starkingenuity | (no subject)

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Nothing would ever be as sweet as this. Tony Stark had not liked his father much, but every son has a need for revenge when they don't get to take out the big bad in their life personally. His dad hadn't hit him, but abuse can work down other channels. And even so, his old man hadn't deserved to die, and certainly not like he did. It was so ordinary to be shot down, for it to look like a cheap accident. Though it left Tony free of him, it also robbed him of his mother in the same stroke. He never understdood why unless it was all just for show.

Though he'd never had a name or a face, Tony had hated Bucky Barnes for a very long time. That his parents' murderer had been Steve Rogers' best friend, or had been brainwashed to be some sort of mindless slug, he didn't care. He hadn't cared at all, not until he found him asleep on that birdshit stained park bench with newspapers over him. And he hadn't cared then either when he stood there, repulsors aimed towards that piece of scum, until he muttered something in Russian and rolled onto his side.

The cap slipped. His gaunt face showed a man half his own age, looking absolutely wretched and...lost.

Tony Stark had spent the better part of a week on the new suit which, he did tell JARVIS, he didn't quite care if it could kill him or not with the way he disregarded every last safety measure in the book he himself had written. He'd managed to keep is secret from all of the comers and goers from the Tower too.

And now, now that he's here, now that the Winter Soldier had been tracked down in this park in the slums of DC, he can't bring himself to that revenge that had kept him drunk since he discovered how to track the man.

So Tony stands there. And waits. And sometimes forgets to breathe.

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After the Helicarrier, after pulling his target--Steve his name is Steve, I think--out of the water, after staring at the face of the man Captain America had claimed him to be, he still doesn't remember. He can't be the man from the exhibit. Steve's words had been familiar and all around confusing. He's just confused.

He ditches the clothes first and steals ones that aren't nearly as conspicuous. He steals food too but that's not nearly as easy to accomplish and he goes hungry most of the time. He's cold too but all he has is a bench in the park and he's taught a few ruffians a lesson in trying to steal what he does have.

It only brings his attention to how damaged his metal arm really is and the longer it goes without repairs, the more it wears down. He can force the fingers to work if he tries really hard but basically they stay curled up most of the time.

When he blinks awake from the disconcerting dream he's had and sees a man in a metal suit standing there, he jerks backward abruptly though he's sitting down. He throws up both hands to warily defend himself too. It'll be obvious to the other man that his arm isn't working properly. There is an obvious delay in reaction time compared to the other arm and the fingers don't straighten.

His eyes flick to one side and then other, judging whether he has escape routes. He highly doubts he can outrun whatever this is--is it someone he should know? Bucky's expression turns from wary to confused and back to wary.

He doesn't say anything. He's still not used to being allowed to say things without being prompted.

Having preferred the company of machines nine times out of ten for the majority of his life, seeing something so broken does chafe at him a little. It's not the arm that he really ought to be concerned about, however. The arm matters little. It's the man that arm belongs to that needs to be dealt with.

"Hate to go all Indigo Montoya on you," Tony says from behind the mask of silver. He hadn't bothered painting it. There's not much polish on this thing at all, but it works, it flies, and it can kill if needed.

He's starting to have second thoughts on the killing though. Sure, he's been the cause of a lot of it collaterally but this is different. This is a vendetta.

And Tony is rapidly losing his nerve.

"But you killed my father. And from what I've seen, a lot of people's fathers."

His expression is infinitely confused--Indigo Montoya? Who is that? What is that? He doesn't even know. He looks so lost as he stares back at Tony.

After a moment, he tilts his head slightly and looks almost... broken. On one hand, he's Steve Rogers hero best friend and on the other a tailored assassin that's just woken up in a world of a chaos. Before, there had only been the next order. The next mission. All the rest had been wiped away so all he remembers is Steve Rogers.

Now he's a weapon with no trigger, broken and useless. A man that has nothing in the world but some change in his pocket. Change he had scraped the knuckles on his real hand protecting.

He wet his lips and said, as honestly as he could make it, "I'm sorry..." He presses them together a moment letter, almost in a wince, before he says, "I don't remember."

He's sorry.

He doesn't remember.

Tony swallows behind the mask, glad it shields him because this might just well be murder. "That's a little convenient," he mutters. "I wish everything worked like that. Get a little drunk, pass out, and what you did before that doesn't matter."

He takes a step forward. It's something to brace himself on, to follow through with. It makes this real.

"Do you remember Howard Stark?" he asks, arm still lifted, the blue in the center of his palm aiming for the broken remnants of a man used. Damn it.

His confused expression only gets worse as Tony keeps talking. This isn't like getting drunk and passing out. This is everything. Everything.

Bucky stares, not comprehending, at the hand raised toward him. He doesn't know Iron Man. He doesn't know what the suit is capable of but he does know he's wary and uncertain of it.

Howard Stark. Howard Stark. He repeats the name in his head a few times. It sounds familiar. He feels like he should with the way he's being threatened. He's sure now he's being threatened but he's not sure it matters. It'd be doing him a favor really.

