fossilised | For Steve

For Steve

The war had been raging for a long time now, and James Buchanan Barnes had been drafted some months ago to ship out to Europe and fight with all the others in the trenches and on the front lines. Telegrams came back daily with the news of more brothers, sons, fathers, and husbands killed. More friends who will never return, and still there was no end in sight.

But then something even stranger began happening on both sides of the timeline.

All the newsreels were reporting strange anomalies centred in New York City and Washington D.C. that could only be explained by time itself unravelling in places. Buildings that changed to vast monoliths of glass and steel for a few minutes and then back again, a faded billboard for asthma cigarettes becoming a full colour motion picture of a man eating soup. Some people had even said they had met men and women claiming to be from the future, though this was all hushed up.

It only lasted a few days, and then it was sorted. Sealed, the government official offices said, just a trick by the Nazis to confuse us. Forget it and go about your day.

But there were pieces of the future lost in the past for good.

The Winter Soldier-- Bucky-- whoever he was now, confused fragmented memories all he had to go on, had been thrown through time unceremoniously into a street that looked altogether familiar and confusing. He hid from the authorities who were collecting all the anomalies with ease, even though his manner of dress was out of place now with jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. He didn't change it. He found his feet taking him somewhere only half remembered.

An apartment with a key hidden under an old brick. Why did he know it was there?

He didn't know. He just let himself in, quiet as a whisper, and made his way through to the bedroom where someone was asleep under the covers. Skinny, blond, somehow also familiar (the man on the bridge? The man in the Potomac? The man at the museum? No, that didn't make sense, that man had bulging muscles, but somehow he was sure they were the same). He didn't say anything, just stood there and watched impassively, waiting for the man to wake up.

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There was a moment of frozen silence, before Bucky hugged Tony back tight and a little desperately, probably the first genuine emotion he had allowed to show through since he had killed Finney. But he stepped back pretty quickly and slipped the stupid gold-wrapped foil into his pocket.

When he strolled out to the main compound again, he forced himself to look more relaxed, less outwardly tense. It didn't take him long to make it back to where Romanoff had been quietly lecturing Steve and Grant about how recovering from that level of brainwashing and trauma wasn't going to be easy and would probably get a whole lot worse before it got better.

"Geez, you're a ray of sunshine, dollface."

He grinned, and this time it seemed to reach his eyes.

"Come on, let's go, I'm sick of this place anyway."

"Tony's all right then?" Steve asked, arms crossed and a little skeptical until Bucky nodded. His friend was not a liar and so he did expect Tony to be just fine. No one was any wiser about the news about to be released by Tony's own camp and it was how it should be. The me were told to hold onto snything they were planning to bring with them and then they were carefully scanned and put in the room they had arrived in half a year before.

"Don't hold your breath," Banner reminded them before he pushed the sliders all the way up and sent the trio back to where they had been grabbed the last time.

DC had gone back to normal six months after the war and the bloody apartments that had been left behind were cleaned up. They arrived in the upstairs hall with all of their things, a radio playing in the kitchen but no one home.

Grant lamented the lack of a hat but headed immediately to the front door with the other two following him and they hit street level half a mile away from that delightful little cafe with the duck pond.

"I think we should stay away from New York," Steve was saying. "And maybe DC too. Buck? Where'd you think you want to go first?"

Maybe Tony was right, and maybe this was a stupid idea that they would see through, but Bucky couldn't resist. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he was tired of this whole thing, and he knew they were both tired too. He saw it in their strained expressions, in the tears, in the tension. He didn't want that any more for any of them, and it felt like the more that he remembered, the worse off he was becoming. That didn't seem right or fair. The more he remembered, surely the better he should be getting?

Well, he was done with it.

He wanted to be fixed for these two perfect, wonderful men, and so he would be fixed. He was an expert at assimilation with a part when he had to be, it wouldn't be that difficult to extrapolate what he did remember, and what he had read, and make himself James Barnes for them both.

So his movements were already different when they stepped outside, gone was the tension and in its place was a confident sort of swagger with his hands in his pockets. Smile at his lips, literally a picture perfect representation of who Bucky had been back before the war.

