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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It was a great opportunity.

If Steve could continue being allowed to spend time with Bucky privately, if he could break his programming or, at the very least, convince him to be loyal to Steve instead of Thor, then they might stand a chance of arming themselves and getting some people out. Or, more sensibly, setting up some kind of covert operation to smuggle people out and to safety... if they could figure out where an 'out' could be found.

The Soldier didn't warn Steve that he had poured water from the jug used for bathing, that wasn't his place and he took the goblet offered to him without complaint, though he didn't actually drink any of it.

"I don't want anything, except to be friends with you."

That's probably the least comforting declaration of intended friendship ever, issued more like a threat.

"I want to be friends with you too, pal. I'm pretty sure we'll get there too." Steve took a long drink of from the goblet before he spit it out as the detergent inside burned his tongue. It wasn't dangerous, it just tasted foul. He looked at the water and at the mess on the scattered furs and wrinkled his nose. "First rule of friendship-- tell your friend when they're about to do something stupid."

Thor would be out all evening but Fandral's personal slave would be sent in with food and smiles for the two Midgardians. She had yet to see raw slaves up close and so, sassy and redheaded with hair to her waist, she couldn't help but lean a little into Steve as he took the tray from her in an attempt to be gracious.

"You smell funny!" she declared. "You should try a bath. I'll draw you one."

"Uh... No no. You don't really need to do that..." But she flipped a hand at him and Steve just let her finish. Her speach was so... Modern. He didn't understand this world at all. But when she left, they had hot food and hot water and the detergent he hadn't swallowed to wash with.

It was the best he'd been treated yet.

The Soldier was used to the other slaves by now. At the start they had looked at him with something approaching awe and admiration, as if he were a hero, but that had worn off now. They had come to see that he wasn't the spirit of their heroic James brought back from Valhalla, but just someone with his face who their prince had taken in to try and help like the generous person he was.

She ignored him and he ignored her, at least as far as conversation went, but he watched her intensely the whole time she stood within arm's length of Steve. He waited until she had gone before speaking again.

"What are the other rules of friendship?"

That was useful, that there were rules to it that he could follow, it would make it much easier. He stripped off his tunic and gave Steve his first look at the metal arm and the horrific scarring around his shoulder where it connected to skin.

"You should bathe with me, I have seen the Prince and his friends do that."

Maybe Steve shouldn't have said rules. Obviously the guy was going to fixate on that like he did with orders. But then again, Steve could really try to help him out here. He could make him see that Thor was the enemy, that the people here were worth protecting, and he could get his best friend back. Not that it was really ideal to figure all of this out through a massive alien invasion on Earth but he'd take what he could get now that he had no way of taking it back.

"Uh okay, well the second rule is to always have the other guy's back. I have to be able to trust you right? Not just to warn me if I'm about to do something stupid, but to get me out of a jam in other ways." It was what Thor had also mentioned. Loyalty. Trust. Marks of friendship but also subservience. Then again, the other James had been someone of great importance to Thor so it might go both ways in that instance.

He was trying to come up with a third rule when Buck mentioned bathing.

"Used to do that too. When there wasn't enough water or we came up to a stream on the woods. All the guys would strip down. But I guess it's a little bit like bonding. Fellas can have some good clean fun getting good and clean. So sure." Steve was willing to try anything. He pulled off his clothes, which really had seen better days, and climbed into the massive tub. The steaming water was miraculous and eased all the tension in his shoulders. He wasn't sure how it stayed so hot but he didn't really need to understand it to enjoy it.

Magic was generally the answer to anything like that. Though it wasn't something that the Soldier was familiar with, magic not really existing on earth (or, at least, nowhere that he had ever seen), he had accepted the existence of it without question. It was just a thing that was, nothing to get upset over. He slipped into the water alongside Steve and leaned back against the side of the tub, though he didn't quite relax as much as the other man did.

Trust, however, was a stupid rule.

He couldn't trust Steve, he had been taught never to trust anyone. A good assassin was always looking for the knife in the shadows, and the traitor in their midst, he couldn't give himself over like that. But he could emulate it, and so he nodded his head slowly.

After a few moments, he drifted across the tub and reached down to cup Steve boldly in his flesh hand and began rubbing him. He had seen the prince do this with his friends also, he assumed that sexual intercourse was probably a bonding method and he had his orders...

