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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Bucky spent almost the entire time once more lapsed into silence. Not quite the catatonia he had been in before, just no longer forcing himself to participate when he didn't think that he could manage to do so. He sat and listened instead, he kept his fingers curled around both those of Grant and Steve until he was no longer comfortable with that, and then he just picked at his liquid ice cream until the time came for them to be transported back.

Seeing Tony at least put a tiny smile at his lips, and he reached into his pocket to pull out a pack of playing cards that he had taken from their first motel. Dime cards, good quality, not the sort that could be bought any more.

"Not a good present, I know, but I figure maybe I could beat you at poker sometime."

He looked tired, they probably all looked tired with what they had been going through the past few weeks, and there was nothing to be done about it. They just had to endure until things got better.

Tony started to see everything as commodity. These cards could be worth a few thousand dollars. With a few thousand dollars, they could fix up the tracking system that kept the flyovers away from the compound. He had already gotten rid of his cars in an attempt to keep jobs until everything could be moved over to Pepper's new company-- his mind was a mess. He never liked the business aspect of anything. He was a fingers to elbows guy, in the hearts of metal beasts, tinkering constantly with the one thing he could always control.

But that wasn't possible right now.

So he twirled the still wrapped dime cards between his fingers and shoved them into his back pocket. "Thanks, man," he said, "Banner's got his house back so we had your stuff moved into Building 12. It used to just be a storage area but it's not storing anything." Pym's old company ended up buying a lot of the tech they had stored there from his father's era. Leave it to a good tech firm to still want their hands on Nazi paraphernalia. "Make a left at the main building. Second on the left before the fork."

"Thanks, Tony," Steve said kindly, which made Tony want to smack him, but instead he pulled a kazoo from his pocket and Sam gestured for everyone to follow. In the kitchen was a cake with exactly 98 candles on the first layer (Steve's age and one for good luck) and the second smaller tier had an easily twenty five on it for Grant.

It wasn't like anyone felt like celebrating but no one should ever turn down good cake.

While Grant and Steve ate, Tony sat back with Bucky, arms crossed. "How bad is it?" He was pretty sure it was bad. Bucky looked exhausted.

It was sweet that they had done this for Steve and Grant, actually remembering their birthdays as opposed to Bucky completely forgetting that the date was coming up, and it was good to see them both smile as they got pieces of cake each. Though he could see the way that they smiled was polite, and that both of them thought the cake was too sweet, so much sugar used in the modern cooking.

"Bad."

For some reason, Tony was one of the only ones that he could talk to. Maybe because he knew that Tony had seen some of it himself, maybe because he had hated him for what he had done once, and maybe because he didn't treat him any differently. But probably it was because Tony had never met Bucky Barnes, and so he didn't expect anything from Bucky except to be who he was. That wasn't fair on Steve and Grant, who didn't expect that either, but Bucky's mind wasn't always a logical place.

"I don't know if I can do it," he said, not intending to worry Tony, just being honest. "I don't know how to move forward from here."

"Pretty sure you don't have a whole lot of choice here," Tony pointed out. He wasn't a fake person either but he didn't know Steve and Grant well enough to know that they were picking through the fondant and mostly sucking on fork tongs instead of actually enjoying the cake the way that Sam was as he plowed through his slice. Natasha was mostly picking on Bruce and ignoring the cake, which Tony found amusing. Poor Banner was never going to figure out that bombshell of a woman liked him in more than just a friendly way.

As Steve and Grant laughed the same way at Sam, Tony glanced over in Bucky's direction. What did they see in this guy with his empty eyes and perpetual scowl? Then again, what did Tony?

"No one's expecting you to snap out of it tomorrow. I think the Rogers boys are in it for the long haul anyway. Heels are dug in and they probably have a few decades that they're willing to sink into seeing you get a little better." He shrugged. What did he really know other than Steve Rogers won the loyalty scale and had done so since he was born. "If you want my advice, and you shouldn't, it's awful, stop expecting anything. You just take every day as you go. Stop obsessing over being Barnes and just be you. You've got some pretty good eye candy. Did you use all of the condoms?"

