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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"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."

Scaring Bucky is exactly the thing that Steve is trying to avoid here but it's not working. Bucky's voice prick at his ears, as if nails on a chalkboard, though hardly that shrill. The sensation is causes is the same, though, and he can feel all of his hair standing on end. His eyes drop immediately to the floor as Bucky joins him in the corridor, maybe to avoid staring, sure, but also to psych himself up for this.

It's going to take a whole lot of time and effort here to get through this, more resolve than Steve's ever had before, but he's never backed down from a fight.

"Long Island? Right. Well, how long before we have to get there because I'm about to bust out of these clothes." He tries to laugh and it even sounds genuine, not like he's scared to death himself.

This is all just one big mess, they're both scared and both hurting and neither of them seem to be able to do anything to help the other one out. Bucky has no idea what's happening to his friend, what this weird-ass dog has done, and if it might be permanent. On top of that, he really doesn't want to go all the way out to Long Island when he's this stressed and without evening being able to bring Penny.

But Steve needs him. It's just another mission.

So he shrugs and projects an air of confidence as he starts off down the stairs and towards the door.

"They'll probably be back before us, they've got a car and a weird flying thing. Don't ask, Tony's like that. So we should get going, don't worry about your clothes. Listen, Steve, we're gonna get this sorted. Count on it."

"If I end up naked on Long Island Railroad, I'm going to be really, really mad at you," Steve says, but there's no way that Bucky can take the subway from Brooklyn to Manhattan and switch at Penn Station to the LIRR and head down to Suffolk County. It's a long ride, one filled with a ton of people that could and probably would trigger him.

And Tony knows that. It's why he's sent a car with a discrete driver, standing there at the bottom of the stairs to Bucky's building holding open the door.

Steve balks, of course. He does not want to be in an enclosed area with Bucky, but there's not going to be a choice here. He needs to power through. "Uh... You really do know weird people. Uh. So hang on. If we're not driving, I'm getting that pizza."

There were a lot of times when Bucky found Tony's overeager application of his money to be an annoyance, but then there were times like this where it was a godsend. He still didn't want to get in a strange car with a discrete driver, but compared to getting a multitude of trains packed with strangers, this was by far the better option.

"Okay, you get the pizza."

Bucky's response was mostly absent because he was already moving towards the car. Not to get in, he needed to check under the car and under the hood. He knew it was just the whisperings of paranoia, of past trauma, but he couldn't help it. He had to check for car bombs, and screw anyone who looked at him weirdly for doing it.

Pizza and Steve made it to the car a few moments before Bucky’s deemed it safe and so the blond waits awkwardly in too small clothes, feeling like he’s about to scratch off his skin. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like any of it, but he’s got absolutely no choice but to follow Bucky into the back seat.

The door is shut. The car starts moving. Steve hasn’t started to breathe, not yet, because he’s terrified if the way that Bucky is already making the enclosed space fill with everything that makes Steve want him.

It’s maddening.

Bucky has no idea.

“Pizza?” He mumbles as they head into traffic, shoving the box towards his friend.

What the hell is Steve's obsession with the pizza?

Bucky glances over at him in mild confusion, before it twigs that maybe it's a coping mechanism. God knows that he knows what it's like to fixate on something irrelevant and seemingly meaningless in order to keep the more pervasive thoughts at bay. Whatever was going on with Steve must be frightening, and maybe he was in pain or discomfort that he wasn't talking about.

"Steve..."

He reached out and put his hand on Steve's leg, gentle and careful.

"It's gonna be okay, I really mean that."

Steve feels his stomach give out and the rest of his body sink through the leather seats and onto the road jerking beneath them. His eyes leave the pizza to settle rigidly on the hand on his knee before they move up to Bucky. There’s nothing short of feral in the bright blue and he settles his fingertips very, very gently on the back of Bucky’s knuckles.

He has to be mindful of his strength. He crushed the last pizza box when the girl at the counter handed it to him and he’d had to wait for another. He blamed it on the grease and laughed. He hadn’t felt like laughing though.

He laughs now too, with much the same emotion, though it’s twinged in nervousness. “Okay?”

Now that’s a little shrill and nasal.

“Y-Yeah! Sure is. Totally will be.” Steve turns towards the window and worries his lips with his teeth just as the merge into traffic on the bridge. So much traffic. He groans and tries to put down the windows but they’re all locked.

He's not helping.

He comes to that realisation like sinking into a bath of ice water. He doesn't blame Steve for still being scared, and for not wanting to even look at him, he knows what it's like for the fear to take hold and for even friends to look like foe. He wants to curl up himself somewhere, but he won't, because he has to be strong for Steve now. It's his job to watch Steve's back, to protect him, just like always.

So he takes his hand back and tries to project a facade of confidence and calm, like he isn't eating himself from the inside out, as the car moves on slowly. And he keeps silent, because forcing conversation clearly isn't helping.

Please let this be an easy fix when Tony and that doctor find the dog.

Steve is hoping for the same thing. Years of being all right with Bucky never ever being even remotely into him are about to be flushed down the toilet otherwise and oh does it even scare him. What if the feeling never does go away? What if he’s always going to remember this particular lust?

The skin on the backs of his arms turn to goose flesh as Bucky pulls away and silence (and diesel fumes) surround them. Steve sets his head half out of the window until the car picks up speed, making the half hour longer journey to the tip of Long Island. As the driver opens up, the wind pressure bothers Steve enough to get him to sit back inside and shut the tinted window.

He’s miserable next to Bucky, not because of anything Bucky’s done but because he’s right on the verge of being dumb. Thankfully, he doesn’t quite plummet as they pull into the long driveway, leading to a massive brownstone house. Steve rolls down the window again, this time to get a good look at the place.

The car from before is already parked there. So is a crazy looking helicopter. Inside the mansion, Tony laughs. “Banner. Come here. He’s got his head sticking out of the window!”

Bruce was still a little too shell shocked about meeting a talking giant wolf to share Tony's casual excitement, so he didn't bother to tell Tony off for being insensitive and just meandered out of the front door with a blank expression.

The first thing that would greet Steve and Bucky would be Fenris on the front lawn, and Bucky softly swore under his breath. "That-- that's the thing that bit you? Jesus, Steve, that's not a dog."

And even the physical aside, Steve would be able to feel that. From one predator to another, one wolf to another, he would feel kin. He would know he should be subservient to the alpha, which was clearly Fenris in this situation, a kin that doesn't exist in the human realm.

Fenris stood and shook his coat, bright burnished golden eyes fixed on where his new bastard pup approached.

What Steve felt most of all was a sort of relief, as if, upon seeing the wolf, he knew he’d be understood. It’s the only thing he’s wanted since this whole thing began. He doesn’t care that anyone is watching as he approaches first in two feet and then on hands and knees, shifting fluidly, and coming to rest back on his heels a few paces away from the wolf.

“I need help,” Steve says and Tony joins Bruce at the front door and Bucky is left to follow his friend out of the backseat of the car. It’s harder to do with only one arm than most people think.

Steve makes a huffing sigh and tilts his head, half smirk on his face as he watches Fenris from beneath dark lashes.

“I know I’m an accident. I feel like one. I guess you’re in a bad position too, huh?” It’s familiar because they are familiar. Steve doesn’t know why it is, just that it is.

It's deeply unnerving for Bucky to see Steve drop to all fours as if he belongs that way, and he has to resist the urge to tackle him out of the way of the giant wolf that looks as if it could literally bite him in half on a whim. Whatever this is, it's way beyond his understanding.

Fenris observes the mortal and sees the changes wrought in him already, but he makes no outward judgement as to whether what he sees pleases or displeases him.

"A mistake, not an accident. A hasty judgement in a moment of frustration, one that I expected to cause a death and not the growth of a pup."

Not sure if he understands, Steve rubs his palms on the tops of his thighs anxiously. “What am I supposed to do now? I don’t know how I feel, it’s just a whole lot of everything.” For Steve, meeting a talking wolf isn’t strange. He’d expected the creature to talk to him, it’s why he spoke first. Bucky and Bruce might be having heart palpitations and Tony might be having a childish moment of utter delight, but Steve is focused on answers. He takes even the craziness of this situation in stride. He has to. Right now, he’s built like a super hero, muscles bulging in clothing that, three days ago, would have hung off of his tiny frame. A talking wolf is almost normal compared to that now.

Normal, sure, but also welcoming. Steve wants to press himself against thick fur, but he fights that tactile, puppyish desire for connection with a parent. Fenris isn’t entirely family, but family after the fact. Kind of like Bucky, in a way, though he and Bucky don’t share the same blood like Steve knows he does with the wolf.

“I’m having...control issues,” he confesses, softly, though it’s not true. So far he’s hurt no one with his strength and he’s even more or less kept himself from jumping on Bucky. His control is incredible.

"That is to be expected."

His blood is volatile, the blood of the ancients, not the paltry thin mewling mortal blood that flowed through his pup's veins before this. He is actually a little surprised that he is still coherent without assistance in marshalling his new instincts, but he must be strong of spirit to have survived in the first place, so perhaps this is not so surprising.

"If it is deemed that you are worthy of living, you will be taught to control these instincts. There will only be but one night a lunar cycle that all of that control will disappear."

Fenris has no idea that his pups of old were the ones that spawned werewolf legends to begin with.

"But it is not I who will decide this, your grandmother and great-grandsire shall decide your fate."

Yeah so this is the part that Tony really doesn’t like. He can’t help himself, he needs to speak up. “Can’t you try to be nice to the kid,” he calls from the porch. “And not all growly and ‘oh, yeah, you’ll probably die?’” he’s still got a coffee cup in his hand, but he’s already finished what had been decidedly less coffee than other liquids. He is, by far, the most capable functioning alcoholic on the planet.”

Steve is the one to answer, though, lifting his head. “I’ve spent my whole life with everyone being pretty sure I’m on the verge of dying.” He smirks, a little more wolffish than that look used to be. “I’ve never been the sort of guy to back down from a fight.”

And this is going to be a fight, he knows that. It’s why he gets to his feet, Bucky’s soft sweatpants finally noping our and ripping down one leg to the tougher elastic waistband.

“So where are my grandparents? We should meet.”

Those not versed in wolf body language might think that Fenris was angry at this exchange, but Steve would instinctively know that Fenris was pleased with his answer and considered it a point in his favour. Life was a fight. Mortals seemed to have forgotten that with their self made luxuries, but his kin would never forget. To stop fighting was to die.

"There lies the issue."

Fenris would not be on Midgard biting random mortals if he had a choice in the matter.

"I became separated from one of my kin during travel, and I have not the means to return to Jotunheim alone. There is a way, by asking a boon of Asgard and its gatekeeper, but my mother would not thank us for that. The prince of Asgard is besotted and, though I believe my mother will wed him in time, to give him hope that he possesses the favour of my siblings or I would not be wise."

Hopefully Steve is following this, because Bucky just looks wary as hell and Bruce's brow is furrowed in confusion as he tries to follow this already complicated family tree. He murmurs to Tony as he steps close. "Asgard and Jotunheim, they're realms from Norse mythos, this-- this can't be happening."

“There is a talking wolf and an ugly duckling turned swan having a conversation on my dad’s front lawn,” Tony interjects to Bruce, though his voice isn’t that low. It probably can’t drop that far, not when he’s too use to projecting it. “I mean... crazy god worlds from some Viking mythology are what’s tripping you up right now?” He sets down the coffee cup and heads down the steps.

He’s either fearless or stupid. Banner would probably say both and he’d accept that too.

“So you need to phone home?” he asks, like he’s in some 80s movie and is already trying to think of a way to peddle a bike across the face of the moon. “I can help with that if you’ll give me a few days.” There’s a lot Tony can do with just a few scans.

Steve, however, holding the side of his pants closed, and now a head taller than the other men standing nearby, looks dubious. “I don’t know if I have a few days. I might not stop growing, Mr. Stark.”

"It is possible you will continue growing, but more likely that you will lose what control you have managed to maintain."

As strong as Steve has been to this point, he is still mortal and all mortals have their limits. Without help to bind that control so that it would only unleash on rare occasions, he would be unable to do it for himself.

"And this does not concern you any longer, this is not a mortal matter."

Bucky stepped forward at that point, brow furrowed. "It's our concern. If you're taking Steve someplace dangerous, someplace that people might say he doesn't get to live, then he doesn't go without someone to watch his back."

“Buck—“

Steve fully expects Bucky to interject and so he lets him, sighing. Everything his friend is saying is true though. Steve has been through many hardships and many trials but almost never without Bucky by his side. Truthfully, he wants him there too. He belongs with him, and that’s not just the possessiveness talking. He can’t really help but look at Bucky right now, though he’s managed not to do it for some time to keep himself in control, and there’s so much in that look that even Tony throws up his hands and takes a step back.

That’s saying something.

“If I’m going to lose control, and if there’s no other way than to call the prince of whatever... I’ll take the burden. I’m of your blood now, right? He might listen to me. I can’t afford to be allowed to hurt someone.”

"You misunderstand, blood of my blood, the prince would be all too happy to listen to us both. He would welcome the chance to 'save' children of Jotunheim and to visit there with good excuse."

It would be Loki who might be a little less impressed at the sudden arrival of Thor, and having that mean that he was slightly in Thor's debt for saving Fenris from Midgard. Though Fenris knew his mother did care for the Asgard prince, it was complicated and Loki would not thank them for making it more so.

Bucky shrugged, all he knew was that Steve wasn't arguing him coming too and that was enough. He was frightened, but it was all pushed down beneath the all-consuming mission that was Protect Steve Rogers.

"So what? If that's the only way to go, and he'll be happy to help, then let's do that."

"You speak with no comprehension for the forces beyond your ken."

“Your mother can take her anger out on me for calling the Prince then,” Steve says, stubbornly. “Every moment is harder than the last and I don’t know how long it will be before I’m less me and more... whatever I can’t control. It might be better if I don’t— I get that she might decide to kill me outright. It’s just a risk I have to take. I just... none of this is Bucky’s fault. I want him to be safe.”

Fenris probably can’t promise that. Steve knows it. But he also knows that Bucky won’t stay here no matter the danger and Steve absolutely can’t stay here.

If the prince is the only way, and Steve knows of no other, then he has to suck up the consequences. He does it by puffing his chest—

—and busting open the hoodie’s zipper.

So his pup wants to take mortals with him to Jotunheim. He includes the other two as well as the one that he can smell as bonded with his pup, even if it might not by physical yet, because he has no reason not to.

He stood and shook himself like the human equivalent of a very beleaguered sigh, and opened his mouth to howl. None but Steve would understand what that howl meant, what the words in the language were.

"Heimdall, Watcher of Asgard, inform the prince that Fenris of Jotunheim would speak with him on Midgard, if he is amenable."

Then he switched back to All-Speak for the sake of the mortals, at least two of who looked incredibly creeped out from the eerie howling. "He will come, of that I am certain. Be respectful. Though he may be a boor, he is the future All-Father."

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