fossilised | For Steve

For Steve

[This is a bad idea.

Bucky knows it as soon as he stops outside the little community centre where these classes run and he sees the other students milling about, chatting to each other in their own little cliques. The thing has been running for a while, it's an art group for anyone with any sort of mental health issue - depression, anxiety, psychosis. He's here for PTSD, practically bullied into it by his therapist at the VA, under the instructions that he needs to get out and start socialising more.

There are only six other people, four women and two men, and it already feels like too large a crowd. He makes sure his prosthetic is properly covered by a glove and long sleeve, stuffed into his pocket so nobody can tell it hangs strangely, and slouches in at the back. From the conversations he can overhear, blonde woman and redhead woman have anxiety issues, brunette #1 and the two men all have depression, and brunette #2 has psychosis. They're all so open with each other, chatting about medications and coping techniques and the work they've been doing in class already.

One of them approaches him and asks his name, and what he's there for, but he just glowers at her until she retreats again. He doesn't want anyone to know why he's here, and he's only here so Wilson will stop goddamn riding him about it.

He slumps into the seat nearest the back and waits for the teacher to arrive, already sure this is going to be a waste of time...]

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[Which is when of course Steve's phone buzzes - their pizza is out for delivery, eta 30 minutes. He groans. At least it wasn't a knock at the door. Still.]

Okay, no more - we gotta control ourselves if we have something that requires pants coming up, I want to be able to just cuddle after.

[It's so absurd he's laughing about it a little, kissing Bucky again and again.]

Dunno - I probably would have pined away for you and you wouldn't have known I existed.

Steve, I would'a noticed you even if we met when we were knobbly kneed kids.

[The sleepiness and happy glow of being satiated is making his tongue looser than normal, and he snuggles down a bit in the blankets as if to rebel against the idea of pants.]

It's your eyes, there's a fire in 'em. The abs are nice and your ass is to die for, but that ain't why I've fallen for you.

Yeah?

[Steve can't quite believe it, of someone like Bucky ever sparing more than a passing glance at the person Steve used to be for anything other than some cruel prank.

Steve reaches out to stroke his fingers through Bucky's hair. He loves Bucky's hair, loves touching in, running his fingers through it.]

You got a fire in your eyes too, you know.

[Bucky, in his semi-comatose state, shamelessly pushes his head into those stroking fingers kind of like a cat.]

That's why we would'a noticed each other.

[Come on Steve, keep up. He makes a face as Steve's phone buzzes again to say the driver is out for delivery.]

Who's dumb idea was it to order pizza? Don't they know it's no-pants bed time?

It was my dumb idea.

[steve leans in to kiss Bucky again, before he reluctantly moves to get up.]

You stay comfy. I'll go wait for it and if you fall asleep you can have it for breakfast or a midnight snack.

[As much as he tried not to hurt Steve overly much, he still watches to see just how bow-legged his boyfriend is after two rounds in quick succession.]

You're too good to me, how can I ever pay you back?

[He burrows under the blanket even as he says it, until all that's visible is the top of a brown-haired head and one bare foot.]

Stay with me tonight and let me wake up to your beautiful face in the morning?

[As always with Steve, it's absolutely sincere. He smiles to himself, and, well... look, Bucky, he absolutely asked for it? And he really doesn't regret the two rounds so quickly. If exhaustion wasn't setting in he'd be willing to beg for a third even. But his ass is very, very tender right now, even if he does try to play it down as he stands from the bed and gets the sweatpants back on.]

Sap.

[It was said in a pleased tone, though, as Bucky watched Steve try to conceal his limping steps out into the lounge to wait for the pizza.

He really does intend to stay awake because he's pretty hungry, but somehow when Steve reappears with pizza boxes, it will be to Bucky fast asleep. He sleeps curled up in a tight little ball, just a mound under the covers.]

[Steve eats a slice or two and downs a glass of water before he packs the pizza away to be eaten in the morning. After that it's time to brush his teeth and clean up some of the dried come off places he didn't expected to have it.

His heart feels so full, going about his nightly routine and being able to look into his bedroom and see Bucky there. He keeps checking, like it can't be real, it's too good.

