fossilised | It's AU time

It's AU time

Building 64 down in the East end of Brooklyn was not a fashionable place to live. The apartments were small, barely more than studio size, and the rent was pretty cheap. Not many people lived there permanently, most people only came and stayed a year or two to get enough money together to move onto somewhere better. But there were two residents who had been there a while.

Steven Grant Rogers, early twenties, who earned his rent doing tattoo designs part time to fund his college course, and occasionally dipped his toe into online art commissions. He'd moved in there when his mother had died four years previously, leaving him enough money to get by, but not enough that he could stop working. And right across the hall was Natalia Romanova, an aspiring ballerina from Russia. She was tough as hell, she had worked herself right through high school, paid her own way to America when she didn't even speak the language, and kept going through tenacity alone.

Somehow a friendship had struck up between them when Steve had been the first person not to look at her like she was an idiot or disgusting for not speaking the language. He'd helped her learn, and they'd been firm friends for the last three years. Everyone else was transient, coming and going, not really making an impact. Natalia had friends and a boyfriend outside of the apartment, but she sometimes worried that Steve never seemed to do anything but work and study.

Which was probably why he would be in his apartment when a loud crash sounded on the stairs outside. Said crash had come from a box of (now very broken) plates and bowls being dropped by the man just moving in to the apartment directly above Steve's, judging by the amount of cardboard boxes that were littering the hallway. He was tall, muscled, dressed in faded jeans and a hoodie with long slightly scruffy hair, leather gloves, and deep blue eyes.

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Steve made sure to hold Fenrir very tightly, he wasn't having the kid turn into something like a bug or a bird and get away from this. He met Thor outside the apartment building and nodded for him to head down the alleyway out of sight of most of the natives because Thor, in his Asgardian regalia, was hardly a subtle sight.

"Glad you could make it, I don't suppose you have a way back home?"

It was a wry question. If Loki had come, then he would have more faith that he could take his errant son and go back home, maybe even take Steve with him, and sort all this out from a distance as it should be sorted out. But he didn't think Thor had a lot of experience with world hopping.

Fenrir looked down at his feet, as if by not looking at his father he could avoid the telling off that must be coming. Stupid Uncle Steve being so strict, stupid other Midgard not having proper Uncles or Ola, stupid everything.

Though Thor was massive and impossing undressed and simply standing nude, fully clothed and in armour, he was downright terrifying. No man alive could have shoulders as wide as his and the pauldrons of the golden armour almost doubled that. Thor removed his helmet and gazed at Steve for a moment, clasping his arm in greeting, before he uttered a single word to answer his question. "Nay."

Thor took a knee after that, cloak billowed out as if he had attendants to see to it that he never stopped looking regale and intimidating, and placed the helmet on the ground by his current youngest.

Their eyes met. Fenrir had dark hair and bright green eyes like his mother, but his face was all Thor and he would grow up to be more broad and taller than his brother. Thor placed one crushing hand very gently on his son's shoulder.

"Your mother is in a fit over fear for your safety. You should be fearful of returning home. But until that time comes when you are to answer for your mischief, know that I am relieved to find you well and with Captain Rogers."

Thor pulled his boy into his arms. He had learned centuries ago on Midgard that one could be a warrior and still hug their children.

Oh no, now Fenrir really was scared. If his father wasn't going to tell him off and even warned him about how angry his mother was then that could not be a good sign. Fenrir loved his mother, of course he did, but he didn't fear anyone else's wrath quite so much. His father had an anger that burned bright and hot, but usually finished itself in physical punishment or shouting. His mother had a much more imaginative streak for making sure his punishments stuck.

So he buried his head into the edges of that hard golden armour and shuffled quietly, little arms holding fast in a way that looked comical for how disparate their sizes were.

"I don't want to go home, then," he muttered. "Can't you tell Mother that it was an accident and I'm okay and you already shouted? And then I can go live with Ola and Uncle Bruce and Uncle Anthony on the proper Midgard."

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"We can't all stay with Dr. Banner, and you're both so far outside of human that we can't hide you. This is getting out of hand now."

There was no protecting his children from Loki. He loved his boys feircely but he always would not be defied. Thor oft thought that his attitude was less to be minded and more to be sure that the hardship in his youth was not carried to his sons. They grew up all the better for it. Thor hugged Fenrir more closely. In the next few centuries, he would outgrow being held but for now, he still had some of that baby smell clinging to the top of his head and Thor found it soothing.

"I will tell him that I caused great torrents to fall upon Midgard but I fear it will do no good. He may take you to the home of your grandmother for your lesson to keep you away from your companion rather than banish you happily to the care of his," Thor pointed out. Sending Fenrir to live with Stark and Banner would be no punishment and the time on Vanaheim moved so slowly compared to the other Realms that his son could be away a year and it feel like only weeks upon Midgard.

Thor stood and banished his armour, lifting his son into his arms, before he tilted his head to Steve.

"I have walked upon this world as mortal, my friend," he laughed, chest and boy bouncing. "And as such, I believe myself capable to blend in." He stressed 'blend' as if it was not a word he had ever heard of. "Needs we have of trimming short my beard and hair. My father kept his own hair more tidy."

Thor had let his mane grow wild with braids however. But a trim should help.

"But do tell me. You said this is the residence of Banner? Let us say hello! I have met him many times while he sleeps to warn him of the danger. I should like to see what this man awake is like." A man without the Hulk. How amusing!

Steve almost felt like he wanted to cry. He liked Thor a lot, he did, but the man did not know the definition of the word subtle. He had walked on Earth as a mortal, sure, but he had messed up behaving like one and been so obvious that he had been seen either as insane or an actual alien. There was no way that just a haircut and a beard trim would make him seem human.

"No, Thor."

He didn't usually like to use his Captain's voice outside of battle, when he was the leader of the Avengers and so his word went, but sometimes it was necessary even when dealing with a man who was a king in his own right.

"You're too obvious and you're too big, you're not going to fit it. I'm going to rent you a motel room, and you and Fenrir are going to stay there until the deadline to meet, and you're not going to do anything else. I'll bring you food, and you can watch the TV. I'm sorry, but this world just isn't prepared for Asgard."

They were all so normal here, he was almost jealous. Even the Bucky, damaged as he was, wasn't the broken and hollow thing that his Bucky had become. He wanted to preserve this world as much as possible, he didn't want to mess it up with aliens and other realities and the battles they had to do.

"No meeting Bruce, no wandering around. Got it?"

Thor did not care for being told what to do and he did not care for having these demands levied at him in front of his son. However, despite his status as All-Father, Thor had come to appreciate Steve Rogers as the supreme commander when it came to work done as an Avenger and not as simply Thor All-Father. This was an important thing to teach to Fenrir as not even a king was above answering to another and he needed to learn that. Despite Loki’s views on the subject.

“I will not be shepherded to a motel to watch television for the next several days. I will, however, bring Fenrir with me to the place called Norway. We will stay in the fjords, friend Rogers, and fly only when we will not be seen at night.” It just wouldn’t be dark for hours now, of course, given that it was morning, but Thor was still ready to chance being partially seen. The sky was being monitored for more alien vessels and he had already been spotted. What harm would it do? “I will return upon the designated time. Fenrir, hold tight to me.”

Sorry, Steve. Thor might appreciate being cautious but he didn’t like to be so himself. He lifted a hand for Mjolnir and the hammer happily returned to his attention.

It was better than having Thor wander around New York or one of the other big cities, so Steve just let him gather up his small son and disappear into the morning, before he slunk back into the apartment with Bruce to tell him what had happened and ask him to please keep the knowledge of Asgardians here a secret. As much as he could.

Across town, the other Steve might be having a bit of a better wake up.

He had to go to work in another hour or so, but Bucky had deliberately turned his alarm off and gone into the kitchen to make him breakfast in bed. It just turned out that cooking with one arm was much more difficult than he remembered, even cracking an egg went kind of wrong.

What was supposed to be pancakes turned into a kitchen full of smoke, Bucky covered almost head to foot in flour and batter and bits of eggshell, swearing at the frying pan as if it had insulted his mother.

The influx of cold air from Bucky trying not to make the smoke alarms go off was what roused Steve. He felt along his side for Bucky but, not finding him there and his part of the mattress cold, pulled himself up and headed out to the kitchen. He couldn’t be mad or even annoyed, the intention had been good, and he knew Bucky would clean up everything he made a mess of.

“Is this a hipster breakfast? Pancakes and eggs deconstructed served on a butcher block with straws?” New York was full of weird foods. He never understood the deconstructed meal trend, though. Not even his artistic side wanted to pay for ingredients he needed to put together himself at the table and he definitely always wanted to be served on a plate and nothing else too exotic.

Steve bent to pick up an egg shell, which he tossed into the sink before he wet a cloth and lightly marked a swirling S in the flour on Bucky’s cheek.

