“You kidnapped me.”
The first thing Harry became aware of was that his head hurt so bloody bad that it made his stomach shake.
The second thing Harry became aware of was rolling on his side, hitting some sort of floor, and promptly throwing up all over the place.
And the third thing that Harry became disgustedly aware of was the fact that he just got his own vomit on his face and chest.
Which really made him want to throw up again.
Harry tried to think through the smell of bile and…
“Are you okay?”
Bucky.
Harry jolted upright, scowling when he was stuck in between seats in…
Where the fuck was he?
Harry looked around and realized he was in the back seat of a vehicle… a vehicle moving very fast… a very fast moving vehicle that Bucky was driving.
Harry was in a very fast moving vehicle that Bucky was driving while Harry had his own puke on him and it was dark outside.
“Bucky…” Harry met Bucky’s eyes in the rearview mirror and saw they looked clear and not-too-crazy. “Where are we?”
“Nearly to Tennessee,” Bucky said calmly. “We’ll have to stop soon and change cars. Are you hungry?”
Harry sat on the seat below him and took a moment to try and process what the hell was going on.
Bucky was hurt… then Peter was hurt… and then…
“DID YOU FUCKING STAB PETER AND KIDNAP ME?!” Harry yelled shrilly once he remembered being hit in the head while he was calling his dad.
“Mission status changed,” Bucky said, entirely too calmly, while he continued driving.
Oh god…
Harry frantically patted down his pockets, desperately searching for a phone he was certain wasn’t there.
Peter could be dying, or already dead…
Tony was probably panicking, Harry never stayed out so late without at least a message…
And Bucky wasn’t even slowing down in the slightest…
Harry crawled through the little space between the seats to get up front and take the passenger seat, looking for his bag. Unless his memory was wrong, and the fuzziness of it made that a good possibility, Harry had definitely grabbed a couple of calming draughts back when he wanted to help Bucky and not strangle him with his bare hands.
And Harry was also fairly certain that if he didn’t get one immediately to fix the very odd way he was breathing and sweating that he was going to die before Bucky had a chance to kill him.
“Bucky, Bucky, can you hear me?” Harry asked his bloody kidnapper when the bag wasn’t up front either.
Bucky grinned a little. “I’m not deaf or dumb.”
“Debatable,” Harry muttered. He cleared his throat. “I had a bag, where is it?”
Bucky kept his eyes on the highway that was moving so quickly it looked like a blur to Harry. Actually, Bucky himself was blurry as well, so Harry might just be having some sort of fit.
A fit he damn well earned, really.
“We had to ditch it, it could have had a tracker in it,” Bucky said.
Ditch it…
Ditch the bag with hundreds of galleons worth of potions in it and…
Harry’s breathing was definitely wrong when he realized what else he’d had in that bag.
“Where- where did you ditch it?” Harry asked between shallow breaths that did nothing to ease the burning sensation in his chest.
“Dumpster back in the city.”
Harry gripped the door handle to try and keep himself steady when everything went fuzzy and his head began spinning.
His dad’s cloak had been in that bag, Harry was certain of it. Harry never went anywhere without his cloak, not since revoking it from Sirius. It was… it was the only connection to James he had left…
“Pull over,” Harry whispered weakly when his stomach clenched tightly. When Bucky had apparently gone deaf, Harry quickly undid the lock on his door, threw it open, and rolled out of the car.
All in all, not one of his better plans.
“Are you insane?!” Bucky hissed. “You can’t jump from a fucking moving car! Do you have any idea how fast I was driving?!”
Harry moaned and looked down at his leg, or what was meant to be a leg, and felt violently ill at the way that the bone was visible through the skin of what had once been his shin.
When Bucky leaned down to lift Harry from the ditch he’d landed in, Harry lost his battle with his stomach and turned and threw up again, this time on Bucky.
Good, Harry thought victoriously before Bucky moved him. The pain rocked through Harry’s body like a crucio, and Harry’s eyes rolled up and his body gifted him with unconsciousness once more.
Unconsciousness didn’t last long and Harry woke in the backseat of a vehicle again.
