fossilised | werewolves

werewolves

Pumpkin Spice.

It hits the shelves the moment the temperature dips below eighty, before the summer officially ends and the leaves give hint at changing color. It's become an American way of life. Lattes might claim it to be proof of their success and staying power but it's expanded into hand soap and e-cigarettes now. You can't find anything, really, that hasn't been pumpkin spiced these days. Pumpkin pie is too humble to try and reclaim it anyway, and has quietly retreated to Thanksgiving where it waits to mark the end of the most beloved season in New York among straight white girls.

Steve Rogers, while neither straight nor a girl, has whole heartedly embraced the trend and the moment Starbucks announced that it had come back out for a Limited Time Only, Steve had rummaged in his sock drawer for a gift card he was sure had money left on it and stood in line with the masses to claim his holy grail.

It's a comfort. It's a promise that there's going to be something else to look forward to in the coming months when holidays rear their ugly and beautiful heads to remind you that your family is dead and most of the kids you lived with in foster care and group homes have disappeared out of your life. It makes Steve's day and he's already day dreaming about boots and puffy vests the moment he takes his first, iced sip. Steve isn't really a day dreamer, but his head can get stuck in the clouds on the best days and distraction comes easily in a city where you're never and always alone at the same time.

There's charcoal under his nails and a moment of joy in his heart from the iced latte he grasps so fiercely the day he sees Bucky across the street. He'd know him anywhere, even with that long fringe of hair he hasn't seen since before he went off to basic training. The light to cross the street between them is red but Steve ignores the risks. There are two lanes each direction, and all four are packed with yellow cabs and black Uber cars. No one can go fast enough to do him any damage.

The latte gets dropped along the way and Steve doesn't care. It's been over a year and a half since he's seen Bucky. It's been six months since he last heard anything from him actually. He hadn't even gotten a birthday card this year.

"Buck!" Steve is just a skinny guy, five foot four, maybe 100 pounds if he's got art supplies and an easel on him. He has fallen arches and a heart arrhythmia, but they aren't keeping him from shimmying between cars and nearly getting run over. He's out of breath when he makes it across the street and though he's lost his drink, he needs to bend over and cup his hands on his knees to steady himself anyway so it all works out. "Hey." It's smooth and followed by a smile. Something bright and cheery and all too Steve Rogers hopped up on artificial sugar and flavorings.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Bucky sets his hand on Steve's shoulder, even though he's surprised to hear the growl. Even when Steve is being confrontational, which happens more than most people would think to look at him, he's never overly violent or vicious with it. He feels oddly like he's holding back Penny and calming her, rather than setting a hand on the shoulder of his oldest friend.

"I told you, Steve, Tony is kind of overwhelming and he always knows what he's doing."

He steps up close to Steve and turns deep blue eyes from Tony to Bruce, who also feels the wariness that comes from another dangerous person. But nothing like Steve, the Other Guy is actually murmuring about that one, and that very rarely happens.

"Tony, can you guys help us? Steve got bit by a dog, got a rabies shot, and then-- this."

“Oooh! Werewolves? Please be werewolves!” The guy is in his forties, twice the age of the two young men who were born and raised in Brooklyn, but he’s acting like the youngest of them all. “Banner, I will fund whatever your next research project is in it’s fullest if you can tell me we have a real life werewolf here.” It won’t even be the strangest thing he’s heard, either. He’s pumped a few million dollars into rebuilding Harlem the first time he and Bruce met. And that was almost seven years ago. Tony’s relationships don’t usually last that long, though it probably helps that Bruce vanishes for a year or two stretch of time between their encounters and Tony is strangely respectful about that.

Standing next to Bucky now, Steve is only two inches shorter than his friend. For Bucky to put his hand on his shoulder is probably an odd sensation for him. It certainly is for Steve too, glancing furtively at Bucky. He barely even needs to look up, which makes this whole situation that much more surreal.

“Do you…could it be some sort of latent gigantism?” Steve asks, after apologizing under his breath for the growling.

Tony scratches his beard, and Bruce sets his case beside Tony’s. “I’ll need your blood. I can run a few tests here and give you an exam.”

Steve isn’t eager about that but he’ll do as he’s told.

