Fang’s earlier nap.
“Of course,” Yasha murmurs, his accent somehow thicker from sheer nerves and it’s embarrassing because he was only made to be Russian, an identity cobbled together from his handlers and makers, but Tony always says that it’s charming, that it makes him sound more ‘bad-ass’, and so Yasha tries not to hate it so much.
Tony flops next to him, so very much like Fang that Yasha realizes it’s making him smile and when Tony’s eyes land on him, so close now that Yasha can probably count those beautiful lashes, Tony smiles as well.
“I was gonna ask if we’re doing some good ol’ brooding tonight, but maybe not?”
“Your dog is surprisingly good company.”
“Heh,” Tony laughs, “I think he’s everyone’s dog at this point. But yes, he’s a charmer.”
“He loves you most of all.”
Tony’s smile widens and there goes the rest of Yasha’s heart, as if it ever belonged to anyone else but Tony and Bucky. Fang curls up on Tony’s other side now, nose pressed into Tony’s lap while Tony scratches behind his ears.
“I’m gonna be honest, I’m still getting used to being a dog person. It’s nice though—and I’m glad he’s been keeping you company. He’s usually adamant about sleeping by my bed, the overprotective ham that he is—I keep telling him I’m a superhero, but it’s in one doggy ear and out the other—but I’m pretty sure he and Friday developed a secret language and she’s been helping him sneak out at will.”
“He is a smart dog.”
“Too smart.” Tony gives Fang a vigorous head rub, making the dog huff in delight. “Everything’s okay though? I didn’t mean to intrude, I know you like to be alone sometimes.”
“No, no, I am fine. I don’t mind the company.”
“Well, that’s good, because I’m wide awake now so you’re both stuck with me.” Tony’s shoulder is pressed against Yasha’s and maybe it’s the odd hour or perhaps simple insanity creeping in, but Yasha gives serious thought to throwing caution to the wind and wrapping an arm around Tony to pull him closer.
His thoughts screech to a halt when Tony’s head drops to his shoulder and Yasha tries to stay perfectly still lest he break this wonderful moment.
“Sorry I haven’t been around much,” Tony murmurs around a yawn. “Too many things going on, as always, and now I have a dog too… But I do miss hanging out with you and Buckaroo. We should do something soon, just the three of us.”
It sounds so much like an invitation to more, but this is Tony, who always makes these invitations with no expectations.
“I would like that very much. Certainly Bucky would too. And I—I’ve missed you too,” Yasha says and it must be Tony’s comforting weight that makes him so bold. “Your furry friend has done well in our absence though. Half the compound fears coming anywhere near you.”
Tony huffs, his shoulder shaking with laughter. “I swear he has a vendetta against Steve.”
“Hmm, a clear proof of canine intelligence.”
“It makes having meetings very difficult.”
“It keeps the others cautious. As they should be.”
“Don’t you think you’ve taught them well enough? Barton still won’t come near me.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to be forced to… break him. Again.”
“Oh, you sweet-talker, you.” Tony sidles up just a little bit closer and Yasha can’t help it, the temptation’s too strong, so he gently extricates his arm and ever so cautiously wraps it around Tony’s waist.
Tony doesn’t flinch, doesn’t protest, doesn’t look up at him with disgust. No, he just snuggles in closer, like this is normal and right and…
It’s almost perfect and there are words hovering right on the tip of Yasha’s tongue, dangerous, life-changing words, but there’s a vital piece missing and he dares not speak a word of his desires until they are whole.
“Friday,” he calls out and Tony perks up when Friday responds that she’s at their disposal. “Is Bucky awake?”
“He’s in the library, reading,” she responds, which is followed by Tony’s amused huff.
“I swear, this building is full of insomniacs. So, are we inviting Buckaroo to our late-night brooding sesh or what?”
The question is casual, but it seems more important than ever. “It feels… like the right thing to do, doesn’t it?”
