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“–eed help! Ping the armor! This is Tony Stark, I need help! Ping the armor! Is anyone receiving this?”
Bucky stumbles, but regains his footing before he alerts the guards by rolling down the hill to the entrance of their secret base. The radio he'd stolen from the guard he'd just killed (which means his time is limited, as soon as they call for a report his presence – a presence, at least, will be clear), is squawking in a familiar voice, one he's heard on TV with Steve.
There are no good reasons for Tony Stark to be transmitting on a Hydra frequency, and the lack of gratuitous explosions (Steve hasn't changed much, 70 years in the ice or not), means the Avengers aren't assaulting this facility, confirming his intelligence that they were otherwise occupied in D.C. for the week. How Stark ended up out here is a mystery, but in the absence of anyone else, it looks like he'll have to adjust his slash-and-burn strategy to accommodate a rescue, great.
HELP ME!
Everything goes black.
* * *
The next thing he's aware of, a hand is thumping at his shoulder (the flesh-and-blood one), and someone's shouting in his ear.
“Barnes! Barnes, are you in there? We're out, you can let me down any time now!”
He lets go of whatever he's gripping so tightly, mostly out of shock, and Tony Stark lands face first in the snow at his feet.
Ow fuck.
Stark rolls onto his back, spitting out snow as he starts bitching Barnes out. “I didn't mean drop me headfirst on the ground!”
At least, Bucky is pretty sure that's what he's trying to say, or something very much like it, the spitting not really helping with articulation. Irregardless, he has other concerns, like why the last thing he remembers is being alone, on the other side of this ridge.
“How did I get here? What did you do to me?”
“What are you talking about? You're the one who stormed the entrance like it was the gates of hell – actually that's a pretty apt description, 'abandon all hope, ye who enter here,' – and I saw it with Extremis, of course, tapped into the security feed to be precise. I lost you for a minute or two while you were traversing the base (seriously, I think they steal their layouts from video game dungeons), thanks to whatever they injected me with burning through my veins, then you broke down the doors to the room I was in like they were plywood, shot the doctor and guards between the eyes (you have amazing aim, by the way, with both arms), threw me over your shoulder, and booked it out of there. I mean, I am pretty amazing, ask anyone, but I'm pretty sure I didn't contribute to my daring rescue, which is a first, by the way.”
“I didn't ask how you saw anything,” Bucky says, discarding most of Stark's explanation as extraneous (although he can't help but be impressed with the nonstop flow of words, given the way Stark's gasping for air).
“Of course you're impressed, I'm very impressive. And I wouldn't be 'gasping for air' if you hadn't dropped me.”
Bucky draws a handgun (significantly lighter than he last remembered, apparently he had shot a few people, but with enough rounds remaining to stop Stark). “How are you doing that?” He demands, finger resting on the trigger guard, aiming (for now), for a shoulder.
Stark brings his hands up into the universal 'please don't shoot me' gesture, “doing what?” He asks, voice genuinely confused, and face pinched in pain.
Bucky hesitates, well aware this isn't going to improve the Avengers' opinion of his mental health, but not seeing any other options (especially if he really is losing it, again). “Reading my mind.”
“Uh,” Stark says, “that's not actually part of my repertoire. Unless you're a robot. You aren't a robot are you? Cap will be heartbroken.”
“I'm not a robot.”
“Ooookay, then why do you think I'm reading your mind?”
Bucky takes a moment to be once again impressed by Tony Stark, for accepting this as a possibility as opposed to writing him off as a headcase. He doesn't get a chance to respond, instead Stark is giving him a dumbfounded look.
“Oh, that's why,” he says. “Seeing as I heard that and your lips definitely were not moving. And really, if one of us were to be written off as a headcase, it would probably be me, just for the record.” He pauses. “On the plus side, I think I know what they injected me with?”
* * *
“I've read about the Enhanced in some of the Hydra files I stole,” Barnes says, staring at Tony. “They've only had two successes, all the other test subjects died.”
“So either they've isolated the genetic marker necessary and I just so happened to have it, or they're aware I don't make a good prisoner and figured what the hell, might as well get some more data while disposing of him.”
“Most likely the latter, it's not like you'd be easier to control with powers.”
“Yeah, I wasn't really prepared to give them that much credit,” Tony agrees. “Okay, telepathy, that's kind of cool, but it doesn't explain why you lost time when all I did was call f– wait, the arm, does it interface with your brain, or with the nerves and muscles in your shoulder?”
“Brain.”
Oh fuck. Tony thinks he's about to be sick, and is glad he hadn't gotten all the way to his feet yet, or his legs definitely would have given out from underneath him. It's one thing to read someone's mind, another entirely to hijack it for his own purposes.
“I heard that, what is it? And I feel that, what's going on Stark?” Barnes asks, looking a little green himself.
Fairly sure he'll throw up if he opens his mouth, Tony decides to try out his new party trick. Extremis allows me to interface with technology, telepathy lets me project thoughts. I think my call for help overrode your free will until you carried out the 'order.' You need to get as far away from me as you can, before it happens again. And it will happen again, he thinks inwardly, because I'm a selfish bastard that doesn't think before he... thinks.
