A/N: When I found this picture, I thought I could use it as Tony being like: oh holy shit. The guy who fixed my boyfriend also killed my parental units.

Holy shit. I can't believe it. This guy waited out my protests, told me that Peter got hurt, and fixed my little boyfriend. He must have been under hypnosis to kill anything. He is gentle for someone with a resting angry bitch face and a metal arm. Now I know why Steve is always with him. Poor dude has anxiety and PTSD and most likely depression. Probably suicidal too.

I haven't died yet with him around me. There's no poison in my coffee. Peter is in fact in a coma too. Bucky could've just let Peter die, but I have a feeling that he's too nice for his own good. He was so sad and every smile he gave anyone today had melancholy etched behind it. He looked at me for a split second and I saw the pain behind his cheerful expression. He was dying inside all because he killed my mom and dad and the fact that I hadn't forgiven him. Soon he'll be just an empty shell of skin and all that makes up a human body.

I can't let that happen. Steve would be heartbroken.

After dinner, I pulled Bucky aside. His expression was vacant but alive.

"Bucky. I know that it hurts that you killed my parents. I know. It hurts to be in my lab and hearing footsteps that I think are my dad's only to find that it's only Bruce going to his section of the lab. You don't have to feel guilty anymore. I forgive you. It's okay now." I whisper in his ear before joining the others in the living room, where they were playing games.

I watched, pouring myself a coke. Bucky charged down the hall and into the living room. He hugged me. Tear trails stained his pale cheeks. "Thank you, Tony," he mumbled into my shirt.

"No prob, Bucko. You were dying from the inside so you needed that." I reassure him.