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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He didn't realise that he hadn't been clear at first, until Steve started apologising for what he had been like. It was hard to rebut anything he was saying, because he still didn't remember enough to really argue with someone who remembered everything. But it didn't seem right all the same.

"I don't like it because it's not what I'm meant to be, it's making me feel-- things."

Bucky still felt mostly like a weapon and like these were malfunctions. He had spent so long being trained not to feel, being punished when he did, that this just tore him apart from the inside.

"But I think if you were so bad, I wouldn't have remembered you at all."

What he could remember was tinged with affection, and his instinct was still to protect Steve no matter what, it had been even before the memories had come.

Oh. Well. Steve wasn't sure what to say to that. "You're...you're a human being." He used a lighter he found to sterilize the needle, despite not really thinking he needed to. The thing looked like a zippo, but the fire melded blue to purple, obviously artificial, and it seemed to know what to heat and what not to heat. Again, that was magic, but Steve didn't want to make any grand assumptions here. "I know it's not going to be easy for you to realize that and I'm not pushing you to remember anything. I'm just-- I'm here for you. Whatever you need."

As long as Bucky didn't ask the impossible...like for Steve to take a step back or treat him like he was nothing but an object.

"Because I'm not going to expect this to just work out. We're never going to be like the kids we used to be. War changes folks. And... I think for us both...it's never been peacetime since the Nazis invaded Poland."Steve came to terms with that a long time ago. "We just have to focus on keeping what we have. And if we can add to it, great."

But he missed Bucky. Tony wasn't the only one who couldn't connect here. No one alive could ever understand what it was like to be him or experience what he did. His time was gone and he was just a relic.

"Hold still."

Between one second and the next, Bucky is simply gone. His pupils blown wide, his jaw set into a sudden grimace, and a single long shudder running through him before he does, indeed, go perfectly and completely still. Even the rise and fall of his chest was minimal, barely visible, and he gave no sign that he would move again even if Steve asked him to.

It wasn't his fault, he couldn't have known.

That was the problem with the Soldier, with the long sleep in the ice, with all the other million things that had happened to them both in the long years and left fractured chasms between them, it was hard to tell what the wrong thing to say would be. Hard to protect one another properly.

Hold still, Steve said, and the Soldier did. He knew that command well, and he was powerless to do anything but obey.

Poor Steve wasn't aware of what had happened until he was nearly finished with his careful stitches, talking the whole time about how much easier it was to darn socks after all. He hadn't been there for the words, he didn't know that triggers even existed, or that Bucky's fragile mind had confused him for a handler again, one to be loyal and do exactly as told for. None of this made sense to Steve, nor would.

He just happened to glance up and, realizing that Bucky was barely even breathing, thought what he was doing was the trigger for the catatonic state. Was he remembering times people worked on him? Or was he having a flash back of some personal war he was sent to start or quel?

"Buck? Bucky? Hey, hey pal, are you all right?" No, he shouldn't keep using the name. Bucky told him that he didn't like it and here Steve was, still using the damned thing! "James! James Barnes, come back to me!"

Steve could have been removing his internal organs right then instead of sewing him up as carefully as possible, because Bucky had only one focus and that was to hold still. It had been one of the first commands they made sure to imprint onto him, important so that if he got unpredictable when learning more deadly skills, he could easily be controlled and corralled.

The barest flick of his eyes to Steve's face said that he had heard what was said, but even that much movement drew a noise from the back of his throat as if he were a feral dog in pain, a noise he didn't even realise he was making. Sweat beaded on his brow even though the room they were in was cool, and still he didn't move.

Oh Steve...

What did he do? What more could he do? PTSD, brainwashing, conditioning...these were all terms that were technically after his time, during the Cold War that followed the war he'd help to win. He didn't understand any of this, because Combat Fatigue, which he had experience with more than he would have liked to from the men he commanded, didn't usually present like this.

"Almost done, almost done...let me just..." He didn't have scissors so he leaned in to break the thread with his teeth and then tie off the two. "There, finished. Come on now, you're all done so how about we get up and wash up and see about dinner?"

Stress written all over his face, poor Steve dropped the needle back into the pan of water he'd cleaned the wound with and stood, knocking it immediately over, to offer his hands to Bucky.

Maybe he'd tripped sometihing in the arm? If Bucky still wouldn't move, he'd run to get Tony. Tony would understand the mechanics of it.

Bucky stayed like a statue, like Steve had taken all the life out of him in some way. It made Steve feel sick to see him, terror wrapping around his heart in case he had done something and failed his best friend again. He pleaded once more, but when he got no reaction, he mumbled not to worry because he'd get Tony and then he just ran.

