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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Clint took the lead on this one. Cap was of no use desperately clinging to the man and Tony looked like he would rather be anywhere but here. So, to help keep a little order, the archer knelt and checked Bucky's vitals since Steve seemed to be on the verge of collapse. He was surprised to find Bucky's pulse so strong. "Okay." Here was his assessment, hands running down his thighs as he forced Steve to look at him. "He's alive. He's doing good. You can feel it too. Right now he's just asleep. I wouldn't even say it's a coma, his heart rate is nice and equalized, not dangerously low either if he's like you with a metabolism like you. So here's what we do. Cap, put him to bed. Don't tuck him in, the blanket needs to be loose. And then come right back down here and eat."

He was expecting a protest and so he paused to let Steve get as far as an open mouth.

"Nope listen to me. Upstsirs. Bed. Back down here to eat. He told me and Stark on the way over that he hadn't slept in like a week. So my guess is that the shock to his system prompted the need to sleep and you're just gonna let him do it. We still have a mission right? Cap? Look at me. We still have work to do."

Steve had always been someone who believed in duty above everything, and if it had been anyone else then he would have immediately seen the wisdom in Clint's words and did as he said. But this was Bucky. This was his best friend, this was someone who had saved his life so many times over and made it worth living, he was Steve's real weak spot and for a moment he wavered.

But eventually he just nodded, shoulders sagged, and picked Bucky up to take him inside. He took maybe a bit longer than necessary getting him comfortable, setting a pillow under him, making sure he had the softest blanket loosely over him... and then he finally went back to join the others downstairs.

"Okay-- so you're right, we have a mission and we need to talk about it. I understand if you both need a few days recoup, and I'm sorry about what happened to you. Truly, I am."

Clint gave Steve the high sign, a little jut of the jaw to the left and right. Bad idea to apologize. It might set Tony off. Stark, however, was just sitting and eating, jaw moving and eyes straight ahead. Bucky going down was a blow to him. If someone like Bucky couldn't cut it, how was he going to manage?

So Clint cleared his throat and return to his seat and his own steak. He ate in silence and when everyone was finished, he glanced at Steve's direction and nodded.

"Okay Stark. Any way you can use anything here as a weapon? We have to rescue those people." Barton's jaw set as he watched Tony stare at nothing for a moment.

"Not a weapon. But I can disable their ships. I'm going to need some time with the databanks in the skiff."

"Okay, good, that's a start. How long do you think you might need with those databanks? We can work around that."

Steve wasn't going to set a deadline and say that everything had to be ready to go in a few days. As much as it hurt to know that there were people stranded and imprisoned, with horrible things happening to them, they would do them no good in trying to rescue them too soon with no solid plan and failing.

They had a deadline of another seven months before the training was supposedly 'over', he would deal with the consequences of taking longer.

"Then Clint, you and me need to work on weaponry. There's bound to be things we can use here if we put our ingenuity to it."

"Not a clue," Tony spoke up. "Your boyfriend wouldn't let me touch anything. Few weeks at least. This is a new set of rules and physics to deal with. I'll teach myself the language and go from there." Tony stood up and dusted himself off. "I'll just take one of those over the top bedrooms and sleep on board. There's food enough there. So as they say in the business. Don't call me, I'll call you."

Having his own place for awhile, his own work and his own space without anyone else barging in? That sounded like the best vacation from the horror story he was living yet. Tony wandered off towards the ship and disappeared into the blackness beyond the recessed lights.

Clint smiled up at Steve and shook his head.

"You need to sleep. I'll do the dishes. For what they are... And tomorrow morning, we can get to work on whatever you need to do to keep busy." He was such a dad. No one ever seemed to take notice though.

Clint was a good guy, Steve was only just coming to appreciate how good. They needed someone with that solid and unshakeable core in their team, who could make sure everyone else did the things they needed to do while looking after themselves. So he just nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Thanks, make sure you get some sleep yourself, though, okay?"

He was too tired to argue against Clint doing most of the work. So he trudged up to the room he had put Bucky in and settled himself on a nearby bed, asleep in a few moments.

It would be Bucky that woke up first, having slept for almost ten hours. He felt-- weird as hell when he woke up. He had a lot more memories than he did, though not all of them, and yet he wasn't the man he used to be. He still had the baggage of the Soldier, and that was a weird thing to deal with. He swung his legs over the side of the bed as quietly as he could, trying not to wake Steve, though how successful that would be was anyone's guess.

Bucky managed to get all the way to the door before the feel of the vibrations on the floor roused him. He opened his eyes, focused on Bucky's now empty bed and sat up just a little too quickly. A sharp drawing breath spoke of panic before he found the creeping man by the doorjam.