"How about Texas? You always said I'd make a good cowboy, remember?"

"You would make a good cowboy," the same voice in two slightly different tones and pitches said at the same time, causing an easy sort of laughter. For now, this all just felt like freedom, a return to the roots that they had lost. For Steve, it was a chance to start again and for Grant, it was a future he never thought to hope for.

They had to be careful here but neither was overly showy of affection in public. They had been raised to keep that under the hood, should there ever become a girl involved in their lives. Not that there had been of course. Peggy didn't exactly count for Steve. And Grant had only momentarily thought she looked swell so that didn't count at all.

Of course, Bucky would be able to get by for awhile with his lies because Steve and Grant were keeping their own emotions at all time highs in order to help keep Bucky boyant. They really thought they were managing too. That was the saddest part of all.

They bought a car, not a truck, nothing so heavy duty, just a good car with good bones. They paid in cash and charming smiles and headed on the road after a good meal. They'd stay in motels along the way, nothing fancy, just two vets from the war and one's little brother.

Steve and Grant slept in one bed to give Bucky his space and given the way Bucky didn't usually sleep so well, he'd be granted the sight of his boyfriends wearing identical faces as they slumbered or, somewhere in Georgia during a rainstorm thst made them pull over early, actually cuddling like puppies in a basket.

The two Rogerses were happy. It was as if those none glorious days in Brooklyn had just been extended indefinitely.

As they were leaving Louisiana, bellies full of road side barbeque, dusk at their backs, Grant spotted a lake and, after longingly staring at it as they drove by the road, finally spoke up about wanting to go swimming.

"There might be alligators," Steve warned as they pulled off the road.

"Are you afraid of gators, Steve," Grant called, already out of the door with his shoes off.

Steve laughed as he looked at Bucky. "I'm such a punk."

It was hard to keep up a facade the whole time, play a part that wasn't him, but it was worth it with every smile he got from Steve and Grant. He could see the happiness entering their eyes more with each passing day, and he saw it in how easily they started to sleep together, all curled up like puppies who had finally done a good day's work. It made him determined never to let the cracks widen and the break that he could always feel under the surface come.

He was so very ruthlessly careful with the act. He was always ready with a quip and a smile, he joined in the conversations much more vocally, he even practised a couple of dance steps in one diner along the way that had a wireless playing. He didn't sleep. Maybe an hour here, an hour there, but always when he had managed to get some time alone because the others had gone shopping or just out to see the latest town or wherever.

Bucky smirked as he slid out of the car and rolled his eyes at Grant, speaking loud enough for him to hear even if he was technically replying to Steve.

"Then we shouldn't worry about gators, all that attitude'll keep them away."

Nevertheless, he did watch the water very carefully, ready to wade right in there and protect Grant if necessary.

"Gators wouldn't dare eat Twinkle Toes," Grant yelled back, stripping out of his clothing. He left it strewn on thick grass and hopped right to the edge of the water in white boxers thst weren't entirely period friendly but would do for now. "Are you two chicken or something?"

Steve glanced at Bucky and shook his head. "I'm gonna kill him," he teased, and went running towards the water to splash and dunk Grant. Bucky could certainly join them if he wanted or watch the water as the stars popped out one by one and the night coated the air with a chill that might have Grant sneezing by the end of the hour.

Indeed, as they drove on later to find a motel with vacancy, poor Grant was wheezing and shivering in the backseat. "Real sorry you guys. Really, really sorry. Didn't mean to... I mean, it was fun, right? A li-- ACHOO!"

"Yeah, well, you always manage to take all the stupid with you."

Bucky pushed himself out of the front passenger seat, leaving Steve alone up front to drive, and into the backseat with Grant. He opened up his coat and pulled the smaller man in for a tight hug, one hand rubbing small circles on his back in a soothing manner and the other mostly focused on drawing him in close to share heat.

"I suppose we've been lucky so far, you were gonna get a cold at some point. Just don't act too dumb and let it turn into worse, okay?"

No. No. No. He could feel the panic clawing beneath the surface of his act, this was something he couldn't stop, something he couldn't protect against. What if Grant got really sick? What if he died? What if-- What if--?!

"I won't," he rattled, sounding worse and worse as Strve drove faster and faster. This was a race against the clock for bed rest but thankfully the vacancy sign on a warm looking bed and breakfast style cottage motel on the edge of the state finally guided them towards home. Steve was first out of the car and to the office to charm the lady st the desk to give him a room. He returned with a large brass key and pointed Bucky, who would probably insist on carrying Grant because of how bad his cough had gotten. He kept saying he was fine but he wasn't and Steve was going to have to dig out the medicines that Bruce had thoughtfully packed for them.

"It's just one bed this time but there's a couch," Steve said as he led the way up the external stairs to the third floor loft.

"Don't be-- Don't be silly. You two bed and I'll do.. I'm small enough to fit on the--". Another set of wet and rolling coughs poured out of him and Grant pressed his face against Bucky's neck as Strve got the door and went to the bathroom the run the tabs hot so he could fill the hot water bottle.

"Buck, we have antibiotics and the inhaler. Probably should take a hit. Grant, you feel any worse than this and we'll give Bruce a call. Okay?"

Grant was so light to lift that Bucky barely noticed his weight at all. It scared him, honestly, that one of the most important things in his life was so fragile and easily taken from him by forces that he couldn't control. He couldn't snipe illness or punch disease, he couldn't go toe-to-toe with God and demand that he make Grant's lungs work properly.

It scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

"Shut up, punk," he muttered, trying to cling to the facade by the skin of his teeth as he carried Grant into the little room and straight into the bathroom to run a hot bath. The steam and heat would help, then he'd get him right to bed all bundled up. "Steve, get those medicines in here. Geez, I thought the serum made you faster, not slower."

"I'm going, I'm going," Steve said, but it was a little bit terse, likely because of Bucky's tone. Grant was at least quiet about it and the pair did as was requested, no need to pull rank from Steve or to claim wellness from someone not so well. "On your six," Steve cslled as he tossed over the clearly labeled medication and let Bucky do the honors as Grant was warmed up and put to bed.

He stayed close at hand to get water or that hot water bottle or more towels. Anything Bucky needed. It was odd to watch this. Not because of the lingering jealousy so much as because he had never seen Bucky care from him from the outside. He'd only even remembered being barely conscious for this sort of treatment.

It felt nice, honestly, to see just how much Bucky loved them.

Grant perked up before too long. The medication was working as his breathing became easier. "So. No more watering holes...?"

For all that Bucky loved the both of them, he had no eyes for anyone but Grant that night. He didn't even glance at Steve, he just caught the medication and administered it with endlessly gentle and patient hands. He helped wash Grant when he was sort of out of it in the bath, he dried him and redressed him, and then got him under the blankets where he sat and watched the rise and fall of his breath carefully.

He didn't so much remember doing this before, as it was imprinted on his very soul like muscle memory. Countless nights doing the same thing, countless days watching out for the one true best friend he had ever had.

A smile tugged his lips when Grant finally began to ease, though it was tinged with concern.

"No more watering holes, you trying to give me a heart attack? I think Steve has grey hair now, Grant."

Gone was Bucky's charm and demeanor. Gone was his quick wit, or his attention to make Steve smile as he watched Grant. Steve watched too, all night. He kept the vigil going as Bucky did, eyes fixed on the back of his best friend's head. He could feel his own jealousy bubbling up from the surface, and though he knew that was not fair at to Grant, who needed that attention, he was very aware that he was the third wheel most times. He didn't need Bucky the way that Grant did. And he was always going to be that after thought.

When he and Bucky were alone, which had happened often when Grant was at work or school, they had played games or chatted about the war. But when Grant was with Bucky, all of the romance came back. He couldn't stop himself from wondering by the end of the night if, in fact, Bucky had tacked him on out of guilt. Nothing more.

His smile was stilted when Bucky brought him into the conversation. He'd not existed for the last nine hours. "Yep. All gray now."

"Liar. You're still perfect. And your heart is too strong. I'm fine. I told you. I must have swallowed some weird pond scum. Did either of you sleep?"