Captain America at full speed was something to behold, those muscles moving powerfully and coordination issues of the past long gone. He could still remember, though, crashing through a window before he learned how to turn properly. Simpler times, though they hadn't seemed that way at the time.

"Tony!"

He tore through the little settlement, skidding to a halt only when he saw Tony, genuine distress written all over his earnest face.

"Tony, I'm sorry. I know you're angry with me and you're hurting, and I want to let you have time to rest, but please--- please, I think I've hurt Bucky, done something to his arm, I need you to come."

Elbows deep in wires and tubes that ran believe the sidewalk, part of which having come up due to plant roots pushing at the stone, Tony didn't even glance up. He'd discovered the power source for the exterior lighting and was having a field day playing with live wires to do more than just let the AC in the buildings run, or heat the taps for showers or make the ovens work. Yes, he'd told Bucky he'd find a way to cook that boar-cat but there were ovens in the kitchens and why find a better way to cook than something that had been standard in houses on Earth for a long, long time now?

He was much more interested in discovering why this was all here and he'd been pretty happy inside of his own head at the moment, without thinking about Asgard or how alien this all was just until Steve Rogers nearly trampled him.

So he snorted. "What? Again? He tried that trick already. Tell him I'm fine, I'm busy, and to stop pretending his arm is malfunctioning."

It was only then that Tony happened to catch a reflection in lighted glass and he glanced up at the man making it.

"Wow. Someone piss in your Cheerios?"

It took all of Steve's self control to not just haul Tony up by his shirt and literally carry him along. He didn't know if Bucky had even heard him when he said he'd been right back, he didn't know what was going all, and he was terrified that he'd get back there and his friend would be gone like smoke into the wind.

His jaw was tight, a muscle jumping beneath the skin with the effort of staying calm, but he managed to deliver his words in a mostly level voice and he didn't reach out towards Tony at all.

"He's not pretending, I'm not even sure it is the arm. Something is wrong with him, Tony, and I need your help. Now. Please."

"Oh, please? Well how can I deny someone that uses such kind phrasing?" Tony stood and wiped his hands off of dirt. He was pretty sure that Steve was about to pick him up if he kept dawdling so he jogged back to the weird Tower-like base that Steve had constructed for them and found Bucky sitting exactly as he had been. He looked like a doll, like he wasn't really anymore, and Tony narrowed his eyes.

He knew the inside of that arm like it was something he'd built, memorizing everything he'd seen or touched, and so he knew that this had nothing to do with his arm at all. There were nerve connections but nothing that would cause this sort of paralysis.

"You said something," Tony decided. He could always read situations masterfully. "Probably gave him an order. So just undo it. How many times does he have to tell you that he thinks he's a weapon or an asset or...something. He's a tool and you flipped him into tool mode. So now flip him out again."

Steve looked as if he might be sick when Tony concluded that this must be something he'd said. How could just a simple word have done this to his friend? He genuinely didn't know anything about trigger words or PTSD or anything of that nature, so this... this was terrifying.

"I didn't give him any orders, Tony." Brow furrowed, Steve leaned down and carefully put his hands on Bucky's shoulders. "Buc-- James, please... if you think I gave you an order, you can ignore it. Forget it. I rescind anything I said, you're safe here, and you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Though Steve would be able to feel the tiniest of tremors running through Bucky's body, he remained immobile and silent as before. It was like he wasn't even there, that his body was just a shell now.

Tony certainly didn't notice any tremor. His eyes had never been that good. He felt a wave of anger through him, though. The one guy that actually knew how to talk to him, or not talk to him, was catatonic, out for the count, and now useless.

"Great. Well this is just great. He's all Waking Nightmare and you're going to go back to talking incessantly about stuff he doesn't even remember and where is that going to get us?! How did you ever get through life with this level of codependency, Rogers?! He didn't know what he was telling about. Steve was not codependent on anyone. He just loved Bucky. Tony himself had no idea what that meant or could mean for a person. Love meant so little to him. It was sad.

Frustration and anger and that breaking that Bucky suggested he do an hour ago on the woods led him to do something stupid. He pushed Steve Rogers. Not that it made the muscle bound lunkhead move, but he did react with physical violence.

"You don't get to be the victim here! All you've done for months is bitch and moan and sit in a cell and escape. So fuck you!"

