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 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?

Steve had just managed to catch up to the other man when the text reached him and he paused out of the right away of foot traffic to ponder over his response. Bucky was not the winter soldier. He was not brain washed. He wasn't going to turn on him and try to take him down. It just wasn't happening.

Though he wanted to call, Steve opted to text back. He could wait until they were together to hear Bucky's voice.

Thumbs flew over the text pad in ways that the older Steve's still couldn't manage.

You aren't the winter soldier. Other Buckys in other realities might be. But you're no more than winter soldier than I'm Captain America.

Steve couldn't imagine being able to text like that. He still didn't really like texting at all, but his alternate version's fingers were flying. He was really a man of this time, wasn't he? It made them different, even if they were the same man at their core. In a way he was a bit jealous, this Steve had probably never had an identity crisis over being gay because it wasn't illegal or a sign of mental illness now.

"Is that Buck? Is he okay?"

Steve felt like a real heel. A really big heel. He should have kept his mouth shut, not caused even more problems. It took a few more minutes for a response to come in.

Kinda drnk. Wll yo ubring your eagles and tke me home? I don;t like captl america any more. You're the one I love. pls don't get big.

No way possible I'll be getting any bigger in my life time. So how about you tell me where you are and I'll be right there with the Eagles?

Steve glanced at the worried face of the other man as he waited for Bucky to get back to him. "He's all right. Drunk again." Which seemed to be a pattern with Bucky when he couldn't manage something. And that was a damned shame. Steve would have to see if there was a way to help that. Alcoholism scared him. "I think I should handle the rest of this on my own. I know you're just trying to help. I do. But he's delicate. I know you have to understand if those movies are what happened to you guys. Buck isn't that..."

Damaged? Bad off?

Steve sighed.

"I'm real sorry. We'll see you in two days.

Steve probably couldn't feel like a bigger jerk if he tried. He felt about as small as an ant, and there was nothing he could do but nod. Of course it made sense for the Steve that was actually his boyfriend to sort this out and his presence would likely make things worse, but... He ended up nodding dejectedly.

"You said again? My-- I know they're not the same, but my Bucky can get self destructive if he can't handle things too. He needs an outlet, he needs something else to focus on. Sorry, I'll-- I'll go."

And with that, he walked away as Steve's phone began to ring with Bucky's number.

"Steve?" He sounded slightly slurred. "Steve, where are you? I did something really-- I'm dumb."

"I'm in Manhattan. Two blocks from work. Are you going to tell me where you are so I can pick your dumb butt up? I'm going to send a car. I'll never get to Brooklyn in time to keep you from doing anything else dumb."

Steve didn't sound exasperated or upset. He only ever sounded understanding when it came to Bucky. About most things. Even if he was a little put out that the two of them had spent nearly an entire movie together. On the couch.

Ugh. No he trusted Bucky. And Bucky only wanted him. The stupid thing was just the drinking. That was all. Steve pressed his finger and thumb against his nose and exhaled.

If he knew that Steve was worried that he might have got it on with the other Steve, and even had some sort of movie date with him, then he would have been falling over himself to explain and put his boyfriend at ease. But he didn't know, and he was a little too drunk to be anything other than oblivious right now.

"I got drunk," he said, sounding like a kicked puppy, as if this was news in some way. "And then I went an'-- I don't think Sam will let me back in the VA again. M'sat outside on the front step."

The stupid thing might have been going down to the VA to yell at that nice therapist, the one who was caught up in all of this with them. Poor Sam.

"Don't send a car. I'll. I can wait here."

Oh God. What had Bucky said? "Buck. He'll let you back in the VA. That's his job, all right? I'm sure he's dealt with more than just one drunk get before in his life. You can call and apologize tomorrow. Just stay where you are and I'll be home in half an hour."

Well. Longer than that. He managed to miss the train as he descended down to the platform which meant that another wouldn't be along for half an hour. It was strange having to deal with such slow transit when he was used to expresses arriving every five minutes to Brooklyn.

He was wheezing a little in the cold, breath visibly puffing out in front of him, when he half jogged up to Bucky. "You're gonna be frozen," he panted. "Let's get you inside."

Bucky wasn't the only one sat out on the step when Steve arrived, Sam was sat next to him with a thick coat on. He wasn't fast enough to greet Steve before Bucky was on his feet, though, immediately wrapping him in his arms and even unbuttoning his coat to pull Steve inside there too.

"You're the one who's gonna be frozen, idiot," he said, sounding much less drunk than before. Probably thanks to the hour in the cold, and the coffee that Sam had clearly brought over. "You're getting straight into a hot bath and then you can kick my stupid ass as much as you want."

