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.

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"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.

“Hey. I didn’t call him Kibble N Bits,” is about the only apology that Bucky is going to get. He doesn’t understand how people can be so bent out of shape about each other. He truly doesn’t. That’s usually a sticking point with his assistant too. She gets mad at him when he blanks out on why she cares so much.

Either way, that’s not a conversation for now.

“Our dear Doctor not-a-Doctor here,” he continues our of respect for Bruce’s constant insistence that he isn’t that kind of doctor, “has found some interesting DNA in with your friend’s. Probably best he isn’t running around without ID tags.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and took a deep breath in, willing himself not to lose his temper over something so stupid. He knows that Tony doesn't mean any harm with his dumb nicknames, he knows that there's no need to get bent out of shape, it's just because everything else is already wearing on his last nerve.

Thankfully, Bruce stepped in to take over the explanation, before Tony could alienate everyone in a room as seemed to be his particular talent.

"I'm afraid that that's true, there's canine DNA mixed with yours in a way that we've never seen before. It doesn't seem to be actively harmful, your vitals all read steady and strong, but we need to get hold of the original dog even more urgently than ever."

“And I’ve got that covered. It’s less about tracking the dog down to actually getting hold of it.” Tony spins around his laptop so that Bucky can see without getting any closer. “It’s all over the place and moving fast. I don’t know how it could have gotten out of Brooklyn already but it’s in New Jersey now.” Nothing good other than the Sopranos ever came out of New Jersey. “So ... how about you stay here until your bestie comes home. Banner and I will handle tracking down the Original.”

So he might be getting his metaphors mixed up but hey, if vampires can go back to being people once the guy that made them is dead why can’t it be the same for not so hairy werewolves?

“We’ll have to switch to the air. You okay in a flying tin can?”

Bruce snorted and looked a little incredulous at Tony's suggestion. He was grateful most of the time that his odd friend didn't treat him with the same fear and kid gloves that anyone else who knew his true identity did. But sometimes it went just a little bit far in the other direction, he was still a danger.

"Possibly not the best idea. I can follow in the car, you get visual from the air."

Bucky scrubbed his hand through his hair looking really uncomfortable.

"If this dog is, uh-- different, are we gonna be able to keep it securely in my apartment?"

It's not like his place is built for rabid animals.

“I don’t think you want it in your apartment. We’ll bring it to my dad’s house. Know your way around Long Island?” Tony is just going to spit an address at Bucky so either he makes sure to memorize it or write it down. Tony’s already packing up, extolling how cars are much more dangerous than aircraft, and will be out of the apartment in roughly two shakes.

He’s left behind that arm and the neural stimulator for Bucky because he never had any intention of doing more than dropping it off. He really wants to help the guy calibrate it but he has a feeling Bucky will be calling him in the near future to mess with it. At the very least.

For now, they have a dog to catch. And Bucky has a friend to wait for. Thankfully, he won’t be waiting too long. It doesn’t take more then twenty minute to run down the street for pizza.

Bucky was pretty mad at Steve for sneaking out to get pizza while Bucky was defending him to Tony, after he specifically told his friend not to go in case there was a risk to either himself or the people around him. But he didn't want to argue yet, he didn't want to risk a big blow out and Steve walking out.

So he settled on just shortly telling Steve they had to go to Long Island, to this particular house, and nothing much more.

It would be Bruce and Tony who had the more interesting time of it. With the instruments at their disposal, and Bruce's instinct for another predator, it would only take a short amount of time to locate the giant wolf in New Jersey. They cornered it down an alleyway, and Bruce realised as he looked at it that this was-- it couldn't be an earth wolf, it was almost three times the size.

And that was when the wolf spoke to them.

"So, I smell my kin on you. The mortal did not die. Surprising."

Tony is about ready to have a giggle fit the moment the dog opens his mouth and though he is wearing the Iron Man armor, the way it moves is almost fanglish. Given how much of a caraciture of himself that he sometimes is, Tony wouldn’t even been embarrassed to see himself like this. Bruce, however, might. “You talk!”

Sometimes there’s nothing to do about a situation except to do so and Tony ignores the irony about the self proclaimed smartest man in the world having to do so.

“First of all, amazing. Second of all, weird way to be a werewolf. He’s only sprouting muscles and a correct spinal lineation. Where’s the fur and claws?”

Fenris seemed to note that he was being laughed at, even if the one doing the laughing remained inside a strange metal container and didn't show his face. Amusing, that mortals felt the need for such encompassing armour, the mighty warriors of Jotunheim wore no armour and those of Asgard only ceremonial armour, but mortals were so fragile.

Perhaps not so his bastard pup now.

And not the mortal without armour, he smelled of challenge and predator, though Fenris did not fear him. He was secure in his lineage and his power.

"I do not know this term you use, this mortal is now of mixed blood. He may grow claws, may grow fur, but neither of these things is a definite."

He stood and shook himself, giving the impression that he was used to being of a much larger stature than even this.

"To create a bastardised pup was a mistake in a moment of passion, it will cause consternation with my mother and my grandsire when I return. Take me to it."

Every single thing said by this creature is disturbing and yet, Tony is utterly, utterly charmed. He’s had problems like this before, but they’ve always been terrestrial in nature, even if not so easily removed. He doesn’t know how the wolf’s family is, but he wants to meet them. He wants to know everything there is to know about him, about where he’s from. Tony can be, and often is, horribly obsessive.

It’s not different now.

And at least it doesn’t cloud his judgement.

“I have a feeling that your idea of fixing this mistake might be to kill someone important to a friend of mine. We really can’t let that happen. If you can think of a non-lethal way to fix him, we are all ears though.”

"This does not concern your mortal wishes any longer, for he is no longer mortal. I will be the one to examine him and see whether he merits petition for life to my mother and grandsire, or if he is not worth such risk."

Fenris was not a naturally cruel creature. He behaved as with the law of nature and strength, death was as acceptable as life, but he did not kill randomly or without purpose. If his blood had not killed this mortal then there was strength there, and that strength deserved recognition with a chance.

A slim chance.

"We have discussed enough, take me to him."

As far as negotiations go, Tony and Bruce are having a better time of it than Steve and Bucky. Mostly, that’s because Bucky caught him sitting outside the door with the box of pizza in his lap, looking like he might rip the clothing on his body to shreds. The smell of pizza don Penny whining brought Bucky to the door in the first place and now there’s just a weirdly hulking Steve and conflicted blue eyes.

“I don’t think I can come inside.”

Bucky might have once cracked a joke about the reason behind it being that Steve can’t fit anymore. The blond looks down at the pizza and hands the box to Bucky with just one hand. There’s not even a tremor in his arm from the weight, though there is one in his massive, chiseled jaw from emotion.

"Why not?"

Bucky takes the pizza more out of surprise of it being handed to him, than because he actually wants a box of pizza, and he immediately sets it down so that he has his hand free in case Steve does something stupid like run off.

He doesn't get what's happening to Steve at the moment and, quite honestly, it scares him how little like his best friend Steve has been acting since this happened. He's terrified that he's changing on the inside as well as the outside.

“Oh my god Buck, Jesus, why can’t you just—” Steve presses his face against his palm and pinches the bridge of his nose. His friend is an idiot. He’s told him that a few times now but Bucky never seems to really get it. He huffs, though it sounds like a growl, and sets his jaw in determination. It’s a lot more effective now than usual, given how well muscled his neck is, visible even in the hoodie. “I’m going to say this as normal as possible…”

That’s never a good way to start a sentence, but it’s not the first time Steve’s done so.

“But you smell—” Shit-- “Good!” he follows up quickly before the guy can get the wrong idea. “Real good. Like the best thing ever.” His eyes dilate, but his voice drifts off, almost far away. “I can’t even put it into words, Buck. It’s more than a smell, it’s a whole feeling…you know?”

"No, I don't know. You can't come in because I smell good? Is it-- is your sense of smell getting better? Super sensitive or something?"

He doesn't get that Steve is attracted to him, because he never considered that would be the case. He still remembers when Steve first came out to him, and Bucky had felt a soaring hope that maybe this might mean something for the dumb crush he'd had for years, but his friend had never given the faintest indication that he'd ever want to make a move.

So he had never said anything, and he definitely didn't put two and two together on this.

"Do you feel dizzy?"

He's so out of his depth it's not even funny.

"Well, yeah, but not in a bad way." Every time he thinks a conversation with Bucky is going to go south, it never does. He has to have more faith in their friendship. It's seen them through so much already, so why not this little thing more? Steve isn't going to fully admit what he feels, mostly because he's never had to. He's never wanted to put that on Bucky and he's seen the guy take out girls that confessed their feelings to him just because he's felt like he had to.

Going through that would crush Steve, though he's sure he could come back from it. He always does.

"I just think it's better if I wait out here for your friends to come back. You can have the pizza and... Uh, I'll take like two slices though, before you shut the door."

"You're kind of scaring me, Steve."

It's not an admission made lightly, and his voice is quiet enough that it's almost a mumble. He doesn't like whatever is happening here, he's scared about Steve isolating himself and it getting worse, and he has no idea why he seems to be the catalyst that keeps making Steve worse.

He picks up the pizza box and comes out of the door, holding the box out to Steve to take.

"We've gotta go to Long Island anyway, so please just-- stick with me for now, we'll figure it out, and then I'll leave you be if that'll help."

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