Bucky had no idea that Steve felt like that, and he would have panicked all the more if he did, because it just meant that he was losing his grip on both of the people that he needed to make himself whole. Steve was a goddamn idiot, he didn't see the hours that Grant was invisible because Bucky spent his entire time staring at the phone waiting for it to ring and let him know that Steve had survived another Avenger's mission, or the times that Bucky stalked him from the rooftops just to make certain that he was safe.

They both existed in his vision, it was just that sometimes one had to exist more than the other. He didn't have it in him to notice the way Steve's smile wasn't quite right, he was doing everything in his power to keep his mask in place.

"Quit worrying and go back to sleep yourself, I'm not even tired. I can sleep in the car tomorrow or the day after, and Steve can get himself down on that bed with you and sleep now so that I can keep an eye on both of you idiots."

It was more than just a feeling of inadequacy with Steve. He was seeing the cracks now, without even realizing what they were. He didn't know enough about Bucky's obsession with one or the other to know that this was normal and so he had inadvertently seen some of the weakness in the armor and the face beneath the mask.

"Can we both agree to sleep with him?" Steve asked, trying to judge Bucky's response. If he insisted, Steve would agree and climb into bed so he could intact sleep and then try to catch Bucky sleeping. He was pretty sure that Bucky wasn't resting properly at all. He never dozed in front of them. Never. And Steve never woke up with Bucky still asleep.

He was trying to figure out why, or maybe he was trying to find all the signs here as to what he was doing with two people that needed each other.

Grant smiled widely. "Been trying for months for this," he said, almost hopeful. "And the bed is plenty big!"

Bucky would stringently deny there were any cracks under the mask. He was managing so well to pretend to be the man they both wanted him to be, like everything he had been through for the past seventy years had left no real scars on him. It was almost funny, kind of sad, how they thought regaining good memories would somehow erase the bad ones. But that's the game Bucky was playing.

"Sure, sure, I'll come rest with you."

He agreed easily, smile at his lips, pulling the shroud of who he should be around himself more tightly as a protection.

"I'll just go get a shower first, I stink from the road. But you two go ahead and get some sleep, I'll be quiet when I slip in with you."

Bucky was only gone for five minutes with the water running when Steve felt Grant's head on his shoulder and, instinctively, he moved to wrap an arm around the still chilled man. "How do you think we should go about talking to him," Grant asked, which frankly confused Steve for a few long seconds. Had Grant figured it out? He'd been out cold when Steve did all of his thinking. How could he...?

It occurred to him a moment later that they might not be thinking about the same things. Or that Grant had been oblivious to Bucky's lack of sleep. He didn't play coy. "About--"

"He's pretending to be himself. He was almost catatonic the morning we left and all of a sudden, back in this reality, he's all charm and smiles? He called Natasha Dollface, Steve."

Steve was impressed and honestly put in his place by Grant's insight. He'd been so focused on the good because he'd wanted it so desperately that he forgot to look through it below the surface. "He's been playing us."

"For almost five days now. He doesn't think he can talk to us."

"No, he's afraid of disappointing us," Steve sighed. "We talk to him tonight."

If Bucky ever came back. He could be hiding in the shower. He had twenty minutes before Steve came in after him.

It was probably a good thing that Tony wasn't there to witness this conversation between the two Rogers men, not just because he would probably die of a happy heart attack to see the two blonds so inextricably twined together in the same bed, but because he would then be able to tell Bucky "I told you so" about his certainty that he could fool both of them into thinking he was a man that he wasn't.

Bucky, however, had no idea.

He took ten minutes in the shower to pull himself together and plaster over the cracks better. He would come back into the room on soft feet in case they were sleeping, and he hoped that they were, and cross to very carefully sit on the edge of the bed. He would lie down beside them and close his eyes, very carefully making his breathing slow and steady so they might think he was sleeping when he really wasn't.

He had no clue that he was about to be confronted.

Tony would have died on many occasions on this trip to see the pair tucked up together on occasion. They had really stopped thinking about each other as if they were the same person though, and while they did not have romantic feelings for the other, they were close. They were brothers, siblings that they had never had or thought that they wanted. They shared a best friend. They shared a man that they loved, but they themselves were not lovers. It was complicated but they had sorted it out. For the most part. Grant had had his jealous insecurities months before. Steve was going through it now. They might always be sometimes a little afraid that they weren't enough for their Bucky but that was just the nature of this particular game.