Oddly, Harry didn’t actually hurt much and he opened his eyes solely due to that fact. Maybe he dreamt that he had seen his own leg bone.
Or maybe not…
Harry looked down his body and saw that his left leg was wrapped up in white bandages and strapped to some sort of blue board. Harry also had on a pair of baggy black shorts that he was certain he didn’t own and a white tshirt that thankfully wasn’t covered in his own blood and vomit.
Which made no sense, but Harry was still grateful to not be covered in disgusting bodily fluids.
“Siri?” Harry said, his tongue thick and his voice slurred.
“Sorry, kid, it’s still me.”
Harry twisted his torso around and saw Bucky was driving a different vehicle.
“What’s…” Harry’s tongue didn’t seem to be connected to his brain. “What’s going on?” he finally managed.
Bucky turned his head to look at Harry and then laughed—
Actually laughed.
As if there were anything funny at all happening.
“You’re high,” he said when he turned back to watch the road. “Sorry about that, I wasn’t sure how much you weighed so I guessed.”
Harry looked in the passenger seat and saw a blue bag with a white medical logo on it.
“Did you rob a hospital?” Harry asked as his brain struggled to make sense of anything.
“An ambulance, actually,” Bucky said as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I set your leg and sutured it and grabbed some extra doses of dilaudid. Your jeans were trash and you threw up on me, so I grabbed some clothes too.”
“From… an ambulance?” Harry asked dumbly.
Bucky chuckled quietly and shook his head. “Nah, I stopped and grabbed some clothes and food from a store. You thirsty?”
Harry was actually. When he nodded uncertainly, entirely lost while someone he considered his friend drove him further and further away from his home, Bucky handed Harry a bottle of water.
“Should I expect to die from poison?” Harry asked after he took a long drink that soothed the dry ache in his throat and made his brain feel slightly more connected to the rest of his body.
Bucky had the audacity to look surprised when he glanced up in the rearview mirror. “Why would I poison you? I’m saving you. They were following us for a while, but we lost them back in Virginia.”
“Who was following us??” Harry asked wildly. “HYDRA? My dad? Peter?! WHO WAS FOLLOWING US, BUCKY?!”
“Wizards,” Bucky said simply. “They work for HYDRA and they planned on taking you back to their base for execution. A thank you wouldn’t kill you.”
Harry laughed hysterically at Bucky.
“Thank you?!” he repeated. “You want me to thank you for throwing away my dad‘s cloak, killing my friend, and kidnapping me to save me from WIZARDS WORKING FOR HYDRA?! Fuck you,” Harry spat. “You’ve fucking lost the plot, mate.”
“I thought you didn’t like Peter?”
Harry laughed again and slammed his head backward, hitting the cool glass window.
“Does it matter?” Harry asked tiredly. “You killed him, Bucky. You killed a kid.”
Bucky killed Harry’s first New York friend. And Peter… Harry closed his eyes and swallowed hard when his throat clogged and a prickling feeling began in the back of his eyes… Peter had been trying to help Bucky.
Peter was another Cedric…
“He’s- he’s insane.”
“Take my body back to my parents.”
Harry was a plague. If Peter had been a hero while he swung around with his webs, saving little old ladies from muggings and girls being beat up by abusive boyfriends, then Harry had been the villain who ultimately led Peter to his death.
“Together, we’ll take the cup together.”
“Take him to the old bakery down the street from my place.”
“Are you crying? Harry?”
Harry jolted at Bucky’s voice. He opened his eyes and had to blink a few times to see Bucky looking at him in the rearview mirror again, his blue eyes concerned.
“No,” Harry lied. He reached up with heavy arms and wiped his face off. “I’m great, really, this might be the best day of my life. It’s right up there with the time my uncle dislocated my shoulder.”
Which had actually hurt a lot less than knowing Peter was dead did.
“Smartass,” Bucky scoffed. “That kid isn’t dead, by the way, I saw him on the news.”
“What?” Harry lifted his head while his heart rate picked up. “You saw Peter on the news?”
“Yeah, in that costume he wears,” Bucky said. “He’s with Tony and Steve. You’re, uh… officially a missing person.”
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that Bucky wasn’t just saying more crazy shit and that Peter was actually alive. The thing was, even though Bucky was acting crazy, he actually seemed as sane as he had the first time they met. Bucky seemed to swing between complete madness and perfect sanity, and Harry used to be able to tell the difference between the two.
Clearly, Harry was a shit judge of character.
“How long have we been gone?” Harry asked Bucky, picking up on the fact that Harry was a ‘missing person’.
“About twelve hours.”
Harry nodded slowly. “And where are we?”
“Memphis.”
Harry had been learning to fly when other kids in primary learned about world geography and Midtown didn’t exactly teach basic geography either.
“Where is Memphis?” Harry asked, trying to imagine a map of the States in his head.
“Tennessee,” Bucky told him. “We’re about three hours from Texas.”
Texas was easy, even Harry knew where Texas was.
“Is that where we’re going?” Harry asked, working hard to stay calm so he didn’t set Bucky off.
Bucky sounded calm, completely in control, when he answered. “Mier is our final destination. I know some guys down there, they’re not allied with HYDRA.”
“Right… right… and Mier is in Texas?” Harry asked.
“Mexico.”
Harry closed his eyes while he inhaled slowly, holding it for a few seconds, then exhaled.
“I AM NOT GOING TO FUCKING MEXICO!” he yelled, causing Bucky to jerk the wheel and smack Harry’s head on the window.
“Bucky, turn around and take me home,” Harry said harshly, his eyes watering from the smack. “We do not need to go to Mexico. We need to go home.”
Home where Sirius could fix Harry’s leg before he was some sort of permanent cripple.
Home where Harry could go dig in every dumpster in New York until he found his dad’s cloak.
Home where Harry could see that Peter was alive.
Home, Harry just wanted to go home.
Harry could be in his bed with Joey curled up on his not-shattered legs and they could sleep in since it was Sunday. Then Harry would spend the day catching up on homework, maybe watching Tony tinker on stuff in his lab, they’d have dinner with Sirius and whoever else was around, and Harry wouldn’t be in a car with a crazy person and a broken leg and no phone and his dad’s cloak in a bloody dumpster.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” Bucky said calmly, sounding rational instead of completely psychotic. “I have to get you to a safe location then I can complete the mission and you can go back, okay?”
No.
Not okay.
Not okay at all.
With very few options currently available though, Harry leaned his head back and closed his eyes, hoping he could teach himself apparation before he needed to learn Spanish. Or, at a minimum, if Harry could figure out how to wandlessly stun Bucky, then that would be nearly as good.
In… out…
Tony was probably panicking. He seemed like a panicky kind of person…
In… out… clear your mind…
Hermione was going to worry when Harry didn’t call her…
Let your thoughts drift away…
In… out…
Harry’s only heirloom from the man who died to save Harry as a baby was in a dumpster…
In… out…
Peter had been bleeding, so much…
Sirius might be freaking out…
Pepper was probably upset…
Childishly, Harry wanted his dad rather badly just then.
After what felt like an hour without Harry accomplishing even a weak light in his pinky finger, Harry opened his eyes when the car turned and began slowing down.
“Where are we?” Harry asked dully, rather resigned to be the unwilling participant in Bucky’s insane scheme.
“We’re just changing out cars before places start opening up,” Bucky said. He glanced up and met Harry’s eyes in the mirror and raised his eyebrows. “You want food and something for the pain?”
“Yes to food and no to being high,” Harry scowled. “I’m hoping eventually you’ll wake up from your episode and we can discuss going the fuck home.”
Bucky sighed and Harry truly couldn’t understand how rational he seemed. The last few times Bucky had been… having one of his episodes… he’d sounded frantic and mad, like Sirius when they met in the Shrieking Shack.
“Yeah, sure, we’ll go back to New York so those wizards can kidnap you and Tony can kill me,” Bucky snorted. “Anyone ever tell you that you suck at making plans?”
Harry had to breathe very, very, slowly to keep from absolutely screaming at Bucky. Just because Harry was bad at plans didn’t mean that Bucky ‘I stabbed a teenager and threw away your priceless heirloom’ Barnes was good at them.
Bucky pulled up to a car lot that had the lights off and the lot filled with vehicles.
“I’ll grab a van so you can keep your leg stretched and get some rest,” Bucky said, as if that was meant to be comforting. “Keep quiet, I’ll be right back.”
Harry nodded obediently and the second Bucky disappeared in the building of the car lot, easily breaking down the door, Harry scrambled out of the car.
Putting weight on his leg was a very special kind of hell, but Harry had done more on a broken leg before and he wasn’t going to fucking Mexico. They had passed a fuel station not far from the lot and that was the direction Harry began hobbling in.
Once he realized that he wasn’t going to win any races with his leg strapped to a board, Harry put all his weight on his right leg and bent down and ripped the blue board off.
Fucking Buck—
“Sonofabitch,” Harry swore under his breath when he stepped forward with his left foot and the world swam in alarming way in front of him.
Harry wasn’t a doctor by any means, but he would bet his Firebolt that his leg was in worse shape then than it had been after the third task.
Bucky should just crucio me and really replace Voldemort… Harry thought uncharitably as he grit his teeth and struggled onward.
The fuel station was close, Harry could see the sign all lit up in the sky, Harry just needed to get there. Someone would have a phone…
Harry was struck with the sudden realization that he didn’t know anyone’s phone number.
Why, WHY, had he never bothered memorizing anyone’s phone number?!
It was fine… Harry could call 999 and Tony was famous, surely it wouldn’t be that difficult to get it figured out that Harry was his son. Harry even had…
Nope.
Harry checked the pockets of the basketball shorts Bucky must have put on him (a mortifying thought that Harry couldn’t even worry about at the moment, which said a lot about his current circumstances) and didn’t feel his wallet anywhere. Which meant Harry had no ID, no money, and a fucking broken leg.
Just keep walking, he encouraged himself, dragging a leg that didn’t want to move. Quickly.
To Harry’s immense surprise, he finally made it to the fuel station and managed to drag himself to the automatic doors. As soon as he made it inside, Harry zeroed in on the bloke wearing a red polo behind the front counter and grimaced while he walked up to it, leaving a trail of blood that seeped through his bandages behind him on the previously clean linoleum floors.
“Can I use your phone?” Harry panted as black spots began popping up in his vision, breaking up the face of the wide eyed cashier gawking at him. Harry had to lean on the counter as his left leg shook and refused to move another centimeter.
“It’s- it’s against policy…” the man stammered, clearly caught off guard by Harry’s appearance. “Are you- are you okay?”
Harry blinked a few times, trying to dispel the black spots that were dancing in front of him, and lost his temper. “DO I FUCKING LOOK LIKE I’M OKAY, MATE?! I HAVE BEEN KIDNAPPED BY A MANIAC WHO STABBED MY FRIEND AND ROBBED A BLOODY AMBULANCE AND MY LEG IS BROKEN AND I NEED TO CALL MY DAD!”
“Sir, you need to calm down,” the man said, backing away from Harry quickly. “I’m going to need you to leave the store or I’ll call the police.”
“Excellent,” Harry sneered. “Call them, please. GO!” he yelled when the cashier was just staring at him. “Tell them to call Tony fucking—”
“Howard! There you are!”
“Oh, god.” Harry groaned and slid down to the floor, his legs splaying out awkwardly, when he heard Bucky enter the fuel station.
Bucky walked straight up to Harry and smiled over at the cashier, as if he weren’t a stark raving lunatic.
“Sorry, man,” he said casually. “My brother and I wrecked our car, I think he hit his head a little too hard. He must have taken off while I was getting a rental.”
“He needs a freaking hospital,” the guy said. “And a straight jacket.”
Yeah, because Harry was the madman in that situation.
“I am not your brother and don’t touch me,” Harry spat at Bucky when he bent down to grab Harry’s shoulders. Harry reached over blindly and grabbed the first thing he could reach from a nearby shelf, a white coffee mug with a guitar on it, and swung it at Bucky’s face.