“Want a little help, Buck? I don’t want to ruin your vision, of course.”

Bucky scowled at the pan, which now hard what looked like a solid black lump of charcoal stuck to the inside of it, and grumpily kissed Steve on the lips.

"Your fucking kitchen is fucking with me," he griped, his language always getting shocking when annoyed. It was part of his time in the army, nobody had a clean mouth in life or death situations. "I just wanted to cook you goddamn breakfast and your pan is shitting with me."

He picked up a spatula and tried to, unsuccessfully, pry off the black lump from the bottom of the pan.

"You're meant to be in bed looking gorgeous, and I'm meant to come swanning in with a full tray of breakfast and wake you up that way so you know that you haven't scraped the bottom of the fucking barrel with boyfriends. And look at this-- Jesus wept."

Steve rolled his eyes. “Well your problem really is this pan,” he said, giving in a little to Bucky’s excuse. “This pan is the worst, that’s why I keep it in the oven and not…um…in this part of the oven….” Okay, so his ability to go along without laughing was impossible. He took the pan from the stove where Bucky was trying to single handedly chip off the burned stuff and, taking a look at it, put the whole thing in the trash. “We have some frozen waffles in the freezer. Why don’t you try again with those and a little bit of strawberry jelly? My favorite. You’ll be the hero boyfriend of any guy’s dreams.”

He quickly rubbed off the excess flour from Bucky’s face before he took himself to the bathroom for a shower and to shut the windows along the way now that he knew that the place wasn’t going to burn down.

“Then you can surprise me when I’m done getting ready!”

He didn’t know how to get it through Bucky’s head that he was wanted and loved as is…but that was a difficult thing to do in practice when Bucky never quite seemed to believe him.

Bucky knew that Steve loved him, he just also knew that Steve was pretty much the best guy he had ever met and deserved to be treated like a king. Bucky couldn't do a whole lot for him, but he should at least be able to manage breakfast in bed. But fine, he'll do breakfast out of the shower instead.

Except what waited for Steve when he got out of the shower weren't normal frozen waffles. They were waffles cooked, and then balled up into spheres, with little spheres of jam next to them as well.

"I figured Bucky's Balls might make everything better," he said, only just managing to keep a straight face on the dumb name, hopefully it would make Steve laugh.

Steve almost choked as Bucky named his new concoction before he turned a suspiciously devious and therefore adorably cheeky smile up at his boyfriend. "You have no idea how much your balls make everything better." Needless to say, he ended up being a bit late to work.

That left Bucky with a whole lot of mess to clean up, though Steve begged him to leave it for when he got home, and even more mess on his skin to shower off too whenever he felt like getting off of his back from Steve's thorough enjoyment of breakfast and dessert.

About half an hour after his boyfriend left, there was a knock on the door. Steve, this world's interloper, wasn't sure why he had come. He'd enjoyed the company of his other self and be loved watching what might one day be between himself and Bucky, but that was no reason to intrude.

He looked half sheepish as he stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets and his elbows bent and not visible through the doorway. He was a bit too wide for that.

"Hey! Buck! Sorry about this but Doctor Banner needed to get to work. Is Steve home? Thought we could do lunch?"

At least Bucky had managed to get himself showered and the evidence of sex off himself and the floor by the time the door knocked, though the kitchen was still pretty much a disaster zone. He was grinning, though, that had been a good way to start the day after all.

Dressed in loose sweats and a hoodie, though without the prosthetic - Steve had already done a lot for making him care much less about always having it on - he answered the door and did a double take. Man alive, but it was weird as hell to see Steve's face on top of that Adonis-like body.

"Steve's at work," he said, unsure whether his boyfriend would want to spend time with this Steve anyway, given how quick he had jumped to the conclusion that he must be better and Bucky should be with him instead. "But you can come in, if you want? I'm pretty sure I can manage coffee without blowing the whole place up."

It would be fine to spend time with Bucky. Steve told himself thst twice before he stepped through the door, having to turn sideways a little even when his hands had come out of his pockets. He said this thank yous and his sure I'd love somes before he glanced at the kitchen.

The mess was strange. He knew himself to be neat and tidy. Thst didn't mean that the Steve Rogers of this world had to be, but his super sense of smell kicked in a moment later to give him a better picture of what had happened.

Burned pancakes and sex.

Casual, quick, unplanned sex.

