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[ It's Tuesday in Avengers Tower.

A lot of the particulars of this arrangement had gone over his head, given that he'd been all but catatonic from shock and exhaustion through half of it (turns out using the Cube for a major temporal displacement actually took a lot of energy from the bearer, in this case him) but it seemed to include a lot of shouting and posturing while he'd suffered a fatal disconnect over which Steve he was supposed to back up, the tiny angry one or the big angry one. But the gist of it, explained by Howard Stark's son, is this: the Tesseract fucks with time, and sometimes deigns to answers wishes. Even those not spoken out loud. One flash of blue light later it had dumped all four of them here in the future in some kind of 'temporal bubble,' whatever the fuck that was, and it's keeping them here indefinitely.

Stark promises he's working on fixing it, but the future has things like inhalers and endless amounts of hot water, so there's that. Bucky's not in any big freaking hurry to head back to the war front in any case, even if being stuck here means staring at the frankly terrifying person who is supposedly future-him, or one possible version of future-him.

They're all under what's effectively house arrest in Stark's future robot building, given leave to go wherever they want in the Tower. They've all got their own bedrooms, their own kitchens, even their own floors if they want them, but Bucky had shown up at younger Steve's door at first opportunity and hadn't left him since.

(Part of him thought that maybe, maybe he should be throwing in with the other one, the older one with shadows under his eyes and a look on his face like someone had just kicked him in the stomach, the one Bucky remembered from Europe, but stress had brought on one of Stevie's attacks and Bucky couldn't leave him alone for that.)

He'd been kicked out eventually, though, told to go do his worrying and hovering somewhere else and take his stupid glowing alien box with him, which meant that Steve wanted some space to be upset in peace and that was fine, that was all fine, Brooklyn Steve didn't really know him since he'd been taken off to the camp and. Yeah. He's different. He's killed a lot of people since then, has watched his best friend waffle between science experiment, propaganda darling and one man army with maybe 10% of the training he needs to do the jobs they've got him doing. He's got a glowing alien box that always comes back to him, no matter how he tries to get rid of it. It bothers Steve that he's different. Not a one of them really know each other right now.

He drifts into the kitchen out of lack of anything better to do, still dressed in yesterday's clothes because he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep while Steve rasped in the bed next to him, mechanically opening cabinets and going through drawers, staring in something like hopeless frustration at the array of supposed edibles. The packages are all brightly colored and there are three kinds of everything, all declared to be low-fat or pure organic or a good source of vitamin whatever, like it wasn't possible for a guy to just get milk anymore without having to make some kind of choice about it. The labels are in every kind of language possible, of which he can only read three with his fragmentary French, Italian, and German. There's butter, more than he knows what to do with, and real meat, impossibly fresh, and the house robot has told him that if there's anything he wants that isn't there, he just has to ask for it and it'll be delivered.

All he wants is a goddamn loaf of bread and some cheese to make a sandwich, jesus. ]

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[ WELL IF YOU'RE GOING TO FEED HIM he takes a delicate bite, lipping at Steve's fingers and being obnoxious about it. ]

You the sandwich police now?

Maybe I don't believe you.

[ Maybe, more like he sure as hell doesn't believe him. Steve grabs another piece and holds it up, rolling his eyes. ]

You didn't actually eat.

Maybe I shouldn't, if that means I'm gonna get the royal treatment here.

[ The next piece gets pushed straight into his dumb mouth at the last word and Steve stops feeding him, because jerks don't get fed. ]

If you make a sandwich, I'll eat some.

[ slkf chokes. he bats Steve's hand away. ]

That right?

Some.

[ He finishes off the rest of the apple but offers Bucky the last piece. ]

Cut it into quarters.

Alright, alright.

[ He plucks the last slice from Steve's fingers and sticks the whole thing in his mouth, grinning around the peel like he used to do when they were kids before chewing it up. ]

You want the crusts off, too?

[ Steve rolls to his feet with an unsteady little motion, tugging one of his socks up from where it falls down a bony ankle. ]

Dealer's choice.

