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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

"It's just... Wow." He let his fingers hover over the dragon claw piercing the star on his shoulder. That was masterfully done, personal and poetic. He really, really hated Steve. Both of them. He was the creative one in the group damn it!

It took a few moments before he realized that more was being said than just the art. Conference. Televised. Print and on air media. The Rogers duo--

"Uh. Yeah. J? What time is it?" The AI replied back with a number after midnight and Tony rubbed his fingers against his eyelids. "Let's get a seven AM press conference called up. Wake the important people. Get Ms. Potts on the phone and head of legal."

He jumped off of the couch to clear the digital whiteboard he'd been working on off with the swipe of his hand over the projection and started to mock-write as if there was a pen in his hand. "We need to get you into wardrobe by five. The more Avengers present, the better. Maybe Thor can grace us with his presence. J? Banner still awake? No? Really? Well good for him. Let him sleep. Do not let Rhodey sleep though. I need to talk to him."

"Yes, sir, would you prefer to talk to Colonel Rhodes, Ms. Potts, or your head of legal separately or in a conference call?"

Either way JARVIS would be quick to get things set up, and to call all of the other Avengers (bar Bruce) from their beds. Including Captain and Mr. Rogers, who were informed that their wayward boyfriend had again gone a-wandering to Tony's garage and intended to tell the world that Howard had been coerced.

Bucky placed a hand over the dragon protectively, thankful it had dried already, and frowned as Tony took his idea and ran with it.

"Wait, what do you mean, wardrobe? I have clothes, Tony."

"You have terrible clothes. You have Steve's clothes. And too much black and red. Black and red are what villains and emos wear." Tony plunked back down in his chair and told JARVIS to queue up Pepper first before he talked to Rhodey. The lawyers could wait. They were better when working on almost nothing. Right?

Tony set his chin on his palm as the call went through. "Stand up. J will scan you and get my tailor to find something appropriate. Don't worry. It's going to be a casual suit. Do not even suggest that you want a hoodie."

He turned back to the wall as Pepper appeared, tired and hair sticking out all over the place.

He thought she looked beautiful.

"Sorry to bother you--"

"Tony, do you know what time it is? Oh-- Is that Sergeant Barnes--"

Tony nodded. "It is. And he's going to save the day." Or would in a few hours. Not too long after, Steve and a bundled up Grant shuffled in, the smaller man sitting next to Bucky on the couch, yawning.

And that set Pepper off too. She hated being so out of the loop!

Bucky would not be letting Tony dress him up in any kind of suit, appropriate and casual or otherwise. He liked his baggy clothing with the soft fleecy hoodies, they made him feel safe and inconspicuous. The press could take him as he actually was, not how Tony thought he would make a good impression.

He shot a slightly concerned look over at Steve and Grant, wondering how they would take the idea of Bucky outright lying about an ex-HYDRA operative. But he didn't really have a chance to say anything because of how rapid fire both Pepper and Tony were being. She chastised him, then she went through the logistics with him, then she ordered him to shower and trim his goatee and get dressed in good clothing to make a good impression. They sat through almost three hours of phone calls with Rhodey (who was cagey, but attempted to be supportive), the legal team (who were nervous as hell about a statement from Barnes), and a few media executives who were confirming attendance.

By the time it was all done, it was 4.45am, and Bucky was slumped against Steve with his fingers curled tightly into Grant's sleeve, fast asleep.

Steve was still awake, but Grant had turned to curl up against Bucky's chest. It was as close as either of them had gotten in a long time and neither Steve not Grant wanted to move him. At least the youngest of the trio slept well. He needed it. Bucky's fearfulness would have to be seen. Not that they could keep him asleep for too long.

"I don't like this," Tony acknowledged to the awake blond. "Not one bit. He deserves to be hated. Not sympathized with. But the people that work for me and my vendors.... They need the reprieve."

He sighed through his nose and stood up to get that shower and shave.

"He's a good guy, Steve. You're luck."

Steve took his happiness where he could find it now. Some people might think that someone falling asleep against him would hardly be cause for celebration, but just knowing Bucky was resting and trusted him enough to keep him safe while he did lit a huge candle of hope in his chest.

"I know, Tony."

His voice was soft, careful not to move.

"If you did like it, that's when I'd be stopping this. I don't like it either, I don't want any of the people who hurt-- who were HYDRA to get away with it, not even if I knew them as friends once. But this is Bucky's choice, and I'm not going to take that away from him. Seems like he's decided you're a friend to protect, Tony, don't make him regret it."

"I like it when you add that touch of threat under your words. It makes you seem more human." Tony winked at Steve before he left the trio to get another hour or so of sleep before wardrobe would arrive. If Bucky refused to wear something nice, so be it. He figured Grant would appreciate the three piece suits. It was his style. He'd look a little forties gangster-- No. Tony was never going to give up his mild obsession with Grant. Not ever.

He showered and used concealer under his eyes and trimmed up before taking his time picking out something appropriate from the wardrobe that followed him from place to place. Even if he was in a jeans and tee sort of mood, he wanted the option to look dapper. He selected a red tie and a black and grey shadowstripe vest with a gold fob and Avengers symboled cufflinks.

He was less ready for the press conference than he looked, however. He straightened his tie as he rejoined the others on the lawn of a compound the press has never been to before. Thor had shown up, but Rhodey and Barton had kept their distance. Tony was actually pretty broken up about the former.

The latter was probably stuck in an air duct anyway. Barton. Yuck.

Steve looked resplendent in his uniform, shield at his back, the very image of the all-American hero that not even the presses could malign for long. There was just something about Captain America that was too wholesome to pursue for long, he had to be a hero, the public just loved him too much. Grant in his suit, a little too baggy even with the expert tailoring, Thor in his Asgardian finery, Natasha in a neat black skirt suit, Tony in his dapper clothing, and Bucky in his thick maroon hoodie.

He looked nervous as hell, jaw grit and skin pale, but he forced himself to take a step towards the microphones set up at a pedestal as the press pointed cameras of both photographic and film varieties at him. His voice was still too low, too gravelly, but he finally addressed the world.

"My name is-- James Barnes." He swallowed hard. "I died a long time ago. You can read about it at the Smithsonian, I know that I did, I went there when I didn't even know my own name and I read about myself. I didn't know myself because when I fell from the train I was found by HYDRA, they tortured me for a long time. I won't go into what it takes to break a man, but by the time they sent me out on missions, I had no name. I wasn't a 'he', I was an 'it', I obeyed because it was all I knew to do, and if I didn't there was only more pain and conditioning. I was kept in storage like a tool when I wasn't needed, and it was only because of Steve-- Captain America, that I managed to escape that."

He paused, fingers gripping the podium a bit too tightly.

"I am still dangerous. I'm sure you've all seen the footage of what happened at the College of Art. I have flashbacks, I can't deal with loud noises and crowds, and sometimes I don't react in the best of ways. But I'm trying to recover who I was, and I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to live my life. A life that HYDRA took from me, and I'm not the only one. HYDRA stole the lives from many people, and forced many good people to work for them. They wanted the best when it came to technology, and so it was probably no surprise that they turned to Howard Stark. I can't excuse what he did working for them any more than I can excuse what I did, but I know that he had no choice in it either. They threatened the things he cared about, and when he finally refused to play their game any more, they sent me to murder him."

The silence was deafening, and Bucky's entire posture screamed fight or flight, a man on the edge of running for his life.

"What you're all doing now, maligning a good man, a hero who has helped save the world, because of what his father was forced to do, it's not right. I can't do a lot of things that are good, but I can at least try to right this wrong. That's-- that's it. Are there any questions?"

As had been discussed with the press before, the questions had to come in order. Pepper would go down the row pointing so that Bucky was not overwhelmed. Seeing her take charge in her crisp gray suit made Tony's heart ache but he kept his mouth shut the entire time, eyes forward when possible. A lot of the questions followed the same lines that the students had asked but some reporters wanted details about Finney, even though they had the video now available to them. Others wanted information on Howard and how far he had been compromised, if he had ever knowingly commingled funds, or wanted to know what sort of help Bucky was getting for his PTSD

Tony answered nothing. Anything directed at Steve was pushed away. Focus needed to remain on Bucky and Bucky alone.

By the end, only Thor seemed unstained and inquired about a feast or a sparring session, for he did enjoy training with Captain America. Tony ought to have tried to stay with Bucky but he ended up following Pepper, trying-- Well he wasn't sure. She would never be coming back to him but he had to try. That left Steve to act as guardian and Grant to slip his hand into Bucky's. They were proud of him.

Bucky wasn't the ideal person to give a press conference; his words were too quiet, he answered in as short sentences as possible, and his emotional inflection was often close to nothing. But in some strange ways that worked for him, the horrors that he sometimes described in a few words were more affecting told that way than with sobbing and screaming, and it became easier and easier to see that he really was just a POW who had been badly damaged.

At least the press conference had done its work. By the time another day had passed, nearly everyone would have heard about the tragic tale of American hero Bucky Barnes, and the absolution of any crimes levelled at Stark Industries. Stock began picking back up at once, shareholders suddenly materialised out of whatever holes they had gone into, and Tony was once more a hero. For now. Not to Pepper though, who would be kind and warm to him for she would always love him, but very gently make sure that he knew that they were over. She couldn't do it any more, but she would always be his friend.

Bucky sagged with relief when he finally made it back inside their building with just Grant and Steve, folding himself around Grant to envelop the younger and smaller man into his arms tightly.

"Did you-- did you see it, Grant?" He murmured, voice tight with a shaky chuckle. "That dame on the second row was giving you the eye."

"Are you saying that I can't catch a girl if I wanted one," Grant joked back without even bothering to attempt to push Bucky away. He needed the embrace as much as the other man, likely. He was left to analyze silently if the woman had just been trying to guess how close of a relation Steve and Grant were since their features were identical with the proportions distorted, right up until he realized that Bucky was actually teasing him.

It made him hug Bucky even harder, though the strength of his body was minuscule.

Steve was just taking off his helmet when Grant burst out into laughter. The shield had been propped up against the couch and the blinds around the living room were drawn for privacy. The atmosphere was not at all one that might give way to laughing. And yet-- "She was impressed by the fact that I didn't look like a hobo and probably I was just a more attainable version of Steve. Hm. Did you get her number? Do you think Mr. Stark would have it?"

The taller blond looked back as if what he was hearing was insanity until he too had some of the pressure behind the valve released. His grin was telling. "Are you sure you want to step out with a reporter, Grant? She was old enough to be our mother."

"My mother maybe," Grant scoffed. "You two are in your nineties."

"What? You're suddenly going to leave me just because one reporter gave you the eye? She was probably just trying to figure out how someone who looked like you got to be standing next to me."

He was smiling against the curve of Grant's neck, the expression hidden from view, but still felt against the skin along with the dampness of tears. He was really proud of himself for what he had done today, but also scared as shit and drained, which left him feeling all over the place emotionally.

"Ninety is the new twenty, we're in our prime of life."

His arms clamped even harder around Grant, maybe a little too hard for comfort, but he couldn't make himself let go. He wanted to be holding Steve too, but he couldn't seem to make himself let go long enough to drag the other man in there as well.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject