dappered | (no subject)

(no subject)

[ 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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ he's immediately self-conscious the second steve's wandering gaze lands on his arm, and his right hand rises to cover the red star before he can think to stop it. shame burns through him something fierce, the bitter taste of bile rising to the back of his throat. he hadn't realized, hadn't remembered to stuff himself into layers of loose fabric to hide the garish scar that is his entire body after hydra broke it in.

steve talks idly about sleeping and now, it's the absolute last thing he wants. he doesn't need to see how this thing was sewn into him again. ]

I don't - no thank you.

[ manners, barnes. he should go, leave steve alone to his - are those just crackers? the hell, rogers. ]

You need to eat more than that, if you're gonna put any meat on those bones.

[ they're not his words, not really, though they used to be once upon a time. he frowns at steve's hands, tightens his arm across his chest. this is too difficult. he should've stayed in his - the room that they keep saying is his. ]

[Steve catches that reaction, knows exactly what it means. He remembers folding his arms across a too-narrow chest years ago when Bucky insisted on helping him with a sore shoulder. The curve of his spine could be hidden under a shirt, but how he'd worried that it was too noticeable without one. And it's no doubt that Bucky saw, had thoughts and feelings about those things, but he never made Steve feel ashamed of them.

It's his turn now, and the soldier's name forms on his lips, but it's halted when Bucky goes on to criticize his saltines.]

Sure, why don't I just go find out what that other me had for supper and eat that. Or maybe I'll find a spare bottle of that serum lying around.

[The worst part is, he'd probably drink it. Steve lowers his head, brow drawn and mouth working until he finally spits out his confession. It isn't easy.]

Most of the stuff here has microwave directions on it. And I don't know how to use one.

[ there might be something funny about the situation - steve, the most mentally put together and objectively least traumatized of the bunch, and him, the guy that could stop a speeding bus from killing him on collision, yet they're both so hopelessly out of their depth in this place. it could be funny.

but instead, they're both just ... drowning under inadequacies in comparison to their other selves. bucky barnes is a functioning human being and captain america is so much more than that. they got a few things in common. ]

I could help.

[ he could - he could be there for him the way he used to be. he knows how to use a microwave. or he can figure it out. whatever it takes to be useful to steve again, in some small measure. ]

[It's so hard to accept that help, it doesn't matter how freely offered it is. Steve keeps his eyes lowered until he makes a decision, and then he squares his shoulders, lifts his chin, and stands.

It only takes him a minute to choose one of the small, square meals from the freezer, frozen as solid as a brick. He brings the lasagna over and places it on the table in front of Bucky.]

Show me.

[He just needs to see it once and he'll learn, he'll never be bested by that particular bit of technology ever again.]

[ it's a directive, if not an outright order, which makes it easy to oblige from a place of submission over superiority. this isn't knowing something better than steve, it's using his abilities to better serve him. it's not - not quite right, but it's close enough to helping, which is all he really wants.

he picks up the box and reads it first, in every language printed on the paper wrapping, before tearing it open. a knife appears in his hand from basically nowhere, a makeshift roughshod thing that would only really do any damage if he hit an artery ( which he could, with ease, from across the room ). he's just about to stab the plastic wrapping over the top relentlessly when he remembers this is for steve, it's to teach him.

he holds out the knife to him without a single waver to his hand. ]

Wanna do the honors?

[ he pokes the plastic with a flesh finger, mimicking where to cut holes. ]

[Steve's watching, absorbing every detail as if his life depends on it. He wouldn't rule that out. Frozen lasagna feels like it has more of a place in his future than tights, if he's honest.

He blinks when Bucky offers him the knife, taking it with agile fingers that are far more accustomed to holding a pencil.]

Right there?

[Steve presses a finger against the plastic film, feels a little bit of give before he grips the knife tightly, poking it until there's a sharp pop.]

Again?

