fossilised | It's AU time

Tony’s eyes hardened, a little upturn of his mouth showing hos cruel he thought this was, or how cruel he’d thought this might be. “You need us all at this corner in seven days, right? Well, I could just not go.” That was spiteful. He’d be raining down terror and chaos on his reality. And he didn’t give a crap. Let it all burn. His happiness with Loren meant more to him than this world.

It probably should terrify him that he thought that. It didn’t. It didn’t mean a thing to him at all, actually.

Tony set his hands on his hips, the handprint still firmly visible on his chest like the arc reactor use to do on Loki’s best and closest friend. He jutted out his hip and he dug in his heels like a child more petulant than even Loki’s offspring.

“Fix him and I’ll do whatever you want. The world isn’t worth saving without him,” Tony insisted.

Loki's lips turned up all of a sudden, amused and perhaps slightly touched at the devotion. Though he had now been happily wed for many years and a mother for more, he still held that spark within him that demanded to be loved, that demanded to be thought of in ways that placed him above everyone else. To see that Anthony would sacrifice his whole world for the sake of Loren was good, better than good.

"Very well," he murmured. "But you will be where I have stated, and you will bring all the people I require so that my husband and I can address you all."

To fix a wound to the spine of a human was not precisely simple, more difficult between realms, but it was not impossible either.

"I shall prepare, go to where he sleeps tomorrow night and I shall assist."

Tony arrogantly agreed, said very little about who Loki’s husband might be, and tried to force himself to stay on target here. It wasn’t easy. He wanted to rush back to Loren’s side or call up Banner and tell him he had gone off the deep end, but in reality, Tony just slept, showered painfully (that handprint hurt!) and ate as he watched the news. Loren would get the full day to himself to work on whatever it was that he was working on because Tony had an ex-soldier to see about a crazy dream.

The same ex-soldier that was trying to get Bucky to open up with a little one-on-one time. Steve was just out in the lobby, collecting literature and speaking to men and women that passed through with reverence and awe. Those that served their country held a really very special place in his heart, even if he was physically unable to serve himself.

Sam was a good looking guy with a calm attitude and an easy smile. He told Bucky his story without waiting for Bucky to open up to him. He told him all about what it was like to in the air force, how special he felt to part of the aircraft testing unit, and how ultimately, he paid the price when his partner died in a crash of a top secret stealth glider that they had been testing. Sam might not have been captured and tortured, but he knew all about loss.

Even though Bucky was nervous as hell and defensive about needing to be here at all, Wilson made it bearable. He had a way of talking that was sympathetic and understanding, but not pitying. He was oddly easy to open up to and he didn't talk down to Bucky, he just talked to him as if they were both sensible adults there to help out with a problem that there was no need to be ashamed of.

It helped, hearing about how he had served and lost, it was far more palatable to accept help from a therapist who had actually been through it rather than just a random therapist who thought they understood. Bucky didn't open up a lot, but he did tell Sam in a few words what had happened to him, and some of the issues he had now he was back. Sam also saw his file. Severe PTSD, but that could be dealt with. In the end, he signed Bucky up for one weekly group therapy course, once per week sessions one-on-one with him, and his choice of social emotional wellness course. He also strongly recommended that Bucky stop looking for work right now and focus on getting well, and advised that he allow Sam to put his name down for an official service dog to help veterans with PTSD.

Sam poked his head out of the room when they were almost done, smiling over at the blond man who had accompanied Bucky here and gesturing him in.

"Steve, do you want to come in here for a moment? I'd like to talk to you too, and Bucky and I are just wrapping up."

“Me?” Steve had just said goodbye to another vet with a service animal, a little cocker spaniel mix with the softest ears. She’d been really friendly and her owner explained to him that she used her as a companion and as an emotional support system along with acting as her eyes since she’d gone partially blind when a flash grenade went off in her face on a tour of duty last year.

Sam almost expected that initial ‘me’ to be followed by a ‘golly gosh’ or a ‘gee whiz’ or something equally old fashioned, but the younger man just smiled at him and trotted over, trying to look positive.

He was just here for moral support, just here to make sure that Bucky was all right in the car on the way over and back again. He didn’t have school for another two weeks and he took the afternoon off from work. He’d been making money hand over fist thanks to Mickey’s quick marketing acumen and so it didn’t hurt at all to take a few hours to do this with the person that meant the most to him.

“Hi, Sir. What can I help you with?”

It was always good to see when a vet had support back home - friends, loved ones - those were the main things that usually meant the difference between living a semi-normal life and ending up homeless and dying out on the streets somewhere. Sam smiled warmly at the skinny guy, offering him a seat beside Bucky.

"Sergeant Barnes and I have just been discussing where to go from here, and he mentioned that you're living together and in a relationship. Usually I like to make sure that someone that close, a spouse or serious partner, is included in things and Sergeant Barnes was happy for you to be brought in."

Bucky looked pale faced and tense, but he did offer a slightly strained smile over to Steve and reached out to take his hand almost defiantly.

"We've been discussing realistic goals, and I think it's important that we're all on the same page. Recovery doesn't mean a magical fix, no matter how much better you get, there will probably always be triggers. There'll be good days, and bad days, and sometimes bad times when it doesn't feel like it makes sense for there to be bad times. That's all normal, recovery isn't a linear process. Now, judging the the severity of the PTSD in question here, I'd like to get Sergeant Barnes fast-tracked into the support animal program, but he mentioned that you had allergies. How would you feel about a service dog in the home? We're also going to be working with two therapy sessions a week, one social group, and a regimen of medication to help with the worse times. I'd also like to invite you to our group session for the carers, family members, or loved ones of veterans."

Steve had never been allowed a pet. His allergies were awful when it came to cats and he always thought it was unfair to own a dog in Brooklyn unless you were rich and had a yard. Then again, with Bucky home, he could and probably should take the dog for walks. And that ought to be all right, Steve thought, leaning back like a grandfather as he considered all the moves here. “We have a one bedroom in Brooklyn on the second floor,” Steve said somewhat cautiously. “But yeah, yeah I’d really, really like to get Buck all the help we can.”

“You should see a doctor to test you before committing,” Sam said, and Steve readily agreed, both to that and to the outreach meetings. It didn’t matter how new all of this was to him, Steve never half-assed anything. He dove right into this the same way he had with everything of importance when it came to Bucky.

There were connected, powerfully. Nat didn’t need to see it for it to still be true.

He was about to ask after dog breeds most suited to their space when the door opened and a man Steve took a moment to recognized panted in the doorway. A woman in blue jeans and an ill fitting t-shirt was puffing behind him. “They’re in session, sir,” she was yelling, but Sam lifted a hand up.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah. You can. Because damn, we really are all connected. Great. Hey Steve, Barnes. Great to see you both.” Tony shooed the woman away and shut the door. “Let’s talk about dreams.”

Bucky had heard a lot from Sam about all the ways that a dedicated service animal could help him, especially in getting to feel safe out and about, but he wouldn't get one if it would harm Steve. Steve came first, no questions asked. It put a warm glow in his chest to see how readily Steve dove into all this, no shying away, no worry it was all too heavy.

He squeezed the hand in his in gratitude, and then a bit tighter in tense shock as the door suddenly swung open and admitted Tony Stark of all people. It took a second or two for him to recognise him as Loren's boyfriend, glancing from Sam to Steve to Tony and back again in confusion.

"Sir, if you have issues with your dreams and you're a family member of a vet or a vet yourself, then you're welcome to book in with the front desk for some sessions," said Sam, voice kind but firm. "But you can't break into ongoing sessions with someone else, do you understand that? Not that you did today, but you could cause real damage to someone recovering by doing that."

Tony rolled his eyes, which had Steve standing up. Easily the shortest and smallest of the group, he still took a protective stance. It didn’t matter if he was suffering from a shoulder injury, it didn’t matter if he was tired and he was a little bit afraid that he would ruin Bucky’s ability to get a service animal (he’d been on medication for that too if it came to it), he was still going to protect the person he loved with his whole being if he had to. Tony didn’t appreciate it. “Sit down, Sidecar,” he said, and pulled up a chair too, plopping down on it by the door. “Everyone sit down. This isn’t about a session. This is about the aliens and alternate realities and dreams of a snarky looking tall white man with black hair and a penchant for being an asshole or a huge blond with a beard. Both have English-like accents and evidently they’d spoken to all of you bozos too. You’re supposed to meet Banner, Stark, Rogers, Barnes, Barton, Jarvis, Rhodes… Uh…Odinson… And you.” He pointed at Sam with a snarky gesture. “Wilson. Sam Wilson. We have six days to meet on a corner in the Lower East Side or else whatever happened two weeks ago is going to happen again. Only worse.”

He probably sounded like a fool, but Steve’s face all but drained of color. “Uh… Maximoff,” he whispered. “And Natalia too… I don’t recall Wilson… I thought it was just.. I thought it was just one of my dreams…” Thor had only popped into his dreams once. Steve barely recalled it. “Everyone has dreams that are a little weird… I don’t know.”

It made his stomach really hurt all of a sudden, a tingle spreading down his spine, and left him a little faint. It was all too weird.

He returned his hand to Bucky's and pressed his lips together.

Bucky was the only one in the room who looked completely nonplussed, even Sam Wilson looked shaken up as if he had suffered from these dreams as well. Nothing had got through to Bucky, his own nightmares were too strong to let Loki or Thor get into his head, and neither one of them knew the Bucky in their world well enough to force the issue through familiarity.

"I dreamed about that too, sort of, but only some of those names. The conversation was like bad static, maybe I missed the others," said Sam, scrubbing at the top of his head. Luckily, he was good in a crisis, he had to be in order to do this job. "Okay, so maybe we have something to do with an actual alien invasion, God knows what, but I don't see how we can help no matter where we go."

"I haven't had any dreams," Bucky admitted, still looking at everyone like he might actually be dreaming now. "I don't know what you're talking about. Steve-- you know what's going on?" Why was he the only odd one out, but his name was mentioned?

Steve shifted Bucky's hand into his lap and closed his other one over it. "It might be a trap. It might be a ploy...." Steve didn't trust Loren but he did trust Thor. He liked the man. And it was Thor that had come to him in his dreams, not Loren. He pressed his thumbs into Bucky's knuckles as if that simple gesture migjht stop pulling the complicated world he already knew apart into something alien and unknown.

Tony gestured at him before he nodded at Sam. "Probably expected some of us to forget some of the things they said. Date and location are most important. And it the a out that we're all connected to each other too. You were the last puzzle piece, but here you are with Barnes and Rogers. All right I won't take up more time. You guys will come?"

Steve swallowed. "It could be a trap." No one had answered him the last time he spoke up about his thoughts. "It could be--"

Tony stood and put a hand to Steve's shoulder. That felt familiar. So did being at odds with the blond. He happened upon a small smile. "Steve, it's not a trap. It's a hope to get things fixed. Maybe. I trust it. Talk to your friends. Somehow, I inow you'll make the right decision."

Bucky had no idea what the fuck was going on here, not really, but it definitely had something to do with the events of the other week when the world had gone crazy for a night. He wanted to know what had happened, a part of him still hoped to find out that he hadn't lost it and hurt people so badly. Hell, killed people, he was an honest to God murderer. He stood up since this was quite obviously an end to the session even if it had hadn't been officially ended, and reached out to shake Wilson's hand.

"Thanks for today, but it looks like we might have other priorities for a while. It's okay, but can cope. If we get whatever this is sorted and done then maybe I'll come back and take you up on that offer for therapy and a service dog."

This was bigger, felt bigger, and he couldn't be taking up precious time with his own stupid and mundane issues.

"Maybe it's a trap, Steve, but if it is then I'll be there to protect you. So c'mon, let's go home and figure out what needs to happen and who we need to find."

Though Tony stayed behind to allow Steve and Buck a better escape, the blond was very slow as he followed Bucky outside. He needed to think and maybe being home where Nat and Thor might be wouldn't be the answer. His grip of Bucky's hand hadnt let up since he's shaken Sam's and eventually he tried to use his weight as an anchor, digging his heels into the cement so Bucky would stop.

"Coffee. I need-- Can we stop somewhere? I need to sit and talk to you."

Steve wasn't afraid. He didn't get easily scared. But he was worried, not for himself but for all the wrong things that could happen. Having Bucky sit out in public was probably not a good idea, but Brooklyn was filled with dark coffee houses with select clientele and Steve dragged Bucky into one half a block away.

Armed with a bear claw and a giant wide mouthed mug of coffee, he sat in the back of the dark shop with its mismatched seats and leaned over wood with initials carved deeply into it.

"Tell me everything you think. Everything. I need to piece it out in my head."

Bucky knew that Steve wouldn't ask him to sit and talk out in public if it wasn't important, so he didn't voice any sort of complaint. Steve had looked out for his stupid mental state enough times that the least he could do was try to return the favour. He chose a table that let him keep his back to the wall and have a sight line on most of the store. He still couldn't say he was comfortable here but he was not about to freak out either.

"About the dreams?"

He exhaled heavily. He wasn't sure how qualified he was to give an opinion; sure his name might have been mentioned, but he hadn't actually had one of these dreams himself.

"I'm not sure. I think whatever happened over Manhattan is not something we've seen in this world before and there's all these scientific theories about multiple realities based on like... if you chose to cross the road or not, endlessly splitting off. So maybe this is something crazy like that, but I don't see how you or I or them have anything to do with it. But if it really is a possibility for stopping that happen again then I think we have to be on that street corner."

He smiled, a slightly twisted amusement in it. "And if they're all just dreams and mean nothing then the worst that happens is we're stood out on a street corner with some strangers looking stupid for an evening. Worth the risk?"

"Yeah that's real easy for you to say since it's like, your default mode," Steve teased, feeling better all ready. Bucky knew the perfect things to say, all the time. He smiled, and took a massive bite of a donut that was already half the size of his head. He looked like a child playing tea party with grown up things the way he was dwarfed by the pastry and the mug. Steve slumped back against the knotty chair and glanced over his shoulder. There was just the barista at the front playing on her phone and two teenagers in beanie caps by the door listening to one side of a single pair of earbuds passed between them. Everything was quiet. It was as if, for anyone outside of Manhattan, the world had returned to normal.

Even if they were all on the brink of war, political uphevel was underway and the military was making more of its presence known on home soil than ever before.

Here, the world was status quo. Good coffee, expensive pastry, dark rooms, music. Nothing else.

"I just have a bad feeling like... Something more is coming. Or this will trigger something else. Sorry. Worrying for nothing," he muttered, pressing a hand just under the wound in his shoulder to try to discreetly rub some of the itch away.

Bucky hated that Steve had that wound, he hated that Steve would ever be in pain ever, but he couldn't exactly wrap the man in cotton wool and keep him from harm his whole life. Not when most of the things that hurt Steve were internal, his body failing him more often than not.

"Maybe it will. We don't know, Steve, we can never know what the future is going to hold. We just have to do what we think is the right thing, and hope that it works out for the best."

He reached out and flicked some of the pastry crumbs from Steve's cheek, fond and warm and totally in love. Some people might say it was too fast or stupid or whatever, but he just felt as if they had known each other forever. They were meant to be, it's just like-- no matter what reality, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers always came as a pair.

"If you have any more of these dreams, see if you can remember to ask what the hell is gonna happen when we do show up there, and what we need to do."

He'd try to remember that too, but... well, he apparently wasn't getting the dreams.

And not everyone was either. Jarvis had no idea what his boss was going on about on the phone that afternoon. He knew Tony was running ragged, he knew it had something to do with the guy he was seeing, but otherwise, he was out of the loop. Tony pressed him for information about dreams but he said, softly and sternly, that once again, he hadn't had any dreams. His girlfriend, however, looked stricken, just from the way he'd been talking. And lo and behold, her story and Tony's, matched.

Tony spent the whole day and most of the next trying to get people to come to his home the night before the big Whatever was meant to happen. Despite what Loren said about him being better socially with others, Tony was a little abrasive and not everyone was willing to listen.

He finished sending off a text to Steve to help him out with Natalia and her ex boyfriend and then packed up his stuff to go to the hospital.

Hopefully, his dream Loren wouldn't be such a jerk in real life and keep his promise.

By the time that Tony made it to the hospital, Loren was already fast asleep thanks to the increased dosages of sedatives they had been giving him since Tony told Bruce that his fiance was a flight risk. He looked almost peaceful asleep, angry and bitter lines erased from his face in slumber.

There was someone waiting in the room who was definitely not a doctor, not the man who called himself Loki. He looked a little out of place, so muscled that he was practically a walking wet dream in those tight pants and tight white t-shirt, not even his jacket covering over the fact that his biceps were the size of someone's head. He looked like Steve, if Steve had been on steroids since birth and stood an extra couple of feet taller.

"Tony," he greeted, and his voice was Steve's, relieved smile lighting up his face. "Okay, hey. Loki said something about a human disrupting the flow of this reality less than a Jotun, so I'm the one who's come with the cure. Oh-- Steve, hi. I'm Steve Rogers."

Tony stared.

"Oh my god. I knew I should have washed my hands better after that bum bumped into me. Shit. He must have been carrying. How long does LSD last? Shit--" Tony pressed his finger and thumb into his eyes and then leaned in close to Steve and poked at his chest. And felt up his chest. And squeezed his biceps-- "You are not Steve Rogers. I know Steve Rogers. I could use Steve Rogers as kindling. What the--"

Maybe he should stop touching Steve but he couldn't help it. The man was delicious. Literally. Tony could roast him over an open fire and chow down on those gluts. Was that weird? Probably.

"Do you know a Tony Stark who's too big to get through a door too? Am I totally ripped?"

Thankfully Steve was used to Tony being... well... Tony. The man flirted with anything that moved, though it was a little odd to think of Tony actually knowing him as he had been before the serum, when the Tony he knew had been brought up on Captain America stories and so hadn't been surprised at the size of him.

"Tony, your future husband is right there," he said, sounding a little disapproving but mostly just that kind of weary that said how used to this sort of behaviour he was. "And no, the Tony that I know looks almost exactly like you. Older, quite a bit older, but same height and same sort of build."

He scrubbed the back of his head, it might be awkward if his other self wandered in, but hopefully that wouldn't happen.

"A lot of things are different in our worlds, it's probably best not to ask too many questions. Hopefully we'll be able to get this rip sealed up and you guys can all go back to living your lives uninterrupted."

"You're a beefcake and I'm old-- You know what? If rather stick to this reality," Tony said. He felt old now. He was pushing fifty. Loren was just under thirty-five. And the Steve he knew was in his early twenties. He didn't think he could imagine himself that much older and not feel sad. "Because you're right. That's the man I'm going to marry and the guy that looked like him in my dream said he was going to fix him. So where is he? Don't give me that Yo-chin or whatever thing you said. He promised. I kept my end of the deal."

Tony crossed his arms over his chest, Loren at his back. He could hear his breathing as he slept. He missed hearing it in his ear when the younger man draped over his chest.

"I don't want a lecture. If you're anything like the Rogers I know--". Sort of know... "You're going to lecture me. Or something. Your boyfriend says you're Carter about by eagles and can do no wrong."

"Yeah, that sounds like something that Buck would say."

Steve couldn't help the small wistful smile at his lips that said how much he loved that man he was with. It had to be Bucky, Steve couldn't imagine a world in which they weren't bound as tightly as two strings in a knot. His eyes were slightly sad, though, as if remembering trials and tribulations before getting to that point.

"And I'm not here to lecture you, I told you that Loki asked me to come instead of him. I've brought what we need, we just need to rub it on the wound at his back."

He shifted over to the bed and pulled a small pot full of a honey-like substance out of his jacket pocket.

"I'll hold him up and pull off the gauze, you rub the salve on, okay?"

((Carried not Carter. Damn.))

As Steve moved to pull back the sheets, Tony's hands full of condiment jar, the older of the two skirted the bed to put himself between the blond and his fiance. "Woah. Seriously. Cool your jets, Blondie. We are taking this thing carefully all right? He's the only thing in this world that matters to me."

That wasn't like the Tony that Steve knew, even if he hadn't been through nearly half of what his Tony had. This one was wild and without the sort of life that had eventually led the other to settle down or to see the big picture. His Tony would do a lot for his family but he'd never put the whole world behind them. This one? Not so much.

"Be gentle. Do you know how to be gentle? You're not supposed to bench press people with your giant ridiculous muscles. Do they not make shirts big enough to fit you? Id hate to see what your tailoring bill is."

"I know how to be gentle, Tony," said Steve in as patient a voice as he could muster. He liked Tony, he did, and years of putting up with him and inured him to a certain extent. But the man was still trying to his patience, which was why he was always surprised that someone with anger issues like Bruce would be the one to be with him.

Steve took hold of Loki-- Loren-- whatever his name was carefully by the shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position, which stretched the stitching and the gauze plastered down his spine. Loren groaned quietly in his sleep, and the machines spiked as the pain from behind manhandled in a direction his body did not want to go pulsed through him, though the sedatives kept him firmly under.

"Okay, now peel back the gauze and start spreading the salve. You need to massage it in as deep as you can, and Loki said to use the whole pot."

He still didn't always trust the trickster, with good reason, but he tried to be quiet about it now that the man was royal consort to Asgard and a mother in his own right (which was just weird to him), or Thor might take his head clean off with Mjolnir.

If Steve knew how to be gentle, why was Loren in such pain? Tony was momentarily angry before he realized how little good that anger would do either of them right now. He knew that he was afraid and that this situation was stressful. That was not important right now. He needed to be calm. Like he was trying to diagnose a difficult motor or figure out why the electronics in a luxury car shorted out.

Pulling two gloves from the box on the wall, he cradled the jar I his arms ubtil Loren was protected from whatever he might have lurking under his nails. He sat on the bed in the warm spot left by Loren's body and unscrewed the cap on the jar. "This is honey," he said, as if the entire thing was ridiculous. "You want me to pour honey on-- All right, all right," he groaned. Sometimes he needed to take things on a little more faith.

Working the sticky fluid into the wound was horrifying. Steve kept telling him to go as deep as possible and that required actually sticking his fingers into the wound. He had to keep from vomiting. He'd been fine in the triage situation with Banner, but it had been dark and he hadn't had his fingers this close to Loki's actual spine.

"Okay... Oh fuck... Please Loren... I'm sorry if I do something wrong," he murmured the entire time, tipping more honey onto his fiancé.

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