System Error: Identity Manager (part VI)
Jun. 4th, 2017 11:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Iron Man Crossover (Self-Made Hero)
Summary: Despite how it might look, the transition isn't easy. There's only so long the destabilized situation can continue before something's gotta give...
Stark's Bodyguard AU
Word Count: 870
Rating: Gen
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Iron Man Crossover (Self-Made Hero)
Summary: Despite how it might look, the transition isn't easy. There's only so long the destabilized situation can continue before something's gotta give...
Stark's Bodyguard AU
Word Count: 870
Rating: Gen
He wakes up, shivering, in the cave. There’s no pressure on his chest, which is a little worrisome considering where he is. There’s panic, there’s ‘no one will find me’, there’s ‘where’s my suit already’.
And that thought makes him realize that this isn’t real. This is just another dream of his. So far, this other version of himself isn’t that different. He slides into this reality just like he’s changing into just another suit.
Or out of it, he thinks with a smirk. Hey, kid, you in there?
It’s worryingly quiet. Enough that for one long moment he worries about ‘baths’ given by friendly neighborhood terrorists and brain damage, and then there’s a slight stirring at the back of his mind, just like someone slowly waking up. I’m up, I’m up!
He frowns at the panic in the voice. The kid sounds genuinely distraught. Like something awful’s going to happen if he doesn’t respond quickly enough. He can feel the flinch in the kid’s mind, because they’re sharing it. Like he’s gonna get hit—
You can stop reading my mind at any time, Tony. The image is strong enough he sees the face in the mirror in front of his closed eyes, arms crossed.
Hey, even I need some time to figure out how this all works. It’s not like I’ve got practice with all this magic mumbo jumbo.
That earns a slightly relaxed stance. Slightly. Oh, hey, someone’s here.
“Pretending you’re asleep won’t earn you any more time to work, Stark,” someone speaks, and he feels a pang race through his heart.
He’s still breathing freer, feeling less pressure, than he ever does. He can’t remember what it’s like, really.
“And your friend is still dying,” he adds, and that makes him actually sit up and glance over.
Rhodey’s on the closest thing any of them have to an actual bed, grimacing even in his sleep.
Tony—and the kid (It’s Xander, he’s informed flatly, and ordinarily he’d just keep it up, but given that they’re sharing a noggin it might be best to keep on each other’s good sides)—both love comic books. And both, apparently—huh, that’s weird—basically kept their collection hidden from parental figures, just in case they disapproved. Tony Harris—and doesn’t that just make him feel uncomfortable—would be likely to sell it, just for the booze money. Howard Stark would probably…well, he wasn’t sure. Give it away? Rip it up? It wasn’t worth the risk, whatever its fate.
Point was, he’d seen this alternate universe storyline more than once. Little things in their lives that could change oh-so-much about the world at large. They’d seen it.
Rhodey had been captured, too. He wasn’t out there looking for them. He closes his eyes, feeling dizzy at the sudden influx of images—
The bomb—Rhodey screaming, yelling, running—taking the brunt of the blast, throwing Tony behind the rock—
“Are you all right, Stark?” Yinsin asks, gentle hand on his shoulder, and he pulls himself together, kid—Xander—supportive behind him. Even though no one else can see him.
“Nothing a good cheeseburger and fries and a chocolate shake can’t fix,” he responds flippantly. “Okay, let’s save Rhodey’s life.” He mumbles the second sentence, still facing the dirty corner of the room, pretty sure that his words aren’t audible or visible with their crappy cameras.
Time for the Arc Reactor. I love this part.
He tries to only mentally raise an eyebrow, since his reacting to someone who isn’t actually physically there will probably raise suspicion and he doesn’t want to find out if he can mess this up or what happens when he does. You’re aware you’re talking to the guy who will die if he doesn’t have it stuck in his chest, right?
You don’t have it in right now, the kid points out, sarcastic, and almost as an afterthought, adds, Uh, but sorry.
He’s at least partially sincere, so Tony shrugs it off (mentally, again). It’s fine, Xander. He pauses for less than a second in his delicately placing the palladium in the crucible. Hey, does this mean that I get to be War Machine?
Huh, Xander responds, sounding genuinely surprised. Then he chuckles. Well, I guess this means that you never, ever have to let anyone call it Iron Patriot.
That earns a mental grin, before they hear a weak voice join them.
Uh, hey. You look like me and…uh, you don’t. Not really. What’s up with that?
Oh! Mental pow-wow. We need hot cocoa with those little marshmallows, or snacks or something, Xander responds. Magic, alternate worlds, funky superhero comicbook stuff. I’d feel weird about this being my life but I’m too busy geeking out instead.