It was good advice, no matter what Tony might think of his own advice giving capabilities, but it was hard advice to follow. He felt as if he were drifting aimlessly with no idea how to get to shore, and that was the hardest thing. He could put decades into his recovery if he knew how he was meant to recover, but just waiting around and letting it happen seemed somehow-- lazy?

"Didn't use any of them, and I don't want any more for a long while. I'm not ready for that yet."

It was a big step to admit that, but he was trying.

"How bad are your money troubles now? You think you could spot me a couple of hundred dollars?"

"Depends on how much of the cash you brought back with you," Tony said truthfully, not bothering to sugar coat things. "You can have all of it." It was still legal tender. It just happened to be museum and collector quality. He wouldn't tell Bucky to make money with it though.

Tony's money troubles weren't quite finished being documented. They were bad, he knew that, but he should be able to keep enough of his wealth to be comfortable. He just couldn't keep building armor after armor. And he couldn't attract the best minds to work for him. And he probably had to give up half of his properties and most of his cars. He'd drop from billionaire to millionaire but that wasn't what most people would mind.

And he was getting no sympathy in the media. Americans loved it when their heroes fell. And they loved it when people better off than them hit bottom.

"Don't jump ship today, Barnes. That's pretty low. Promise me you go wandering off into danger. I can't take the looks they have when you're missing."

Pepper was still optimistic. She knew that while Americans liked to see their heroes fall, they also loved Stark technology too much to go without. She gave it approximately six months of crashing, perhaps less if they got endorsements from the right people and Iron Man managed to save a bunch of people to further prove he was nothing like his father, and then the whole thing would blow over again.

Bucky nodded, taking in how bad things must be here with just those few words, and fingered the money in his pocket. He knew that he could sell it to a museum for more than it was worth, so he'd do that and have enough for what he wanted.

"I'm not jumping ship, I'll be back in a few hours."

He didn't wait longer than that before he slipped away like a ghost, managing to utilise all his skills so that nobody except Tony would see him go. He would be as good as his word, though, and come back by mid evening carrying a large brown paper bag. Hopefully Steve and Grant wouldn't have panicked too much by then.

Telling the boys that their friend went to go sell money and would be back soon did not actually made either Rogers feel like celebrating. Sam did try but in the end, they wanted to be by themselves and get their living situation straightened out. Grant still needed to rest. Cap was still healing. And though Sam was absolutely dying to spend time with them, he followed Natasha out on patrol when she suggested it. If Bucky left the compound without anyone noticing, there had to be a breach thst needed to be patched up.

Tony just stayed in Bruce's house, laying on his stomach in the living room watching the news speak about him as if he was OJ Simpson. He didn't hear Bucky approach but he saw him in the reflection of the glass of the sliding doors and pointed vaguely in the direction that the other two had gone.

"That away," he muttered into the pillow and went listless agsin.

Grant and Steve had already decided that the small room next to the bathroom, the only room with actual walls, should be Bucky's. They would carve out sections for themselves with sheets and that was what they were doing when Bucky and his paper bag found them. Grant was giving direction and Steve was walking along the conveyer belt that used to retrieve the items from the warehouse to hang long sheets up. Steve noticed him first and grinned. "There you are."

Bucky considered hesitating to talk with Tony a while, but he could do that later tonight. There were things that had to be said, plans that needed to be made, but for now he had two people with a birthday to celebrate that he had failed to remember. He offered both the tiniest upturn of his lips, not quite a smile but more genuine than the ones he had forced the past few days, and slipped in to sit on the floor.

He put the bag in front of him and then pulled out two wrapped boxes, sliding one towards Grant (that contained a set of full graphite drawing pencils) and one towards Steve (that contained a set of watercolour paints).

"Happy birthday."

He sat back and folded his arms, watching them expectantly.

Edited 2017-03-06 14:41 (UTC)

"Wow Buck. You didn't have to!" Steve said, jumping from the top of the building as if he didn't have any pain at all. Grant was smiling too, coming over to sit on the carpet that had been spread out for lack of any additional furniture at the moment. It was better than sitting on the concrete. He didn't need a kidney infection, even if the New York mountsins were not at all thst cool in the summer.

They tore into their boxes and laughed. Bucky knew them well. Grant was still young and loved the crush of charcoal in his fingers. But Steve had switched to pencil drawings with watercolor washes, his age expanding his medium usage. There were smiles on both of their faces as they looked over each ofher's presents before Steve suggested that they liven up the walls a little with some art. Both mediums could be easily washed away when Tony wanted to kick them out, after all. No harm done.

This was a better gift than the cake. But both men agreed that the promise of more birthdays with Bucky was still the best present.

"Thank you. Really. But You worried us, though," Grant admonished. "We have to be better at communicating. We have to start telling each other things. Little things. Like when we're stepping out."

"I don't think I'm going to step out often. I was lucky one of the smaller towns had an art supply store, it was already too many people. I cased it out for an hour on the roof of the neighbouring building before I went in."

At least he was trying to be better at communicating his failings honestly now. It was what Tony had said, about stopping trying to be Barnes and just let each day come with how he was until it got better slowly.

"I wanted it to be a surprise. Not much good giving a birthday present if you know it's coming."

He picked up the box of paints first and all of a sudden pulled his shirt off, leaving his torso exposed.

"Paint me. The arm. Cover the star, make it mine."

Steve hadn't seen the acrylics or the brushes, too focused on his water colors and then his discussion with Grant about the wall art. Those paints wouldn't be Permanent on the arm, but they could map out something better thst Tony could help seal in. The two blonds looked at one another before they picked up brushes. "Wouldn't it be better if Mr. Stark just gave you skin for the arm," Grant asked and Steve shook his head. It wasn't often that they disagreed.

"You should see how far tattooing has come. Actually, JARVIS, can you start a slideshow on the wall? We could use some inspiration."

This would do more than erase that Bucky was a Russian experiment. It would humanize him a little bit, make him fit in. Tattoo sleeves were extremely popular these days and though Bucky hadn't been the tough or punk sort back when they were younger, with his long hair and his dour expression, it would be perfect now.

Grant wasn't initially sure of the idea, but as he watched the images flash on the wall of men and women with full arms and backs done up in ink, he had to admit that the thought of decorating Bucky in meaningful patterns and designs was a little-- uh. Well, sexy for the lack of a better word.

Grant knelt at Bucky's shoulder. Steve laid the arm across his lap. They didn't need to consult each other for this. It was like one man working with four hands.

Even though accepting a sleeve for the arm to make it look like a regular one would probably be the most sensible thing, especially considering it was this arm that identified him as the Winter Soldier more than anything else, Bucky didn't want to do it. He didn't want to erase the Winter Soldier, because that would be erasing more pieces of himself and he had already lost enough. He didn't want to hide what he had been and what he had done, that was just as damaging as pretending to be something that he wasn't.

But altering the arm, changing it to reflect himself and how he was free now, that wouldn't be hiding things.

Bucky sat still and quiet as they both worked, though he kept his eyes on the slideshow of tattoos. Maybe he'd get one, a real one, a way to prove that his body was really his again. He could almost picture Zola's face if he learned that his precious weapon had defiled his skin in forbidden ways.

"What are you painting?"

It was curious, not judgemental, he trusted Steve and Grant with this implicitly.

"A lotta things," Grant said around a fine bristled brush between his teeth. He was currently working on the curl of a dragon at the pucker of skin that had healed over the metal to bind it to Bucky's body. Steve had finished the winding body, one clawed foot looking more avian than reptilian closed around and crushing the star. They had decided together not to cover that up. It was a part of who Bucky was now, but the dragon had won the battle and the Soviet star had been tamed.

Woven within the scales, between the sinuous body of the emerging beast, was symbolism from their youth like musical notes slipping into the Coney Island arching sign, the segments of arm transformed into the wooden planks of the boardwalk, to playing cards, to dog tags and boxing gloves. Steve also had painted symbols of the man between them now with more classic heart and banner tattooes (it said Brooklyn), or tribal lines and clocks with the dials pointing to Roman numerals, years instead of time.

A little while later would find Grant extending the paint from the air to the sensitive skin of Bucky's back. Cold paint and tickling bristles curled defined, three dimensional smoke, like charcoal, across his skin. The fire had not gone out. It was just waiting to be stoked.