Bruce and Bucky both rolled their eyes at the idea of this being werewolves, but both of them showed that they knew Tony well enough to just ignore that outburst. It was always better to let Tony run himself down on his mad theories on his own, because he got worse if people engaged with him.

"It's okay, Steve, they're here to help. I'll take Tony into the other room and leave you with Bruce, you can shout if you need me."

He gestured Tony towards the kitchen.

"Come on, they don't need us distracting them. You can tell me what's in that box and I can tell you that I don't want it."

Bruce smiled reassuringly at Steve, pushing the Other Guy down firmly. "I must admit that I'm interested, and I want to try and help you get to the bottom of this."

Snatching up his case, Tony makes a face at Bucky. “How do you know you don’t want it until you see it?” Tony asks, following Bucky into the kitchen. Penny is quick to take up the rear, ignoring Tony the way that Tony is ignoring her. He hasn’t gotten out the Purell at least, so that’s a plus. It leaves Bruce and Steve alone and the determined, but bashful blond removes Bucky’s shirt and sits on the couch so that the doctor can take the samples he needs or poke and prod him.

He’s been through it all before, though he has to admit that he’s not really minding being shirtless right now. No one is looking at him with pity. He appears normal for once and that’s a big deal. For the moment, he keeps his questions about Bruce to himself. Something here isn’t right. He just doesn’t know how to bring it up respectfully.

Tony, however, is the epitome of lack of respect. He shoves things aside on the counter and pops open the case to reveal what appears to be the Terminator’s severed arm. It’s strangely perfect, if metallic, representation of an arm. “Don’t say a word. Let me show you.” He picks up a small, white metal band-aid shaped device and then undoes his shirt. “Don’t get too excited,” he teases, and sticks the white metal device to his shoulder. Two minutes later and that metal arm moves, fingers curling and uncurling as Tony’s own hand does.

Bruce found it interesting that Steve seemed cautious of him in return. After all, most people who didn't know about the Other Guy treated him as though he were a complete non-threat, and that was totally by design. He was calm, softly spoken, and not particularly physically threatening. But Steve was looking at him just as warily as Bruce felt like looking at him in return.

"It might help me if you were to tell me a bit more about what you're thinking and feeling, and if any of that is different to usual as well."

He went about setting up to get samples, take readings, and so on.

Bucky, in the other room, stared at the arm and then at Tony as he attached that weird suction cup thing to himself and then flailed his extra limb around. He must have worked almost solely on this to get it to this standard of design, and Bucky felt a mixture of tearfully grateful and wary.

"...Tony, I told you that I'm not interested in being part of any more experimental trials, even if they're for the right reasons."

“It’s a gift,” Tony replies with calm assurance. “It’s not an experiment. I don’t want you to take it for a trial run and report back your findings on if it turns into a rogue, murderous appendage or anything. It’s yours. Use it or don’t. And call me if you need tweaks. I keep meaning to come out to New York more anyway.” Like most rich men, Tony is fine with giving away potential millions to his friends without blinking an eye. He hasn’t worked on this arm to revolutionize the quality of amputee life. This isn’t some next big thing in Stark Technology. He just wants to help someone that helped him.

And that can’t be wrong.

Steve’s sitting on the sofa as Bruce goes about his unpacking. His knees are together and his hands are folded on top of them. He watches Bruce carefully, trying to read each stride and what it might mean for him.

“I’m thinking that there’s something wrong with me. And that there’s something wrong with you too. I’m thinking it has to do with the attack because I was bleeding when I went to the hospital. Bad. And now I’m actually losing scars, not gaining new ones. I’m feeling... hot. Really hot. Like I want to lay on the hardwood floor without clothes on. Normally that would give me a kidney infection for just thinking about it.”

Bucky ran a cautious finger over the cool metal of the arm in the box, before shutting the lid and pushing it slightly out of the way. He didn't push it back towards Tony though, which was an indication that he would at least think about using it and he wouldn't argue about being given it any more.

"I'm sorry I left."

That needed to be said. Tony had relied on him for friendship, even if he had hidden it beneath bluster and hyperactivity, and Bucky had just bailed in the middle of the night and gone to ground.

"Everything was too much, and I needed to hide from it for a while. But-- I did miss you, god help me, so maybe we can keep in touch now."

It was the best olive branch he could offer.

Back in the other room, Bruce finished taking a blood sample before he replied, giving himself a moment or two to think. "What makes you think that there's something wrong with me too?" It's a very neutral question, he genuinely is interested in what Steve has managed to pick up on and if it could be an issue in the future.

With a huff, Steve tilts his head at an angle Bucky is probably the most familiar with. It’s Steve’s usual ‘I smell bullshit’ stance, and the upturn of his lips probably give that away. His smile is soft, though, and never falters even when Bruce takes his blood. “You smell sour. Not body odor sour or sick sour. Just— You’re not human.” He doesn’t know why he’s put it that way but it’s slipped out already and he can’t just take it back. It feels right on his tongue anyway. Bruce Banner isn’t human. Or not entirely so.

That should scare him, but it doesn’t. It makes him want to puff up his chest, stand, and try to fight for dominance. He doesn’t, he still had his faculties about him, but his posture’s shifted towards Bruce. Knowing, sure, but annoyingly smug too.

“I’ve always thought that there’s got to be aliens here. The universe is too big... I just didn’t think I’d meet one.”

"I'm not an alien."

Bruce didn't look offended, more a mixture of resigned and curious. This was like a canine instinct, and the way that Steve had smelled Tony when they entered the apartment and the knowledge he had been bitten by a strange dog was only adding to this. Why not? If someone could get some powers by being bitten by a radioactive spider, or so said his research so far, then why not a dog?

"I'm pretty much human, mostly. And I don't intend you any harm, so you can relax, it wouldn't be a good idea for us to get into a fight. Nor is my condition of any relevance here, so why don't we focus on you?"

He recognised that stance, the need for dominance. He'd seen it before, though usually just from macho types who wanted to be seen as the biggest and baddest around.

"I think we need to see if we can get hold of the dog that bit you."

“I had my the first of my rabies shots.” Steve doesn’t mean to be defensive, especially because he knows that rabies doesn’t present like this. He does try to relax, sitting back in Bucky’s couch. There’s a whole lot of comfort here and he sinks into that calming scent.

Blue eyes flick towards the kitchen. An unfamiliar laugh is coming from around the corner and he doesn’t like it. It’s the first real hint that something is wrong. He’s being far more possessive of Bucky than he ought to be and it makes his shoulders drop.

A sigh escapes Steve’s lips. “How are we supposed to track down a giant dog in Brooklyn?”

Leave it to Tony to make an appearance right there, causing Steve to tense again. “You know who I am, right?”

Bruce glanced over when Tony came back in and snapped off the gloves to dispose of. He didn't technically need them himself, he couldn't get infections, but it was still good practise when doing anything medical.

"If this dog is somehow unnatural, I think that I should probably assist in bringing it in."

Not an offer made lightly.

Bucky, stood just behind Tony, kept his eyes on Steve. He was tense and generally unhappy, worried about Steve and stressed by all of this shit going on in his life when he had just wanted a quiet time.

"It's rabies?"

Bucky’s worry is detectable, which only leaves Steve even more on edge. He gets up quickly, the muscles he never had before rippling under the skin of his abdomen, biceps flexing as his fingers curl into fists. “Don’t think so. Pal,” Steve says gravely, feeling his jaw muscles clench.

“Told you. He’s a werewolf,” Tony replies easily, one hand in his pocket as he heads to the door. “Banner, we don’t need to issue a code Green. Pretty sure I can handle a supernatural doggy.” Tony also thinks he can handle his alcohol addiction too, so take that for what it is.

“I’m not— Even if what bit me did this I don’t think...” Steve looks uncomfortable and shifts to slink around the table and stand beside Bucky. He’s somewhat taller than before. Whatever’s happening to him seems to be speeding up.

It's strange to see Steve almost of a height with him, and it makes his breath feel like it keeps getting arrested in his lungs. He wants this to be a good thing for Steve, that this health continues, because god knows there's nobody who deserves a miracle quite like Steve Rogers.

But he doesn't think that. Nothing comes without a price, and what if this doesn't stop? What if it keeps going until Steve is gigantic and misshapen? Or if it overloads his body and kills him like a fever burning through his veins?

"Right. Dog. I'll help."

Probably a bad idea, but he has to do something to help.

