fossilised | It's AU time

Eight years old and he had already thought he was going to die, and he begged for life for such an unselfish reason. That was why Bucky was so sure that Steve was a better man than him and always had been. He had this streak of perfectly natural generosity running through him, without any cynicism or lies, and that made him wonderful. Bucky' expression softened just slightly and he bowed his head.

"I believe you."

How could he not? It was a story old and true, and it perfectly embodied who Steve was at the heart of him.

"Your Mom was so lucky to have a kid like you and I bet she'd be proud as hell of the man you are today. I hope you never lose that streak of wanting to help people, Steve, even if jerks like me tease you."

His eyes shifted down, shame and guilt on his face. "I didn't make those kind of promises to help people or think of my Ma, I was just scared. I was so scared and all I could think about was that I never got to ride the Cyclone at Coney Island, isn't that dumb?"

Since the threat of a potential tongue lashing about how God wasn’t a presiding factor in his life was bullshit had ended, Steve let his eyes soften. They were nearly out of tater tots and the ketchup was just a smear of red across a plastic plate with a little banana motif on it that Natalia had gotten him two birthdays ago.

All of those months and weeks being kept… Well, Steve didn’t know where he was being kept, but that was the question to ask next, perhaps… Steve just wasn’t sure how he could judge a man for his fear.

He’d lost the arm prior to capture. He knew that much. But the rest? Those were the everlasting touches of someone that needed to, and hopefully had already, paid for their crimes.

“You should be ashamed of yourself because that is a terrible rollercoaster. I don’t care what people say about how the bones are better in the wooden ones, but if you go on it, you’ll be asking to be let off. Seems like a waste.” He hoped that Bucky would take the tease as intended. “But hey. I’ve never been… I haven’t been in your situation, you know? I haven’t been held under duress for any length of time. Being nearly buried in the subway doesn’t count either in my book. But… What was it like? Where you were held?”

Steve would be wrong if he thought the arm had been lost pre capture, though it was a mistake that a lot of people made because they saw the scars and assumed it had come off in an IED blast that had led to his capture and he preferred to lie and pretend that was true. The actual way he lost his arm was far too fucked up to talk about. And now Steve was asking questions that touched too close to it, too hard to talk about properly.

He didn't even realise that he had tensed up completely with his remaining arm across his chest in a defensive posture. He regretted starting this now. But he needed to, he couldn't fall at the first hurdle when he had such good intentions of getting back on his feet the right way.

"It sucked," he said succinctly. "I don't know how to put it into words. What it's like to spend that long knowing you could be dead st any moment, bleeding and hurting, trying not to break. I know what it's like to have bones broken and fingernails pulled, I can tell you if a waterboarding scene in a movie is accurate, or how many volts of electricity it takes to cause burns. Morita and I learned how to be quiet real fast, we learned not to scream and how to cry without making a noise so they wouldn't know how bad it was. All I said for weeks was my name and rank. Shit, Steve, you don't want to know what it was like. Just... tell me some good stuff. What's your best memories?"

Perhaps it was best not to believe everything drunk Bucky had said then. Truthfully, Steve would never question it, though. He couldn’t go picking at the scars when he knew that they had replaced all of Bucky’s skin and were as deep as bone. He hadn’t wanted detail about the tortures, perse. He was asking about the environment. Was it hot? Were the nights cold? Was it dusty or sandy? Could he see the sky and If so, what was it like? What could he hear, what could he smell? What were the textures of the locks—

Steve was an artist. Artists needed that little bit of detail or their minds would supply it far too horribly. He was imagining bugs and sweat and rats and filth—

And maybe it was like that, maybe it was more vibrant or muted. He didn’t know. But he pretended that he did.