For now, however, both were focused less on each other and more on the brunet who thought he could slip into bed.

Grant turned and Steve unwound his arm from his little brother. He let Grant do the talking because Grant was better at it. His voice was calmer and he had seen the signs of this first.

"Buck. I think it's time-- We both think it's time for you to turn off the smiles when you don't feel like smiling. It's... They're no where near as nice as the real ones. I'd rather have one real one than a thousand fake ones."

Okay, so they were both awake, that was no problem. Bucky was pretty confident in his ability to feign sleep that they would surely just drop off soon and leave him be. Or not. Those words hit him harder than a bullet from a gun, and he felt his heart rate pick up tenfold, the start of panic growing like a weed in his chest.

He was so very careful not to show it though, only cracking one eye as if he were sleepy and smiling up at both of them in his absolute best lop-sided and lovable way. The same smile that Bucky always used to use when Steve was on the mend, or when he perfected a new dance step, or stupidly spent all their electricity money on buying some new art supplies.

"What're you talking about, idiot? Can't you see I'm trying to sleep here?" They could not know, they just could not. "Which I'm pretty sure is what you two are meant to be doing as well."

Steve sat up. It was dark here, the street was in the front of the building and they were tucked up in the back. The bathroom light had turned off but while all Grant could see was the glint of an eye and a smile when Bjcky's teeth flashed, Steve could see the whole picture. He saw the tightening of the jaw and the lines around d the eyes. Bucky was getting upset and still trying to keep his face on.

He lightly touched Grant's back to have him ease up a little. "We love you, Bucky. You. And this-- this isn't you." Maybe thst would straighten Bucky out. The man with the quick smile, easy on the eyes, and carefree despite his own lower middle class poverty, just so happened to not be the man that they were in love with. That man was gone. He'd died in a cold bunker alone, an experiment, raped and beaten and believing to the end that he was moments away from rescue, probably day dreaming between moments of agony about the dames he used to spin around dance hall floors.

That was Bucky, their best friend.

This was Bucky, their boyfriend.

"You're trying to spare us; right," Grant smiled, moving his hand up and over Bucky's chest. "It's noble of you but we don't want that. We just want you back."

"You'll never be our Bucky until you stop pretending to be and actually come to be," Steve said, eyes so kind, even the dark.

"Let us be your anchor," Grant insisted. "Let us hold you."

This was his whole damn world crumbling around his ears and he couldn't do a thing to stop it. He felt a sudden and irrational hatred for the two men that he was sharing a bed with, with their kind eyes and gentle words and fucking insipid compassion as if they weren't ruining everything.

"Shut up."

His voice was rougher this time, more of a bark, but he managed to cling onto the edges of his mask by the very tips of his fingernails. Couldn't they see that tearing this away would destroy him completely? Couldn't they see that he wanted this? He cleared his throat as he sat up, dislodging Grant's hand and getting just a bit of distance. He managed a weak sort of chuckle.

"Jeez, anyone would think that you guys didn't want me to be happy. I'm not allowed to smile and have a good time with the fellas I'm stepping out with now? We're safe, we're together, why shouldn't I be happy?"

Drop it. Drop it. Drop it. Drop it.

Spending time, even briefly, with Sam and with the literature that Steve actually left around the apartment for his own use about ways to deal with PTSD (including the knitting he had seen him do occasionally when he thought he was alone in his room), made Grant understand that he needed to break apart the bone that was healing incorrectly to set it again right. And this was going to hurt them all. Luckily, Steve was with him. Grant was not going to be capable of holding Bucky if it came to thst but his older brother certainly could.

And now that Steve could clearly see Bucky, he knew what he was dealing with. "You don't need to lie to us." Or himself. That's what hurt so badly about all of this. Healing Bucky meant that he needed to crumble. Before, he'd coldly told the tales of his torture. Now, he was trying to pretend it didn't happen. This was actually a good sign. It was progress even if it felt like a step back. It was real. There was emotion and hurt and anger behind the wall now. Bucky just had to accept it. Embrace it. And that would be the hardest part of all.

"You're not happy because you were abused. And you're afraid. And you're being a god damned martyr," Grant said as he sat up, parroting back Bucky's words. "Let us help you. These smiles are killing me. I don't want to act happy to help with your illusion."

"I told you to shut up!"

Bucky was out of the bed in a heartbeat, unable to just sit there any longer with the two men that he felt were pursuing him where he didn't want to be pursued. It was a weird echo of what had happened above the Potomac, of Steve constantly pushing and pushing that Bucky knew him, and the Soldier snapping back out of panic.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You're selfish jerks, the both of you. Did you ever think that maybe this is what I want? Maybe I want to be normal, maybe I want everything to go back to how it should be, why the fuck shouldn't I get that? Didn't I earn it? I think you both want me to be broken because it feeds into your guilt complex. You're just goddamn guilty that you let your Bucky die in Italy, and you can't forgive yourself for not knowing I survived the fall. Well, fuck you both. I am fine. Why can't you let me be fine?"

He was pacing the room like a tiger, all tense and hard lines, voice spiralling out of control. He hated them both so much, it was like a red mist, what right did they have to strip him of this? He couldn't even see that the anger was just a way to stop the choking panic from getting free.

For the first time, Steve saw Grant lose his resolve and shrink back. He murmured softly thst of course Bucky deserved everything he could ever want and more as payment for what had happened to him, only none of it came out in clear words. He put a hand on the younger man's shoulder and reached back to click on the soft yellow gold light. It filled the room softly, like sunshine. Steve had missed these bulbs, he'd missed how much warmer it felt when he was growing up. The twenty first century was all just harsh lights and whirring machines.

He took a deep breath. He'd been to enough meetings with Sam to understand what was happening right here and right now. He could almost read the ripples of panic about to burst out of Bucky's chest. It was sad. It was so, so sad. But this had to happen. This dam needed to break.

"You're not fine. This is not fine. And what you're saying to us now? We know you don't mean it. We know you love us. And I'm real sorry, pal. I'm real sorry. For everything. But I didn't know you were alive. I didn't know what was happening to you. I mourned your loss. And then you came back to me. And right now? Right now the only thing I want to do is not be your excuse."

He approached Bucky slowly. He anticipated being sung at or run from.

It was a good instinct, because as soon as Steve was in range, Bucky swung at him with every ounce of strength he had. He put behind it all his rage and bitterness, all his hurt and confusion, and all his terror that behind the fractured splinters of himself there weren't enough pieces to make a whole. He punched Steve so hard in the jaw with his metal hand that he almost expected him to go through the wall.

Didn't matter.

He pursued and grabbed him by the shirt to pin him up against any available surface and began just punching him over and over, face contorted and tears leaking down his face without him even knowing it.

"I told you to shut the hell up!"

He wanted to wound right now, he wanted to hurt them both. He wanted to make them see that this was preferable, that false smiles were better than no smiles, and that some pain just couldn't be endured. It made him freer with his tongue, but more to hurt than to admit his own hurts.

"What do you want me to say, Steve? Do you want to hear about Howard Stark and how he created my arm and the machine that wiped me? Do you want to hear about how I can't even remember my own sister's name or face, but I can remember the faces of every single handler I've ever had and how they've all looked like you? Do you want to hear about how much I want your touch, but every time you touch me my skin crawls because all I can feel are the people who pinned me down and fucked me until I bled even with the serum? Do you want to know that I've thrown up ninety percent of the food you give me, because I can't tolerate it. I've been on a liquid diet since 1958, and assets don't get human food. Do you want to hear about every time they tortured me, all of my victims, because I remember it all, but I don't know the steps to the Charleston or what my favourite food is. Is that what you want, Steve?!"

He kept punching the whole time he was yelling, voice raw and furious, uncaring how bloodied Steve's face or his own metal hand were getting.

"Tell me, Steve? Tell me! Is that what you want? Why can't you fucking let it go? Why can't you let me have this?"

Edited 2017-03-05 09:13 (UTC)

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