fossilised | For Steve

Bucky kept his eyes fixed on Steve, his gaze flickering down to check his hands were empty as the smaller man stood up properly to face him. He wasn't afraid, not even if this man did attack, for it was clear that Bucky had the advantage on him even without his combat ability. Something about him set Bucky's teeth on edge in a way that nobody else could, though, and he was more intimidated by this scrawny kid than he was by a whole hoard of HYDRA agents.

"I don't know, I think I might recognise you. But that's impossible."

He flexed his fingers, the leather of his gloves creaking slightly. They were good quality, way better than he could have afforded in his youth, but in the future they had been just a couple of bucks from a street stall.

"You're Steve Rogers, but you can't be. I've seen you, you're bigger."

None of this was right.

Steve found himself smiling a little more wryly now. "That a joke?" He wasn't laughing but he did find himself capable of maintaining the smile anyway. That was partly from affection and partly from disquiet. He wasn't afraid of Bucky, but he was afraid for him. His friend had been gone for months but every letter he had sent was filled with his brilliance and his humor. To lose that would be a terrible thing.

Steve wasn't going to give up hope, though.

He did, however, take all of Bucky in, examined every part of him now that his eyes had adjusted to the low light and the shadows. Steve had an artist's eye. He could see the details unfolding without having to know the whole picture. It was why so many people failed to see how clever and smart he was. It was why they underestimated him.

The clothes were wrong. Strange. So we're the boots. Military, but not really. Steve knew the army uniform by heart. He dreamed of wearing it.

Bucky didn't have dog tags. His coat was strange and the glove he could see?

Not right. None of this was right. He would have agreed with Bucky's sentiments.

"Can I make you something? You look like you need a drink." Water was the best he could do for that, though. Or milk. He'd been smart with his ration card this week.

He shook his head just slightly. He didn't take food or drink from people that offered it freely, that was a one way trip to potentially ending up spiked with something that he would rather not have in his system. At least if he bought it all himself, then he knew it was clean because he didn't choose what to buy until he was right there in front of it.

Suddenly a memory sparked in his head and he fumbled in his bag to pull out a notebook, already a little worn at the edges as if it had been handled a lot. Only a few pages were filled in Bucky's distinctive neat handwriting, and newspaper clippings were stuck to other pages, but he riffled through too quickly to have any of it read.

Finally he found what he was looking for, a leaflet from the Smithsonian kept carefully between the pages.

He took it out and held it out to Steve mutely. It had a picture of him on the front, skinny and staring ahead, and then a picture of a man with his face and muscles in front, wearing a bright uniform and holding a shield. The title said: CAPTAIN AMERICA - THE GREATEST HERO OF US HISTORY. SPECIAL EXHIBITION: FROM MOUSE TO MAN, FROM DECEMBER 2011.

Steve couldn't see the clipping with his back to the lamp and so he had to retreat, trusting Bucky instinctively and not minding that he made himself vulnerable as he held the letter up to his face and lightly pressed his fingertips against his lips. His eyes focused on the photo of him, one that looked like it came from his medical file he had doctored up before all of his attempts to enlist. He didn't have the money to take many others. He had a few from when he and Bucky were younger, and one of his mom and dad. Photographs were precious. Expensive. How did one get printed in the paper so clearly?

He recognized the other person as him as well... Bone structure was the same even if everything else as been distorted with size. His hand started to tremble. The artist had to have been amazing in his or her ability. And cruelty. "I don't--"

Captain America? Mouse to Man?

The wind was knocked out of his sails and Steve dropped the scant foot or so onto the edge of his thin mattress. This was hurtful. He couldn't even describe how small and worthless it made him feel, for a few seconds, before teary eyes lifted back to Bucky.

"You're.... You're one of the Nazi hallucinations?" He dropped the clipping onto the bed and stepped up to Bucky, wanting to touch him. Wanting to know if he was real.

Bucky's eyes never left the leaflet in Steve's hands, tracking it even as he sat back on the bed, as if he had given over gold dust and wanted to make certain that it was kept safe. In a way, it was more precious than gold dust to him. The clippings, the little snippets of writing, all of that held the keys to who he really was and he would protect them with his life.