"Buck?" He lifted s hand to his eye and knuckled away the sleep as he used to do when he was a child. His smile was infectious and cautiously optimistic. "Hey-- you all right, pal?"

Steve would do anything for his friend. Move mountains, lay on the wire, fetch him some water-- whatever he needed.

"I don't know," he said, his voice more human than it had been the last few days. It was still too quiet, too hoarse, but it had a slight softness to it that spoke of emotion rather than the neutral creature he had been before. "I don't know if I made a big mistake or not."

He turned to look at Steve, suddenly assaulted by memories of all the other times he had seen him sit up just like that. It made him want to throw his arms around Steve and apologise, it made him want to cry.

"I remember-- you, me, most of it. But I remember all of what HYDRA did as well, and I don't know who I am at the moment."

Steve pressed a hand to his mouth and pulled the covers aside. He didn't need them, he could regulate without a sheet at night, but it made him feel more normal to do normal people things. He was bare from mid thigh down and navel on up, hunched s little with his feet hovering over the bare planks.

"You don't have to figure it out right now," he offered after a moment, the first real hope in his eyes. "And you don't have to do it alone." He pushed off for. The mattress but didn't completely approach.

Bucky might need the alone time.

He just hoped he didn't. Steve was so tired of being alone. "I'm with you ever step."

Of course he was, he never doubted that Steve would say otherwise. It was familiar in a way it hadn't been before and it hurt, like lemon juice into shallow cuts, a reminder that he hadn't fixed everything. Because now he remembered pretty much everything about both lives, and he knew solidly that he was never going to fully be that man again. There would be pieces of him, just like there would be pieces of the Soldier, and he didn't know if that would be enough for Steve.

"Til the end of the line; right, pal?"

His words were soft and a little sad, but he didn't draw away when Steve approached him, even if he had no idea whether he wanted to be near or far right now.

"I don't think I can ever be who I was, Steve. Maybe this is the end of the line?"

"None of us are." He didn't move any closer. Steve wasn't going to chase here. "And none of us expect... But you're still Bucky Barnes. You were Bucky Barnes were you didn't think you had or deserved a name and you're Bucky Barnes now and..."

He'd been messing up left an right with Tony. Bucky told him he was handling Stark wrong. Barton told him he was handling Stark wrong. Tony himself was... He didn't know what to do or say to help and so he did not do to say anything for a longer moment, shoulders hunched.

"It's only the end of the line when we both are really gone. And right now, I don't see any end in sight. You're as stuck with me now as I was stuck with you when we were younger." It was a cheeky thing to say. "You're the only one who's ever understood me. You don't really think I'm gonna give that up so easy, do you?"

He wanted to believe that Steve was right and that there was still hope, that even if they had both changed they could still find a way to make it work. Perhaps that was why he eventually turned to look at Steve properly, deep blue eyes so much more the Bucky of old than they had been before.

"...okay, it's not the end of the line."

He wanted to believe, and so he would. He knew it would be difficult as hell, but the only thing he had as a lifeline in this whole world was Steve. The only mission he had chosen himself was to protect Steve, and he would keep on doing that for as long as he could stand and hold a gun.

Bucky took a half step towards Steve, looking unsure and hesitant. "Hell, Steve, what's happened to us?"

Just a half step was enough to actually be permission for Steve to approach and the blond did without a single moment's hesitation. He pulled Bucky against him as if they were family, as if they had crossed infinite distances in time and space to be together again. They were. They had. "We beat a lot of odds," Steve said into Bucky's hair, standing too close, their bodies flush, his fingers against the back of a shoulder and neck. "We got lucky."

That probably wasn't what Bucky was expecting to hear, though, but Steve believed it. So many men didn't get to come back to their families. All who did were changed irrevocably anyway so it didn't matter to include that little fact in the scenario.

"Seems like fate wants us to keep finding each other and pulling each other out of the fire. And I, for one, am really fine with that, Buck." He'd spent his life chasing something better and, stupidly, he'd not realized the perfection of what he'd had. Yeah, he was sick all the time, yeah, he was just an ant against a boot, but he'd been loved. And he'd wasted too much time when it came to Bucky.

But never again.

Bucky remained stiff in Steve's embrace for half a minute, before all of a sudden his arms were around Steve in return to hold him so tightly that it might even hurt, especially where the fingers of his metal hand would be digging in at the base of Steve's spine, as if to let him go for even a moment would be to lose him forever.

Lucky.

Only Steve could think that way, he was something else. He always saw the best in every situation and it was something that he had been so scared would change when he got the serum and became Captain America, but it didn't. He was still the same stubborn and idiotic kid from Brooklyn that he always had been, and god was he ever grateful for it right then.