[And he does it again, and again, slowly but with purpose, and somewhere Stark and Barton are probably watching a video feed of this and trying to figure out what the hell is going on.]

[ they're watching the world's first duckling assassin. everyone will aww to death. he smiles just a little, raises his hand to ruffle steve's hair on instinct - then stops abruptly once he realizes what he's doing and moves to take the knife instead. ]

Good.

[ he'll just. tuck it back into whatever mystery hiding place he got it from, the grab the box of food, and move to the microwave. ]

This opens the door.

[ presses in on the button, tosses the food inside, closes it. ]

The numbers are in minutes by default. This one has to cook for five.

[ hits the five and stares as the microwave starts humming and turning the food, hands hanging at his sides clenching in and out of fists as he tries to figure out why the hell he almost touched steve's head. he won't, not ever, not with fingers that will leave bruises on steve's skin in the distant future. past? none of this makes any sense. but he still won't let himself make that mistake again. ]

[Steve stops, brows knitted briefly. They'd do that sometimes when Bucky ruffled his hair, depending on his mood. This time they do it because he stopped.

He nods to show that he's still listening, even if he's a little distracted now by what it all means.]

Just five minutes? My old stove wasn't even warmed up after five minutes.

[Five minutes, it wouldn't even be boiling water to start cooking. Steve stands at the assassin's side, watching his meal go around and around inside the microwave. It's almost enough to make him queasy.]

So where did you learn how to use a microwave?

[What, you thought he wouldn't ask?]

[ we hoped he wouldn't ask. but of course he does, because the little shit never knew how to leave well enough alone. he keeps his eyes on the food turning, says plainly: ]

Mission.

[ no point in lying, not to steve. he didn't know how to brush his own teeth before the older steve showed him, but he knows how to hold a man down and jam a fork into the door to make a microwave think the door is closed. it was supposed to look like a suicide and to everyone but hydra, it was. his nose wrinkles in disgust. ]

It was messy.

[ the only detail on the matter forthcoming. he presses the button to open the door again when the timer reads 2:30, pulls it out with his left hand so he can't feel the heat and peels off the plastic with the right. ]

Gotta stir it halfway.

[ homecooking after casual mention of brutal murder: the winter edition. ]

[Mission. Steve repeats the word to himself, puzzling out the exact meaning of it here, knowing what he does about Bucky, and all the blanks that are slowly being filled in.]

You killed a man in the same thing that you're cooking my dinner in?

[Well not the exact same one, but it might as well be given how quickly Steve loses his appetite. But he knows that Bucky was under someone else's control, used, and at that moment he's a ball of tiny righteous rage wishing to be pointed at the nearest Hydra base and/or operative. His voice is tight, fists balled at his sides.]

Halfway, got it.

[ the anger in steve's voice startles him into looking sharply at him, eyes wide - lost a little, maybe, if only because he doesn't know how to be angry about it like this. it didn't happen to him, he did it, his hand is the one that took their lives. he doesn't feel anger. he feels guilt. ]

Sorry.

[ for mentioning it, for - everything, really. he frowns and drags his gaze away, looks at the food going cold on the counter; his hands settle on staying clenched into fists. ]

I can go.

No!

[And that snaps him out of it, makes him panic a little. Steve has this fear that if Bucky leaves, he'll never see him again, and he doesn't believe it's entirely irrational. His fists become hands again, slender fingers reaching for Bucky's wrist. Flesh or metal, he doesn't even care.]

Don't go.

[Quieter this time. After a moment he picks the lasagna up, puts it back in the microwave and presses start the way Bucky showed him. Bucky doesn't need to be redeemed, not in Steve's eyes. Just reclaimed.]

