Bucky Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
advanced) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fossilised2017-03-14 08:58 pm
advanced) wrote in fossilised2017-03-14 08:58 pm
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.
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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?"