"Shit, Steve."

It was all he could manage, a choked off sort of gasp, before he was crying into Steve's shoulder. It felt like this was their reunion, like right now was when he found his friend again.

At the sound of the commotion, Clint had sprinted soundlessly up the stairs, saw what was going on, and then immediately turned and trotted back down. He couldn't help but smile. If there was anything good to be had here, he wanted to feel it, even if had nothing to do with him. It was a little bit of sunshine that could keep him going until they rescued everyone and got back home to his own family.

An hour later, already healed from the bruises that Bucky left on his skin, Steve laid on his cot beside his friend and stared up at the beautifully lit ceiling. This was how they'd spent a lot of their days in camp whenever they were allowed to rest, the night around them, their need to be on watch set for a few hours from that point. Steve liked to listen to Bucky breathe, or to his stories of what he'd go first when he got home.

And Steve would laugh appropriately at wanting to catch a game or steal a kiss from a pretty dame or go dancing.

At that point, Peggy seemed like his best bet for doing the last two with. And it had excited him, because he'd never had that to look forward to. He was still optimistic back then that he'd end up in a house next to Bucky, married with kids, teaching their sons to throw fast balls together and their daughters to stick up for themselves against clowns.

And maybe...well maybe that could happen again.

Steve closed his eyes, feeling Bucky stir in the bed beside him."Hey Buck?" he waited for a 'hmm' in acknowledgement. "I know you know this, but it's okay these days to say it to your friends. I love you, pal."

Bucky knew that things might never be easy, and he knew that one good cry and an internal resolution to stay with Steve wouldn't make things plain sailing. He had lost a lot of who he was and gained sharp edges in return. He felt uncomfortable on the bed as if in a vulnerable position, but he didn't want to move, because right now all of those bad times were in the future and he had Steve next to him.

He snorted when Steve professed love, though he couldn't help the slight twist upwards of his lips again. "Sap," he teased. "Why did you never use those charming lines on the girls, huh? But-- you know I love you too."

Of course he did.

Maybe even in ways that were deemed socially inappropriate. He had worked hard to bury those deep down and be the guy that everyone expected him to be, make sure he danced with the prettiest girls and, hey, if the girls that he preferred had blue eyes of a certain shade then nobody could blame him for that. A fella liked what he liked. He just wanted Steve in his life no matter how.

"I couldn't get passed asking if I could get them a drink without getting looked at as if I was wasting their time," Steve reminded Bucky, eyes closed and a happy smile on his face. That's why people these days said that they loved each other so much on television and when ending conversations on their cell phones -- It felt good to be told you were loved, even if you knew it or felt it already. It just felt validating, like you were a person that mattered.

Steve didn't need all of his metals or any of his heroics if he could matter that much to just one person. Why not have it be Bucky? Peggy moved on. He had to too.

"And those girlfriends of the dames you stepped out with? They were way above my league. They knew it and I knew it. Pretty girls didn't have any time for me." And he didn't have any time for them. They were a distraction. They were a third wheel on adventures. They pulled Bucky away from him, and while Steve was fine with sharing, he didn't want to share. "I've got too much to do now for women anyway. So when we get back, no more double dates. You can just tell me all about them after."

"I'm not going to be going out on any dates, Steve." Bucky sounded a little sad, but honestly Steve really was living in a dream if he thought that Bucky was going to be okay enough to be asking out pretty girls again. Just stepping into the crowded movie theatre or dance halls these days would be enough to have him looking for an exit or attacking the first person that brushed up against him.

He rolled a little more onto his back, trying to see the future. "I guess I'm just going to be one of those old bachelors, the ones that eat a lot of TV dinners and yell at the neighbour kids all day. But you don't have to, you need to make time for yourself, Steve. You're not just Captain America, you're a guy too."

If he had to, he would sign Steve up for all the online dating sites when they got back and all of this was over. It didn't matter what he secretly wanted, because what mattered more was that Steve was happy.

Now that did made Steve laugh. "TV dinners have gotten pretty good actually. I stock up on the Hungry Man ones, the kind with two pounds of food? Real meat and potatoes. I tried cooking but I don't really like how the stoves work." The thought of Bucky just sitting in being a grumpy old man? That was insane. Bucky was never going to be a grumpy old man.

Just like Steve could never be.

"When we get back, you and me, we're gonna have to put the world back together again. I think we left it a mess actually. A huge mess. There's not going to be any time for TV dinners. Or pretty girls." He understood what Bucky said though. That he didn't think he was fit for human companionship anymore. And...okay, this was low for Steve, but he was happy about that. He didn't want to share right now.

He didn't want Bucky to be broken, though, so it was going to be a toss up in the end.

"I really have my heart on being Uncle Steve one day though...so don't say no more dates."

The world might be a mess when they got back, but the two of them would live a very long time and he was sure that when everything got settled then there would still be time for Steve to have the sort of life he deserved. Because he did deserve it, nobody else in the whole world was more deserving of a loving family to come home to at the end of the day.

He could picture her, a brunette with a lot of fire in her, like Peggy had been. They'd have gorgeous children that they could instil with the morals and the goodness that made Steve so special, that came from his Ma in turn, and then make sure the world had another generation of heroes. Not superheroes, just-- everyday heroes, the more important kind as far as Bucky was concerned.

"Then don't you say it either, because I mean it, Steve, you can't cut yourself off. I'm not going to fight through this and protect you, just to have you hide behind that shield as an excuse for the rest of your life."

"Hey now, I'm not against having a family, but I need the right dance partner you know? I'm picky. There are good women out there. I know it. And when we find each other, we'll just know it's right. There's gonna be a whole lot of time after everything makes sense again right? That doesn't mean I still can't be an uncle. Your kid would be better than either of us. A real good heart. And I want my kid to grow up like I did."

Steve was mostly murmuring now, half asleep and dreaming that the world was a better place than it actually ever could be, as if his ideals were realistic. He was still a dreamer. Still an artist.

But that said, he knew that his hopes and dreams didn't always work out. And he was all right with that too as long as he tried.

"Whatever it is, whatever happens, it's me and you. Always. Don't argue with me about it. And don't go hitting me in the head anymore when you don't agree."

There were other things said, other things murmured, but it was hard to make out as they slurred with sleep

Bucky had never been the artist that Steve was, he had been the realist. He didn't see scores of courageous people going off to fight a bully and make the world a better place, he saw mud and blood and death. He didn't see hope in his future now, with a woman and kids and a happiness that he couldn't even fathom, but that was okay. If Steve saw it, then maybe it would keep him going.

He lay beside him until Steve had gone fully to sleep, and then slipped out from beside him to pad quietly downstairs and out to look for the others. Less Barton and more Stark, considering the latter was the one who seemed most at risk for falling apart without an eye on him, but he wouldn't complain if it was Barton he came across. If he were going to be fighting with these people, he needed to learn more about both of them.

As Clint had wisely gone to bed himself, Bucky would have to do a lot of searching to find his compatriot in depression. Tony was no where in the four buildings surrounding the little square that Steve had started to clean out for their use. Luckily, the lights in the higher windows of the skiff were glowing a blazing gold in the darkness and gave Stark's position away.

He was two hours into his self taught language classes and when Bucky arrived, the engineer looked up in mild surprise.

"I was pretty sure you were going to be down and out," he said, not really knowing or caring that Bucky had once been a boxer. He himself dabbled. Poorly. He tried too hard to get the upper hand and too hard to out think his opponent rather than feel it. That was why Happy had stopped trying to get Tony to win and mostly get him to stay in shape. Hand to hand combat would never be his forte. "Or a little...uh...drooly for the rest of your life. Guess this is the one case where downing the aspirin bottle was actually worth it?"

Tony, being the observant kind of guy he was, might notice that Bucky moved just a little differently now. He still had the grace of a predator and the wariness of someone who expected an attack at any moment, but the absolute precision had softened slightly and there was more personality in both his movements and expression.

"Yeah, I remember most of it now."

That's the good and the bad, but he doesn't need to spell it out. Bucky picks a chair nearby and sinks down into it, glancing around at the work that Tony has already started on with approval.

"What are you working on?"

It was good to keep busy, an even better sign that Tony might manage to find a way to heal was that he was keeping busy even with nobody standing over his shoulder to make sure he didn't just wallow.

"Asgardian," Tony said, only looking up a moment longer. Bucky's road to recovery was great, really, but he didn't care too much. He'd had his little hissy fit in the jungle and one at the camp but now he was back down to business. He could compartmentalize the rest. He had to do it anyway. His mind was all he had in life and if he let it get to the point where he was like Bucky, then they'd better just put him down and deal with the consequences of losing his genius.

So he'd been forced to do some pretty horrible things. He'd also not been forced to do some pretty horrible things that he did all on his own so why the hell worry about it now? He could be guilty later, after he figured out a way to save the world and destroy their invaders. And he would too, as soon as he got over how many words for Honor there were. Every little thing had it's own honor scale to it. It was annoying. Tony hated them even more.

"I want to be able to tell my clone that he can eat shit in his own language before I actually make him do it." Maybe acceptance wasn't so good for Tony...

Maybe someone shouldn't have told him about revenge. He was taking it too much to heart.

"How about you? Cal know you're back to walking and talking like a real boy again?"

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