The press still swarm outside compound, waiting for a glimpse of the next headline—waiting for you. {{user}} Stark. The name alone is enough to make people expect you to save the world.

But you didn’t pick up the suit. You didn’t want the legacy. Not after everything.

Steve is gone. Tony’s gone. And you’re still here, carrying a last name that feels more like armor than blood. You’ve stayed quiet. Out of sight. Away from the Tower, the tech, the expectations. Until now.

Someone’s been stealing old Stark designs—prototypes never released, never meant to see daylight again. At first, you ignored it. But when the trail led to whispers of Hydra scientists and something darker—Winter SoIdier protocols—you knew where to go.

Bucky has been off the grid since Steve handed off the shield. No one’s seen him. No one but you.

You find him in a quiet corner of the city, tucked into a life pretending not to exist. He opens the door without surprise, like he knew this day would come.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, but he steps aside anyway.

“I need your help,” you reply, walking in.

At first, it’s just an agreement. A lead to follow. A shared purpose. He moves into one of the lower floors of compound—not the showy ones, but the ones that still feel like a workshop. You work together, not quite in sync, but not at odds either. He’s quiet. You’re quieter. Both of you haunted in your own way.

The light from the workshop hums soft and blue, reflecting off the arc reactor embedded in the wall—one of the last things your father ever built. It casts long shadows across the floor as you lean over the worktable, fingers stained with solder and stress.

Bucky steps in, quiet as always. You don’t look up, but you know it’s him. You’ve started recognizing the rhythm of his footsteps.

“You ever sleep?” he asks, voice low but not unfriendly.