Tony shrugs and that is casual too. “I will never say no to two super soldiers at my beck and call. Fri, would you ask Frosty to come down here, please?”
There is a pause, before a crackle of static precedes Bucky’s voice. “How about you heathens come up here instead? You know, where it’s warm and we have couches?” Yasha can feel Bucky’s fond eye roll down in his bones. “I refuse to sit in the basement like a ghoul.”
“What do you say, Winter Wonder?”
“I suppose the offer is acceptable. Perhaps the cold basement floor really isn’t the ideal place to brood at three in the morning.”
Tony laughs, the sound so dear to Yasha, and his own smile is helpless to do anything but stretch wider when Tony wriggles between his and Fang’s body to stand up and tug on Yasha’s hand.
“Come, let’s go find your other half so the insomniac’s club can have a quorum.”
Yasha and Fang both follow and maybe that’s one more thing they have in common. Yasha would follow Tony to the ends of the Earth too if he could.
Tony’s stomach does its normal gymnastics routine when he sees Bucky, dressed in jeans and a sweater, sprawled over a loveseat with several books scattered around him. There’s a lovely fire crackling in the fireplace, soft lights strung all around the library, and the whole place smells like an apple pie. It’s nearly picture-perfect for this time of year and it’s easy to forget that it’s the middle of the night and they’re all on the wrong side of tired.
And then Yasha steps closer, practically plastered to Tony’s back—probably because Tony stopped in the middle of the doorway, staring at Bucky like a lovestruck fool—and yup, there’s that shiver up and down Tony’s spine, the one he gets any time either one of these two get too close.
Tony’s crush is out of control, even he can admit it, but what is he supposed to do? He’s never been known for restraint and if these two enjoy his company, he’s gonna enjoy them right back.
Whatever they’re willing to give him.
“There you two are—or three, rather. Sorry, Fang. Good, because I was not going to go looking for you in that damn basement.”
“You do have a pretty nice set-up here. Something straight out of a postcard.”
“If I gotta brood in the middle of the night, I may as well do it in style.” Bucky salutes them with a mug before taking sip; it looks like hot chocolate and Tony shakes his head fondly. Bucky is a creature of comfort, much more so than Yasha whose own desires lean more towards sharp, fast, and explosive, but Tony can hardly hold it against them. If what Bucky needs is a library filled with fairy lights, soft blankets, cute sweaters and more sugar than is humanly healthy while Yasha gets the best weapons Tony can whip up in his lab, a motorcycle with more than a few bells and whistles, and a streaming subscription to binge-watch Mythbusters all day, so be it.
Tony’s never going to admit it, but spoiling these two is one of his favorite pastimes.
Yasha nudges him and Tony takes that as a cue to flop onto the couch that makes up the semi-circle of seats by the fire. Fang doesn’t hesitate to lie down next to his feet, while Yasha is more careful, leaving what most would call a respectable amount of space between them.
For once, those too-clever gray eyes aren’t tracking Tony. Instead, Yasha and Bucky are doing the whole ‘We were two people in one body once, so we can still communicate with nothing but a look, and it should be creepy, but it’s actually really endearing and sort of attractive’, but that’s likely Tony’s biases speaking.
“Well then…” Bucky says, concluding whatever exchange they just had; he gets up, abandoning both his book and hot chocolate to sit on Tony’s other side.
It’s terrible, terrible torture, Tony decides, to have them both so close. He should feel boxed in—not because he’s small, but because super-soldiers are all overgrown menaces—but all he feels is safe and content and that probably says all that needs to be said about how Tony feels about these two and maybe he should say something, maybe he should take the risk and…
And that’s always where his courage ends and Tony berates himself for wanting too much. He already has them, as friends, as allies, as people who don’t mind his eccentricities and his clingingness and his need to shower people with gifts on the off chance just Tony isn’t enough and—
With all the self-pity swirling around, he almost misses the way Yasha sidles in closer, their thighs pressed together now, and the way Bucky takes Tony’s hand into his own.