[ that makes it twice, now, that steve's surprised him. he can't feel the slender fingers on his wrist beyond the slightest pressure in the sensors, wishes he could tell if they were warm or cold, if they shake with fear.

from the look in his eyes, he'd guess not.

it doesn't make sense. steve must not be mad at him, but - he should be, or disgusted at least. he just confessed to microwaving a man's head, for fuck's sake, and steve just. just keeps him close anyway. it doesn't many any goddamn sense.

but he doesn't pull away, not this time. steve said it explicitly, 'don't go,' and he doesn't - he wishes he didn't feel like he has to, like he should. he swallows confusion that sticks in his throat and watches as the food starts turning again. his hands stay in fists, to keep himself from reaching out for steve the way steve did for him, until the microwave beeps. ]

Careful. It'll be hot.

[ his voice comes even more gravelly than usual, this time from constriction rather than disuse. he coughs once to try and clear it. ]

Yeah, I figured it might be.

[One corner of Steve's lips threatens to tug up, because of course anything that would cook a lasagna in five minutes would be hot. He presses the button that opens the door, remembers that he needs a fork - he grabs two. He finds a pot holder to get it out with, and all of this he tries to juggle without letting go of Bucky's wrist.

He's not coordinated, so even simple tasks end up harder than he should be. But it's the end result that matters, not how you start the day, but how you finish it, and he finally tows Bucky back to the table, gets everything else there too, before tugging another chair closer. Sorry about your scuffed floors, Stark.]

Now for the real test. Let's see how it tastes.

[Steve places a fork down beside the assassin before sitting down.]

[ he stands there mostly uselessly as steve moves around the kitchen, following the tug of his fingers as needed, caught between wonder at the continued contact and some baseless leftover pride at how stubborn steve is, doing all this with one hand. if nothing else, at least now he has no room to question whether or not steve really meant it when he told him not to go.

it's almost nice, feeling kept like this. the fork, however, makes him frown at steve. ]

It's for you.

[ that was the point, cooking dinner for him. there wasn't a 'let's' calculated into that equation. robot cannot compute. ]

[Yeah, he knew that was coming.]

We've been splittin' sandwiches since we were seven.

[And even then, Bucky always insisted on giving him the bigger half. But half a sandwich with Bucky always tasted better than a whole sandwich to himself.]

And your face will freeze like that if you keep it up. C'mon already, this thing doesn't smell half bad.

[ he doesn't remember it the same way. might be he just doesn't remember it right, 'cause that happens a lot, but - he remembers having food, and steve not having food, and knowing that wasn't right. he wasn't gonna leave it at that. he gave steve his fill before ever thinking about eating his own, which meant going without sometimes, and that was okay. it was all okay, because that was right.

must be here, too. steve ain't the only one with a stubborn streak a mile long. ]

Only if you take the first bite.

[ as if to emphasize the point, he childishly pushes the little tray an inch or so closer to steve. ]

[Most of them were definitely Bucky's sandwiches, and Steve's pride and hunger fought about that more than once, not to mention Bucky's stubbornness and Steve's stubbornness.

They're having a minor battle now, eyes locked on each other, Steve's birdlike shoulders squared up when Bucky pushes the lasagna closer. But he finally picks up the fork, cuts a little bite and blows the steam away before putting it in his mouth.

He chews slowly, brows pulling together but the exact verdict hard to guess. Until he speaks, anyway.]

I guess most of the flavor got cooked out around the fourth minute or so.

[But he gives Bucky a mischievous smile and keeps eating, because his criticism is only half-serious. And anyway, food is food and he's not about to waste it. He nudges Bucky's chair out with his foot.]

[ satisfied that steve is eating ( score one for barnes, his younger self can thank him later ), he sits down and picks up the fork left out for him. he's always hungry, even though he's only just now learning to identify the constant aching as such, but he wants to be careful about how much he eats if they're sharing a meal.

-- they're sharing a meal. he does this with steve sometimes, the older one, out of habit and because sometimes it's the only way steve can get him to eat, but he's sharing a meal with this steve, the one in his head that he ( and some hydra techs ) convinced himself wasn't real. couldn't be real, not for how weak his body was and how strong his soul. but they're eating together again, for the first time in seventy some odd years.

the lasagna tastes like shit and it's one of the best meals he's ever had. ]

I know how to use a microwave. I don't know shit about the food.