Sam waved from his position on the step, giving a lazy sort of smile.

"Nice to see you again, Steve. Bucky, remember what we talked about? It was good that you came to find me when you were in a bad place instead of looking for trouble elsewhere, and the only reason I asked you to leave is because we have a no intoxication rule in the VA. You're more than welcome to come back, and I'd really like to hear about a decision on a service dog soon."

Breath suddenly caught against Buckys wide chest, Steve half chuckled as he slipped his arms around his waist and just sank into his warmth for a few moments. He hadn't realized how cold he was until that moment. When it was becoming inappropriate, Steve headed up the steps to the door with his key out to let them all in. "Come on in. Sam. Might be a bit of a mess, but we can chat inside before Bucky over reacts and puts me in the oven instead." He coughed, a little wetly, but everyone had a cough this time of year. "I'm fine."

He did make coffee first thing, though, and tried to quick-clean the mess in the kitchen without too much luck.

He did apologize again before he brought out a tray and sat down on the couch next to Bucky. He'd worried about the other Steve later.

"We definitely thing a dog is a good idea. I don't think I have an allergy to dogs like I do to cats," he said, lumping sugar into his drink.

Bucky heard that wet cough and really didn't like the sound of it. Sure, everyone got a cough sometimes, but Steve had a terrible immune system and even a minor cough could probably turn back into pneumonia again. He'd have to step up his game and make sure that he was taking care of Steve, not getting drunk and shouting at VA therapists like a total jackass.

He went and cranked the heating up, just a for a while, and brought out his warmest hoodie to drape over Steve like a big snuggly blanket while he and Sam talked.

"Good, I'm glad to hear that, because I think Bucky would really benefit from a service animal trained to help their owner with flashbacks and PTSD symptoms. And, because it would be a service dog, he'd be able to take it into all stores and onto public transport with no issue as long as it was wearing its vest. I actually spoke to the service dog people already, hoping you'd be able to take one, so it's just a case of waiting until a suitable match is found and you're called."

He grinned and took his mug of coffee.

"Thanks, it's nice of you to invite me in. But I won't overstay my welcome."

Steve didn't want to be fussed over. He appreciated the care but he had managed alone for the last five years of his life and he didn't like to be treated like he was breakable. It didn't help that the other Steve Rogers was his opposite, healthy and strong-- It had never bothered him until today, being who he was. Steve's arrival, and his evident origin story of going from zero to hero, left this Steve a little empty.

He got up when Sam indicated that he was going to leave, the hoodie behind him in the back of the chair, and chatted with him a little more about literature he could get his hands on about care for a service animal. "Thanks again, Sam. I-- I guess we will see you Friday night?"

Steve wanted their guest gone. It was rude, he knew, but he also knew that the other Steve wanted to get back too, to a place where his life wasn't entertainment or the favorite film of his husband's doppleganger.

Sam was pretty much unflappable, and an excellent therapist for it. He promised to send over some literature on care for service animals, and also about being the loved one of someone with PTSD or self destructive tendencies. He took Steve's email to send it all over, and then agreed to see them on Friday.

Finally, Bucky and Steve were left alone in their apartment.

He slunk up behind his boyfriend and wound his arm around his waist, nose touching to the soft pale skin at Steve's throat.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, genuinely apologetic. He knew he screwed up and, no matter how understanding Steve was, that didn't give him the right to behave like a jerk and then brush over it like nothing happened. "I should've handled that better, I didn't mean to pull you from work or make you worried."

It hadn’t been an easy ride thus far. Everything about the last month had been erratic and terrifying to a scale that Steve himself had not really sat down to think about it. The things Bucky did in Manhattan mirrored that movie he liked. Nat’s boyfriend was a god. Tony’s boyfriend was a supervillain-- No wonder Steve never liked him.

He was the problem, though. He was stunted at this level when everyone else surpassed him.

Steve leaned back against Bucky and tried to center himself. “I can’t wait until this is over and everything can be normal.” He didn't want any more superheroes in his home.

"Yeah, me too."

Bucky sounded fervent as he pressed a kiss right above Steve's ear. He felt tired, and he could tell that Steve felt tired too. He didn't want this, he didn't want any of this. He wanted to rewind to just before everything went nuts in Manhattan, or even just as he met Steve in the first place, and do it all again. Better.

"We've got enough in our lives without this shit, and I don't want it. I was happy enjoying those as movies, not alternate lives. I hate that we're never gonna be able to unlearn that."

The world had changed forever that day. He just wanted it back to how it should be, was that so wrong? He wanted it desperately.