“A-are we about to have a meaningful heart-to-heart?” Tony jokes in an attempt to shake off the feeling that this is important.
“I think that’s the plan, doll.”
“Isn’t it a little cliche? We even have a fireplace and everything.”
Bucky’s eyes are like gems with the way they catch the flickers of fire. Good lord, no one has the right to be this gorgeous—except for the other guy sitting right next to him—and yup, when Tony turns to look over his shoulder, Yasha’s lighter steel-gray is so intensely focused on Tony that Tony is left speechless.
Just for a moment though—or at least, that’s the plan, but then Bucky brings Tony’s hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles and that’s when all of Tony’s higher brain functions promptly shut down.
“W-what? I mean…” Tony can’t find the words, especially since the only coherent thought in his head is ‘Do that again, but everywhere.’
“I believe you’ve rendered him speechless,” Yasha murmurs. Tony can’t see him, but he can see Bucky’s face and how that soft smile turns wicked.
“It’s only fair. You make me stupid, doll, do you know that? I go from smooth-talking charmer to acting like a damn fool and it would be embarrassing if I wasn’t so gone for you.”
“Wha—” Tony knows he’s acting like a damn fool too, but this is one too many curve balls. “Gone for me?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Had been since—Lord, I don’t even know. Since we first laid eyes on ya? Since you took one look at us and saw something worth caring about? Since the first time I heard your laughter and we nearly tripped over our own two feet?”
“Oh.” Tony wonders if the human body is meant to feel so many good things at once. “Yeah, this is definitely a scene out of a cheesy rom-com, isn’t it?”
“Is that a bad thing?” Bucky asks and Tony knows he’s trying to be flirty and playful, but the undercurrent of doubt is evident too and oh, Bucky is far braver than Tony could ever be.
“No, it’s not.” It’s the truth, but it’s not just him and Bucky in this whole thing, is it? Carefully, so as not to dislodge Bucky’s hold on him, Tony twists so he can look at Yasha. “What about you? Is this—is this just a Bucky thing or a both of you thing or…”
He trails off because no human being is capable of forming words when someone looks at them like that. How much affection is too much affection when one has a faulty heart?
“I have always been yours, Anton. I would kill for you, I would die for you. I would… find worth in myself if it means making you happy.”
“Oh.”
Bucky clicks his tongue. “Sure, let me ramble on about being an idiot and tripping up the stairs while Yakov over here waxes poetic about undying devotion. Thanks, pal.”
“As the children these days say, get good, Barnes.”
Tony snorts, which breaks him out of the trance because what a horrible noise to make when two of the best men he knows are confessing their love for him.
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, you were both very convincing—and sweet and very poetic. Not sure I’d want to pick favorites though if I—I mean, I hope I don’t have to—”
“You don’t, sweetheart, never,” Bucky hurries to reassure him. “We’re just joking, because this is—” He laughs. “This ain’t easy, sugar, you understand that, right? Baring your soul like this. Ain’t easy for either of us, so we’re just trying to make light of things.”
“We will never ask you to choose, not between us.”
“Kinda a packaged deal, ya know?”
Bucky and Yasha lock eyes and it’s sweet, the way they look at each other. They’re competitive, sure, sometimes about the weirdest things—mostly him, Tony realizes—but in the end, they’re as devoted to each other as they are… to him.
Things click and maybe this has all been perfectly clear for months, but Tony was too dense to notice.
“I want to take you both out to dinner,” Tony declares and then hurries to clarify, “and not a normal dinner like we already do, but a—a date. An actual, legit date. With flowers and awkward small talk and a make-out session and everything. How does that sound?”
His heart is hammering away in his chest, but it’s only fair for him to go out on a limb too, isn’t it?