“Concussion, probably,” Bucky called to the cashier as he easily dodged Harry’s attack. “Where’s the closest ER?”
Harry tried to punch Bucky when he lifted him, making a fist as Steve once taught him to do, but the blow bounced off the side of Bucky’s head as if it were as inconsequential as a fly.
Bucky nodded along to the cashiers directions and Harry writhed in Bucky’s tight grip- infuriated to be lifted up like a child and horrified that his grand escape plan had failed.
“Thanks, man,” Bucky said, speaking over Harry’s shouts for someone to call the damn police. “Sorry about the inconvenience, have a good one.”
Harry, who was the only one being inconvenienced, bared his teeth in a feral snarl at the cashier as Bucky carried Harry bridal style out of the fuel station.
“Look, I know you’re freaking out, but you’re hurt and you’re not thinking straight,” Bucky murmured as he quickly carried Harry to a dark blue minivan. “I swear, as soon as it’s safe, I’ll take you back, okay?”
“I hate you,” Harry moaned. Bucky scoffed and opened a sliding door on the van and carefully placed Harry in the back. The seats were all folded down and, aside from a couple of bags of what was probably food, Harry had plenty of space to lay out his leg.
“Missions aren’t always easy,” Bucky said drily before closing the door. Once he was in the drivers seat and started the van, he spoke up again. “We’ll get out of here and I’ll reset your leg. You can’t walk on it, kid, you’ll do irreversible damage and you really don’t want to have it amputated.” Bucky held up his left arm, the metal one, and wryly added, “Trust me.”
Harry angrily snatched one of the bags and pulled out a black hoodie that he wadded up and decided to use as a pillow.
“I’d rather have a peg leg than deal with your bloody delusions,” Harry said sharply, no longer worrying about upsetting Bucky. “HYDRA didn’t send wizards to kill me. You’re a lunatic, Bucky. You need help.”
Much, much, more help than Harry could give him, clearly.
Bucky didn’t seem bothered by Harry’s increasingly rude comments, he just calmly pulled out on the interstate before pressing hard on the gas and flying too quickly for Harry to even read the signs they passed.
“You think I don’t know that I’m messed up?” Bucky asked Harry. “I live in my own fucking head, Harry. It’s not exactly a picnic up here.”
“Wah,” Harry said mockingly. “Poor Bucky and your trauma. Mate, MY LEG IS BROKEN!”
“My arm is metal.”
“You kidnapped me.”
“I saved you from wizards.”
“You stabbed my friend.”
“You said you hated him and he’s fine, remember?”
Harry scowled and used the hoodie as a pillow so he could lean his head back and close his eyes. “I never should have been nice to you.”
Bucky laughed, “I don’t know why you were. But,” he turned around and Harry peeked one eye open to see that Bucky was giving him an earnest sort of look, “you were the first person in a long time to treat me like a human being. I can’t let you die, not like Howard. I won’t let them take you.”
Harry blinked, caught off guard by the quiet and solemnly spoken words. Then a sharp pain shooting up his leg reminded him that Bucky was a maniac.
“I hate you,” Harry repeated, only slightly less venomously than before. “You’re tying to give me Stockholm Syndrome and it’s not going to work.”
Bucky laughed again, loudly and genuinely that time, and switched the radio on after turning back to the road.
“Did you learn that in psych class?” he asked over the sounds of a heavy rock song that Harry actually liked.
“No,” Harry said mulishly, trying to find a way to lay that didn’t make him want to scream. “Hermione told me it once. And I’m starving.”
“So here’s the thing, I’m broke,” Bucky said with a shrug. “There’s chips and pop in those bags. If you want, I can stop somewhere and grab something else.”
“Steal something else you mean?” Harry sneered. He didn’t actually have anything against theft, but it was the principal of the matter just then. “Like you did the medical supplies and the cars and me?”
“Yup. Just like that.”
Harry closed his eyes and desperately tried to will himself to sleep or spontaneously apparate back home.
It wasn’t the worst kidnapping of Harry’s life, but he’d certainly had better days.