“My happiest moments-- Meeting Nat. Having a conversation with her that didn’t involve Google Translate. Or going to the zoo with my dad-- It’s my only real memory of him. I mean, I have other ones but maybe they’re too clouded by my mom telling me about them. I remember everything else in her voice except for the zoo-- I pressed my hands to the glass of the lion enclosure and the lion came right on up to me and licked the spots my hands were at. Dad made me promise not to tell mom or she’d worry, you know? I wasn’t even supposed to be at the zoo. My asthma, you know? But we had ice cream. And he shipped out two days later. And that was that. So maybe that’s sad. But for me-- It’s everything I’ve wanted to live up to being because my dad saw me as being unafraid of that lion. I was perfectly safe anyway, but that’s not the point. I want to be that man. And… You. Us. Christmas together. That’s…that’s on my top five list. Well. Top ten at least.”

It was probably sensible not to listen to or believe most of anything that Bucky said when drunk, it's why Steve had been smart as hell to wait until he was sober before believing that he loved him. He had once told a sheep that he loved it when he was drunk, and if that wasn't a perfect illustration of why he wasn't to be trusted with drink in him then nothing was. It was soothing listening to Steve speak and by the time he was done, Bucky had his arm around him tightly.

"That's my happiness too. You. I'm not lying when I say that you're the reason that I can see any good in this world. I love the hell out of you."

He pressed a kiss to Steve's forehead.

"You're amazing to stick with me through this shit, but I don't want you to feel trapped, okay? If it gets too much then get out, don't let me drag you down. Promise me that? If I'm gonna do this, then I need to know it won't fuck you up."

Steve didn’t exactly want to go on. Hadn’t this been enough for them? Bucky kept waivering between worlds and Steve was afraid that he really might just stay in his gloom if they kept pressing on. But wasn’t that the deal? Didn’t Bucky want this? To talk to someone? Steve knew he couldn’t just run. He couldn’t.

His heart might ache but anything worthwhile did hurt. And hurt badly.

He felt a lump form in his throat as he repeated his love, returned the kiss, and then took Bucky’s hand in his.

“Tell me about the day you escaped. The whole day. Every part.”

That earned Steve an almost frightened look before he firmed his jaw and nodded. He needed to do this if he ever expected to get over this, and how could he hope to talk to strangers and professional therapists if he couldn't even open up to someone that he loved and trusted? He had to do it in his stoic and neutral voice to get through it, and he had to keep looking at the empty plate of tots to stop himself freaking out, but he did speak.

"They had us manacled when they weren't questioning us, and they'd often leave things we needed just out of reach. Keys, food, even weapons. It was to make us feel helpless, break us. It was evening and my right arm was free because I'd just been given food. My left had got burned and broken in the capture and after, but it was still... it would have healed and I was still locked up there and at my ankles. There was some shouting from outside and the guard that brought out food ran out and I thought... this is it. If we don't get out now, we're dying in here. One arm free was the best either of us ever had and we both reached as hard as we could. There were the keys to the cuffs just left there, a knife too, but all I could reach was the knife. I couldn't cut the cuffs or jimmy the lock, and I was desperate so I... cut it off myself to give more stretching room."

He knew what true desperation was, and it felt like the pain of sawing off your own arm with a knife over a whole hour of effort.

"I got the keys and unlocked my ankles, unlocked Morita, and we ran like hell. The confusion of the in fighting covered us, and we met some of our trucks about ten miles out. We didn't fight, we didn't try and bring them down from the inside, we just ran. I don't remember being picked up, I was pretty out by then and Morita was half carrying me. And that's... that's it."

He exhaled heavily, shaking but oddly not feeling as terrified as he had when he started. The last day was the worst of all, and now the telling of it was done then it was like a weird relief knowing that Steve now knew the ugliest parts of him.

The act of saving someone else, to lay down on the wire for yourself and your fellows, that was the very definition of what being a person ought to be. Steve was in tears, moisture collecting like jewels at his lashes, running down his face when they became too saturated, and dripped from his chin to the blanket. His jaw quivered as he tried to keep himself from sobbing.

He'd been trying to pick a moment of triumph. Of Bucky facing freedom, but instead he'd picked his most heroic day... And the day he lost a good part of himself.

Bucky had played baseball in high school. His left arm had led each drive of the bat forward and was the last to drop the stick as he rushed towards first base. He'd cut off part of his history to save his future.

Steve wasn't sure how receptive Bucky would be, but he reached forward and wrapped his arms around Bucky's neck.

"I knew you were a good man. I've always known you were a good man," he wept, no longer able to hide it as he spoke. "I just didn't know that you were a great one."

He wasn't expecting that reaction and it completely floored him. He had only ever been able to look at what he did as an act of cowardice, just a man who was so unable to face fighting another day of questioning that he had mutilated himself and made himself useless to the army. His superiors had been so busy making sure that he hadn't actually broken under pressure that they had failed to really thank him beyond perfunctory words to go with the medals that felt like consolation prizes. That Steve thought he had done something great was so bizarre to him that he just stared, pulled out of his neutrality by confusion.

"You don't think what I did was stupid?" It was quiet and a little humbled as he wrapped his arm around Steve in return, careful of his sling and the poor injury underneath.

Jesus, how did he deserve someone like this who could turn his whole world over in a few words?

"I did it to myself, how can't you think that's stupid?"

Steve didn't feel his shoulder. The supply of pain killers he was on took care of that. And the cut on his head? It didn't matter. He always had cuts somewhere. His skin was so thin. He was a breakable sort of guy, even if he was strength embodied within Bucky's embrace.

"You saw your opportunity and you took it." The risk hadn't outweighed the reward. Bucky spent an hour cutting off his own arm at the point it had broken, or maybe just enough so that he could pull himself to the key, destroying it in the process.

He could have just saved himself, but bleeding out and delirious by then, or so Steve imagined anyone would be by that point, he'd saved his fellow soldier. They could have been caught at any time but he was tenacious. He pushed through.

And it all worked out for him.

Steve took awhile to calm down, eventually cocooned in blanket and Bucky. "You're not stupid. It makes me love you more. I love you Bucky. I love you."

Bucky couldn't help that he was crying too by the time Steve calmed down a bit, holding all the tighter to his amazing boyfriend. He had just never thought of it in those terms, as a sacrifice for the greater good rather than an act of cowardice from a weak man. It made a hell of a lot of difference. He wasn't suddenly cured of everything that ailed him, but it was a strong foundation to build up from.

"I love you too, even if you think the Cyclone is a bad rollercoaster. C'mon, Steve, it was my dying thought-- or I thought it was, that I didn't get to ride it. You don't get to crap all over someone's dying wish like that. You're supposed to tell me how awesome it is, and that one day you'll propose to me at the top of it or something schmaltzy like that."

He pressed a kiss to the crown of blond hair, careful to avoid the butterfly bandages that hid a new bald spot where the doctors had shaved around the area to glue his poor head back together.

"...you know I haven't spoken to Morita since that day? I heard he got discharged, but we were in different parts of the hospital and then... I just never looked him up. Dum-Dum is the first person I've seen from over there."

"There's no one in this world that could understand you better," Steve said softly, pulling back. "It might be worth it to try and find him, even if you can only talk on the phone." He sat on his heels, watching Bucky's face and feeling flushed by just how beautiful the man was. He might be broken but he was still a decent human being, still kind and he loved him, which was the best quality of all...even if it didn't hurt that he was drop dead gorgeous.

Steve lightly pressed a kiss to soft lips and urged Bucky to come to bed with him. That was enough for tonight. They could play again tomorrow or the day after. God knew that they had enough time. It would take time for New York to rebuild from what it had done to itself.

Thor could not stay with Natalia for long, he slept and showered and ate and was back on duty with frequent check ins to his brother.

Tony had returned to Loren's side almost immediately too. The roads had been opened enough for pedestrian traffic by the following day but Tony bucked the system with a motorcycle borrowed from the shop. He wrote his favorite off as a work loss.

It was good that they had a few days of calm before life began to go back to normal. The subways were all still down and a lot of the roads were closed off, so Steve couldn't go to work over the period between Christmas and the New Year, and school obviously hadn't started up again yet.

Tony would be greeted by one of the nurses, a friendly red-head who introduced herself as Miss Potts, she recognised him from hanging around before and she felt for him. She felt for all the people who had loved ones in here.

"Mr. Stark, right? I'm Pepper, I don't know if you remember me. You'll be pleased to know that Mr. Odinson is awake now, you can go right in, but don't mind if he seems a little out of it as the morphine levels are still quite high."

True to her word, when Tony went in, Loren would be seated with the bed raised up, slightly glassy look in his eye as he fumbled a pudding cup without getting the top off. He looked up with the door opened and his face lit with a relieved smile, affection shining through unguarded for once.

"Anthony! I had a dream that you were involved in a terrorist attack, but you're here, and you're all right."

For a long moment, Tony just stood in the doorway. He hadn’t looked better than he did now in the last few days with Loren’s dried blood under his nails. His hair was clean, he didn’t smell like fire-- And now his eyes were lit up too, in relief. He tried to seem lazy about the way that he sauntered over to Loren to help him with the pudding cup, an easy smile and a half shrug as he took it gently from his hands, but the damned lid on these things never wanted to come off cleanly and he ended up taking out his Swiss army knife to pierce the center and then peel the whole thing off.

“Technically, you were the one in trouble,” Tony said, licking chocolate from his thumb as he sat to face the other man. “And more technically, it wasn’t really a terrorist attack. It turns out that when New Yorkers panic over potential alien invaders, they like to blow things up.”

He helped Loren with the plastic wrapper around his spoon before he took hold of his hand and lifted it to his lips.

“I almost…” He didn’t want to be that guy but he wasn’t able to help himself. “I almost lost you. Don’t do that to me again.”

Loren felt as though everything had come at him from a great distance today, a side effect of the heavy duty painkillers he was on, but he still somehow felt Anthony's lips against his knuckles a keenly as a blade. Of course he was the one in trouble, that would be why he sat in a hospital bed, that would be why the doctors had spoken with him earlier with unfortunate words like 'permanent' and 'mobility'.

"I shall endeavour not to," he said quietly. "Perhaps you should bind our names as one, that would make it much easier not to lose me once more."

He squeezed the hand still in his and then went back to his pudding cup, both far more mellow and more talkative than he usually would be. Well-- somewhat mellow, he was still Loren.

"They tell me that I will no longer be able to walk, Anthony. If it distresses you to be with a cripple, I suggest you say so now and spare us both the ignominy of pity."

How Loren could be asking him to propose in one breath (tongue in cheek though that might be) and warning him off in the next was just who he happened to be. Tony was not whiplashed, nor was he thrown for a loop. He didn’t comment on the first point, because proposing to someone in the hospital was romantic, sure, but he wasn’t a romantic man and Loren preferred flashier affairs, and instead gave his boyfriend a smirk.

“You want me to miss out on tricking out your wheels? Yeah, pass,” Tony said immediately, making a whooshing sound between his lips as his cheeks puffed up. “You’re gonna have the coolest tech. Everyone will be jealous. And,” he said, eyes softening, “Banner told me a few days ago. If I wanted to leave, I’ve had a lot of time to do it. And yes, I did technically leave, but only because people were complaining about the smell coming off of me. None of the nurses wanted to give me a sponge bath either. I’m going to be writing to the hospital administration, you can mark my work on that. But anyway. I came back. I’m going to always come back. I don’t think you’re an easy person to leave, Loren Odinson.”

He watched the dark haired beauty for a few moments before he leaned in to kiss him.

“It’s going to be all right. I’ve got you.”

Right here in this moment was why they worked well together, and why they had lasted beyond a mere few nights of passionate sex. It was an understanding that did not need to be spoken. Loren understood Anthony's need to both revile and surpass the ghost of his father, he did not question it, he merely accepted it. And Anthony understood that Loren detested pity above all things, yet craved affection in a thorny maze to navigate.

Thor did not manage so well, he would be all bluster and comfort and support. Meant well, but in a way that would surely put Loren's back up. Anthony only talked about tricking out his wheelchair, as if nothing had really changed.

"I am glad you left, then," he murmured, the soft look in his eyes and the way he squeezed Anthony's hand thanking him for being there, for his support and love, without saying as much. "I did not need to add nausea thanks to your stench to my impressive list of maladies. Tell me-- were you hurt? I recall looking up at you and seeing blood."

Tony shrugged with half his face. The new bandage on his forehead was hidden by hair he had not bothered to slick back anyway. “A little bit of smoke inhalation, a little bit of bleeding, but that’s my usual Saturday anyway so don’t worry about it.” He nudged the pudding cup that Loren had left idle on the moving bed table just a little closer. “If you don’t eat this, I will. It’s not pizza but pudding cups used to be my jam when I was a kid and I’ve never quite gotten over them. Even if they have a weird, no-need-to-be-refrigerated vibe to them that just don’t sit with adult me quite so nicely.”

At least Loren wasn’t in despair at the moment. Tony knew that would come later until he was strong enough to cope with his injury on his own and could take back his independence. And that might take a long time. He had scrawny arms, but a will that could not be broken. Not even by this.

Tony was going to have to install an internal elevator to the shop so that Loren could get up to the apartment. He’d have to lower countertops and electrical switches too. He’d have to modify the bathroom—

But honestly, there was no better person for Loren to be with during all of this. Tony was handy and had an aesthetic eye. Their place was going to look amazing.

Despair and anger probably wouldn't come until he recovered enough to start wanting to get out of bed, and then it would sink in that he could no longer do that without help. Could not do many things without help until he had learned how, until he had built up his upper body strength. For now, in the bed, it all seemed a little too surreal to take that seriously.

"That is because you have no taste."

Loren pushed the pudding cup back at Anthony, quite happy to get rid of it on someone else now that he had tasted what foulness lurked beneath the foil lid.

"Tell me what has happened out there, and what is being done now. I dislike being ignorant, and I am certain that if Thor arrives then it will only be to annoy me beyond reason."

This was a difficult thing to be true about because Tony had only seen snippets of the news and, for once, hadn’t tried to pry information out of everyone he was passing. He’d put the news on in the background as he showered and downed a cup of coffee, but there had only been speculation and replays of what everyone was starting to call New York Fright Night.

When he spoke to Loren, it was gently and without sugar coating. He knew that not having answers would likely drive Loren up the wall, but he could only offer his own experience in the matter and say that the rest of the world each had a different opinion.

“I saw footage on the news about weird crafts appearing all over the city on Friday just before dusk. It looked like something out of Star Wars actually, these little pods racing around the bigger ships. What caused all the mess was people, though. They rioted and planted bombs-- They tried to mass evacuate the city, and you can guess how that went. Manhattan went insane so I figured that I’d come to give you a lift and maybe cancel dinner. It took me until after midnight to find you at the convention center. We patched you up, me and Banner, and the military brought you here when they found us. A whole lot of people died. Most of Manhattan is shut down. It’s sort of nuts.”

He didn’t mention Bucky or Steve. He didn’t mention watching people die.

“And your brother will probably be back soon. He probably is getting some sleep. He looked like death warmed over earlier.”

It took Loren a little while longer than he might like to parse the story being told to him, but he was still him beneath the morphine and therefore absorbed the information like a sponge. Anthony was correct that he didn't like not having all the pieces, but that would give him something to do while he lounged around in bed like a fool. He would find the answers.

"I doubt he is sleeping, he has likely gone to fuck his woman to relieve stress instead, Thor does not understand the benefits of proper rest."

He shifted a little in the bed, trying to move his legs without success, and then focused on Anthony again, green eyes somehow managing to be sharper even in the few minutes since they had come together again.

"I require the following things, Anthony, if I am not to sink into death here. A laptop with a decent running speed, news on my bookshop, clothes that are not backless, and for you to turn down the morphine drip."

"I can get the laptop. I'll bring you one of mine with a sat card." Manhattan was still mostly a dead zone. Whatever EMP had taken out all electronics had still not yet been found. The source was unknown. The radius was massive. Tony was pretty sure that Loren would figure that out for himself. He obviously wanted to do a little research into the matter and Tony would let him enjoy that.

News about the bookshop was easy too since Tony passed it on the way home to the shop. Brooklyn had been left alone, unlooted, unmolested. Another day or panic or so might have changed that but the world outside of Manhattan was just fine.

People were already moving on.

But the morphine drip--

"You had a foot long spike of glass through your stomach. I kind of think you should have the pain killer you can safely get," Tony grunted, even as he reached for the IV to halve the drip.

"It dulls my thought processes, I would rather the discomfort than being unable to think." Loren found the greatest comfort in his intelligence, was rather arrogant about it, and prized it as what made him worthwhile as a person. He was not as strong nor handsome as his brother, not so honest or kind as Steve Rogers, not so effervescent as his boyfriend, and not so brave as a wounded soldier. But he was intelligent, more than mostly anyone he knew, and he could not bear to have that dulled.

He reached out to take hold of Anthony's hand once more, long pale fingers winding around tanned ones with callouses from working on engines all day.

"I meant what I said, Anthony, and I do not like repeating myself. If you are not to be running for the hills, then our names should be joined."

Apparently he had been serious about angling for a proposal, and was not subtle or romantic about it.

Tony rolled his eyes and pulled his hand out of Loren’s. “First of all, we aren’t going to join our names. I could never be an Odinson and you’re too proud of yourself to be a Stark.” He shooed his injured boyfriend over in bed and, kicking off his black and white converse sneakers, crawled into bed beside him. It wasn’t made for two, but Loren was skinny and Tony never listened to safety measures. Ever.

He immediately took Loren’s hand again, shoulder to shoulder, offering his own for the other man should he wish to lean his cheek upon it. That was an anyone’s guess sort of thing. Sometimes Loren let himself be vulnerable. Sometimes he refused to seem even one iota weak.

“Secondly, the word in English is getting married. You just moved in with me, you hate that I leave towels on the floor of the bathroom and you get mad if I put the pizza away still in the box instead of wrapped in foil. As if that matters. And now you want to marry me?”

He scoffed and then lifted his left side up before he fished out a green velvet box two shades darker than Loki’s eyes and set it on the rolly table in front him.

“I mean, if you want people to call you crazy…fine. I’m down for it.” He’d actually been carrying it around since Thanksgiving. He just hadn’t found the right time to hand it over and ask…and he really hadn’t wanted to be rejected.

Loren would never have demanded this of Anthony if he had not been so full of medication as for it to not seem like a bad idea. Of course he had thought of marriage before, he knew that Anthony was his and he had wanted to make certain that he remained his for the rest of their lives. But he had not brought it up for the same reason that Anthony had not asked yet-- he feared to be rejected.

They both projected such an air of confidence in themselves, and yet they were both desperately fearful of losing what little affection they had managed to cultivate that was theirs and theirs alone. To have been turned down would not be a blow that either would be able to recover from, and so seeing the small green box tilted Loki's lips up slightly.

"I can train you out of those habits, Anthony," he murmured in perfect confidence, reaching out to take the box and snap it open to look at what was within. "You do not have fault enough to keep me from accepting this ring and joining you in being married."

There, see, he knew the English word for it now, though he butchered the pronunciation slightly in his lilting Nordic accent.

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