At least Bucky's eyes focused on what was happening now, the movement of someone to push Steve drawing him partially back, but he still couldn't bring himself to move. He wanted to protect, and he couldn't. A sound tore from the back of his throat through gritted teeth, pained and desperate, but he still didn't make any sort of move towards Tony or Steve.

Steve, however, snapped his eyes straight to Bucky, heart breaking in his chest, before looking back at Tony with tightly controlled anger.

"You're looking at both of us here and saying I don't get to be the victim? Damn right I don't. I'm sorry for what happened to you, but look at him, he-- Bucky is the one hurting right now, and I thought you might want to help out since he saved your damn life out in the jungle as far as I can make out. But I guess expecting anything not selfish from you was too much, huh?"

"And what exactly do you think I can do, Rogers?" He wanted to punch Steve more badly than he had in the months they'd been forced to live together in that tiny cell. "Do I have a psychology degree? No. Am I a medical doctor? No! Whatever is going on inside his head, I can't help you. The guitar strings holding him together have snapped, face it! Or worse, whatever gored him that Bartoj is turning into kabobs poisoned him. And again? Nothing I can do!"

But Steve remembered that salve that Thor rubbed on him when Bucky beat him black and blue.

They came to this world in an Asgardian ship and it was very likely that more of that medicine could be on board. What else did they have to do? It wasn't as if there were a whole lot of choices. Tony and Steve werent familiar with the sort of conditioning Bucky had been put through even if Bucky told Steve about the torture. It was all just torture to the blond. Not a way to force Bucky to live through anything.

Edited 2017-06-24 18:25 (UTC)

"I want you to act less like a jerk with something to prove, and more like a guy with actual compassion. I'm going to search the ship for something to help, you-- just stay here with him, okay? That's not too much to ask of you, is it? To sit still and do nothing."

Steve, fuming and wanting to punch Tony just as bad as Tony wanted to punch him, whirled about and stalked out of the room. He wanted to stay with Bucky, but he couldn't trust Tony to actually do anything to help out if he was sent away, he'd probably just wander off instead.

Jerk.

Bucky's eyes fixed onto Tony once Steve had left, that small pleading noise still coming from the back of his throat. He wanted to break this, he did, but he didn't know how.

"Oh let's hope I don't go catatonic too," Tony called after Steve because honestly. How dare he? Did Steve had to take drugs and rape women? No. No he did not. He didn't have to do a damned thing but talk to Bucky through a bunch of steel bars. He gave the retreating Captain the double flip off before he turned back around to Bucky.

Tony groaned and threaded his hands through his wild, much too long hair, before be sat in the stool that Steve kicked over and put his foot on the upended bowl before looking back at Bucky.

"You should just tell us how to help you before I goad your bestie into killing me in a fist fight." He didn't think that Steve would ever raise a fist to him outside of his armor though. One blow could kill him and that would just utterly ruin the squeaky clean image of the blond. "What's wrong with you? Because if you were poisoned by that thing you saved me from I am going to be so pissed off. I don't handle guilt well."

Tony leaned on his knees but didn't invade Bucky's space.

Bucky's eyes remained fixed on Tony as if he could somehow convey silently how to help him. He knew the command that would release him, he knew how he could move, but he couldn't get his lips to part and actually say something. He swallowed hard, looking as if he might cry.

"C--C--Complete, S...oldier."

He managed to force the words out through gritted teeth by moving his lips as minimally as possible, and even that tiny effort had him panting as though he had just run the NYC marathon in hundred degree heat.

It was a command designed to work in any language, in case of handlers from any country, so he could always be controlled to stop and start.

When it clicked, it clicked, and Tony just about choked to get the words out. "Complete, Soldier!" He didn't mean to shout but damn. Whatever had happened to this guy? That was just wrong. Tony hadn't been priveledged to any of the chatting that Bucky and Strve shared in Thor's tent but he could piece a little of it together. That's what genius minds were for.

He looked as exhausted as Bucky surely felt, but jumped to his feet as if being around him was enough to be vomit inducing. This was a sick game. That people could do this to other people-- very few things were worse than the Asgardians but this? This ranked right up there.

"Fuck. Fuck, I'm going to need everything from you in case this shit happens again." He'd been right when he said that Steve triggered. He'd probably told the guy to sit still so he could be stitched up. It was torture just knowing that. "I'm not going to let you be a robot. I build them for a living but they are not made of people."

Bucky almost fell forwards when all of his muscles that had been locked up completely released themselves, but he managed to catch himself with a single staggered step before he actually collapsed. He was trembling and sweating, and he genuinely looked as if he had been put through torture.

"He told me to hold still," he muttered, the words coming out in the trembling aftermath of being released, before his brain caught up and made him clam up completely. He needed to get as much out as possible. "I'm a weapon, they made me a weapon, I can't disobey when the commands come."

Bucky clamped his teeth shut to stop anything more coming. Stark might have helped him now, but he sure as hell wasn't about to tell anyone his trigger words.

"Okay, so I order you not to listen to any more orders!" Things could never be that simple. Tony knew that. "What's wrong with you? No one is just a weapon. I mean, you've done a really good job of breaking out of it so just finish breaking out the rest of the god damned way!" Tony was shouting. He couldn't seem to reign in control of his voice. That might be a problem later. But for now? For now he didn't even concern himself about it because it was all just so damned insane.

Bucky needed to be his touchstone here so he was going to have to snap out of nearly a century of torture. Tony always got his way so that was just how all of this was going to work.

"I mean come on! Hasn't he told you to do other stuff? You don't need to be told to stop doing those things too, so you? Help me out here, Jimmy! I'm going to help you so you can help me. It's the American way!"

The loudness of Stark's voice didn't get to him too much, he had heard worse, and it contrasted with how quiet and hoarse his own voice was. He looked up at the shorter man through a curtain of hair that had been allowed to grow even longer since his capture, eyes sorrowful.

"It's set commands, not any order. I am breaking through."

That he could even fight back at all was a huge step that nobody seemed content with. They wanted him to be okay now, to get his memories back now, to be support or friend. He didn't know how to be either, not really.

"You think you want me to help you because I'm broken and it makes you feel better about being broken too." That was true, but he probably shouldn't have said it so bluntly. "You want me to finish breaking out, so you break out too. Easy as that, right?"

Hypocrite.

"What I want is for everything to go back to the way it was four or five months ago when I was the best thing since sliced bread, when no one bothered to tell me that my dad's favorite person alive was out of the ice and there were no such thing as Aliens with the ability to move through the fabric of space-time! I want to snap my fingers and make everything normal again so the least you can do is... Is... I don't know."

The fight fell out of him. Tony knew he was being a huge bastard right now and they really wasn't the person he wanted to be. He rubbed his hands on his pants since the palms were sweating and started to do something he never did at home: he cleaned up the mess. Steve worked hard on this and... And Tony needed to keep busy with his hands.

"Turning on each other won't do anyone any good. Sorry. I'm just afraid that I'm never going to get better. And I hardly lived through anything."

"It won't go back," he said, blunt but not trying to be cruel. He just watched as Stark started to right the furniture and get things back to how they were, unsure if he felt sorry for him or not. "You're alive, so you can get better from anything. Not all the way, there'll be scars and you'll be different, but who the hell cares?"

It was the closest he had come to admitting that he wanted to live since he had started to break through what happened to him. And that was horrific, decades of torture, but he still wanted to prove that he could be something else.

"Get revenge. Be more than what they made you."

Whether they made him a weapon on purpose, or just made him broken through their actions. Living and finding new purpose, new happiness, was the best revenge there could be.

"You're right. I can't believe I'm taking life coaching from someone like you but... You're right."

In the hallway, Steve listened to what Tony said, the conclusion of his discussion with Bucky, and held the pot of healing honey to his chest. He closed his eyes, not jealous of the exchange. He was just relieved that Bucky was talking at all. He looked up at the ceiling, stone and wood shot through with lighted tubes of purple and orange, beautiful but a reminder that this was not their home. Even with everything that Earth offered, so different from what he was used to, at least he could still call it home. It was alien only in time, not place.

Releasing his breath, he went silently back down the stairs, finding Clint seasoning the steaks he'd cut, oven already on, humming to himself with a towel over his shoulder. "Five minutes each side-- they took their pans with them or I would sear the surface first/". He looked at home in a kitchen. "Is all the yelling upstsirs over?"

Bucky knew that Steve had listened in, his hearing was just as acute as the other super soldier, but he gave no indication of it. Honestly, he was grateful that Steve had shown the understanding to back off, it gave him a little bit of hope that maybe they could all muddle through this.

"So you have to figure out how to make that possible," concluded Bucky. "What happened to you isn't the fault of anyone here, learn how to deal with it and live."

He turned from Stark to sit back on the edge of the bed, still looking feverish and upset, but unwilling to show any more weakness because of it. He wouldn't be their weapon any more, he just-- he had to figure out how to stop.

Down in the courtyard, Steve looked like he might cry though whether from relief or sorrow he had no idea, just nodding at Clint and taking a heavy seat nearby.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject