riverviewlogs | [open] gimme fuel, gimme fire

Entry tags:

[open] gimme fuel, gimme fire

who: Tony Stark and Open
what: Tony and his bots making themselves at home
when: September 4 - 30
where: Tony's workshop, shared housing, and anywhere in between
warnings: None yet

To the surprise of absolutely no one who knew him, once Tony's workshop was even moderately livable he essentially disappeared into it. He could occasionally be found heading back and forth towards where he (technically) slept, but that was mostly to grab something he'd forgotten or on the extremely rare occasions where he decided seeing actual daylight might be a good idea. Or someone else decided it for him, and was quite happy to hold his work hostage until he went along with it.

But being able to actually work, having his own private space to get things done, settled him in a way he couldn't articulate. A slight tension to his shoulders had loosened, something that would have been hard to notice until it was suddenly gone. Tony smiled a little easier, seemed much more pleased with himself with his hands covered in grease and soot.

With Dum-E and JARVIS there, the armor tucked into a corner like a watchful sentinel, it was almost like the best parts of the last few years. Sure the lack of his usual resources made it hard to forget that he wasn't exactly at home, but all said, Tony was about as settled as he was likely to get.

At least while dealing with everything else that got thrown at him, anyway.

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He appreciates that Stark isn't arguing with him on this, it makes it easier to accept the help. He's still nervous as all hell, but the presence of something that he can't actually hurt but which might be able to stop him from hurting anyone else is a major plus. He's not afraid of the pain, he's endured much worse than what this will be, he's just scared of the memories it might bring up.

"You've managed this long."

The words slip out without him even thinking about them. It's how it tends to happen, in times of stress there'll be pieces of either Bucky or the Soldier that escape, at least this time it was the snarking humour of who he used to be, who he still is sometimes.

"Tell me what you're doing, keep talking, might help."

"People Magazine would disagree with you," Tony shoots back cheerfully as he gently takes hold of Barnes' metal wrist and adjusts his arm until it's in a good position. And if he just keeps hold of him for a second or so to make sure Barnes' isn't going to immediately lash out, that's just him being careful.

But talking? That, he can do.

He immediately launches into a monologue as he starts moving the damaged plates, shifting them to get at the wiring underneath. And he does describe what he's doing, it just happens to be peppered with random observations about the technology, increasingly outlandish and creative guesses as to how exactly Barnes managed to injure himself in the first place, and suggestions for much less damaging hobbies. Maybe knitting.

Perhaps he could see how the incessant chatter would be annoying in other circumstances, but it really does help here. It gives him something to focus on which isn't the pain or the sensation of being worked on, something that's so alien from anything that happened whenever he needed maintenance from HYDRA. Not that he joins in, offering no remarks on the varying theories as to how he injured himself, he just listens intently.

He has to admit that he's impressed. There's not a lot of engineers could work on this arm, and then there's the added complication of blood making everything obscured and slippery, but Stark seems to be managing almost with ease.

He lasts a good long while, but eventually even the endless monologue begins to fade into a dull buzz at the back of his head, and all that fills his senses is pain and fear. Depending how observant Tony is, he might notice that Bucky has gone abnormally still, barely even breathing, eyes fixed on the middle distance.

Not that he's been expecting responses to his endless babbling, but when it occurs to Tony that he hasn't had to ask Barnes not to move in a while, he glances up to make sure the guy hasn't fallen asleep or anything. And he hasn't, but he also...isn't there, in a way that makes the hair on the back of Tony's neck stand up a little. It's unnatural. And creepy as hell.

He slowly straightens, though he does have to concentrate to make his hands move away. He's getting good work done, and pausing in the middle of it just feels wrong.

"Barnes? You with me?"

He feels the tugging on his arm, always an odd sensation for it not being his actual arm, stop and his head cants ever so slightly to look up at the man next to him. Not with any real recognition, his eyes are still blank and it's like Bucky has checked out and left nobody home.

When his reply comes, it's in Russian. It's not a conscious choice, but sometimes Russian feels more like his mother tongue than English.

"Is the maintenance done?"

Oookay, Tony may not speak Russian, but he can recognize enough of it to realize that this is definitely a bad sign. He backs up a little more out of range, careful to keep his hands where Barnes can see them.

"J?"

"He wishes to know if the maintenance is complete."

Ah. "Nyet," Tony says carefully. He knows that one at least, since he's not sure how much English Barnes is actually processing at the moment. He makes no movement back towards the arm, though.

It's not even that he's particularly worried about himself, as dangerous as Barnes might be right now. The armor's still standing by, even as Tony resists the urge to glance over towards it. Tony's not enough of an asshole to just ignore the fact that the guy's been triggered into a flashback.

This whole scene felt so weird, disjointed and surreal. It was half an underground facility and half a workshop that was unfamiliar to him, but in both he was on a chair being worked on, and he hated it. Hated the invasive nature of the procedures and not getting a say in what huge chunks of metal were being grafted to his skeleton.

Except he did have a choice this time, didn't he? He'd asked for this to be done, asked for help, from-- Stark?

"Howard?"

No. Wrong Stark. Was it?

It makes him freeze for just a second before Tony forces himself back into motion. His body language is almost too casual, but it's better than the alternative.

"No. Tony. You back with me, Bucky?"

The nickname feels odd in his mouth, but somehow it feels like a better idea. Distance is not going to help right now, not when Barnes only seems to have the vaguest idea of who he is.

Tony. That was right, this was Tony Stark, Howard's son. He had come here to get help, not because he's being forced into it, and now he's ruining things all over again. He at least manages to get control of himself enough to know how dangerous he could be right now, walking the razor's edge.

"Yeah." Sort of. "How much is there left to do?"

If there's more than an hour of repairs left, then he might just have to give it up and run, he doesn't know if he could hold on for much longer without doing something that he'd really regret later.

"Not too much." There's more he could do, it's a serious mess in there and it's offending Tony's engineering sensibilities, but he can also tell that they're walking a dangerous line here. Most of the immediate damage has been fixed, at least enough for the arm to be useable and for Barnes to probably be able to heal the physical part with nothing jamming into him.

But he still doesn't move for a moment, just watching him. Something almost considering creeps into his expression and his eyes dart rapidly towards the armor, still standing at attention next to them.

"You need something to hold on to?" He says it a little wryly, but the offer is genuine. Not that he actually thinks Barnes wants a hand to hold, but something that might stop him from lashing out might make things easier. Or worse. Hard to tell.

"I just don't want to hurt you."

The admission is quiet and raw in a way he very rarely allows to show through the carefully maintained neutral expression, but he's throwing all of his energy into keeping himself present in this room and he doesn't have any left for pretending that this isn't scaring him deeply. His eyes flick up to look at Stark directly, and for once they're pleading and desperate, a tiny show of just how much he doesn't want more blood on his hands and how much it kills him to have it there already.

"If that means stopping now because you've done enough to make it work, then stop. If it means restraints to get to that point, do it. I don't care."

He studies Barnes in silence for a second or so before Tony's eyes dart quickly to the side, towards the armor. And the armor, in turn, shifts forward to drop one hand onto Barnes' uninjured shoulder. Not restraining yet, but something that could be. And can react much quicker than Tony ever could.

He's not going to give empty platitudes about how Barnes won't hurt him. They both know just how easily he could, even without meaning to.

"Would it help to be able to see what I'm doing?" Tony asks suddenly, then blinks once like he's surprised himself with it. His mouth has gotten out ahead of his brain again, but it's honestly not a bad idea. "Or, I don't know, cartoons or something."

Stark is going up in his estimation every time he doesn't waste precious time in denying that Bucky could be a threat, every time he just deals with it. It makes it easier to stay, even if the feel of a metal hand on his shoulder sends his heartrate speeding up again.

"Yeah."

He sounds surprised, eyebrows raising.

"You can do that? Show me what you're doing as you're doing it?"

"Sure," Tony says after just the briefest moment of hesitation, followed by, "J?"

A glowing square flickers into view, set right at Barnes' eye line and showing what must be the view from over Tony's shoulder. The metal arm still laid open, but most of the obvious damage has been straightened. As if to prove the point, Tony waggles his fingers and glances back to watch them move the same way in the display.

"Does that work?"

"That's amazing."

Just for the briefest time, Bucky isn't a terrified man undergoing a painful procedure, he'a a guy witnessing technology that he's never seen before. He shifts just slightly so that he can make sure he sees the same thing on the screen, before he settles back again.

"I guess you really are a genius."

"You guess?" There's definite amusement in the echo, for all that Tony's still giving him a kind of laser focus.

Once it seems like Barnes is settling down, he slowly leans in towards the arm again, though he's careful not to block the view of the camera. His movements are deft but careful, and it does seem like he's finishing up with the repairs.

"You know," he says after a few minutes of quiet work, "if you wanted, I could probably make a few improvements here. Not now, obviously. But...whenever."

"No."

The reply is immediate and vehement. For all that the display is helping him keep a focus on the here and now, that doesn't translate into being comfortable enough to let just anything happen to his arm.

"I don't want improvements, I just want it to work."

"Fair enough," he says with a shrug that somehow manages not to disrupt his movements. "Offer's open." It still bothers him, the knowledge that he could do better, but he's not going to push it. They're still teetering on the edge of something unfortunate as it is.

He goes back to babbling as he works, occasionally pointing something out to the presumably-watching Barnes but more often than not just letting his train of thought run to whatever strange places it feels like. Weird tangents about an equation he's been running, random asides about projects he's considering, absently noting a twist of wire in the arm that kind of looks like the weird sculpture he'd seen once at a gallery Pepper had dragged him to.

It doesn't feel like too much longer before he's finally closing up the last panels and leaning back, but it's not like Tony's great at judging that kind of thing when he's into his work. "How's that feel?" He asks as he leans back to stretch out his shoulders.

The babbling is good and that, combined with the screen that lets him see what Stark's deft fingers are actually doing inside his arm, keep him from losing control again. His eyes are still a little absent around the edges when it's all done, but he's speaking in English and he knows where he is.

He waits until Stark is sat back properly before he stands up and rotates the arm, ignoring the pain from the bone that still needs to knit itself back together properly, flexing the panels and his fingers to the quiet clicking of machinery working perfectly. It's great, just as good as any of the official technicians had ever done, but he doesn't think Stark would appreciate that comparison.

So instead he just nods, the tiniest ghost of a smile at his lips. "Thank you." It's not an answer to the question, but it's more important than one in his eyes. He doesn't bother to say anything else, this could get awkward fast, he just heads for the door abruptly.

He twitches a little at the sudden movement, but Tony just watches him go with a hint of something sardonic in his expression and doesn't try to stop him. Even the armor seems to power back down where it's standing. Just as well, if Tony's already got his tools out, he can at least do some work on it, too.

"You know where to find me if you need another tune-up," is all he says with a quick glance at Barnes' retreating back, and dismisses the screen still hanging in the air with a wave of his hand. And then just turns away to let Barnes go hole up wherever he currently is.

Instead, he snaps once in Dum-E's direction to try to get the bot's attention. "Hey. Come here and make yourself useful. Yes, you, don't give me that look. Time to earn your pay."

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[open] gimme fuel, gimme fire

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