"I don't even know who I am," he tells the other man with slumped shoulders when nothing related to Howard comes to him. His gaze shifts, he keeps going back to Steve, "I was... I was supposed to kill Captain America. Why did I save him instead...?"

His eyes shift back to Tony, "Was Howard a friend of his?"

If Tony could wipe a hand down his face right now, he would. The blankness in Bucky's eyes is terrifying enough, but JARVIS' voice in his ear confirming that, through virtual readings, he isn't lying makes it worse.

"He was your friend, yeah," he says, trying to stay hard and failing. The arm drops and the repulsor disengages for the moment. He focuses on that broken arm, on the degeneration of the metal and the wires as dew has settled into the circuitry. "Stand up, soldier. You're coming with me."

He should kill him. He still might, before Steve finds out he has his old bestie. Tony rarely plays Good Samaritan. And he isn't now, either, he tells himself.

He almost looks shocked by the question pulling back and wide-eyed as he regards Tony in front of him. His voice is just as quiet as he speaks again, "My friend?"

His other arm is only doing slightly better. He had popped it into place again after Steve had dislocated it but under his stolen shirt he is a mess of bruises. Considering he is nearly on Steve's level of healing, that speaks to both his malnutrition and his injuries.

Bucky almost wants to jump at the orders. Finally, someone telling him what to do. The problem is he's been threatened first and who knows who is even behind that mask.

"I don't know you."

"How about we put two and two together then? You killed my dad. Howard Stark was your friend and my dad, ergo? That's right. I'm Howard's son. You're James Buchanen Barnes, also known as Bucky or most recently 'That Shithead Winter Soldier. You, Captain Rogers and dear old dead Howard all hung out in the war together, way before you lost your arm and your mind. Now. Stand up. You're coming with me. I'd prefer to do it the easy way but, just in case you can't figure it out, hard way is fine for me too."

He grins, though Bucky can't see it behind the mask and Tony moves forward.

"I won't drag you too far. The Ritz keeps rooms for me nearby. Hold on with your good arm if you know what's good for you." Bucky might be fast, but he's also tired and confused. Tony's suit is faster.

He listens to everything with a confused frown. These names only make sense when he actually remembers. Tony being Howard's son means almost nothing to him. It corroborates what Captain America had told him about himself but that doesn't mean it's not a trap.

His eyes narrow slightly at the order. He doesn't like this. Tony is concerning him. It feels too much like a trap. His paranoia is sending off a billion alarm bells in his heads.

Tony won't have any warning. Nothing but a brief wild look in Bucky's eyes. He's not going easily. It hurts like hell but Bucky uses his real arm to propel himself backward off the bench and runs.

"Oh really?"

Tony rolls his head around on his neck and sighs. He's probably too old for this but he really likes a challenge. Again, he lifts his arm. OKAY. So yes, firing a repulsor beam at Bucky isn't exactly a challenge, and the EMP charge being focused at his arm... Also not fair in this fight.

Not that the arm proves much of a challenge here. It's already so horribly broken. He feels bad for it.

"Don't make me do this the hard way. I might not actually want to kill you just yet after all!" He ignores JARVIS's remark that he's likely not helping his cause.

Yes, really. Bucky ignores him from behind and forces his malnourished, broken down body to cooperate as he sprints off the path into the meager amount of trees.

If there's one thing he does remember, it's how to make a getaway. He's not so good at going underground without the resources but he knows how to make himself disappear. He just needs to get away from Tony.

Why can't people just leave him alone?

God damn it. Why do people always run after you expressly tell them not to? Tony sighs and takes to the air. He's unsteady, yes, but he's built forty-two suits in his life (as that seems to be the answer to the meaning of life and the universe according to some massive computer he secretly hopes exists so he can date her) and even without testing, this one is still pretty good.

Unlucky 43. He's ruined it!

JARVIS shifts to the battle HUD, which glows orange because he'd been out of little red LEDs for the inside of the helmet, and Tony pauses overhead and a bit in front of Bucky. He blasts him with the EMP first. "You should stop now." When that doesn't have the desired effect, it's the repulsor itself, aimed at Bucky's back as he jogs around trees.

His gaze flicks up to the flying man and gives him a glare. This had not been in his plans for today either. The EMP blast staggers him and he lets out a small sound of pain as his arm falls even more useless than it had already been.

He doesn't listen to the suggestion to stop and earns himself a blast in the back that sends him sprawling. He's slow getting up, particularly with one arm and he's incredibly vulnerable right now.

"Stand down, soldier," Tony commands from over Bucky's head. "It doesn't have to go this way."

But it does. Tony is to fooling himself. He'll shoot Bucky as many times as it takes and when it's done, hopefully he'll still be breathing. JARVIS will confirm it for him and then he'll scoop up the Winter Soldier and do what Steve Rogers can't.

Fix that damned arm.

He doesn't listen to that either. Tony isn't exactly extolling his confidence here.

The second blast has him hitting the dirt again and he curls in on himself. It takes two more to knock him unconscious and that leaves him completely at Tony's mercy. He's gaunt and too young looking when he's asleep. He definitely doesn't scream master assassin with his scraggly, greasy hair and dirty clothes. It had been his intention of course but it just shows how far he's fallen.