Barnes just stares at him. “You think I'm going to leave you in the middle of nowhere, half a click from a partially destroyed Hydra base? And I was already planning on rescuing you after the message you sent over the radio, with Extremis I'm guessing, so you can quit your whining. Besides, I just felt how awful you feel for taking control.” He pauses, thoughtful. “What's the range on the Extremis thing? Can you call for one of your teammates to come get us?”
Tony feels his jaw drop, the nausea no match for shock apparently. “Uhm, last I checked you were staying decidedly off our radar.”
Barnes rolls his eyes. “Like I said, 'm not gonna ditch ya.”
Careful, your Brooklyn is showing.
Is that a yes or a no?
Tony groans. “Extremis can commandeer satellites, when it's working, but something about that shot caused a glitch, after piggybacking it into your brain; I'm going to have to debug the code and reboot it, for which I need a computer. Thank god Pepper reminded me the rest of the world is so technologically prehistoric or we'd need one of my computers to do this, but since she did, I have a flash drive that can connect to anything with a USB port tucked into this,” and he taps the glowing circle on his chest. “I don't suppose any of the base's?”
“Fried.”
“Yeah, thought as much. Well, you know a hell of a lot more about where we are than I do, so, nearest computer, cause I'm assuming the armor's trashed; I seem to remember seeing red and gold shrapnel in the walls and maybe a few bodies.”
Barnes shakes his head. “Your rescue directive must have been more than just 'help me,' but I don't remember anything until I dumped your ass in the snow. And as for a computer, we're gonna need a chopper.”
* * *
Bucky powers down the helicopter they'd liberated from Hydra and stares at Stark. He's slouched in the copilot's chair with his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he twists the outer silver ring of the device in his chest. It turns like a combination lock until a little panel slides open, then he pushes lightly on whatever it revealed, causing it to pop up with a click. The panel slides closed again when he pulls it out with a satisfied look, revealing the tiniest USB drive Bucky has ever seen.
“Extremis code interface, meet, uh, what should I call you?”
“Seeing as you've been in my head and all, you should probably call me Bucky.”
Stark mouths the word, like he's tasting it, and shrugs. “Alright Bucky, I'm Tony, nice to destroy a Hydra base with you.”
“I don't remember you doing any of the destroying,” Bucky says, “what with you being thrown over my shoulder and all.”
“Excuse you, I took over your brain and made you rescue me, therefore I get partial credit for any destruction that occurred in the course of said rescue,” Tony argues, tucking the drive into a pocket as they exit the chopper.
You're actually serious, aren't you?
I'm always seri- nope, can't even think it with a straight face. I'm totally serious in this case though, especially since it means I take the lead in our little competition – suck it, Steve!
Telepathy is handy; sniggering is not conducive to comprehensive speech, but that victorious fist pump Tony makes calls for nothing less. You know that's my best friend you're talking about right?
And?
And I've got you all beat, but I suppose I'll let you have second.
Tony pauses to take in the sly smirk on Bucky's face, fairly confident he's seen its cousin in the mirror. You are a sassy son-of-a-bitch aren't you? How on earth did you end up friends with Steve?
By the time he was big enough to do something about it he was used to it.
See, that doesn't explain why he gets all pissy at me, then.
Sure it does, I'm much prettier than you. Bucky flutters his eyelashes coyly, grinning at the dirty look Tony gives him in return.
Blasphemy.
And here I thought Thor was the god on the team.
Damn, I'm seeing history in a whole new light: Captain America and his sassy sidekick.
Which makes you version 2.0?
Tony is not impressed by the innocent look Bucky affects, albeit with more success than the most deadly assassin of the 20th century should be capable of. Okay, let's get something straight Bucky-boy, I am nobody's sidekick.
Bucky-boy? That's the best you can come up with? It's Bucky's turn to raise his eyebrows; if he's learned anything about Tony Stark, it's that he has a mouth almost as smart as he is.
Shut up, I'm still recovering from my stint as a lab rat.
Speaking of, I could get used to this telepathy thing, considering this conversation would have turned a whole lot of heads if we'd been having it out loud.
You're assuming I'm not broadcasting my half to the entire town – if you could call this a town.
Tony has a point; this is a one horse town if there ever was one. The computer they're here for is in the Police Station/Post Office building, which in itself is being a bit generous, considering its a two-room bungalow that looks like a strong wind could do it in. The residents certainly aren't used to outsiders, if the side-eyed looks they've been getting are anything to go on.
I think we would have noticed by now if anyone else was hearing you, from what I've seen on TV, it gives people something of a glazed look.
Oh you are just asking for an ass-kicking.
Bucky scoffs. Please, I'd like to see you try.
* * *
By the time Clint and Steve land the Quinjet in the same field as the helicopter, Tony and Bucky are just sitting and smirking at each other.
Clint's about to alert them to his presence with an earsplitting whistle when –
Don't even think about it, birdbrain; I can and will kill you with my brain.
I must have missed you testing that particular feature. Would've been useful when I was rescuing you.
Okay, you know what, I could just stop broadcasting for you, is that what you want?