Bucky watched what he could, though some of the artwork was too close to his shoulder and he would need to look in the mirror to see it properly, but he sat as still as a statue while they worked. It was both pleasant and unpleasant, tipped just further towards a good thing by the people doing it to him.

It was only when Grant moved to his back that he tensed up completely, causing the muscles under his skin to ripple and make the smoke dance for a second as though it were alive.

"What are you painting?"

The repeat of the question came this time in a much lower pitch, almost a growl, as if the brush was hypnotising and chaining him all at once.

"Smoke," Grant said, though his voice was far off and he used his other hand to stretch the skin so he could work. "It's just... It's a feeling. Not quite fire yet but--"

"Embers?" Steve supplied, looking up to watch Grant swirl his brush towards the nape of Bucky's neck. "From the dragon's belly."

"Yeah... Yeah exactly that-- Wait. JARVIS, there's still security cameras in here right? Can you activate them to let Bucky see what we're doing?" The AI confirmed that there was the ability to do so, though the cameras were no longer attached. He could, however, send in one of the drones to film and project that. Grant took it after consulting with Steve (two heads bobbing together in unison). It was important for Bucky to see this.

And it might be important for Bucky to make them stop too, because at this rate, they would completely cover his back and his chest in the next few hours. Both artists were completely focused on this mural. On this vision of Bucky as new and present grasping and dismissing the past all at once. Brush bristles and paint and their breaths against his skin might end up being too much for him, but for once, the blonds werent scrutinizing each of his movements.

It was a bit too abstract and it took Bucky a while to see what they were going for, the embers of a good man inside being stoked to a fire over time. Not invalidating what he had been, but once more bringing light and heat to the world. It was a nice thought, though the whole thing quickly became too much. The brushes felt sensual on his skin, intimate, and the gentle gust of breath that pebbled across him every so often only added to that feeling.

He was tense for at least twenty minutes, jaw clenched too tightly to say stop even though the word was caught in his throat in a way that practically choked him. He began to tremble, a slow shudder that ran right through his body, and eventually he pulled himself away in an explosion of movement.

He didn't make it far, just to the opposite wall, but he stood there gasping for breath as if he had run a thousand miles, eyes wide and staring at them both.

Brushes still poised, twin eyes stared up at Bucky before each blond set down his brush and stood, slowly. "Sorry, Bucky," Grant said.

"We got a little carried away there," Steve chimed in, and bent to collect their brushes, to treat this less like a recoil and more like it wasn't a big deal that Bucky was having trouble with intimacy. They both knew why. A wanted touch was in constant opposition with a memory of suffering and degradation. It was going to have to be done more slowly, but no one wanted to blame Bucky or get frustrated with him.

"How about I make something to eat?" There was a small kitchenette by the bathroom. A fridge and some counter space and a hot plate. Tony might have done a little better if he wasn't broke and depressed or if he had a little more time. But at least they were well stocked and the three of them had been making some progress with one another as they learned to cook.

"I think there was some chicken in there," Steve offered, and held out his hand. A welcoming back, gesture, yes, but he would not be offended if it didn't go over well. Bucky needed to feel this out but Steve and Grant would always be willing to help.

Bucky felt an instinctive need to cover this over, to paste on a false smile and brush it under the carpet, but for some reason he didn't. Maybe it was the look in those perfect blue eyes, two pairs of them, that told him that he didn't need to and actually meant it. He swallowed hard and reached out to take that hand, voice a little hoarse.

"It was too much," he said, actually giving words to his discomfort for once. "Too intimate. Stick to the arm next time, I can only feel pressure and pain there."

But that was an implied promise that there would be a next time, and they'd be able to get this sorted. Maybe. One day. He let Grant and Steve make him a simple dinner of plain bland chicken, cooked soft, and some creamed potatoes, and the three of them settled down as much as they could.

It was only after they had both gone to sleep that Bucky slipped out again, only going as far as the other buildings of the compound so that he could hunt down Tony and talk to him properly. He had seen the papers when he had gone to get art supplies, he knew what was going on.

Edited 2017-03-07 11:19 (UTC)

It was progress even if it didn't feel like progress. All Bucky needed to learn now was to leave a note and he'd be gold.

Tony was in his garage when Bucky decided to storm the castle looking for him. He wasn't drunk (which was also progress in a way) and nearly piled under with paperwork. He was not really a fan of papers if he could help it, considering how wasteful it was when tablets worked just fine, but his lawyers had sent everything over in document form and he was currently trying to learn bankruptcy law at the same time.

Not too difficult, it was just that science was always written in a clean way. Legalese was ridiculously complex and often managed to contradict itself.

"Thought you'd be in for the night?" he murmured. JARVIS had let him know that Bucky had been on the way.

"They're asleep."

It was enough of an answer for why he wasn't in there. He stepped into the light, the glow of the garage bulbs illuminating the artwork all over his body because he hadn't put a shirt on, not wanting to smudge their efforts before it was fully dry. He knew he'd have to wash it off sooner or later, but right now he wanted to keep it.

"I saw some news when I went out earlier. Looks like Romanoff released some more of my files, made the public think I'm some victimised war hero." The slightly bitter tilt to his voice said what he thought of that. "So they'd believe anything I had to say, right?"

"Maybe? Probably half of them would. The other half would say you were still brainwashed," Tony said, shuffling around papers before he leaned back in his seat and turned the chair to face Bucky. "It's always a fifty-- Damn. What the hell happened to you? Fall down in the paint store?" Tony stood up and got right into Bucky's personal space, examining some of the work. "Damn. You know, I knew they were talented but this is insanely good," he mentioned, straightening up. "Grant should go into tatooing."

Bucky had only been gone for six hours or so. And that was with the illicit trip off compound that Tony had had JARVIS use Veronica to keep track of. Just in case. So for the Rogers boys to get this amount of detail done in what had to have been no more than an hour, was astonishing.

Maybe they could sell original work by Captain America to get the funds to pay for upgrades to the quinjet? Tony jotted it down at the desk before he rounded the sofa, moved some boxes, and invited Bucky to join him.

"What do you want to tell America?"

The images on his skin were personal ones, but he didn't mind Tony seeing them. He didn't think that Grant would enjoy being a tattoo artist, however. He might like painting artwork onto skin, but he'd probably be too conscientious to do a tattoo that someone might regret and end up harming his own business in the process.

"I want to tell them that Howard was coerced into working for HYDRA, that he was a prisoner."

It wasn't true, but he said it bluntly outright because if anyone deserved to know this deception then it was Tony.

"What's happening now doesn't help anyone, and it's not fair. You're not him, your company isn't him, and you shouldn't be punished for what he did. He's dead, he isn't gonna be punished, so I want to lie."

For Bucky's trouble, Tony balled up a piece of paper with probably an important document written on it and threw it st Bucky's head. If it hit, it was becsuse Bucky allowed it to hit him in the face. No other reason. He thought about kicking him too, but decided against it. "He deserves to be reviled," Tony said, which was a selfish answer. His workers didn't deserve to be under such scrutiny, even if a few HYDRA agents had been unmasked in the upheaval and he was going to be under some tight investigation soon enough.

He didn't want his dad to win. But he also didn't want to hurt a lot of people.

"But that might help. It might really help a lot. But you're gonna have people coming at you. Questioning you. Interviews. Not sure you want that. Everyone is going to want to know your story. People are dicks like that."

And Bucky was fragile... As fragile right now as he was distracting.

"Did you have someone take photos of that arm? Damn it's good."

He did allow it to hit him in the face, it was just a piece of paper and for some reason he felt utterly safe around Tony most of the time. Maybe it was because he was confident he could kick his ass if he needed to, but it was probably more about knowing that Tony had already held Bucky's life in his hands with total obedience and he hadn't abused that in any way.

"Then you can revile him, but it doesn't make a different, he's dead and making you and a bunch of other people suffer for it isn't going to help anything."

He had made up his mind, just as stubborn as he was fragile.

"Call a press conference, one representative from each paper or news crew, live broadcast whatever... small, maybe thirty at the most. I'll answer questions, but I'm having Steve and Grant there with me."

If he had to end up giving interviews, he oddly felt more like he would cope better now when everything was already raw and bleeding, than if he had to rip those wounds open again a few months down the line.

"Do it fast, this needs to be controlled now... and I'm sure JARVIS has pictures."

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