Bucky mumbles again in russian before his eyes blearily open. He's no stranger to waking up in places he doesn't remember but it doesn't make it any less panic inducing. His breathing and heartbeat spike, only added to by the sounds of someone working on his arm. His eyes flick that direction and see Tony sitting there. It's tempting to just jerk away but not with tools in his arm.

Ignoring the way his captive and subject jolts awake, and really needing to learn Russian because German isn't helping as much as he thought it should, Tony doesn't look up through the red tinted goggles he has on and just smirks. "Flex your middle finger inward?" He pauses to watch and then frowns when nothing happens.

The servos are fried. It's not a problem but he doesn't have a full lab here. He's already cannibalized part of his suit but his tools aren't exactly precision either.

"How about your thumb? Honestly, how do they have you wired up? It's like patches on patches."

Edited 2014-04-23 02:04 (UTC)

Bucky is obviously in distress. Tony can talk all he wants but he's just going to get a wide eyed wild look. He can't be back with them. They'll wipe him again. They'll put him back in the freezer. He only knows basic maintenance on his arm. One mission he had welded a few lines back together and they had flipped out. As far as he'd been concerned, it'd gotten the job done.

Prisoners aren't usually terribly cooperative, Tony.

Luckily, Tony doesn't need to be answered. He's really very, very good with being ignored too because it lets him just talk at his leisure. There's very little more he likes than to listen to himself. Or so he makes everyone else believe.

When Bucky doesn't comply, however, Tony removes his hands and frowns at the sallow-eyed man. "Listen, if you want a funky arm, fine. More power to you. But if you want me to fix it, a little cooperation would be nice."

Tony's not in the suit anymore after all.

He could just be a new Hydra scientist for all Bucky knows.

If Tony had shown him his face before, he might be less concerned now but he doesn't remember Howard to see the resemblance and as far as he knows the only that knows anything about his arm is Hydra. He barely hears what Tony says at all.

He turns a wild, afraid look on the man and his expression is pitifully broken. "Please... please not again."

You don't expect your enemy to look at you like that and Tony rolls back ever so slightly in the desk chair. The room is pretty nice, but he's already messed it up while he built part of a lab to take a look at Bucky's arm. He'd been salivating over it, scanning it with JARVIS through the suit and--

And not expecting to see such fear in those blue eyes of his father's killer.

"Not what again?" he asks, just to be certain. "Put you back on ice? Hate to tell you but your masters are gone. We cut off all of their heads. Hard to grow back more when you're a dead hydra. You're safe. More or less. Your lucky I like to tinker."

No, it isn't the ice though that is wholly unpleasant too. It's wiping that makes him afraid. He hasn't come a long way but he knows things now. He also remembers how much it hurts.

Bucky still doesn't know if he can trust Tony or what he's telling him. He doesn't put together that this is the same person from the park because as far as he knows that had just been a machine.

"Gone?" he echoes, tongue running across his bottom lip nervously. He eyes the room again and it doesn't mean much that he doesn't recognize it. His eyes shift back to Tony, "Then who are you?"

"Tony Stark." Honestly, did this guy pass out and forget every single time? "Listen, 'Memento,' I don't have time to constantly fill you in, all right? I'll run it down for you. Steve Rogers sometimes works with me. You killed my dad and a few hundred other people. I'm Iron Man. And I have been nursing a hangover so I can get your arm back to working. Don't try to run."

He gave Bucky one of his father's best 'looks' and tapped a screwdriver against his knee.

"Will you flex your fingers now? For me? You do kinda owe me."

"From the park," he says slowly, a little confused and no, he doesn't forget things all the time. He just doesn't know what Iron Man is because he's been a little busy. He listens to the summary anyway because he remembers enough to find holes in things. It's the same as before.

"If I... if I killed your dad and all those people. Why are you helping me?"

It's the same question he wants to ask Steve almost. After everything, why would he save him?

Bucky turns his gaze down on his hand and tries to do as asked, only two of them move. One of them twitches. It's accompanied by a harsh sounding 'whir' that shouldn't be there and he frowns at it.

"That's a really good question. I'm not helping you, exactly. I'm helping your arm. Plus, unfortunately, I'm a good guy. That means that I only kill people if they're trying to kill me or it's an accident. More the latter. Plus... You look like you're going to cry." And something inside of Tony had almost broken when he saw that look on the park bench.

He grits his teeth behind his lips and just lets it go. He wants to hurt Bucky still, but that lingering desire is hardly there any more. It's replaced with...pity.

"Besides, your bestie would kick my ass. I didn't call him, by the way. I figure that if you're sleeping on a park bench, it's because he doesn't know where you are and you don't want him to. Hungry? I have peanuts and scotch."

He gives Tony a confused look. He's helping his arm? In what world does that even make sense? The crying thing makes a little more sense but it's not going to happen. He doesn't know that kidnapping a homeless person makes someone a 'good guy' but who is he to judge? Bucky has no idea.

"I don't know him either," he tells him, eyeing his arm again. "And I don't cry."

Bucky swallows, he doesn't know about scotch but any kind of food is a good thing. "Peanuts?"

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