Other Tony pauses for about a minute. He’s quieter, more subdued, even, which is a little disconcerting but he can learn to deal with that because the alternative is death and he doesn’t particularly like death. Fair enough. I’d be a little more incredulous, but I can feel the truth ‘cause we’re apparently all in the same head and sharing our thoughts, so I’ll go with the empirical.
Smart man, Xander remarks, and at the mental elbow snorts. Tony rolls his eyes.
And that thought makes him realize that this isn’t real. This is just another dream of his. So far, this other version of himself isn’t that different. He slides into this reality just like he’s changing into just another suit.
Or out of it, he thinks with a smirk. Hey, kid, you in there?
It’s worryingly quiet. Enough that for one long moment he worries about ‘baths’ given by friendly neighborhood terrorists and brain damage, and then there’s a slight stirring at the back of his mind, just like someone slowly waking up. I’m up, I’m up!
He frowns at the panic in the voice. The kid sounds genuinely distraught. Like something awful’s going to happen if he doesn’t respond quickly enough. He can feel the flinch in the kid’s mind, because they’re sharing it. Like he’s gonna get hit—
You can stop reading my mind at any time, Tony. The image is strong enough he sees the face in the mirror in front of his closed eyes, arms crossed.
Hey, even I need some time to figure out how this all works. It’s not like I’ve got practice with all this magic mumbo jumbo.
That earns a slightly relaxed stance. Slightly. Oh, hey, someone’s here.
“Pretending you’re asleep won’t earn you any more time to work, Stark,” someone speaks, and he feels a pang race through his heart.
He’s still breathing freer, feeling less pressure, than he ever does. He can’t remember what it’s like, really.
“And your friend is still dying,” he adds, and that makes him actually sit up and glance over.
Rhodey’s on the closest thing any of them have to an actual bed, grimacing even in his sleep.
Tony—and the kid (It’s Xander, he’s informed flatly, and ordinarily he’d just keep it up, but given that they’re sharing a noggin it might be best to keep on each other’s good sides)—both love comic books. And both, apparently—huh, that’s weird—basically kept their collection hidden from parental figures, just in case they disapproved. Tony Harris—and doesn’t that just make him feel uncomfortable—would be likely to sell it, just for the booze money. Howard Stark would probably…well, he wasn’t sure. Give it away? Rip it up? It wasn’t worth the risk, whatever its fate.
Point was, he’d seen this alternate universe storyline more than once. Little things in their lives that could change oh-so-much about the world at large. They’d seen it.
Rhodey had been captured, too. He wasn’t out there looking for them. He closes his eyes, feeling dizzy at the sudden influx of images—
The bomb—Rhodey screaming, yelling, running—taking the brunt of the blast, throwing Tony behind the rock—
“Are you all right, Stark?” Yinsin asks, gentle hand on his shoulder, and he pulls himself together, kid—Xander—supportive behind him. Even though no one else can see him.
“Nothing a good cheeseburger and fries and a chocolate shake can’t fix,” he responds flippantly. “Okay, let’s save Rhodey’s life.” He mumbles the second sentence, still facing the dirty corner of the room, pretty sure that his words aren’t audible or visible with their crappy cameras.
Time for the Arc Reactor. I love this part.
He tries to only mentally raise an eyebrow, since his reacting to someone who isn’t actually physically there will probably raise suspicion and he doesn’t want to find out if he can mess this up or what happens when he does. You’re aware you’re talking to the guy who will die if he doesn’t have it stuck in his chest, right?
You don’t have it in right now, the kid points out, sarcastic, and almost as an afterthought, adds, Uh, but sorry.
He’s at least partially sincere, so Tony shrugs it off (mentally, again). It’s fine, Xander. He pauses for less than a second in his delicately placing the palladium in the crucible. Hey, does this mean that I get to be War Machine?
Huh, Xander responds, sounding genuinely surprised. Then he chuckles. Well, I guess this means that you never, ever have to let anyone call it Iron Patriot.
That earns a mental grin, before they hear a weak voice join them.
Uh, hey. You look like me and…uh, you don’t. Not really. What’s up with that?
Oh! Mental pow-wow. We need hot cocoa with those little marshmallows, or snacks or something, Xander responds. Magic, alternate worlds, funky superhero comicbook stuff. I’d feel weird about this being my life but I’m too busy geeking out instead.
Other Tony pauses for about a minute. He’s quieter, more subdued, even, which is a little disconcerting but he can learn to deal with that because the alternative is death and he doesn’t particularly like death. Fair enough. I’d be a little more incredulous, but I can feel the truth ‘cause we’re apparently all in the same head and sharing our thoughts, so I’ll go with the empirical.
Smart man, Xander remarks, and at the mental elbow snorts. Tony rolls his eyes.