He feels Yasha move closer, press against Tony’s back to hook his chin over Tony’s shoulder. Two arms, a familiar contrast of flesh and metal, wrap around him. “It sounds perfect, but flowers are unnecessary, Antoshka.”
“I meant for me, you goof. Maybe I’m the one who wants to be wined and dined.”
It’s an obvious joke, because Tony is always the one pampering others, but it’s certainly nice the way Bucky kisses his hand again, with just a bit more intent.
“We’ll treat ya right, Tony. Everything you deserve.”
“Everything,” Yasha murmurs in his ear and oh, everything is a little too serious all over again.
“So this is… actually happening then? Because a part of me is pretty sure this is just early morning hallucinations and I’m going to wake up tomorrow with a killer hangover and a bit of a broken heart.”
“Definitely real,” Bucky declares and the way Yasha’s arms tighten around Tony, the press of him at his back, it certainly feels real. “We’ve wanted you for a long time. Tried to drop not-so-subtle hints, but you seemed content with being just friends.”
“I was very much not. I’ve wanted to climb you both like a tree since—a long time too, I guess. I’ve lost count.”
Bucky’s brows furrow. “Really? So were we really that bad at letting you know we were interested?”
Tony wants to say ‘yes’, but he’s pretty sure he’s at least partly responsible. “I… don’t think so? I’m not very good at these sorts of things either. Ask Rhodey.”
“It does not matter anymore,” Yasha says and Tony turns to him to watch fire fracture and play across the planes of his face and the metal of his uncovered left arm. “As long as you wish to be ours, solnishko, everything else is simply… details.”
“Yeah…” Tony breathes out and shivers again when Yasha cradles his cheek in his metal hand. The intent is obvious and Tony wants, so badly, but this is all still so new and full of uncharted territory. He looks back at Bucky. For confirmation? Permission? But Bucky simply smirks before winking in that ridiculously charming way of his.
“As long as I’m next, doll, I don’t mind watching.”
“Isn’t this… kinda weird?”
“We are two guys who used to share one body of a one-hundred year old amnesiac super soldier assassin who spent the better part of the last seven decades brainwashed and in a block of ice. Trust me, darlin’, we left ‘weird’ behind long ago.”
Tony shrugs. Bucky’s not wrong and if it’s okay with these two, the whole ‘dating both super soldier assassins at once’ is more than okay with Tony.
He turns back to Yasha, decides to hell with all this uncharacteristic caution, and pulls Yasha in for a kiss himself and the started little noise Yasha makes is delightful enough to make Tony’s toes curl.
Gods, they should’ve done this so long ago. The kiss is everything Tony wanted and oh so gentle too, which is expected, because Yasha has a terrible habit of treating Tony like spun gold.
There are hands brushing over Tony’s shoulders then, lips pressed to a shoulder blade and Tony breaks away with a whispered, “Be right back,” so he can turn into Bucky’s embrace and meet him for a kiss of their own.
This one is wonderful too, a little more playful with that smile Tony can feel pressing against his lips, and Tony can’t wait to catalogue every similarity and every difference between these two amazing men. Ones he may be lucky to have to himself after all.
Yasha’s hands begin to wander as well and he starts planting languid kisses up and down Tony’s neck and between the enchanted atmosphere of the library, the late night hour, and being trapped between them, Tony would wager he must be in heaven—
Squeaaaaaak.
A familiar furry face shoves a familiar stuffed duck right into Tony’s stomach and last he checked, there are no wet noses and slobber in heaven.
“Fang, what?” Tony exclaims as he tries to push the dog away, but it’s a futile effort and it doesn’t help that the two of the worst men he’s ever met are both laughing. “Where did you get that? How did you—No, stop squeaking, please,” he whines when the dog uses the full force of his weight to shove his nose into Tony’s belly again. The duck screeches its tragic cry, the squeaker inside it the only one Fang hasn’t destroyed yet. “Daddy is busy, bud. When did you even have the time to grab that?”
“Fang felt a little neglected, I see. Aw, didn’t you, boy? Yes, you’re such a good boy, you just wanna play, don’t you?” Bucky coos as he scrubs a hand over Fang’s head.
“Oh, so you don’t mind the interruption? I see how it is.”
“But he’s such a cute fella, how can I stay mad at him?”
“You are a traitor, Bucky Barnes.” It’s all teasing, of course, but Tony tries to look properly affronted when he turns to Yasha. “And what about you?”
Yasha shrugs enigmatically. “Can’t be mad at the mutt,” he says, “he brought you to me, didn’t he?” and to anyone else, Yasha’s delivery would’ve bordered on stoic, but Tony knows to read past the murder face and see that Yasha’s amused.
“Okay, that’s too damn romantic, I’ll let it slide. You though,” he says as he wags a finger at Bucky, “you are on thin ice, pal.”
Bucky grabs one end of the duck as he says, grinning, “Aw, don’t be like that, sweetheart.” He manages to wrestle the toy free from Fang’s grasp and using his super soldier skills, tosses it in a perfect arc down the hallway, sending Fang to run after it. “I promise I’ll make it up to ya.”
Tony can’t stay mad at that charming grin, he really can’t. “C’mere,” he mutters and pulls Bucky in by his shirt for a quick kiss. He turns to plant a kiss on Yasha’s scruffy cheek next before collapsing against him, savoring the way his arms automatically wrap right back around him.
Truth be told, Tony’s tired, and they have about twelve seconds before Fang returns to squeak them into oblivion.
“I think Fang may be trying to tell us something,” Tony says and his body, on cue, forces out a yawn. Maybe they can get hot and heavy after a good night’s rest. Maybe after a date or two. Depends on how long Tony’s patience will last. “God, I’m too old for late-night brooding and make-out sessions, aren’t I? This is tragic.”
Before Tony knows it, he’s laid out on the couch, sandwiched between two super soldiers and how they all fit is a mystery, but Tony doesn’t question the details. He snuggles into Yasha’s chest as he feels Bucky settle around him.
“Much better. Keep me warm and cozy, boys.”
“Anything you want, doll.”
“You two better still want this tomorrow though,” Tony mutters into Yasha’s shirt. “No take backs.”
“We will want you even more tomorrow.”
“Mm-hmm. Can’t wait to smooch the hell out of ya right in the kitchen for everyone to see.”
“Excellent,” Yasha deadpans. “We may send Rogers to an early grave after all.”
“Wow, aren’t you two the sweetest things?” Tony grumbles around a chuckle. Distantly, he hears the click-clack of Fang’s feet on the hardwood floors, feels Bucky shift to throw the toy again. Tony’s so comfortable though and he knows he’s falling asleep as his eyes drift closed and the press of two bodies lulls him into a warm, fuzzy state. A part of him doesn’t want to sleep yet, afraid this will all disappear come morning, but then Bucky presses a kiss to his temple, Yasha whispers, “Sleep, Anton, we will be here tomorrow,” and before Tony knows it, he’s fast asleep.
Fang perks up and with a big puppy grin trots over to greet him as Rhodey studies the sleeping pile of bodies on the couch.
They don’t fit, at all, and it’s both endearing and kind of hilarious.
Carefully, Rhodey pulls out his cell phone and snaps a picture to send to the group chat as undeniable proof of his victory. The betting’s been going for months and the others will argue Fang’s presence voids the whole pool, but since they’ve all tried to cheat their way into winning—and failing miserably because these three are the dumbest smart people they know—no one gets to argue a moral high ground and Rhodey always knew something would happen just before Christmas.
Yasha opens one eye to glare at him and Rhodey gives him a cheeky wave before he mouths a silent “Bye,” and walks off with Fang following him out of the library.
“How about we go to the kitchen and get you some treats, huh?” He gives the dog a good scratch behind the ear. “Those three may be there a while.”