fossilised | I come from a land of ice and snow

I come from a land of ice and snow

Asgard sat atop the branches of Yggdrasil since time began, and little had changed in their society in the years since. Each Asgardian was long-lived into the millennia, their lands were fertile, their people brave and strong. They had their vassals, their allies, and their enemies. Yet even those who opposed them respected the might of the Golden Dias, and the royalty who sat upon it. Currently that was Odin Borson, though he grew weary more easily now and had begun to consider passing the throne to his eldest son.

He had been blessed with many children, but only two that he considered worthy of his lineage and status. His firstborn, Thor, strong and honourable and everything an Asgardian warrior should be. His second son, Loki, was not natural born, though none knew that but his wife. He was different, a creature of magic and mayhem, of sharp intelligence. Both were worthy, but together they would take Asgard to a new prosperity, he was certain of it.

Midgard, where the mortals dwelt, was a land raided every few centuries for stock. It was seen as a breeding ground, much like a corral for cattle. Mortals were lesser, short-lived and weak, they were fit only as slaves. The last raid had taken place when Loki had been but a baby, nearly a thousand years ago, but the mortals that had been taken had been bred and cared for so that a healthy slave population still thrived. Slaves were given a weakened mixture of Idunn's crop with their food, to extend their natural lives to at least a few centuries in order to make them worth the effort to train. They had no rights, but they were taught well that this was their natural position.

All slave children were raised in a central pen and taught the same when small, those that then displayed talent at cooking, riding, hunting, housework, artisan skills, or singing were then measured off to be specially trained for higher masters. Every five years those who could afford to buy a slave, or those of high enough status to simply demand them, came to the corral and chose. Those who were chosen were special, were envied, and those who were not ended up working the fields out in the far reaches of Asgard, the most menial of work.

Anthony and Steven had been friends since they were little and being raised in the large pens together. Both had excelled, Anthony at crafting and Steven at warrior's skills, but neither were chosen when they were five, nor ten, nor even fifteen. Now, at twenty, it was their final chance to be chosen before they would be assigned to one of the meanest farmers beyond the borders of the great capital. Steven woke Anthony as the dawn rose, mingled excitement and nerves on his face.

"Anthony! Wake up, I've got news! I heard the overseer talking to one of the passing guards, and Princes Thor and Loki are coming to the corral today."

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"Why would I lie to you," Steve pressed. "We're prisoners here. People came from another world to kill us and take us as slaves." He couldn't believe he was saying this. "I think you were working to stop that from happening because you've been getting yourself really riled up every time you see Loki. This isn't HYDRA. This isn't even earth anymore. And even if you don't believe me when I say we had a whole life before this, pal, even if you are bound and determined to think that you're just a weapon, you have to know for a fact that this isn't right and these people aren't human."

The only people that could fight against them were dead or left on Earth. At least outwardly. And that was why they needed everyone to really put their best face forward on this, suck up what they were going through, and fight back.

"You aren't someone's possession. I don't care what they've made you believe. You're the same as I am. You might not be free outwardly, but in here?" He touched his chest. "In here, you know that you're more than what you're giving yourself credit for."

It occurred to Steve that Thor had figured out how to give Bucky orders that stuck and so Steve...well, he tried something a little dangerous.

"We can't be friends until you actually remember me." It would be a mission that Bucky could not complete.

Steve had no idea what he had just done.

The Soldier had been through such vigorous programming in order to make sure that he would obey every order that he would automatically do whatever it took to fulfil one given by a current handler, but he couldn't fulfil this. It caused pain to spike through his head like miniature lightning bolts, making him groan and curl in on himself in sudden distress.

Images of Steve, desperately dragged up from the depths of his mind pushed to the forefront in a fierce need to obey the order, but it wasn't enough. All of a sudden he launched himself at Steve, aiming to pin him down and start pounding on his face with his metal fist, tears streaming down a face contorted in anger.

"Stop--! Make it stop!"

Anyone else would have defended themselves, verbally or physically. They would have taken it back and promised friendship without strings attached, anything to make the pain stop. But Steve? Steve just turned the other cheek. He could feel his face swelling. He tasted blood. The fine bones of his face might crack under enough pressure, but he just laid there with his arms out and his chin turned up.

He wasn't going to hit Bucky. He wasn't going to fight him.

None of this was his fault and so there was no reason to punish him, not even for lashing out like this. If Bucky didn't kill him, Steve would just hold out for as long as he could before he lost consciousness. He chocked on some blood in the meantime, groaned loudly at the pain he was in, and let himself go.

Bucky needed the release. It might a well be with him.

The Soldier probably would have killed Steve if they hadn't been interrupted by other slaves, coming to collect the dishes of food that had been left earlier. Horrified at the sight of James beating the other slave, even though Steven was already unconscious and badly hurt, they had ran to fetch their master.

They may get punished for interrupting Thor as he enjoyed a night with Fandral, but they would take that punishment, for it was their duty to do what was right and best even if it was to their own detriment.

"MASTER!" The first girl called, falling to her knees inside the tent. "James is attempting to kill the other slave, please--"

Fandral, who had been engaged in trying to persuade Thor to his furs, scowled at the intrusion. "Then perhaps it was earned, why do you interrupt us?"

As much as Thor enjoyed Fandral, he knew that his attention to his friend had been mostly a balm to smooth against no longer laying with Steven. His blond hair and blue eyes, especially when he was on hi stomach and looking over his shoulder, could be easily thought of as his slave if Thor had been drinking, but he would likely join Sif again. The female body against his own was soothing in many ways too, different from the heat he felt with Steven. And her advice after was always sound. Thor cared for her deeply.

He looked up from the game he was playing with Fandral, dice stilled in his hand, and pulled himself up. "I will continue to crush you in this game tomorrow. I must see to this."

Have Steven tried to escape? Thor had told James to kill him if he tried. But something told him that the battle to the death would have taken place elsewhere then. Steven was fairly matched against James, after all.

He pushed aside the heavy door curtain and strode towards the pair, plucking James from the unconscious blond. "Enough." Steven ws almost unrecognizable and something in Thor's stomach twisted. "This is not a correct way to make friends," he said, mildly. "Go and get cleaned up." Steven would be attended to himself. A little bit of honey should correct the most of it.

Even though Thor was his master, words and all, and even though he knew that he probably didn't stand a chance, the Soldier thrashed as he was taken from his victim. His hands dripped blood and his eyes were nearly feral, his lips pulled back into a snarl. All he wanted was to get at Steve again, and being taken from him felt as though Thor had reached into him and pulled out his heart.

"Steve-- STEVE!"

There was something cracked about the call, a complete juxtaposition to the way he seemed to still want to kill him, a desperate plea for a friend beneath the pieces of the Soldier. He was still there, he was still--

All it took was a glance and Thor could see that Steven was still breathing. Hands on, however, told a story of a little more violence than he had expected. Despite still having James in one of his arms, Thor saw to Steven's recovery with his free hand. He used the honey and he poured a draught through slack lips until he either drowned or swallowed a little.

"He is not dead," Thor said, ignoring how James fought him. "You nearly brought him to the edge but we will bring him back." Steve coughed and groaned and rolled to his side, prompting Thor to nod and stand. "You will let him rest. And you will clean yourself up."

Or Thor would do the clean up for him.

Being hands on with James at least felt normal. Even with the hysterics.

It was only a few minutes later that Steven groaned from his puddle on the furs. And Thor thought that to be a good sign.

The Soldier fought Thor every step of the way, ignoring every word he said as if he weren't even there. Thor might as well just be an inanimate wall, his only purpose to hold him steady and not let him get to Steve. Not that he knew what he wanted to do when he got there, whether he wanted to finish the job and make sure he died, or whether he wanted to hug him tightly.

It was as if an explosion had happened inside his head, and the programming was struggling to hold on where the jagged pieces of James Buchanan Barnes were pushing through. He might not even really remember who Steve was, but he knew that he was damn important, and suddenly his orders didn't seem to matter any more.

"Steve! STEVE! Steve... wake up! Steve!!!"

The Sold-- Bucky kept shouting, voice hoarse, until Steve came round. He fought Thor with everything in him; kicking, punching, even biting down on anywhere he could reach.

Thor could wait. He could sit in his chair and hold James against him like one might an animal or a child having a tantrum. The blows were nothing to him and did not bruise or break the skin. Thor just watched the figure on the floor move around until he could push himself up, face a little swollen and bloody but otherwise all right.

He huffed benevolently, still holding James around the middle, as Steven pushed himself to his knees. "And there. Your yelling perhaps has drawn him back from Hel," he said, jovial in a context that should not be taken as such.

Panting, Stdve pure seed a hand to his stomach. "I'm all right, it's all right," he managed to get out.

He'd heard the desperate yells. He could see the stricken face in his mind. If anything was worth getting up again, it was that. "I'm doing good, pal."

Thor was a veritable god with might that not even the serum could properly match, but that didn't mean he was totally invulnerable, and the Soldier had been taught very well how to go for the weakest areas on anything. He twisted, lifted his metal arm, and jabbed the fingers as hard as he could towards Thor's eyeballs.

His aim was to drive straight through and kill him, but that likely wouldn't happen. He would, however, take just popping his eyeballs and blinding him. Surely he could manage that much, because he needed to get down and away from Thor so that he could pick up Steve and escape with him to somewhere quiet where he could figure out what the hell was going on.

Why he saw snippets of another man's memories in his head, why he felt like nothing was more important than protecting him. Not orders, not HYDRA, not anything.

Though Thor's eyes were indeed vulnerable, popping them even with vibranium was not going to blind the prince forever. It did cause Thor to release James, however, and it did allow James to scoop Steven up from the ground and cart him away with Thor's angered growl following them.

There was no real shifting weather pattern on this moon but anger caused lightning to streak across the darkened sky anyway and Bucky had only a few options of where he could go and hide. There were sympathetic slaves, most of which who were warriors, and Aesir milling around everywhere having their fun or sleeping.

Two Midgardians running around wasn't too strange in all honestly and so most would just let them go without so much as looking up. But that would only last until Thor recovered enough to give chase.

Steve groaned as he was carried along. "Buck... Ah, what're you doing?"

The problem was, there were very few places to hide on a moon that was there solely for the keeping and training of slaves. So after only a few minutes, Bucky shifted his course in a different direction, pausing behind some outbuildings to put Steve down and brush off his tunic.

"Wait."

His eyes were earnest, and he set off at once, giving no further explanation than that. Hopefully Steve would listen to him and not follow, because he didn't go far. Only through the various little tents until he found the other Steven's belongings to steal one of his tunics edged in red and gold, marking him as the Prince's personal slave, even if he was currently a breeder.

He slipped back to Steve and handed it over.

"Put it on. When we get to the transport, tell them you are Steven and you need to take me to Asgard for testing. I'll steal it and take you home once we're in the air."

Though it was far, far too early to assess what in Bucky’s mind had changed from being programed to listen to Thor to being more like himself, Steve couldn’t help but hope as he was propped up against a wall and watched through one very swollen eye as Bucky raced away. He put an arm over busted ribs, knowing he’d heal sooner rather than later, and was in the process of trying to get up to his feet when Bucky returned with the tunic.

Steve grabbed onto Bucky, both as leverage and to pull him close so that he could whisper. He had a feeling that whatever he was now, however, he could hear just fine even if Steve barely whispered. “Can’t leave them.”

He was talking about Clint and Tony, yes, but also all the rest. Steve didn’t believe in ‘For The Greater Good’ scenarios. He fought until everyone was free, even if that was highly unwise.

“We have to try to free everyone, Buck, or I can’t go. There has to be a place that we can hide until we think of a plan.”

Right up front, Captain America was including him in the strategizing, but that was just how Steve was. He might have a mind for tactics, but he also had a mind to listen to every voice. He’d always been like that, though, even when he was young and Bucky Barnes and he would come up with elaborate pranks or decide how to spend their weekends getting lost in North Jersey.

Something about that response seemed right and only cemented Steve in his mind as someone to protect. It was a stupid goddamn response, there was no way to get everyone off this moon considering their firepower compared to the firepower that their enemies commanded, and trying would just be tantamount to suicide.

So he nodded, as if that made sense... and then launched himself at Steve with the aim of knocking him clean out with a blow to the side of the head.

If Steve was going to endanger himself by trying to save other, worthless, people, then it was the Soldier's job to make sure that couldn't be allowed. He was going to protect Steve no matter what, even if that meant protecting him from himself.

Steve had looked about as graceful when they cut him out of the ice a year or so back, meaning to say that as Bucky carted him off, limp from too many blows to the head. His arms dangled down Bucky's back.

By then, Thor had recovered enough to give chased, though his pride was too great to actually call for help. Was the prince having a moonlight romp? No one asked. No one called after him, save for Frandal to see if he was coming back.

He wasn't. Thor was going to kill James, mad, broken human.

And maybe Steven too. What did he need a double for anyway?

The trouble was that he could not find the pair, no matter how hard he looked, and indeed only found a discarded robe behind a building.

The Soldier was highly trained and, even if he didn't know for sure that he was being pursued, logic and a natural healthy dose of paranoia told him that he would be wise to proceed as if he were. That meant that he stuck to shadows, he carried Steve quietly like a ghost and, as soon as he could, he stuffed the other man inside a sack to make him less obvious as an unconscious slave.

It took hours for him to find the transports.

When he did find the skiffs, he then spent another few hours working out how to get aboard one, and then how to work it. Eventually, he had nothing left to do but grab Steve in his sack and make a break for it. It was do or die, make it out or they'd never have to worry about being imprisoned again.

His whole mission now was to get Steve to earth. The first mission he had given himself, and he intended to see it fulfilled.

The price Asgard paid for being too sure of themselves was that no one noticed the skiff missing until Thor crashed his way into the command building where his warriors were far into their cups. Guard duty on this technology wasn’t a priority. A Midgardian not schooled in their ways couldn’t possibly figure out how to take a skiff, after all. It wasn’t as if anyone anticipated someone like the Soldier being captured. Or breaking loose. Or stealing one of the assets collected from the culling.

Thor was a hunter, he enjoyed a game of pursuit, but to do so now, once he had been shown that a skiff was missing, would prove him to be unworthy. That anyone could escape was unthought of and so, swallowing his anger in favour of his pride, he allowed the pair to go.

They would die in the crossing. A skiff could not make it from the training village to Midgard, surely, and if it did…well, it wouldn’t take them back to the correct Midgard. The pair would suffer and die horribly no matter the situation and though Thor was not cruel, he had other things to worry about.

When Steve woke, it would be with a groan. He could feel his teeth aching in his jaw and his whole body felt constricted and tight.

“Buck? Hey, Buck, you there…?” The vessel was small by Asgardian standards, but it had many, many rooms and Steve was alone.

While it was true that interdimensional travel had not been high up on the list of things that the Soldier had been trained to do, he was trained to adapt while on a mission and do whatever necessary to bring it to completion. The controls only took an hour or so to master, and the language it used only a couple more hours.

By the time Steve woke, they were on their way... somewhere.

He didn't know where any of the coordinates actually brought them out, so he had brought up one of the saved sets of past coordinates and put them in. They could end up in Asgard, back home, in another version of home, or somewhere else altogether. Either way, they would be gone and could work out a new plan from there.

The Soldier heard Steve stir and slipped down to the room he had left him in, standing in the doorway warily.

"That's not my name."

Let's get that established.

So they were still on this? “James then,” Steve said, not willing to really argue the matter at the moment. He had trouble getting up, but that was only because they weren’t on as solid a surface as his body thought. He’d adjust in a moment, a lot quicker than any other person, but it did take that extra moment. He leaned against the one with one hand until he could straighten up.

He still felt a little bit sick to his stomach though, but that was from the head trauma and would pass when his body fixed that too.

His face was still covered in blood when he looked up at Bucky, and then down at him as he straightened up. His eyes darted around him, over his shoulders, and he frowned awkwardly.

“Uh. Where are we?” He wasn’t going to like the answer. He could feel it.

James would do. Even that made him feel a bit uncomfortable, but it was the designation that his last handler had given him, so it was easier to respond to. Last handler because, at some point, he had made the decision to go rogue. He still wasn't entirely sure why or what the hell was happening in his head, but that's just how it was at the moment.

"Don't know."

He gestured for Steve to follow him, and he'd wait until the other man was steady enough to do so. The view outside was breathtaking, just Void and space all around their little vessel.

"But we're away, we escaped."

Steve wasn’t going to complain about the name. He’d not been James to him in years, not since they were children, and then again only when he had asked if Bucky’s name was on a list of deceased 107th soldiers before he high tailed it into Austria to rescue whomever he could. He’d not said the name outloud since he’d been granted access to Bucky’s file from SHIELD. He’d been really gone by then, gone by 70 years.

But he could get over it. It was just a name and if Bucky was comfortable with James, then James he would be.

Forcing himself to focus, Steve was determined to follow Bucky out of the room and down a corridor that would seem narrow to an Asgardian...even Steve found it to be just a bit tight.

He wasn’t prepared for the destination, however. He didn’t have any capacity to find the sight on deck beautiful. The endless black felt claustrophobic. The pin pricks of light felt cold and hostile. He knew them to be stars, but they were so far between…. His mind didn’t have the capacity to understand the great distances involved in stars or why, on a planet with atmosphere, they could look so close when in space, they were barely visible at all.

“Oh…okay…so… We’re… Uh, James, maybe you should show me how to work this thing.”

It was such a shame that Bucky wasn't himself right now. He used to love science fiction books when he was a kid, they were the cheapest novel to buy and always packed full of adventure and cool new gadgets. To actually be in space on a real craft, adventuring with his best friend... it would have driven him wild with excitement.

But the Soldier just looked on the stars and endless void with the same blank and dispassionate gaze that he levelled at everything else.

"Why do you need to know?"

There was a part of him that didn't trust Steve. He might do something stupid like try to get back to that prison world and rescue everyone else.

The question was at least easy to answer and Steve leveled his gaze on Bucky. It was easier to see that joyless face than it was to look out at nothing. “If one of us goes down, there needs to be backup.” And though he was a pilot, he didn’t want to mess around with anything that Bucky had already done. Asgardians couldn’t be too much like humans, not with the way that they acted, and so if their culture was so different (it wasn’t, humans had had slaves for a long, long time, in many, many cultures) than their technology could be too. The truth was, Steve just needed something to do.

And he needed to be allowed not to dwell on what had happened to them all back there… And he needed to find a way to take this ship back to where they had come to rescue everyone else.

He just was smart enough not to say that out loud.

That did make sense and so he stepped aside to show Steve how the controls worked. They were pretty simple once the basics were down, but to have figured out the basics required a large amount of experience in blind flying many different craft. It was just lucky that the Soldier had been trained in all these areas.

He sat up on the edge of the skiff, not seeming at all frightened by the sheer drop into nothing over the side or curious about how the hell they were able to breathe, and just watched Steve.

"I remember calling your name," he said, out of the blue, low and steady. "For months, until they told me that you were dead."

It would be easy to turn the ship around, since their current destination had been plotted from the original embarkment point. All Steve would have to do it put in the old coordinates. He was happy about that, or at least satisfied enough to know that he could use this skiff to go back once Bucky was safe. His friend was not in any shape to come with him…he was too unpredictable. Normally, Steve would drop everything for Bucky but as far as Steve knew, the majority of their species was left in that training facility.

He needed to save them. He needed to—

His whole mind blanked out as Bucky spoke and Steve turned his eyes up from where he sat to state aghast at his friend. That broken mind knew him, somewhere, deep down. And this confession broke his heart.

“I guess I did die in a way. Put my plane down in the ocean and… Well, it took awhile for them to find me.” The corners of his lips turned up. “Took even longer to find you. Real sorry about that, pal. If I had known… I would have come after you a long time ago.”

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