[ He heads into the kitchen first, right back to where he started on feeling like he's out of his fucking league. ]

[ Bucky follows along, squashing down the urge to pin Steve up against the counters and instead reaching over the top of him, locating plates. ]

There's ham in here somewhere, I think.

I think it was in the right drawer.

[ Steve slips around him, heading into the fridge to start digging for sandwich meat, only to pause. ]

Should we ask the others if they want one?

[ Mainly the other Bucky, but the other Steve, too. ]

[ Ah. Awkward.

He tenses up visibly and immediately, cutting a dark look towards the entrance of the kitchen like Steve might have summoned something by mentioning the others, and then deliberately rolls out his shoulders, playing for casual. ]

I think they know how to get their own sandwiches.

[ it's not older steve he's worried about, of course. it's the other one. ]

Lookit you, all twitchy.

[ Steve casts the door a glance all the same, fishing out the materials they need to make a sandwich. He snags a few tomatoes, endlessly stunned by how it's just that easy, having all of this here. ]

He's you, you know. Same as that other fella is me.

He's not me.

[ he's seen the way that thing moves, the way its gaze tracks motion (the way its gaze tracks Steve). that's not him. that's not him, even at his worst. ]

You need to be careful of him.

[ Yeah, okay, pal. Steve doesn't argue it, because he doesn't want to admit that it's possible any more than Bucky probably does. It's bad enough these things happened once to Bucky, but whatever else happened to him made him jumpy, uneasy - more than this Bucky is. ]

You wouldn't hurt me.

[ he bites his lip, hesitating fatally. This is another conversation he hasn't been able to bring himself to start. Steve already knows that he spooks at loud noises, gets up in the night to pace. He doesn't know about how the Cube whispers to him, makes it hard to remember where he is or what he's doing. ]

I wouldn't, you know I wouldn't.

[ there's a 'but' on the end of that, though. ]

[ There's no but in this. Steve steps right into Bucky's space, pushing everything out of his hands so he can grab both of them and squeeze, tight for just one moment. ]

I know you. I've known you for forever, jerk, and I know you wouldn't hurt me.

[ he stares down at him, helpless. ]

Dogs don't always mean to bite, either, but they got teeth.

You know what your ma would've said about worrying about stuff that hasn't even happened yet.

[ Steve takes Bucky's hands and leads them to the sandwich fixings, patting them once they're there, and goes to finish grabbing what they need. He snags two plates, setting them off to the side, and starts slicing one of the tomatoes carefully. ]

[ oh that's a low blow, buddy. ]

And your ma woulda told you to listen to me cos you weren't born with the sense God gave a horse.

[ angrily makes a sandwich!! ]

[ He's not taking it back. Steve huffs out a breath at the accusation, not denying it, and starts passing him sandwich fixings. ]

Don't know what you want me to say, we barely have any sense between us, but I still know you wouldn't hurt me.

[ Ugh. Bucky cuts off the crusts, as promised, and absently starts piling high a second second sandwich. He's got nothing on older Steve when it comes to appetite, but he's changed. He doesn't notice the hunger as much now until it creeps up on him and blindsides him. ]

And I'm saying that guy? That ain't me. I don't think that guy even knows his own name half the time, much less yours.

[ He's never called his future self by his name. It's 'that guy,' or 'him,' or anything Bucky can get away with to disassociate. ]

I'm saying that guy is you.

[ There's a difference, small as it is. Steve takes the first sandwich with a sigh, hefting himself up gingerly onto the counters. His Ma woulda had a fit about it, but well, sitting on the counters isn't doing a thing here where everything is shiny steel and marble. ]

Did either of them tell you what happened to him?

[ shortly, ]

They told me enough to know he ain't safe. He's a ticking bomb.

Edited 2014-11-03 07:12 (UTC)

He isn't -- you aren't that.

[ He's on the edge of being pissed, now, hands fisted tight, shoulders angled tight, braced up like he's ready for a fight. ]

[ goddammit steve ]

Well I would know, wouldn't I? Better 'n anyone else here.

[ he sounds spiteful and petty even to his own ears, and half turns away from steve like he knows that's a low thing to say. ]