[ code for you chose this one, rogers, it's on you. he smirks just a little into his second bite, stomach rumbling for more food. something they all got in common, their inclination to eat. ]

[Steve huffs softly at that, cuts another bite and drags it through the tomato sauce that doesn't much taste like tomatoes. But it's warm, and it fills the hollow space inside of him. He's pretty sure that Bucky should actually get the credit for both.]

I guess we can figure that out together.

[He glances up at him as he takes the bite, and somewhere the younger Barnes is probably yelling about no way on God's green earth, but then the younger one will also know that Steve's going to do whatever he wants anyway. This is right. This feels right.]

Maybe you could tell me more about you too.

[ the idea of more meals together ( not a promise, he doesn't believe in those anymore ) is enough to stave off too much of the chill at his not-so-subtle inquiry; he shrugs a shoulder instead of immediately bailing. it's an improvement. ]

Dunno what you wanna hear. I know about as much as you do.

[ which is actually a little bit of a lie. steve at least knows who he used to be. he cuts at his next bite and shoots steve and furtive glance, the only real sign that he'll answer steve if he asks him something. ]

Is that my fault?

[He's been thinking about it, so he might as well come right out and ask it.]

Because from what I've put together, I get into the Army and I get big, become some kind of a hero. And you get to lose your memories.

[And his arm. Steve grips his fork, his knuckles turning white.]

It doesn't seem fair, and I just wanna know how I let that happen to you, Buck. Maybe if I know...if I can get back and somehow remember...maybe it doesn't have to happen.

[ his head snaps up and he stares in - in horror, really, the wide-eyed kind of fear that's become an old friend to him. it's what he's dreamt of most through all the years, no matter how long on or off the ice, no matter how many times they took it away from him.

there's a train, and he's falling, and every time, steve just barely misses him. the last time he heard his name for seventy years was on the anguished cry of his best guy thinking he'd failed him. and that - that's what scares him. ]

I never once blamed you.

[ he doesn't realize it's true until the words leave his lips, ragged and whispered like the world's most important secret. it sticks in his throat and he means it, even if this steve can't know that cold sting of winter the way they do. ]

Not ever. You - don't forget that. You save me.

[ present tense. he knows fuck all about changing the past or what's in the future, barely even has a grasp on now. but. it seems important to say. not ever. ]

[Bucky doesn't blame him, but that doesn't ease Steve's mind. Because of course Bucky wouldn't blame him. He could set him on fire and he probably wouldn't blame him for it. Loyalty or love...whatever it was, is, Bucky has it in spades.]

He saves you. I just make a mess and you follow me into it the way you always do. Somehow I know that.

[Steve lowers his head, but only briefly before he looks up, looks his oldest friend in the eye. He deserves that much.]

I'm sorry, Buck. It should've been me.

No.

[ the sharp rejection comes immediate, without hesitation, without a single second to think on it. no, it shouldn't've been him, not a chance. he wouldn't wish this on the men that did it to him, 'cause there's a thousand deaths kinder than the hell he's seen, and he'd live it all a thousand times more to keep steve on that train. take him home and let him be safe, no, not a goddamn chance.

but more than that, more than just steve's stubborn adamance to gives his all and more for some utopian ideal of better, he rejects the notion that he can only save him when he's got the serum in his veins and a shield on his back.

his guy's always been made of steel, always been the unyielding pillar for lesser men to lean on. even with the gaps in his memory, he knows this, and the fact that steve doesn't still makes him angry like it did in the dark corners of brooklyn. they're the same goddamn people, him and the steve sleeping down the hall, and they're both fucking idiots. ]

The war didn't make you a hero. You always have been.

[ no, he thinks, you save me every single day. ]