"No."

He flexed his fingers again as if reaffirming to himself that he was real. But he knew he was. No matter what other existential issues he had with identity and self, he had never doubted that both he and what had happened to him were real.

"I was there last week. Left and went to an airport, found myself here. Think this is the past."

That was the longest sentence that the Asset had given in a very long time, other than ordered mission reports.

It was important, at least according to some writers, that if time travel ever became possible, not to alter the past too much or risk changing the future forever. Steve used to think about that. How many people wouldn't be born if a man was late for a movie with his future wife? How many important events wouldn't happen if there was a bus accident? Little things could have damaging effects on time.

So if all of those hallucinations had been real, if those glimpses into the New York of the future with the tall glass buildings and the flashy, hyper real movies at the theater, what did that mean about Bucky?

Steve shook his head, and since Bucky didn't stop him, he pressed one hand against the flat of a chest so much more densely packed with muscle than it had been before. "You haven't aged. If all of that was true-- that has to be decades in the future," Steve pointed out, still unsure about his own role in all of this.

He wanted to believe that he had hope.

"You're serving in Europe right now, Right now. And I-- People don't just fall asleep and turn into... That. This is who I am, pal."

There was no way that he would let anyone touch him normally, but for some reason he didn't move. He just stood and let Steve lay a hand on his chest, he just let the smaller man get right up into his personal space. Why did he feel secure here? As if he knew deep down to his very bones that Steve Rogers wouldn't hurt him.

"The exhibit, I can tell you what it said."

He still hadn't remembered a lot of it as first hand information, only snatches, but he could perfectly recall everything that had been said in those little glass cases and over the speakers. It was the gift of the serum, excellent retention for details such as that. A furrow appeared in Bucky's brow as if it were difficult to speak so much, but he launched into it anyway.

"Steve Rogers, enlisted after several failed attempts under the patronage of Dr. Abraham Erskine for the super soldier project. Dr. Erskine had developed a serum which would enhance a soldier's natural abilities, physical and mental, to progress them into a super soldier with enhanced physical durability, combat skills, healing capability, and longevity. After successfully completing basic training despite physical ailments, Rogers was chosen for the project due to his self sacrificing and noble nature. With collaboration from Howard Stark and the US government, Dr. Erskine put his serum to the test. Steve Rogers entered the process at 5'4" and 95lbs with numerous physical disabilities, and left the process at 6'2" and 240lbs with no physical disabilities. Granted the honorary title of Captain America, Rogers was initially used as a publicity tool to sell war bonds. However, after discovering that his childhood friend, Sergeant James Barnes, had been captured by the Nazis, he disobeyed orders to remain behind and rescued him, as well as dozens of other captives, single-handedly. From then on, Captain America became a symbol of hope throughout the war, and was instrumental in our victory over the Nazi forces."

"That's the plot of a dime novel," Steve bristled immediately, dropping his arm and taking a step back. He felt an immeasurable amount of hurt, not because Bucky was saying these things but because he wanted them to be true. He wanted to grow a foot and gain one hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle. He wanted to be a hero, not to be a hero so much as to protect the people he loved and cared about. He wanted to save America from the war and Bucky was saying that was exactly what he did. In the future.

He dashed back to the bed, wheezing thanks to his 'physical ailments' and snatched the paper up to give back to Bucky.

"But if that's true, you're in trouble. I haven't gone so long without a letter from you, buddy, so you must be in trouble or have moved into an area where you can't post anything. We have to try to save you." He threw on a robe laid across the bottom of his bed and finally in slippers, he rushed out to the living room where the telephone book was.

He didn't know if the doctor Bucky mentioned would be listed, but he had to try to find out which enlistment office he was working out of.

He needed to get this moving if it was his destiny!

He needed--

Steve turned, halfway to the kitchen.

"That's not all. If that was all, you wouldn't be... What happened after you were saved, Buck?"

"No."

Bucky felt a wave of panic grip him then like a fist around his throat and, for the first time since he had got into this apartment, he started to look menacing. If he let Steve go off and become Captain America then everything would work out exactly as it had before and, honestly, Bucky didn't care about the issues of changing the future. Maybe he had chance to make sure that the Soldier was never made.

"Don't save him, let him die. It's better for everyone if he dies."

Maybe not then.

It would be better for everyone if he died when he fell from the train, then the world still had Captain America and history could proceed as if he had died, like everyone thought he had. It wouldn't alter anything. But he hadn't thought that far yet, he was just suddenly desperate not to let history repeat itself.

"Don't go to war."

“No?!”

Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He just couldn’t. Bucky didn’t look the same or sound the same from the person he had seen off a few months back, but he couldn’t believe that his friend would ever want anyone to die. Especially himself. Steve was stunned enough no to move for a moment, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t about to throw his scant ‘95lbs’ around in a moment.

He didn’t like being told he couldn’t or shouldn’t do something when he knew it was the right thing.

“I am not going to let you die. I don’t know what happened to you after all of this, Bucky, but you can’t… You have to remember me well enough to know that I would never leave you.” It didn’t matter if he stood a scant five and less than a half feet tall. Or that he could barely fight his way out of a paper bag.

Steve Rogers had and has always had heart.

And more love for Bucky Barnes than anyone else in his life.

“You don’t have to help, I can to this myself.”

"Til the end of the line."

It came out softly, but with more feeling behind it than anything else he had said yet. Steve saying he would never leave him, it made Bucky recall those words said over and over, the blood of a dying man on the helicarrier, stubborn and too proud to back down even when the man he thought was a friend was the one trying to kill him.

Could he deny the world Captain America?

He scrubbed a hand over his face and moved to stand beside Steve, utterly dwarfing him now.

"It's not the right thing to do. Better for the world if I'm dead now, before I have the chance to hurt anyone."

Besides, maybe Steve had already missed his chance with Erskine. Hadn't that been when he saw Bucky off to his overseas deployment? One last chance of enlisting at the fair? Maybe these timelines were already different somehow.

Bucky always dwarfed him and had always been intimidating. That didn’t mean at all that Steve was intimidated, however. He lifted his head appropriately to make sure he kept Bucky’s gaze with his own, though his eyes softened immensely when he nodded. “This isn’t the end of the line for everyone.”

The truth was, the time at the fair had passed. Once he’d seen Bucky off, the first of the disturbances happened and the fair had been closed. Every time Steve had been since to the recruitment office, there had been some sort of anomaly causing the city to blast air raid sirens in the street.

Neither Steve nor Bucky could know that this might have been a plot to keep there from ever being a Captain America.

Bucky had just been a piece of the puzzle that they had forgotten about.

“Will-- Will you talk to me? I’m here for you. Always been.”

At least Steve wasn't insisting that he immediately go and enlist, or go to the aid of a dead man walking. Maybe Bucky Barnes of this time would be grateful to be rescued, but if he knew what his future held then he would likely put a gun in his own mouth happily. Not that he had even been that stable after being rescued, nightmares and fear that didn't seem to fade. Better than what he had become, though.

So he nodded and followed Steve through to his meagre front room where there was a chill in the air without any heating for the room. The little threadbare sofa and wireless set, carefully maintained since it had been passed down from his father, it was all so familiar.

"I don't know what to say. I know that I'm-- I think I was Bucky Barnes once. I have some memories, not a lot."

But it had been Steve, future Steve, who had given him even that opportunity to question and find the start of the truth at all. Didn't he owe past Steve something?

“What made you forget?” Steve was used to the cold. The alleyway his building backed up against just happened to be a wind tunnel and the wind did it’s best to escape through the casement of the window or the front door. In winter, he shoved newspaper under the door and around the window sill but it’s was getting to be spring and sometimes the air during the day really helped to circulate everything.

So he sat on the couch, shivering and trying not to look like he was shivering, eyes intense and curiosity flared.

He felt almost as if he was being prideful, like he should probably take himself to church tomorrow and ask God to forgive him for being tempted by the future that may or may not happen. He didn’t want an ego, he just wanted to help, but sometimes good men turned evil when they gained power.

Look at all of the union bosses.