Tony’s first reaction is to deny everyone. He doesn’t need the help. It’s not something necessary for him. A few satellite images and a tactical capture, test and release somewhere harmless is easy for a guy like him. These people all seemed hellbent on staying with him, though, and as much as it makes him roll his eyes, Tony finally agrees to it.

“You’ve got a spare room I could set up in?” Tony asks, pulling the laptop out of his shoulder bag. He needs to recode some satellites to track big, lumbering dogs in Brooklyn. His Shareholders are gonna love that.

Once Tony has gone off to do his work, Steve sits back down across from where Bruce is packing some of his own things up. “Do you think you can stop it? What’s happening to me? Maybe reverse it?”

Steve is okay with his body the way it’s always been. This one is better, but this one feels so wrong.

Bucky doesn't exactly have a spare room that he can devote to Tony's research, he lives in a tiny little one bedroom apartment that his pension cheque just covers, so he'll just have to make do with Bucky's bedroom while the rest of them stay in the pokey little living room.

He takes up a position behind Steve at his right shoulder, almost like a bodyguard. Bruce notices that, but he chooses not to say anything, as long as they don't team up against him then he's pleased that they have each other.

The doctor sighs and shakes his head. "I wouldn't want to say, I don't know. Perhaps there would be a way to reverse it, but there's no way of knowing currently. Unfortunately, sometimes changes are permanent."

That’s a particular thought and Steve assumes it’s because of whatever Bruce himself is. He’s growing restless and tired at the same time, though, leaning slightly back towards Bucky. It used to be easy for the other to be a leaning post for him. It used to be very easy for him to just recline back on his heels and have Bucky take the brunt of his weight. This time, however, he can actually feel his friend stumble and Steve isn’t sure if that’s because of who he is now and might always be later, or if Bucky just doesn’t want to be touched.

In all of this, he had stupidly, momentarily forgotten that Bucky is suffering from war, from his imprisonment, and from every day life after torture. He turns to look over his shoulder when Tony pokes his head out of the door and barks for Bruce’s help.

Thank god for that. Steve is having trouble with his scent. The whole thing is just so off to him, clouding Bucky’s far more pleasing smell. The moment the doctor leaves, Steve sits down hard on the couch.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Buck, but we have to get that dog off the street if this is what a bite can do. I don’t feel right anymore.”

And he’s terrified.

"It'll be okay, Steve."

Bucky doesn't know if that's true, he's seen too many bad endings happen for people that he cares about to believe that just because he wishes hard enough that Steve will be fine. But he needs to keep saying it, keep trying to believe it, for his own sake as much as for Steve. Because if he thinks about losing Steve, he might just break in a way that he can't be put back together again.

"We'll find the dog and we'll work out what it gave you, and then we can work on an antidote. You just need to keep calm and tell us if anything changes, even if it's something little."

Like feeling hotter, or a bit dizzy, or-- anything. Anything that could be an early warning sign for bad things to come.

"I swear, Steve, I ain't giving up, so you shouldn't either."

Steve replies with a snort, smirking. “I ain’t giving up neither.” Just who do you think you’re talking to, Buck? Steve Rogers is like the Black Knight. He’d he down all of his limbs and still threaten to bite and bleed on his attacker. Tenacity might as well be his middle name instead of Grant.

There’s an uncomfortable silence that follows, during which time Steve scratches his arm and alternates between stretching out and curling up on the couch.

His body is just uncomfortable. It’s more uncomfortable the closer Bucky gets. God forbid his friend join him on the sofa. Steve might resort to some odd sniffing behavior, worse than he’d done with Tony.

Tony smells fine. Bucky?

Bucky smells like a feast.

"Good, just needed to be sure. If you said anything else then I'd really know something was wrong with you."

He tried to offer a tiny smile, but he was too stressed with everything that had been going on and stretched to his limits in dealing with everyone without freaking out, that it came out more like a grimace than a smile.

"You hungry? Maybe you should try and eat something and get some rest, I'm not sure there's much else we can do before we catch this dog."

Though god only knew where they were going to put the poor beast, especially if it was violent and infected.

Hungry? God yes, Steve’s hungry. He’s hungry enough that his mouth constantly feels wet, like he’s on saliva overload. To prove it, he even swallows, though his eyes avert themselves away from Bucky.

“I could eat.” He's just not sure if he’s hungry for food... or something else. It’s not like he’s a paragon of virtue, but it’s also not like he’s got a hundred guys breaking down his door to be with him. Steve has not had much luck with that. Not even with the guys that don’t look like the stereotypical, fitness obsessed gym rats he’s more or less attracted to. It’s probably not fair to lust over guys with good muscle definition when he doesn’t have any muscles to define but—

But, well, now he does. His eyes dart to the door.

“Maybe I’m not safe to be around,” he says, but it’s with a level of distraction. His right knee bops as he bounces the ball of his foot on the ground. “I’d really hate myself if I hurt you.”

"You could never hurt me, Steve."

He has to believe that.

No matter how big Steve gets, or what madness is going on in his hormones or brain, there's no way Steve could hurt him. Because if Steve could be a potential threat then he knows that he'll lose all grip on the paranoia that he's been struggling to fight back since he returned home and everyone from then on will be a subject of suspicion.

"You're just on edge because we don't know what's happening. That makes sense, but you've gotta remember that you're still you, and there's no way in hell that you'd ever be not safe around me. Now what do you want to eat? I don't-- I don't got much, but you can order in if you want."

“I’ll... I’ll go out and get something. I’ve been mooching off of you for days now.” Bucky is and has always been entirely too generous. He doesn’t want to take advantage of the other man, but he knows he has, many times. That, and he really needs to be away from Buck, for just a little bit. “I’ll get a few pizzas from that place down the block. You stay here. I’ll uh... can I borrow your boots?”

Steve isn’t even sure if he’ll fit in them. He can barely fit in Bucky’s loose hoodies and sweats. He’s taller than his friend, wider than his friend, and it’s a huge problem.

He can’t afford new clothes and he isn’t even sure if he has a job anymore if he’s been AWOL for so long.

Steve musses up his own hair, which sticks up flatteringly in all directions. “Pepperoni and extra cheese.”

Bucky would have to be blind to not notice the way that Steve has become more conventionally attractive, but he had thought his best friend beautiful back with the curved spine and the ribs that stuck out everywhere, so he felt a pang of mild sorrow that things were changing so quickly.

"I don't think you should be going out now."

He wouldn't move to physically stop Steve, but he still thought it was important to raise objections.

"We don't know if whatever this is, is contagious. We don't know if you're safe in yourself, or if you might collapse or-- or if you're safe around other people either. You should stay here until we know what we're dealing with."

This whole thing is frustratingly similar to the moments leading up to his coming out to Bucky. He’d been so sure that their friendship would end, that everything would change, and that Bucky would realize that Steve had been as in love with him as a fourteen year old kid could be in love with anyone at that age. Most of that’s dispersed because Steve, ever practical, isn’t going to hold a flame for the straightest guy he knows when they have such a rich relationship already to go on. It had never been an issue before but all of it is starting to have a startlingly horrible effect upon him now.

It’s like something is walking across his hormones. Something that’s whispering that exerting his dominance in this situation would be an excellent idea and that Bucky would be yielding if he tries it.

“If it was contagious, you’d be eight feet tall right now, with romance novel hair shimmering down your back. One trip to the store isn’t going to infect anyone with my gigantism.” Probably. Steve is usually reckless but never at the expense of others.

And anyway, he needs to go out. He needs to be in a place with different smells.

It’s only a few minutes after the door shuts to the hallway that Tony pokes his head back out of the bedroom. “Barnes, where’s Fido? We’ve got something interesting here.”

It wasn't like Steve to be so reckless. With his own health, sure, but he had often refused to go out when he had a bad cold so that he didn't infect anyone else around him, but here he was saying that he would be fine taking a possibly unknown pathogen just casually out into the population.

Bucky frowned, half concern and half squaring himself up ready to argue his case, when Tony suddenly appeared in the doorway, which meant that Tony got the full brunt of his scowl.

"His name is Steve, Tony. I like you, but if I think you're disrespecting my friends, I'll still whip your ass."

It was a shorter response than he intended it to be, but he was so on edge. If he were in his right mind then he might realise how weird it was that Steve hadn't noticed the signs of him in distressed, his fingers clenched into a fist, a slight tremble to his frame, the way his muscles have gone rigid.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Sorry for the delay

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject