#ftopbn

In the front, Rogers and Romanoff are discussing their route while Romanoff’s playing around with the radio stations, gazing back to check that Barton’s still breathing every minute. In the back Loki is doing a marvelous job of pretending Thor doesn’t exist. Tony would feel bad for big blonde but Thunder Boy’s blown his shot when he tried to strangle Tony in a hug. 

He’s Team Loki all the way now.

[”What did I just say about not getting dragged into their shit show of a family reunion?” an exasperated voice in the back of his head pops up. Tony ignores her with practiced ease.]

Tony’s munching on the last of his sandwich, generously ignoring the still-unconscious Barton to his left, who’s drooling all over his shoulder. That can’t be comfortable, Tony’s still in the suit after all, but oh well. Banner, back to his less-green but no less awesome when he isn’t being an uncommunicative prick state, is mumbling half-sentences that Tony doesn’t understand the context of and is trying hard to tune out. You know, before he gets pissed enough to shot someone in the face with his repulsors.

All in all, the drive is going pretty well, considering how many superpowered, previously hostile-and-or-strangers-to-each-other people the car contains.

Then Barton comes to, eyes that are no longer that unnaturally bright blue fluttering open, only to do a full-body jerk.

“Easy.” Tony catches the man’s shoulders because magical brainwashing must be a disorienting experience. “You got your brains rolled there for a bit, probably best to take it slow.” And wow, now that he’s said those words out loud, it’s a miracle Tony doesn’t choke on the hypocrisy. He can certainly feel J’s judging silence, even if the others are unaware of it.

“Tell me about it,” Barton rasps with the sort of gallows humor Tony can appreciate. “You’d think I’d get used to-- Stark?”

“Live and in stereo.” Tony aims for light-hearted, but in the face of the agent’s intense look he probably misses by a mile.

Barton frowns. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but didn’t you--” 

He twists, takes in his surroundings the way you’d expect of a successful field agent valuable enough to get himself brainwashed by an alien conqueror and now that Tony thinks about it, having Loki in close proximity to the guy he mindcontrolled might not be the best idea. Before he has the chance to act on that realization, to stop him, Barton makes a sound like he’s been stabbed in the lung with the blunt end of the stupidly dramatic scepter and throws himself forward.

Forward not backwards.

Barton crashes into the driver’s seat, hard enough to drive it painfully into Rogers back going by his startled yelp, proceeds to knee Captain America in the face in his haste to scramble forward, ignores the startled shouts and very explicit cursing as their car severs sharply in a desperate attempt to keep them from crashing headfirst into a minivan on the other lane who’s driver is honking like crazy -- because they’re on a fucking interstate, Barton, what the hell -- to bodily throw himself at Romanoff in a tight hold that looks at several degrees to painful to be called a hug.

“Nat,” Barton rasps like he’s choking on the syllable. 

Which he might. Romanoff certainly looks ready to murder him. For the nickname, the stranglehold or for catching her off-guard -- Tony caught that stunned expression and he’s never gonna let her forget it -- is anybody’s guess.