“Was it whatever you were saved from?” He was careful to separate the current and the potential. Both in his mind and in his words.

It bothered him, seeing Steve shivering and trying to disguise it. He had no idea why it bothered him so much, but it sent hooks into his brain and tugged as if demanding him to do something about it. Like it was only natural that he should care for and protect this scrawny thing who had way more guts than physical ability.

He took off his hoodie without further hesitation and draped it over Steve's shoulders. It was thick and warm, he'd bought it from the Smithsonian gift shop on the way out to make him blend in with the tourists. Deep blue with NYC emblazoned across the front. He still had a long sleeved shirt on underneath, and the cold barely touched him anyway.

"James Buchanan Barnes joined the Howling Commandos, Captain America's personal squadron, after his return from capture. He was the only member of that elite team to give his life in the service of his country, falling from a train during a combat mission in 1944."

His eyes lost some of the neutrality they had when he recited what he read in the museum, something softer and more real poking through when he got to his own memories. Voice still quiet, but now a bit more hesitant.

"I didn't die. Everyone thought-- but I didn't. HYDRA found me, gave me to the Soviets. Trained me."

"HYDRA...?" Steve had never heard of them. He wasn't sure about the Soviet and German connection either or the training or-- His mind was just too rattled, but he put the pieces together quickly. Captain America saved Bucky just to lose him to the enemy. Bucky was afraid he would hurt someone again because he had already hurt someone. Or many people. Steve heard all about brainwashing over there in Europe, and the thought terrified him.

He pulled himself together, rubbing at his arms through the thick wool of the hoodie. He didn't know what sort of jacket this was, but it was soft and it really took the chill out. Even if it was so big. Again, Steve was reminded of the 240 pound version of himself in that article.

"Bucky, whatever it... You're home now. You're home and we can maybe get word to you... The other you... Maybe to the army. No train mission. I just can't let you die all right? I'm so sorry-- I'm so sorry Captain America let you down."

It was as Steve suspected. Too much power made good men evil.

"He never let me down," said Bucky, instant and almost angry. "Never."

He would not have anyone, not even a past version of the man himself, cast any doubt on Steve Rogers as a person. He was a hero, no matter what happened, and he had always come through for Bucky. He had been there when he was needed, and somehow he had achieved the impossible to set him free from a prison he had been bound to for decades.

"He saved me."

Was that true? Was he saved now? Sometimes he wasn't sure, for the Soldier had at least been consistent, had made sense, had come without fear. He glanced down, suddenly aware that people might be able to find him here. It was obvious, wasn't it, that this was one of the places he would come?

"Will you come with me? Hotel. Somewhere not here, people could be following."

"Hotel-- Gee, Bucky. I don't think I can swing a hotel," Steve said, not really that embarrassed. The color from his cheeks and the color on his ears were not from embarrassment so much as a sudden flush from the way Bucky defended him. The other him. Maybe there ws nothing Captain America could have done. Maybe he wasn't even on the mission. Steve decided not to push his luck here.

He pressed his tongue between his lips, moving from the couch towards the cupboard where he stored his money and his ration cards. He was swimming in his pajamas and his robe and the hoodie, threading his arms through the sleeves of the latter so he could get his hands to work better. They were finely boned. Delicate. Made for holding charcoals. Not for war.

"Are you sure it isn't safe here?" he asked, holding up some change in the palm of his hand.

He hummed a response in the affirmative. It wasn't safe anywhere, but it was especially not safe in places that he had a prior connection where people could easily look him up. And now that he had made contact with Steve, that made Steve a target too. Strangely, that bothered him a hell of a lot more than being a target himself.

"Get clothes, a bag. I have money."

He had no idea how much a hotel room would cost here and in this time, that sort of knowledge had gone, but he had a few hundred bucks in his bag for emergencies. He was sure even a good hotel surely wouldn't be more than maybe a hundred bucks a night.

"Buck, I can't let you--" But he was already being shooed away and was left to pack a bag with some clothes and his medicine, worrying how they would manage a room in a hotel for even a single night let alone a few. All of his possessions fit into one bag and he sheepishly returned, dressed and in his coat, less than ten minutes later. He handed back the hoodie with a thanks.