Friday was stormy and dark as if the world knew that something was about to happen and it was afraid to look. Steve woke to the crack of thunder, jumping up with his hand over his chest. His cold had settled into his chest and while it wasn’t going to worsen, he was still partially miserable and going through a box of tissues a day. At least he was getting the sickness out of the way now before the dog came into their lives. That dog had been the main reason either man in the apartment had been able to cope the last two days. Puppy proofing the place had taken effort and whatever strangeness had settled between them over the other Steve’s arrival had been squashed in their effort to set up puppy gates and lay out a pee-pad area for the days when they couldn’t walk the dog each time it had to go out. As the rain pelted the window, Steve turned over and pressed himself against Bucky. They still had a few hours to go before they had to meet.

Down on the street corner that, in other worlds, housed Avengers Tower and was currently a hipster hotel with a roof top bar, Thor landed with a crash that set off car alarms before he dismissed his armour and set his son down beside him. “It is as I feared,” he told Steve Rogers, who had been having coffee at the place across the street, similar to the coffee place he used to sit at when he watched and sketched the Tower in the months following his defrosting. Thor did not notice if Steve looked stricken by the way Thor had just arrived in the middle of the day. Most of the New Yorkers were paying little to no attention to the suddenly appearing man, though they had glanced up from their phones when the alarms started to blare before shrugging off the noise as just more thunder.

For a city so recently attacked, the people here certainly went back to their old ways of life quickly.

Thor pulled out a chair for Fenrir but did not sit. He’d of course be getting them both some coffee. “The arrival of so many of us has caused a need to step up procedures.”

Steve had spent a stressful couple of days with Dr. Banner, trying not to make too much of an impact and still feeling like an interloper. He hadn't been able to resist going out and finding all the other movies, mainly the Winter Soldier one, hoping it would give him more insight into what his Bucky had gone through that he might not be willing to talk about. All it had done, though, was make him wish that he had been the one to kill Alexander Pierce and do it slowly.

He sighed as Thor arrived, doubly so because of how he arrived. Asgardians never would quite understand just how much of a spectacle they made just by existing.

"Step up procedures how, exactly?"

He might be sounding a little sharper than usual.

"Loki was very vague about how this rip even happened, let alone how we're supposed to fix it or keep it from happening again. All I know is that our counterparts are needed, but not what we have to do. And look at the devastation we've caused, Thor, this city has moved under martial law. Isn't there any way we can undo this?"

Time, he had learned, was a malleable thing. Was it so out or the realms of possibility to make things right for once?

"The tips are becoming more apparent. Fenrir and I observed them at the top of this Realm streaming through in greens and golds. They are not the storms common in the sky, though it is possible that the Midgardians believe them to be. I fear that if this world rips open, another will tumble down upon it. It would be impossible to untangle. We will need to convene ourselves soon. Within the next few hours if possible. But first, I will have a coffee."

Thor strode towards the barista with even steps, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and looking... Well. Like a hipster that belonged here with that crazy heard of his. He ordered two coffees in large to stay mugs and brought one to Fenrir with extra whipped cream.

"You are to remain a boy, Fenrir. Do not shapeshift in front of Midgardians again," he warned his son as he sat back down. Fenrir loved being a wolf. He almost couldn't help himself. It did not go well last night at Denny's however.

Sometimes Steve had to fight very hard not to just grab members of his team and shake them when they were being flippant, usually with Tony, but sometimes with Thor. When the world was potentially in danger, somehow a coffee didn't seem like a priority, but he knew better than to get into that. They'd waste less time just letting Thor get his coffee and bring it back.

"Thor," he said, trying to keep his voice under control. "You still haven't told me what everyone needs to do, and what's going to happen to this world if we get the rips fixed. They've been through some bad things, we need to do something to help that, this isn't a reality designed to understand aliens and superpowers."

Even Asgard didn't exist here, it was just-- a normal world. No other realms, no aliens, no nothing. Even Thor and Loki were just average guys working normal jobs here, and Steve hated that they'd ruined it.

With Fenrir drinking with the mouth he was born with, Thor produced some sort of pastry and broke it in half to offer a piece to Steve. He was so relaxed and without worry, as if all of this would just work itself out. "It is my sworn duty to protect Midgard in all of its many forms. You would do to worry less, my dear friend. Loki is setting all in motion. Those selected need not do anything but arrive in order to form a connection in which the magic may be cobducted."

He said all of this while chewing. It was not the most dignified thing, but Thor could only manage Modgardian table manners for so long. Spitting out food while he conversed was how he had grown up. For thousands of years.

"It should be a simple matter to change the course of time as well. Stark's machine can do just that. We will ask him soon. First, we must be away to gather the others. We shall split them in twain and take half the lot each."

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