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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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."

Though Steve was pretty sure that Chris Evans was not in fact here, he put down his sandwich and shoved it under his coat before he stood up at the desk be worked at and waited for-- Yep. Steve Rogers. Mickey kept touching him, but she wasn't giggling at all, just making an excuse up. "Steve is our best artist here " she said. "People generally have to make appointments weeks in advance for him."

Steve looked surprised. Mickey was a great boss but she was never overly free with her compliments like that and he had to admit, that made him feel pretty good. "I'll be happy to help. Mr. Evans," he said, eying the other man, before Mickey made a show of swishing the curtain closed behind them. The staff and guests were probably going crazy out there. "You know you're going to have to get inked now right? Because if Chris Evans leaves without s tattoo, that might be my job."

He crossed thin arms over his chest, looking both amused and serious about that claim.

This is very surreal to him. Back in his day, tattoos had either been for criminals or those in the naval forces, nobody else just inked their skin, it just wasn't done. To see a version of himself working in a tattoo parlour with a woman who seemed more ink than clean skin was so bizarre.

"What? No-- That's not why I'm here."

He frowned, suddenly feeling like he'd made the wrong move again. Would he really cost Steve his job if he didn't get a tattoo? Because he didn't want to do that, but it seemed unfair that Steve could be penalised for someone else's decisions.

"It's Bucky. I kinda-- I told him more about who he was in my world and he freaked out, he left the apartment."

Unsure if he should just run out and knowing that he could not, Steve felt his legs buckle and he collapsed in his seat seconds before grabbing for his phone. He tried texting Bucky, he tried not to worry because a grown man was allowed to dl what he wanted, but Bucky sometimes couldn't tell what was real and what was the war in his head. And oh God, he was so afraid.

"Tell me exactly how his reaction went. I know you're married to someone a lot like him, but your Bucky is not my Bucky-- During the alien event a few weeks ago, he came into the city to find me. And aonethibf triggered his PTSD... He Ki-- he hurt a whole lot of people. He can't be out there alone if he's stressed."

He wasn't going to bland Steve. He just blamed himself.

"You just-- you put me in a real bad spot, pal. This is my job. I have to deliver. But I have to find Bucky. I just don't know where to look."

Steve felt even worse now. He knew what it was like to worry over Bucky, to think of him out there maybe not even sure who he was, and he hadn't meant to cause that again. He wasn't shocked to hear that Bucky had killed people; saddened, but not shocked, it seemed his Bucky and this one had more in common than he liked to think.

But he never shied away when he did something wrong, so he lifted his head and fixed Steve with piercing blue eyes as he told him exactly what had happened.

"How showed me the movie about Captain America; the thing is, that's actually me. That movie was my life on screen, and Buddy-- well, that's Bucky. He freaked out about being the Winter Soldier in my world and left. He wasn't experiencing a flashback when he left, but I should have known better than to lay that on him. I'm sorry."

Since Bucky loved those Captain America movies, Steve had been forced to sit through them a few times. He didn't really like the skinny and sickly to hero bit. It hit a little close to home. But Bucky seemed to identify with the friend character (maybe because he looked a little like him) and Steve didn't mind most of the other movies that Captain America showed up in.

Steve knew that he was capable of lying. And he knew that lying always happened for a good reason. And he had some tells too. He frowned at Steve but he knew the man wasn't lying to him now.

"Should have figured that out," he said blandly. "So the rest of those movies... Like the one with Thor flying around with a hammer trying to stop his brother from bringing aliens to destroy New York... Is that what we were experiencing for a day?"

Only the aliens didn't attack. They just hovered, like projection, like the real invasion was happening elsewhere but they could see it in their sky without having to suffer for it.

Except that yeah, they did suffer for it anyway.

How many of those movies were there? It disturbed him that his whole life, that the lives of some of the people he knew who were very private, were just entertainment here for anyone to see or judge as they saw fit. It made him feel nauseous, like someone was peeping on him and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

"Yeah, that's pretty much it."

The Chitauri invasion wasn't meant to happen here, and even an echo of it through a half formed rip had been enough for the city to start to destroy itself under the strain. It was a harrowing responsibility, but he knew it was on his shoulders.

"I know it's a lot to take in, trust me, I still think that I must be dreaming sometimes. But that's the truth of the matter."

Steve had questions. Like, was it possible for him to be useful to society, to save people, if only he found a scientist willing to give him some sort of medicine to Jack up his body? Or why had Steve gone to his apartment and why had he and Bucky sat through a movie together? Or best of all, what was he supposed to do now?

He turned his eyes away from more brilliant versions of his own and looked back down at the sketch paper and the pile of transfer paper he would ultimately ink the designs onto so that the inkers would just have to trace.

"If you're like those movies, I don't know if a needle will get through your skin. And I don't know if the ink would stay. But you're going to get this done. And then you're going to pose for pictures. And then you're going to take me to lunch so we can hunt down my boyfriend. Got it? So what do you want? I'm thinking a monkey in a super hero costume."

Was he this annoyingly stubborn to his friends? Yes, was the answer, but it was very weird to be faced with it from another direction. He was probably right, the serum would expel the ink and his skin would be left unblemished before a couple of days were out, so it probably wouldn't matter.

"Something small, just in case it doesn't fade. And hidden."

Was he really going to get inked? Tony would be mad as heck that he had missed this, and he'd never believe it if Steve told him later.

"Just put anything down, we need to get out of here as fast as we can."

"This is my show right now," Steve said. "I know you're used to leading but-- you're in my world, in my studio, messing with my life and my boyfriend, so we are going to do this properly." Steve was realistic. Bucky was an hour from the shop by the scant few trains finally running out of Manhattan to the outter boroughs again. Whatever had happened or was happening, it was too late. He needed to keep this job because Bucky couldn't work and he had to support them both. It was hard to make this call, to not rush right out and find Bucky, but he needed to prioritize.

Steve would understand. He led full battles. Sometimes you had to retreat and regroup.

The smaller of the two texted Natalia to go to the coffee shop and they Thai place and the McDonald's in search of Bucky before he returned to the paper at hand.

He decided to draw his space deputy monkey character, only this time holding a Captain America shield. It was exactly like one housed in the Smithsonian's Captain America exhibit, drawn by Steve Rogers in one of his USO era sketch books in the older Steve's world... And reminiscent of the trained dog doodle from the movie he had just watched.

Steve did make it small, however, and beckoned his client over to take off his shirt so he could get the design traced onto his skin. "I guess as a movie star you need to be able to hide tattoos when you're naked on screen so... I'm going to put this on your hip below your pelvis bone. And I want you to know that this is weird for me too."

Weird was an understatement, he was being drawn on by another version of himself, a little self deprecating cartoon that he hadn't thought about for years, in order to get it tattooed onto him. When he agreed to come here to take the cure for Loki's counterpart, he did not think that it would get so complicated so fast. But apparently nothing was ever easy when the Avengers were involved.

God only knew what Thor and Fenrir were up to our in the fjords of Norway.

"I don't like to deceive people, and I don't think it's fair for me to be stealing this guy's identity. What if it makes it back to him one day? And your boss is going to be telling people that she tattooed a movie actor, I don't want to make her a liar."

He'd ruined enough lives today.

But he respected the chain of command, and he respected that Steve was right. This was his world, so he'd let it be his show to a certain extent.

"Too late for that now," Steve said, finishing up the trace. He set the image with a little water and then peeled the paper off. "If the real actor makes a fuss, we have photos of you being here. It will probably turn into some look alike conspiracy like Elvis or the Lindbergh Baby and people will come here just hoping to hear more about it. Win-win for us. I'll get more business and I can take care of Buck better. Now let's hope those needles work."

Steve wasn't going to be in the chair for too long. The design was small and the girls in the shop cooed at it. And said it was so perfect. And asked for selfies.

The only person not really smiling and having a good time was the younger Steve, who stood back while Instagram and snapchat lit up, trying to text Bucky again.

The needle would thankfully go through Steve's skin. The shop got its publicity. Phase one of this little nightmare was complete. Now they just had to find Bucky.

Once Mickey let 'Chris' pay and go of course.

Steve really didn't like all these pictures and his smile was strained in a lot of them, he hated being seen as someone else and it was all he could do to smile and nod and say 'thank you ma'am' over and over again until they finished cooing and let them leave the shop. Thankfully he could already feel the stinging sensation on his pelvis healing over, so hopefully the tattoo would be gone before long.

At least this time Steve got a reply from his texts to Bucky.

FROM: Bucky
TO: Steve

ddi you kno wI am the wintr solder?

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