Steve whistles instead; it's just as ear-piercing. “I assume at least one of you has a reasonable explanation?”
* * *
“You know you don't have to come with us,” Tony says, “it's not like you'd be abandoning me in the middle of nowhere anymore.”
Bucky just stares at him. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”
Tony... doesn't have a response for that.
* * *
Once they're all settled in Quinjet and Steve's preparing to take-off, Tony turns to Clint and says, "Really Clint, hiding behind Steve? Yeah, I noticed that. How exactly do you think telepathy works? And using Captain America as a human shield? Agent will be so disappointed."
Clint sighs, letting his head fall back against the hull with a thud. “You're never going to let this go, are you?”
“Oh Legolas, you'll be lucky if I don't broadcast it over the helicarrier loudspeaker.”
Or better yet, broadcast the scene directly into the crew's minds – I'm not sure words would do it justice. Tony smirks, using artistic license to add a girly shriek on Clint's part as he tries just that; he and Bucky had traded words, not images, but it seems to work just fine based on the indignant squawk from Clint. Even Steve appears to be trying to stifle a laugh, without much success, while Bucky honest to god giggles – apparently picturing Clint as a chicken.
Tony reflects the image back. A man after my own heart.
Bucky winks saucily – that's the only way Tony can describe it – and slings his flesh arm over Tony's shoulders.
It takes considerable willpower on Tony's part not to just dive in and figure out what Bucky's thinking. He forcibly reminds himself what a horrific breach of privacy it would be, even for him, every time he's tempted (so, every ten minutes, and each time Bucky shifts next to him).
This does not bode well for his future as a telepath.
* * *
Epilogue: Six Weeks Later
Tony has never been the guest of honor at a Welcome Home Party before. (He's aware this says a lot about his home life, considering his history as a kidnapee starting at the ripe old age of four, and the years he spent at boarding school). He's not precisely overwhelmed, but even after a month of training with Xavier, exuberant drunks might as well be shouting their surface thoughts in his ear. Their drunk surface thoughts anyway, because that's exactly what they're doing with their regular surface thoughts, for all he's able to shield against them.
He slumps back against the cool metal of the elevator wall with a blissful sigh. He may not have had a drop himself, but, well, telepath surrounded by happy drunk people. Penthouse, J, and make a note to call the contractors Charles recommended tomorrow. Hangover-by-proxy is not something I want to experience more than once.
Despite the slow speed of the elevator in deference to his contact-drunkenness, Tony only gets a few seconds of peace before the doors open to his floor. He stumbles out of them, determined to practice shielding until he can tightrope-walk through Oktoberfest with nary a wobble.
“Hey.”
Tony's head jerks up, his foot catches on something, and he's seconds away from an undignified face plant when Bucky rushes to his rescue.
“Huh, apparently I'm better at this shielding thing than I thought,” Tony says, voice muffled by Bucky's shoulder – not that he's complaining, it's a nice shoulder, strong and... supportive. He gets his feet back under himself and praises Thor he trained himself out of blushing decades ago. Apparently with distance he regains his fine motor functions and sense of shame (weak though it may be). “I'm not actually drunk–”
“Just been hanging around drunk people, I know. The professor gave me some reading material.”
Tony stops attempting to extricate himself from Bucky. “He what?”
Bucky blushes. “Well, I asked him for it. I figured it's only fair I, uh, we do our part to help.”
“Hang on,” Tony says. “You mean, that hour every Sunday when he shielded his office against a psychic apocalypse was because of you? Anyone who tried to eavesdrop found themselves wandering the grounds two hours later! With a splitting headache! … Uh, not that I know from experience, but you know how teenagers are.”
The blush deepens and spreads. Tony really wants to know just how far.
“They, uh, might have been check-ins,” Bucky admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can't blame a fella for being worried. I mean, Extremis helps keep you alive and lets you run the suit, and the telepathy screwed it up once. Don't even try to deny it, I was there.” Tony lets his mouth fall shut, the man has a point. “And before you try and be all noble and self-sacrificing, he told me the two are completely separate now, and the only way you could control me like before was if you tried.”
“And you trust me not to –”
Bucky shakes his head. “Stop it. I felt how awful you felt when it happened before, I know you would never abuse it. It's actually comforting, knowing you could stop me if something went wrong and the programming resurfaced. I'm not as afraid to be around people, especially ones I care about, because I trust you to stop me from hurting anyone.”
Tony feels like he's being thawed from the inside out, filling to the brim with warmth. He's made friends – a family with the Avengers, but before that it was him, Rhodey, Pepper, and Happy. He was the one trusting them not to let him do more damage than could be repaired. He's never been on the other side of the equation before. He feels like the arc reactor is glowing just a little brighter, and he doesn't know it, but the smile stretching across his face is just as bright.
There's an answering smile on Bucky's face and he shakes his head as the surprised joy spills over. “Some genius,” he says, and, taking advantage of the way Tony's still half using him for support, ducking his head to brush a soft kiss against Tony's lips. “Yeah?”
Tony doesn't bother with a verbal response, closing any distance between them like if he tries hard enough he can meld them together, and kisses Bucky like oxygen is beneath him.
Yeah.