Making sure the dog is okay as well, Steve returns to bed to carefully crawl into it with Bucky, doing his best to not disturb the other man. If managed, he falls right to sleep - and he's a cuddler if there ever was one.]

[Unfortunately for Steve, as soon as he touches Bucky to start cuddling is where it all goes a bit wrong. He's not a heavy sleeper now, instinct keeping him half alert even when he's out cold, and that same instinct really doesn't like being touched when he's vulnerable.

Threat.

His whole body responds in a heartbeat, his elbow jabbing out to try and slam into the face of his 'attacker', even as he tries to break the hold and twist away, voice a guttural murmur.]

ما وباسه

Edited 2017-08-19 22:15 (UTC)

[Well, Steve gets hit in the face. There's no two ways about it. He logically knew there was a possibility of it but had let himself think there was no way it was actually going to happen, and his nose just paid the price for that. And some of his lip.

His training on this doesn't exactly cover when you're naked in bed with someone, but Steve still snaps just as quickly into his training - letting go of Bucky while his voice goes low and comforting, holding very still and not making any moves lest they be seen as threatening and make things worse.]

Bucky - breathe - just breathe. Look around the room - you aren't there, you're here with me, back home. I know it feels real right now but it isn't.

[He's remarkably calm considering the blood gushing down his face.]

[Bucky ends up against the wall a couple of feet from the bed, crouching naked in a pose that's all tension and deadly intent. His eyes are glazed and all he can really see right now in the dimness of the room is another person, he's not quite cognisant enough to know who that person is. His nerves are singing with the sudden adrenaline rush and it's making it harder to disengage from sleep and come back to reality.

But that wasn't Pashto, that voice spoke in English. Smart, sending in an interrogator who knows his language to try and set him at ease. They tried that a few times, even got an American defector in. He's not going to be fooled, but he will at least switch languages himself.]

Where is it?!

[His gun. His ammunition. He's groping at his side, but of course there's no weapon there.]

Where's - what? Your gun?

[Yeah, he's had that talk with people too. Resist carrying a gun if you just got back home yes we know how that goes against every instinct you have but do not carry a gun if you just got back home. It's not the worst one though. The one Steve has trouble with is explaining how it's perfectly normal for your own children to not recognize you as their parent, depending on how old they were when you left.]

You don't have a gun anymore, Bucky, [Steve sure as fuck hopes not anyway otherwise he's going to have a long harsh talk with Bucky's contact at the vet center.] you're back home in America, you've been back home for a while now. I'm Steve, we met in my therapy through arts class, remember? You drew a boat. I can turn on the light so you can see the room - would that be okay?

[he's still staying right where he is, not even moving to wipe the blood of his face without Bucky giving the okay first.]

[He's trying to ingratiate himself so that Bucky will see him as a friend, it's textbook, even down to using his preferred nickname rather than his rank. He learned how to deal with this, it's to accept all the overtures of friendship and all the things that make life a bit more comfortable, and still refuse to say anything.

So he nods. He wants light, he wants to be able to see his surroundings, though he'll be on edge the entire time Steve moves to be ready for an attack that's never coming.]

You took it.

[He's not that stupid. He does, in fact, still own a gun but it's kept up in his apartment where nobody can find it.]

You think I can't still kill you without it?

[Steve may have joked about their first fight, but if he finds out Bucky does have a gun? That is a thing that is going to happen.

He's not actually worried about Bucky hurting him. He can, surely, Steve has no doubt about it. He doesn't think Bucky will kill him though. What worries him most is how Bucky is going to react once this passes.

Goddamn anemia, he won't stop bleeding. Steve has to tilt his head down a little bit - well, these sheets are toast - while he carefully reaches out to turn on the bedside light.]

We can go someplace else if that would make you more comfortable - you can see the city from my living room window, enough to see you're back in America. Do you want me to call your sister?

[Sister, which sister?

God, does it even matter which one? None of them should be on the radar of people like this, it's getting much more dangerous now. They've done research on him, they're threatening his family in oblique terms. He's shaking with how angry he is, definitely not because he's deathly afraid.]