A nice warm bath. Heated metal to lay his arms over. A sort of strategy to get them out of here that hopefully wouldn't take too long or ruin poor Tony and Clint too deeply. That might no longer be able to be helped, however. Steve would worry about them, but his responsibility was to Bucky first. They hopefully would understand that.

He was about to tell Bucky that another rule of friendship was respect and he even had an entire speach about respect laid out, but then the unthinkable happened.

Steve's head snapped up and his abdomen drew inward. "Buck--". He was supposed to call him James but right now? Nope.

It had been three weeks after Steve's mom died. He'd gotten a really bad chest cold and Bucky, as always, came over to try and make sure he ate something and kept warm. It was freezing and so he'd started the shower just so it would be warm in at least one room. Steve had spent an hour trying not to be upset but he'd ended up crying on Bucky's shoulder... They'd touched that night. Touched in a way that they shouldn't even touch themselves, and Steve had forced Bucky to go almost after it was over. They didn't speak for a few weeks. And then Bucky had a string of new girlfriends.

So could this be.... Could this be a memory?

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. "Whatcha doing, pal?"

Even though Steve's body language indicated that he should maybe back off, the Soldier didn't hesitate for a moment. He had seen what brought others pleasure in this area, even though he couldn't imagine finding pleasure in this act from some vague memories of what had been done to create him in the first place, and he knew what to do in order to bring him to hardness.

"This is how friends bond with one another."

It wasn't a memory.

Nothing so touching as that, more a violation of what that fumble in the darkness that had never been spoken about had meant to them both. It just wasn't done back then, and Bucky had been scared that he had lost Steve forever, thankful just to have it swept under the rug and forgotten.

"I have been ordered to be friends with you, and so to further that aim we'll have intercourse."

Not a memory. The glimmer of hope that had filled such perfect blue eyes dissolved at once and Steve plunged his hand into the water to keep Bucky from moving. "Friends-- Friends don't do this. This is for something special. You do this when you love someone, James. We aren't... We aren't going to do anything but have a bath, okay? This isn't how you make friends."

Steve was trying not to be flustered. He was trying not to be mean about it but he also needed Bucky to back down immediately. Thankfully, the lack of sweetness to the act softened Steve up right away. There was no reason for Bucky to touch him now since Steve was showing how obviously uninterested he was.

"Can you get me the soap, Buck?" It was hard to keep his voice steady. He felt like crying but he could never. Not in front of Bucky. Not in front of this person who might never remember him. This almost sullied his memories of his friend, this crude gesture. And that hurt too.

That wasn't how he had seen the interactions go with Thor and his friends, but he couldn't deny that he felt a tiny sliver of relief as he backed off from Steve without pushing the issue. If this wasn't how to make friends in this particular instance, then he wasn't going to force it.

"Why are you upset?"

He reached behind for the soap and handed it over obediently, but his eyes were fixed intensely on Steve's own as if searching for answers just out of reach. He didn't know how he could tell that Steve was upset, or even why he cared enough to ask, but he just... did.

This not understanding himself was getting frustrating, anger bubbling beneath the surface and getting ever closer to a boiling point.

"Because I really miss you," he said truthfully, gazing at the bottle Bucky handed him before he squirted some of the liquid into his hands. It lathered nicely and smelled like flowers. He rubbed some into his skin, turning slightly away from Bucky as he did so. "I'm not upset with you, though. It's nothing they anyone can help right now, but we're going to keep trying and maybe one day you'll remember me. And if not... Then we can become new friends."

But that wouldn't be the same.

Steve rinsed off and climbed out of the tub quickly. He didn't want to get away from Bucky so much as he did the situation. It was hard to hide the hurt, even if Bucky didn't remember him. Maybe his eyes were too expressive. Maybe Bucky had been trained to read emotions. Steve wasn't going to focus on that because he wasn't going to let himself hope that it was an inkling of a memory.

"Thor doesn't touch you like that, does he?" Steve wasn't sure why he had to know.

What could be do about it?

"No."

He had been expecting that he would, truthfully, when he had seen how the man had taken others of both his employ and his companions to bed. But perhaps he did not want to bed a weapon, he wouldn't be the first handler to think that would be disgusting. But if he had wanted to, then he wouldn't be the first handler to do that either.

"But I know what to do, other handlers have shown me how."