His husband never went for casual anything. Sometimes they went for months without sexual contact. Especially when Bucky felt safer sleeping in their closet. That probably came from the rape he experienced becoming the soldier... But also because it was still sometimes difficult being gay when it had been ingrained in them for twenty years that it was wrong to ever feel that way about another man.

This Bucky was free of all of that.

"How about I make the coffee? That way we can gaurentee that there will be no explosions."

"No way, pal," said Bucky, easy smile at his lips. He might not trust most people, but this was another Steve. He didn't find him more attractive than his own, he was a different person with a different life, but he was still Steve deep down and that meant that Bucky couldn't be afraid or him or wary of him. "You're the guest and this is my apartment, I make the coffee."

He meandered into the kitchen and started looking for the coffee, finally finding it in the very last cupboard. Damn it. Steve was usually up first, so he often made Bucky's coffee, black and sweet as he liked it, and left it for him before disappearing to sketch or go to work.

Dumb that he thought of it as 'often', given the short time they had been living together, but it felt like forever. He could see that domesticity stretching out, and he loved it.

"So-- Steve Rogers from another world, huh? I hope you know that if this whole thing doesn't end in us gaining super alien powers and becoming superheros like on TV, then I am gonna be so pissed."

This was nostalgic and calming for the older man. This was closer to the Bucky he used to know, to the Bucky he still sometimes dreamed about back when they were making mischief. He was so different from everyone else, easy and clever and kind, but stubborn. Steve took himself to the living room and sat down on the couch. He didn't think he'd stay long here. It was too much of a reminder of what he could not have and that made him sad that he would even think that way. He loved his Bucky. He loved him. He was worth the fight to be with him. And he was so happy for these two. They were happy together. And that was a comfort that in one reality, Bucky didn't have to be so broken.

"If you do get super powers, it means that I haven't done my job right, pal. Besides, it's nothing like being on TV," Steve chuckled. "Shows tend to gloss over the sleepless nights and the almost dying every few months."

It would be easy for him to ask Tony to help this Bucky out with an arm. It would be easy to want to help him, but it probably would t be fair. Bucky was good as he was and Stevd didn't want to leave too much of a bleed over behind.

"So I think you should be prepared to be pissed."

"You're kidding me, you're actually a real superhero? That's bullshit, is the other me a superhero too? I mean-- I can tell you know me, and you don't seem to be wary like I'm some cackling supervillain, so--- Or am I just the bit of rough on the side when you're done saving the world?"

Bucky carried the coffee over to Steve and then went back to pick up his own mug, slumping down on the chair near the sofa so that they weren't actually sat side by side. He just didn't know how appropriate that would be.

"Oh wait-- I should show you Chris Evans since you bitched about who he was."

Setting his coffee mug down, Steve grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, flicking to the saved movies and queuing up Captain America (aka Stephen Roker and his best friend Jake "Buddy" Barker).

"He's an actor, played Captain America for a few movies now. Like the comics? You have those where you're from?"

"You're not a bit of-- Is that a saying? Rough on the side?" He said it with the same disdain that his boyfriend might say it. Carefully, like he didn't want to be offensive. It was funny. Cute. Or just a little bit strange coming from a guy that could likely bench press a Bently. Steve sipped at his coffee, which was a little too sweet for him (sugar had been rationed growing up and he'd never acquired a taste for it), and settled back just before Bucky said 'Captain America.

And then the title screen came up. It was a train wreck after that. Amusing at first with actors that looked vaguely like him and Bucky and the people that he actually used to know. It was enough to make him double take, especially when Patty Carver showed up. Steve felt himself swallowing down the bile that wa building in the back of his throat.

All of his hair stood on end. His muscles flexed.

And when Buddy was blasted out of the train, Steve actually had to jump to his feet and excuse himself. Not to the bathroom, but out into the hallway and down the stairs.

This was a new experience for him...to have his whole life made into a movie. A movie of all things!

It was probably even weirder that Bucky seemed to really enjoy it. He couldn't watch a lot of films with shooting and fighting now, but the Marvel films were so-- innocent, in a way, that he could definitely watch them. His favourite was the Winter Soldier, watching the evolution of Stephen and his friendship with Natalie grow, and then the big reveal of Buddy... it was awesome. Maybe it was something to do with having been a POW himself, though of course nothing like decades in a Nazi cult's hands, he always got a bit choked up when Buddy saved Stephen at the end.

He wasn't expecting Steve to just bolt.

Pausing the movie, really near the end now that Buddy had taken his tumble from the train, he pushed up and jogged out and down the stairs to find where Steve had gone.

