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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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?"

Bucky could have helped out and taught Tony some Asgardian, he had picked it up while working for Thor and his natural linguistic skills from the Soldier had allowed him to learn it rapidly. But he thought that the other man could use the distraction of teaching himself, it was a focus and a tangible goal, to complete it would probably give him a small sense of achievement and show him that he could still grow and succeed despite what had happened to him.

"Yeah, he knows."

Memories back or not, Bucky still wasn't a particularly talkative person and he didn't elaborate more than that. He just leaned back against the little workbench that he had chosen as a seat.

"I'll help you, if you want me to."

It wasn't the most gracefully made offer, but it was a genuine one. Not for offer of help with the language, but help on a level of friendship and support. Make sure Tony wasn't going off into the deep end and visa versa.

“I work alone,” Tony said, which just sort of came out of his mouth without much by way of filter. He didn’t glance up again, but he did pause with what he was doing, fingers hovering over a panel for a moment. “Look at what happened the last time I decided to join a group.” Now that made him smirk and he touched the raised keys to bring up more information. “But that said, no one with a metal arm has ever asked me to help. So yeah. I can use you. I need anything non-essential pretty much torn out of this thing. We have to make room for as many people as possible. Figure you and your boyfriend would be good with the heavy lifting?”

He could also make a few robots to do the deed but…why waste good labor that probably wouldn’t revolt unless their programming decided to return? In which case, Bucky would just go back to knuckle dragging and scowling.

No harm down in the long run. He might even work harder at striping the skiff.

“Maybe Cap can use some of it to play house with. We’re going to need to bring the refugees back here…and obliterate the coordinates and our trail back. Otherwise they’ll just destroy Earth.”

Bucky was more than prepared to help out with the heavy lifting where and when he could, the arm and the serum combined meant that he was a force to be reckoned with in the strength department, possibly even outstripping Steve in a straight contest. Though there were many other areas where Steve had the definite advantage.

He immediately bent down and hefted one of the smaller consoles that did nothing but regulate the sound system up and off its base.

"Don't call him that," it was a request rather than a warning, but it could change if Tony didn't listen. "It's disrespectful."

“Cap? Uh… That’s what we’ve been calling him. I’m not wasting time calling him Captain Rogers every single time I want his annoyingly blue eyes pointed in my direction.” What else had he said? Tony didn’t even notice. He said inappropriate things all the time, like trying to equate Clint to fantastical, relatable, and likeable archers like Robin Hood, Katnis Everdeen and Legolas Greenleaf. That was probably disrespectful to that trio too, but he stuck by it. Maybe Clint would one day reach their greatness.

Not likely on a terrible code name like Hawkeye, but what can you do? Some people have no taste.

“Will ‘Lunkhead’ or ‘Muscles for Brains’ work better? No! Rocket Pop! You know, red, white and blue on a stick? Did they have those things in the stone age when you guys grew up?”

Tony stood to duck under that now removed panel. Lots of good parts in there. He could get started on more armor.

Stark's incessant chatter was actually quite soothing in a way, it filled in the silences that Bucky still couldn't quite fill himself. He listened more than he talked, and it was comforting that someone wasn't intimidated enough by him to only speak in cautious hushed tones. This irreverence was good... up to a point.

"I don't know, but that's not what I'm talking about. Don't call him my boyfriend again, you hear me?"

He hadn't had quite the exposure to it being okay now that Steve had, but even if he learned that, it would be hard to erase the laws of his time and the Catholic guilt buried deep inside him. Besides, he knew that Steve would be offended by it, and that was what mattered here.

If he had been wearing his signature shades, Tony would be looking over the rims of them at Barnes right now, eyebrows lifted. Instead, he just tilted his head down and quirked a single eyebrow. "Wouldn't have taken you for homophobic. But I keep forgetting you guys grew up in the golden age of the nuclear family and the Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name."

Bucky was protesting too much. He'd called Bucky Steve's boyfriend a few times now and the blond didn't even bat an eye. But then again, Tony had been thinking that Steve wasn't too into the fairer sex. First the whole biting his tongue off rather than have sex with a woman thing. And then the whole muscle bound gym rat without a girlfriend... He'd never even had a girlfriend. And Tony knew that because Steve fed Bucky their life story constantly.

And looked at him as if he was all that mattered in the world.

Tony frowned. "Oh. Oh.. It's onesided. That makes sense. From what he told us all for months, you were quite the lady killer. That makes sense then."

Bucky knew it was entirely one-sided, he knew that Steve didn't return his affections, and that's why he had to step out with the women he had been expected to be with. Better to be free, closeted, and live next door to Steve to still have him in his life, than be hated and incarcerated for being a pervert. He didn't want Steve to figure it out even now, even with all the other things he had done, he didn't want that to come to light.

"I don't care what madness you're making up in your own head, you don't do it, understand? It's not respectful to joke about that sort of thing, especially not with a fella who doesn't dance to that tune."

He scrubbed his hand through his hair, looking more like the real Bucky of old in his awkwardness, than he had ever looked before.

"Give me your word, Tony. As pals."

Bucky's words were so very easily misconstrued as to being about Steve. He'd already thought Steve might be that way and Bucky's overt homophobia probably would keep him that way. And that was just so sad for Cap. Tony genuinely felt bad for him, to care so much for a guy stuck in a time that was only relevant to republicans.

"Hey. Dance to whatever tune you want. They're all pretty good. But I won't talk about your dance card if you have some issues with it." But as pals? That was strange to hear.

He went back to work.

He hadnt heard half of what had happened to Bucky but if he knew about the rapes during his conditioning, then he might understand why Bucky was so against the idea. Maybe he did have a little inkling though. Since Bucky bristled so intently.

"How about you start taking the furniture out of all he bedrooms? The boys might prefer real beds to whatever Cap flounced together in his Martha Stewart madness."

Bucky was grateful that Tony seemed to at least partially understand what he was getting at and agreed to stop it with the inappropriate jokes. He just didn't want to open that can of worms, Steve was all he had now, and he didn't want to lose him now that he had decided that he wanted to stay with him.

"Sure, I can do that. Thanks."

He turned and slopped out of the room to grab the first bed, easily lifting it up without any assistance, and got it out of the hatch and towards the main buildings. He'd work that way for the rest of the day, unless stopped, taking out all unnecessary but potentially useful things from the skiff and putting them into the main building. If this was going to be their base for the next few weeks, maybe even months, it had to be habitable.

Tony was thinking long term. It was something he made reference to when Clint announced that afternoon that I'd Bucky and Steve didn't stop racing to beat each other in the size of their piles of looted skiff remains and eat something, he wasn't cooking anymore. Sitting around the outdoor oven with the other three men, two shirtless and with three rippling biceps between them, gorging on rations, Tony laid it all out for them.

"If we go to Earth, they'll find us. They can even go back to our Earth in our dimension because their ship calculates absolutely everything. It's a problem. What I noticed is that this moon hasn't been inhabited in two thousand years so technically it's older than the bible." He mostly wanted to see Steve twitch. The blond didn't take the bait, he was just watching him with expectant eyes. No fun. "I can write a program that erases information of this place out of their navigation systems. As long as no one follows us, they'll have no idea where to look. And the place is pretty big. There's a hundred and fifty settlements like this one across the globe. And they're all set up like this too. Four or five multistory buildings around a center courtyard and surrounded by farm land overgrown by jungle."

"Uh. You want us to live here?" Clint wasn't pleased. "Listen man. I have to get home."

"There probably isn't a home left. And if there is, we can't lead them right back there," Tony scowled. "This is our best shot for a little while, okay?"

Bucky fully agreed with the sentiment that going back to Earth would be a terrible idea for the logical reasons laid out, though he also saw Clint's point of view. He obviously had someone or multiple someones that he cared about back there, and if it had been Steve there then Bucky wouldn't have rested.

"We can go back during the year."

He'd been thinking about this too, coming to much the same conclusions as Tony, though without the calculations or being able to erase this planet from anyone's navigation systems.

"I think the raid to rescue should be near the end of the year, to give proper time to plan, train, get weapons, and get reinforcements. I think we should take the skiff back to Earth soon and try to rescue anyone that can be rescued there, get materials and supplies, and come back here. We can then spend a few months in teams, depending how many we get - some focusing on reinhabiting this world and making it fit for us, some on fighting, some on building more skiffs or weapons. So when we go in, it'll be quick, brutal, and effective."

How awful was it that Tony Stark hadn’t once thought about ever returning to Earth? He scowled just a little, half in guilt and half in aggravation. “We had a few billion people on the planet when we left. Judging by the size of the ships in dock, maybe twenty thousand people from all across the planet were taken. Let’s say half the rest of the population was killed. We’re talking billions of people still left on Earth. Or little ship can take maybe five thousand at a time. My plan still requires as leaving over half of our people on that planet already. Even if we make dozens of trips to Earth, we aren’t going to be able to bring most of the people back with us.” He was pointing all of this out before Steve Rogers turned his hope filled, doe-eyes up at him. “So a few calculations. Let’s say each of these little settlements can hold roughly 500 people. We have 150 of them on this moon. That means that we have a capacity of seventy-five thousand people that we can bring here. Or, minus our one time pick up in the slave camp, seventy thousand people. Out of three to five billion.”

This wasn’t some great mass-exodus, the whole population couldn’t just go. Of course, no understood how unnecessary the rescue trip was at the end of the year. Asgard planned on taking the children and leaving the vast majority of the adults on the moon behind them to live out their lives however they saw fit, knowing that the warlike human race would end up dying out no matter how many resources they had available to them within two or three generations.

And they had no idea that Earth was currently a toxic wasteland either, countries deciding to wage war rather than ban together in the wake of the Asgardian culling.

“Who makes the choice on who gets to come? Because seriously? Not it.”

"There won't be that many left."

Bucky was unflinching in his assessment. He knew war, he knew what it did to countries that weren't prepared for it, he knew what would happen when the infrastructure of the planet just crumbled under the invasion of another force. True, he had mostly dealt with one country attacking another, but this still held true.

"There'll have been further fighting on Earth, there'll be disease rampant because of the damage and loss of infrastructure. People will have died of starvation, bad water, people not used to those conditions. I'd be surprised if at least one nuke hadn't gone off, triggered against the Asgardians even too late. If we get back to a planet of even a couple of million, I'd be surprised."

Maybe they couldn't bring them all, but they could do something. They could give hope that another world would continue on.

That assessment was sobering and Tony sat back against the low rim around the bench to do the calculations in his head. He had been in the weapon’s business for a long time. He knew how these things worked too, even if he buried his head in the sand. You can’t blame a bullet, he’d say, for a man being shot. And you can’t blame the man that made the bullet either. But could you blame the man that designed and smelted and engineered the first bullet ever? Without that, people wouldn’t have spent hundreds of years killing each other so efficiently.

“Nuclear payloads are tested all the time. Under controlled circumstances. With minimal environmental impact. But anywhere near a population center, or anything above the normal testing capacity… We could be going back to the start of a nuclear winter. Could be. If everyone is living all high on life though… I’m not responsible to making the choice on who goes and stays okay? I have enough on my conscience.”

Enough wars. Enough deaths. Tony stood and brushed his hands off.

“Give me two days and we can go.”

Clint actually gave a whoop…which was crazy. Tony didn’t know what the man had to live for.

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