Is that what Steve was concerned and upset over? He thought that the Soldier wouldn't be able to adequately give him enough pleasure? Surely it couldn't be what he said-- how could he miss someone, especially when he was right there in front of him not to miss?

The look on Steve's face was nothing short of horrified. "Ah, Bucky, I'm... I'm so sorry. You should never have to..." He could rage now. He could tell Bucky about how wrong it was, but it would do no good and it was only how he knew to be. It wasn't fair to tear him down when he was following orders. And when he didn't know any better.

Bucky was like a child in that respect. He was fully moldable and evidently willing to follow any directive given by someone who he thought of as his handler.

He glanced away. "When I do something like that, it has to be with someone I love and who loves me back. It's cant just... I don't want it any other way. So it's not you." He wasn't sure if that was what prompted Bucky. Or if he thought he would get in trouble for being refused. "We're still working on being friends, right? For people like me, you have to be real good friends before any of that happens. Good enough friends to get married."

And that could never happen right? So they were both off the hook.

The Soldier never usually asked questions of his own initiative, it was often a sign that he needed to be wiped again when he did, for no matter how much they tried there would always be these tiny fragments of Bucky determined not to die. Those were waking up more and more not that he was with Steve again.

"Why did you defect?"

He pulled himself out of the bath and sat on the edge, unashamed of his nakedness but not trying to be alluring either, just watching Steve.

"I remember you, we must have worked together for a long time, but now-- why did you defect?"

All of this stuff about Brooklyn, it wasn't true. Even just thinking about it made his head pound and him kind of want to drive his fist into Steve's face for it.

Bucky wouldn't be the first or last person who wanted to punch him and it might even be considered an achievement that he had not. Steve watched him from the water, eyes on eyes a little muddier in their blue, brown rims around the pupils. Steve knew Bucky's eyes pretty well and seeing him now made him drink in the image. Not that of an alluring friend to whom he once had an unspeakable attraction to, but someone whose image should be burned in his mind forever.

He had no idea how long they had. He had no idea if either would survive until morning. So he wanted to remember these little moments while he could.

"I didn't defect," Strve said carefully for hope would only burden the conversation and possibly make Bucky retreat. "I told you why you might remember me." And even a smidge of a memory meant that some part of Bucky lurked behind those sapphire eyes. "I was part of the US Army. I put my plane down in the water to keep a lot of bad people from getting something." That and he had little choice. "But I never defected from my country, Buck."

He had no idea that it was HYDRA that controlled Bucky. No idea thst HYDRA still existed either. There was a red star on Bucky's shoulder after all. That spoke Red to him. Not Nazi.

The star had come later, after he had been coopted by the Soviet branch of HYDRA for his training, but it had always been the Nazis that started him off. He didn't move from his position at the edge of the water, legs dangling in, but his eyes seemed to grow even more intense. Like something was crackling through the ice on the surface.

"But I remember standing next to you and holding a gun."

Not something that Steve said, but a real and honest memory. It's like a snapshot, a non-moving picture of two men in brown uniforms, one of them holding a sniper rifle. Him. They're obviously on the same team.

"Why would I have been fighting under your command if you were never HYDRA? And why would you be imprisoned if you'd never defected from HYDRA?"

HYDRA.

Steve felt like a deer in headlights for a moment. That meant that Bucky hadn't fallen from the train and been defrosted like he was by the Russians. He'd been picked up very early on after his fall. By HYDRA. HE couldn't swallow passed the lump in his throat and it left him standing up, never mind his nakedness.

"We served in the US Army together. You were real good at rifles, a great sharp shooter. We ran a few missions together, once I got out of basic training and found you in Italy." He was desperate for Bucky to see more than just a moment in time. More than just the two of them standing together, but he would take what he could get.

Steve leaned against the rim of the tub. Leaned towards Bucky, not exactly crowded him, but filled with excitement.

"No."

He didn't often refuse people, or argue back, but he couldn't help it. Glaring at Steve Rogers as if he were an enemy instead of someone that he had been ordered to befriend, ready to leap for him in a moment.

"You're wrong, I've never been in the army. I'm a weapon, I'm the Asset, that's all."

He hated this, it was like a bug burrowing under his skin and laying eggs, it made him want to claw his damn skin off and fight his way out of this whole situation, back to where things were safe and made sense. Where all he had was orders, and he didn't need to think or feel.

"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.

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