Bucky would have to slow down his gait for Steve to keep up as they walked. He needed to stop twice to cough into a handkerchief but he never complained, going as fast as he could until they were at the edge of the neighborhood. There was a single late night ferry that could take them towards the only hotel that Steve knew about downtown, one he remembered Bucky fantasizing taking one of his girlfriends to if any ever agreed. It had big red letters on the marquee visible across the river.

The ferry cost ten cents, and Steve was nearly frozen solid by the time they hit Manhattan. The city was still jumping even during wartime, even though it was after midnight by that point.

There was a woman in her twenties behind the desk, looking bored, until she saw Bucky. Her red lips parted in a smile. "Normally we charge six dollars for such a late night request, but for you? I'll give you the five and a half dollar rate."

This would be the point where the Bucky of the past would have smiled right back at her, leaned on the desk, and given her some line about how her smile alone was worth more than six bucks. But that man was a long time ago, and this Bucky just watched her as if she might be some sort of threat without registering that she found him attractive.

"Three nights," he said, voice at least polite as he dug out a twenty dollar bill from a full sheaf of them in his pocket and laid it on the counter. Six dollars seemed cheap, he could stay here for about a decade and still have change, but he wasn't going to complain. "Need a room that's well heated, ventilated for asthma."

He gestured to Steve, who had become almost invisible to the girl as she registered the huge amount of money. Who was this? Some kind of politician? A movie star? She smiled even wider and grabbed a room key for him.

"Room nine, sir. You want anything, you just call for Bernice, okay?"

How did Bucky get a twenty?

It was a good thing that he had the old bills, not that Steve would know the difference, since the new art on the redesigned bills a decade or so ago in Bucky's time looked very little like the bill he handed over. As long as the girl didn't notice that the year of production on the back was from several decades in the future, they'd be all right.

But who would really check that the bills were from 2005 anyway?

Room nine was on the first floor and was large and warm and so impressive that Steve was completely boggled. "This is... Bucky, how do you have so much-- This is amazing!"

The room wasn't anything special to Bucky, but he had stayed everywhere from a corrugated iron shack to a five star luxury penthouse depending on what his missions had demanded. Most of the time now he stayed in run down little apartments or abandoned buildings, much easier to keep himself off the grid that way.

"I have more."

He hesitated before he laid down a scruffy backpack at Steve's feet with a silent invitation for him to look if he wanted. Though he was ready to tackle Steve if he did something he didn't like with what was inside. There was the book he had brought out earlier, wads of money in about seven different currencies totally upwards of six or seven thousand dollars, three combat knives of different sizes, two changes of clothes, and two very modern guns.

"I pawned some stuff, then exchanged some of the money."

Steve laid his coat over the chair by the window, the view wasn't great on the bottom floor but he didn't need a view at all, and then crouched to look through the bag. Some of the money he didn't recognize. Other money looked fake and he pointed that point before he lifted one of the large, sheathed knives.

It was almost too heavy for him, and he put it back right away before Bucky could tackle him.

"Maybe you should get some sleep," Steve recommended. "I've already had a few hours and it looks like you might not have slept in a few days." He went over to the hotel door to lock it, and throw the latch and chain across the ornate wood without waiting for a reply, more eager to poke into the bathroom and the linen closet. "I can take the couch," he called back, head under the sink. "I'll fit just fine."

With room to spare. And it looked more comfortable than any furniture he'd ever sat on too.

That made sense, even to the Soldier. Split shifts on keeping watch was sensible, not all sleeping in the same position in case of ambush was sensible, all of what Steve suggested was sensible. So he just nodded and crawled onto the bed fully clothed, it was necessary in case they had to make a quick getaway, and clothes his eyes.

It wasn't long before Bucky was fast asleep.

Even before his time in HYDRA, he had been an active soldier on the front lines, that taught a man how to sleep in any condition and at any time because you never knew when the next scrap of rest would come. Which was why his breathing evened out so quickly.

The sleep would help his mind find buried memories of Steve, too. Slowly, piece by piece, he would find out who he was and what it meant to be here.

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