You stay the fuck away from her. زه به تاسو ووژنم

[Steve's mind is starting to swim, just a bit. The bleeding has slowed but not by much, he's got to risk trying to pinch as his nose to stop the blood flow which comes with a whole new kind of pain and certainty that it's broken.]

Bucky - it's Steve. Steven Grant Rogers, you - you joked about my name being Ulysses. I called you James until you told me to call you Bucky. It's October 31st, we skipped out on going to a Halloween party tonight to stay in. Your service dog is just outside, just look. It feels real, Bucky, but it isn't, you're home.

[Steve Grant Rogers, that name did ring a bell dimly at the back of his mind and make him unsure of himself. It let him take in the surroundings of the bedroom, a comfortable bed and wallpaper and carpet, nothing like a prisoner of war camp out in the wastelands.

His brow furrows, confusion and fear warring for upper place.]

No, I-- I'd remember that, you're trying to confuse me.

[But he doesn't sound sure. Outside the door, said service dog is whining and scratching to be let in, she knows when she's needed to do her job.]

You're having a flashback, Bucky. You didn't tell me what happened when you were deployed so I don't know where you think you are, but that's the ptsd talking. You're home. We've been together three months. Just - let Yasha in, and look outside. I won't move from here, it's just us and her in the apartment.

Please, Bucky.

[Something in the pleading tone got to him and he did, warily, shift to look out of the window and open the door, whereupon he was immediately flattened by a large dog that literally knocked him flat on his back and laid out on him to start licking his face. Weight and a sensation that truly wasn't of overseas, that was her emergency training.

For a second Bucky just lay there, tense and confused, but slowly the fog cleared from his mind and-- where was he? Steve's? Why was Steve--]

Shit-- Shit, you're bleeding, I hurt you. Yasha, get off. Get off. Oh shit, oh no--

S'okay, I'm okay. I jus' need some tissues.

[Steve tries to assure Bucky from the bed. Crisis successfully averted, his own adrenaline rush starts to crash. Steve tries to stand, only to make it off the bed before he's falling on his ass again. The bruising has already stared to show around his nose, under one eye. Where his lip caught and cut against his teeth.

The splash of red on his face, his chest, his hand and the sheets do not look so fine.]

Just - blood clotting issues - you back with me, Bucky?

Shit shit shit shit shit.

[It's a low mantra under his breath as he pushes Yasha off him and rolls up to his knees so that he can scramble to the bathroom and grab toilet tissue, a huge wad of it which gets thrust at Steve with a very shaky hand.]

I'm sorry, God, Steve, I'm so sorry.

[This is why this was a bad idea. Look at what he's done, just look.]

Fuck, there's blood everywhere. Do you need an ambulance? Fuck fuck.

No - no ambulance.

[Steve's hands are tremoring too when he takes the tissues, cleaning himself up as best he can and making sure the bleeding has indeed finally stopped. His lip is still very slowly oozing blood, but that's expected. Lips bleed a lot.]

I'll go to urgent care in the morning to get it re-set. It's Halloween - M'not dying and I don't want to spend eight hours waiting in triage when I could sleep in my own bed instead. It's okay. I'm okay.

[Steve looks an absolute mess, there's blood everywhere, his nose is obviously broken, his lip is swollen, and the bruising is already starting to come in. The worst bit is, Bucky doesn't even remember what he did. Did he kick him? Punch him? What did he say? It's all pretty vague, just a blur of fear and adrenaline.

He feels sick with shame. This is why this whole thing was a bad idea, he's a fucking monster. Steve deserves the best in life, not some broken jerk who hits him. He backs up a step, obviously ready to flee.]

Sorry, God-- Steve, you need to go and get it seen to, it's-- you're really hurt.

[Throughout it all Steve hadn’t really been concerned with himself. Bucky was the one in crisis, whatever he needed came first. Part of it was training, a lot of it was instinct. Steve wasn’t the type to ask for things for himself.

So when he reaches out to catch Bucky’s hand - still loose enough that Bucky could pull away if he wanted - it means a great deal that Steve lets himself sound desperate and vulnerable as he asks,] Don’t go. Please.

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