"Hey-- hey, pal, you okay? You hate the movie that much?"

Edited 2017-05-06 13:06 (UTC)

Oh God, poor Bucky. He probably thought he'd done something wrong or been offensive in some way. Steve shouldn't have left. He had seen worse, far worse in his life and seeing a fictionalized version of his story shouldn't have had the effect it did. But it hit home that he'd let Bucky down, too. Seeing the way the actor clung to the side of the train and feeling the desperation on the actor portraying him doubled in his chest was entirely too much.

Captain America did not run. He did not have panic attacks. He owned his mistakes. But this one made him so vulnerable. So lost. So alone.

When Bucky appeared at the stairs, Steve closed his eyes, back to the man, and put on a smile as he turned. His hands rested on his hips. "You're not gonna believe this, pal, but uh... I'm Captain America. And that-- that Buddy? That's my Buck. That's what happened. Except I used to draw myself as a trained monkey and not a trained dog in a tutu like that scene."

Monkeys were evidently a secret Steve Rogers spirit animal.

Bucky couldn't believe what he was hearing. But he believed that Steve never lied, he had that same earnest look in worried blue eyes that his own Steve got, honest to a fault even when a lie might be better or kinder. But that meant that he was actually Buddy, he was-- He had fallen from a train and been turned into the Winter Soldier.

Jesus Christ.

He couldn't help the fact that he had gone a bit pale, backing up a step. "Shut the fuck up, you're talking crap. Steve and me, we're just-- that's got nothing to do with us. He's an artist and a fucking good one, he's gonna make it into comics one day and be a famous guy on all those comicon panels. And me... I'm just a guy who did a couple of tours in Afghanistan, not some-- brainwashed super soldier."

Shit. Shit. Jesus. He barged past Steve out of the main door of the building, head in a whirl, wanting to be elsewhere.

"Just stay the fuck away from us, you crazy bastard."

No. No no. Oh God, what had just happened? "Buck, no, my life isn't--" He almost cursed. Tony would have been so proud of him. He knew that rushing out after Bucky would be a bad idea but it would be far worse if he let him go. It wasn't safe out there. Tony mentioned that he'd been going to the VA for PTSD too.

But no. It would be worse to let him go. So off he went, and it took half a minute to catch up to Bucky. He wasn't a super soldier after all.

"Hey. Hey, Buck, listen. I'm going to stay away from you after this, I'm not trying to put anything off on you. I'm not. I know this has to be strange. But it's weird for me, really crazy weird. It never steps getting weird, my life. All I want is for you guys to have a normal life. Trust me, please. Please come back and I'll go."

He really hadn't wanted to know that level of detail, it felt like something invasive and terrifying. Why was there a movie bleed here from their other realities? What if something worse was coming his way, some brainwashing and-- Jesus Christ. Did he really have free will in being with Steve, or was that some pre-destined shit because of their connection in another world.

His shoulders were tense and his face set in a scowl that would have done even the Bucky back in this Steve's world proud.

"I told you to stay the fuck away from me, I can go where I want and do what the hell I want, I'm nothing to do with you. Now leave me alone, or I'll make you leave me alone."

Steve arched an eyebrow at that. Bucky would make him? He held up his hands with his palms outward. "Got it. I got it. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I'm not trying to-- I'm just sorry, all right? You have to know that-- I wish I could explain it better."

He wasn't Tony.

He didn't want to be Tony of course. No one but Tony wanted to be Tony.

"Everything possible-- it can happen. It will happen. It had happened. There's a reality where you're a red head and everyone has cat ears. Probably."

God. That was Tony's influence again.

"Okay. Right. I'm going. I'm going."

Steve felt like a heel as he watched Bucky turn and stalk away. He had seen a lot of terrible things in his life, he should have been able to sit and watch a single movie about his life without causing existential crisis in someone that he cared about no matter what reality he was from.

Exhaling deeply, Steve turned and went back inside the building. Not because he felt he was welcome in the apartment that Steve and Bucky shared, but because it hadn't been locked on the way out and he didn't want them to get robbed. He also sort of wanted to find out where the other Steve worked, because he needed to admit how he had screwed up.

Which was why, about an hour later, Mickey would dart into Steve's little art studio, red cheeked and eyes bright.

"Oh my God, Stevie! Chris Evans is here. Chris Evans. And he wants a consultation, please make it good."

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Heading out now but will tag you when I can <3

Mmmkay

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