(no subject)

[bottledblond]

Not every universe in the far and wide cosmos is as lucky (however unlucky itself that seems) to encounter Thanos during a time where people live who can do something about it. Steve Rogers, a particular version of Steve Rogers who had only just suffered through his first night of basic training in New Jersey as part of the Army’s Project Rebirth and thus had not yet become Captain America, bent to untie his shoes and saw his hands begin to disintegrate. He doesn’t panic, panicking is for people who do not live like every breath is their last. Instead, he blinks in surprise as the barracks fill with shouting. He has time to contemplate two things. One, he wishes he’d done more with his life. And two, he hopes Bucky will do all right.

He’s still thinking about that last issue when he exhales his last in a universe where Captain America never existed and finishes it bent over in the ruins of the barracks, roof half open to the sky and walls a burnt and ashy gray.

It takes him an hour to get to the road and by then, his asthma is already getting the best of him. He blacks out for the second time ‘that day’ and wakes up staring at the ceiling of what is obviously a hospital.

It just doesn’t sound or smell like a hospital. Sure. People are running around and yelling, but it smells painfully clean, artificially so, and there are machines he’s never seen before connected by wires to his body. He does the thing people should never do and yanks them loose. The machines squawk strangely and frantically and Steve is almost out of bed when two large men in green pajamas force him back.

Nothing makes sense to him for days. People come to talk to him, to find out who he is and who his family is. Evidently Steve Rogers is a popular name, because they bring in more people to talk to him, to ask him questions about his life, but no one has any answers.

He explodes, as he’s wont to do when frustrated, demands answers, but nothing they say makes sense.

By then, the war is over. Not World War II, which has evidently been over for over half a century, but this new war. And Bucky Barnes had been told of his presence. Steve is in bed, arms crossed, looking dour and getting an infusion of something that honestly is helping him breathe better when Bucky bursts into his now private room. It’s been two months

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[bottledblond]

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand before he pulls back and finally grabs the pizza. It’s still hot and greasy as hell, but he lets it drip for a moment before glancing around for the plates. Paper. Seriously?

He can’t help but roll his eyes as he tries to take just one and finally gives up, tilting his head back to take a bite of the slice.

He chews thoughtfully, not because it’s bad at all, but because of what Bucky’s said.

“What if we pick up where I left off? With Project Rebirth?” Steve still has so much fight in him.

[woundedwinter]

"I don't know if we can," he hedges. Steve should be spared the trauma of war and moving from one battle to the next, but it's not his decision to make.

"Erskine was killed. He took all knowledge of the serum with him. HYDRA pumped me full of a knockoff version, but it was never the same."

There were maybe one or two people who could connect the dots that Bruce started with his research, but tonight Bucky can't think that far ahead. "I can make some calls tomorrow, but people have been trying to replicate what Erskine did all those years ago and not figured it out."

He picks up his own pizza, grimacing at the grease on his gloves. Oh well. Good thing he's got a few dozen more back at his place.

"Can we.. just take it slow for a couple days? Get you settled in before I have to start chasing you into more fights?" Bucky is so tired, he needs at least a little calm first because naturally he'll follow Steve anywhere.

[bottledblond]

This is Bucky’s attempt to save him again. Steve already knows it and he already feels the need to lash out and exert his dominance over the situation.

But he can’t. They’ve kept him in the dark for two months, leaving him confused and alone and fighting for information first and foremost. And isn’t that a fight he needs to focus on?

“I’m sorry he was killed. He was a smart, brave man. I’d hoped to get a drink with him. Guess you’ll have to do,” Steve says and lifts his glass towards Bucky. “I’m real flat footed here. At a real disadvantage. I only just figured out that they shrunk down the cinema and you can have it in your home. And we evidently drive under rivers. There’s a lot you’ve got to catch me up on. Up for it?”

[woundedwinter]

He's gonna catch hell for trying to protect Steve but he can't help it. War changed and damaged them both and if he can spare him that, he has to try. He wouldn't be a good friend if he didn't.

"Yeah, yeah I'll get you up to speed," he promises. "Even bring around a few people who might be able to help." But only a few and only when he can stomach it.

[bottledblond]

Steve can catch the meaning from Bucky’s body language, but he plays it off simply by thinking that his sudden presence after being dead for five years might not play well with old friends he doesn’t even know anyway. Steve nods, finishing his slice and his beer.

He’s a lightweight when it comes right down to it, since alcohol post prohibition, the sort he could afford anyway, was still just as likely to make you blind or kill you, and he’d been too sick to add another adverse thing to his health. Given his weight and slight stature, the single beer has his head swimming pleasantly by the end of it and he indulges in two more slices, his smile widening as he grills Bucky on what happened to their neighborhood.

To hear that it had gone to the middle class is exciting. To hear about the rents these days leaves him breathless.

[woundedwinter]

Talking about the old neighborhood is so much easier, steering the conversation towards lighter and better topics. He puts away a couple more beers as they talk and laugh before getting the check.

This was the sense of peace he'd been longing for and Bucky takes a deep breath as they step back outside.

"There's an art store a couple blocks over. We can go by there sometime, get some more sketchbooks for you," he offers.

[bottledblond]

"There's a lot more to do than draw," Steve reminds him, once again putting his own skill on the backburner. He doesn't have the artistic personality, the obsessive need to create, but he is immensely talented. With Smithsonian exhibits dedicated to his art, one would think that Steve was more into it than he actually was.

Sketching passed the time. He'd been planning to go to art school because it was the only thing he was good enough at, and because you didn't need a real degree to work at a soda shop or anything like that.

That said, the guy's sketch book is nearly full. He'd has little else to do for two months, once all of the medication and treatments set in to make him feel almost healthy.

"But..." He thumbs a few smeared pages of the book still between them. "I am almost out of paper."

[woundedwinter]

"I know pal. There's a whole new world and you can do anything you want in it." Bucky would never dream about holding him back. "College, books, it's all out there."

He'd been dithering about school himself, but was never able to settle on a decision. Not while he was still trying to make amends.

The art store is filled with paper of every kind, pencils and pens and markers and Bucky can't make sense of any of it. So he hangs back and lets Steve pick out what he wants. Then it's a trip to the bodega to get some food to fill up his pitifully empty kitchen before they turn towards his place.

"It's not much, but it's secure and it's quiet," he offers as he opens the door. To say the place was sparsely furnished would be an understatement. A couch, a couple of chairs, a bed he can't sleep in and the television.

And he'd left his blankets in a pile on the floor.

[bottledblond]

The alcohol makes the overwhelming aspect of everything bearable. Though Bucky is a cash guy, the amount he leaves for the pizza is insane. And the people ahead of them at the check out counter in the art store, once Steve had gotten over the sticker shock of the most basic of supplies and assured that inflation had scaled up quickly in the last few decades, can use little plastic cards instead of cash. He has almost too many questions, but the swimminess does temper his thoughts down to a low simmer.

Bucky's encouragement has him fill two bags at the counter and he nearly has to grab his heart again before they leave.

Blank, bound up paper should not be twenty dollars. It just shouldn't.

He's still talking about it, and about the markers he'd lovingly selected in multiple shades of french grey, when they enter the apartment.

It's not much, Bucky says. "Pal...this is bigger than my old place," he says, and he hasn't even seen that there is a private bathroom yet. His tenement had everyone sharing that particular space, save for the tub which doubled a table when not in use.

He does, however, note the evidence that Bucky's been sleeping rough, though. That's a shame.

[woundedwinter]

That pulls a smile from him as he turns on the hall light. "Yeah it's a hell of a step up from our old place huh?" Steve gets a quick rundown of where things are, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. "It's got a shower and a hell of a nice tub, big enough to soak in."

He starts unloading the food into the kitchen, nodding at the little side table. "Give me a couple minutes and I'll show you the tablet. Modern internet is a hell of a thing. It's like a portable library with every book and picture in the world right there for you."

[bottledblond]

“I feel cheated. No flying cars or living in the moon yet,” Steve says to himself, setting his art supplies down next to where Bucky is unloading groceries. He has to remind himself that Bucky hasn’t seen him in five years. And that the version he had seen had been a lot older when he passed on. Or swapped places with him. Or something. This has to be strange.

Maybe no stranger than Bucky wearing leather gloves. Everywhere.

He helps unpack the groceries and stares at the ice box and the chill coming from it when he opens the door.

“You could stand here on a summer day and never sweat!”

[woundedwinter]

He snorts and glances over his shoulder at him. "I've met aliens. Does that count?"

"Wait until summer," he taps one of the metal vents in the wall. "Heat in the winter, cool air in the summer. You're gonna love it." Forget flying cars, central heating and air were by far some of his favorite things.

He really should call at least a few people, but for now he settles on texting Sam that Steve is at his place and they need to talk later. It's communication and that's better than what he's been able to manage lately.

[bottledblond]

Steve would know Sam. He’d come by the hospital a few times, mostly to talk about nonsense. He hadn’t seemed to have an ulterior motive but Steve was suspicious anyway at first. He didn’t like it when people held back.

And Sam Wilson held everything back.

He would understand why now, of course. But it doesn’t occur to him that the retired Air Force vet who spoke with him about his interests and about how he was getting along happened to know Bucky.

“I’m trying real hard to believe what you’re telling me but— I guess this is some real Yankee in King Arthur’s court stuff. Just reversed. Like if you came back with me. You’d have to sweat in the summer again.” He finally closes the refrigerator and though he leaves the upper cabinets that he can barely reach alone, he does open the tall, thin cupboard to put some cans away.

He’s a little disturbed by the lack of everything inside.

“Do future people not need to eat? Or is like once a day?”

[woundedwinter]

Bucky's easy smile goes tight and thin at the question and he glances down and away. "I, ah, I haven't done a lot of shopping. Or a lot of cooking."

He should be better than this. He should be stronger.

"I'll get us stocked up soon enough," he promises.

[bottledblond]

"You know that I can see you a whole lot better than I used to, right? Oh! I can see you a whole lot better than I used to!" Steve says. He'd mentioned putting glasses in his eyes, but he hadn't actually told Bucky what the doctors had done for him. "They're called contact lenses. You can't even tell I'm wearing them."

Not unless you're a super soldier who had impeccable vision and can absolutely tell that Steve's eyes have an extra rim just outside of the colored portion of his irises.

"So just so you know, I can tell when you're feeling down and out. You just said that you're pretty rich now so... Well the cabinets still look more full than I remember them being." He passes Bucky and gives him a nice and good thud on the upper arm. His intention is to make it sting, but instead, his knuckles hit something solid and his fingertips go numb for a moment as pain lances down his digits. "Ow! What are you wearing!?"

[woundedwinter]

"You always could see right through me." A fond sort of smile as he nods about the contacts.

He doesn't see the blow coming and can't dodge him in time. "Shit, are you okay?" Only after he's sure Steve didn't hurt himself does he finally peel his gloves off.

His left hand is black and metallic, threaded with gold. He sighs and shucks his jacket next so Steve can see most of the vibranium arm. "It's a prosthetic. I lost my arm in the war."

[bottledblond]

Steve says he’ll live to draw another day, but he does pump his fingers in and out from the center of his palm a few times to get the blood flowing again. He’s about to crack some joke but Bucky’s revelation leaves his mouth momentarily dry.

Though he should ask first, he forgets that they aren’t completely on the same page here and his fingers, the ones not still tingling a bit, reach out to touch the curve of jointed together metal.

It’s beautiful in the way it’s made, in how perfectly it resembles an arm. It’s nothing like the science fiction movies of boxy pieces of metal.

They aren’t living on the moon but they’re giving people limbs back cast in something more gorgeous than flesh.

Sorry, Buck, if the stroking doesn’t sit well with you because Steve isn’t thinking about helping himself right now.

“Lost your arm on top of the rest? I’m real sorry to hear it but.... this is a pretty great replacement. Amazing.” Steve means it in the genuine sense of the word, not the way that people his age now a days say it on social media.

[woundedwinter]

Bucky tilts his arm so Steve can examine it. There's no pity in his expression, only wonder. He can feel the touches too, the gentle pass of his fingers along the metal and he would stand there all day if that's what it would take for Steve to keep touching him.

"A friend crafted it for me out of vibranium. Strongest metal on the planet. It's light too, it doesn't pull on my back or throw off my balance."

He smiles a little, "You'll like her when you meet her. Shuri is something else."

[bottledblond]

“Shuri? I’d love to know how she did it!” There’s no question as to the gender of the crafts person, just like there’s never been any different treatment that Steve’s given to any human being. The guy was, and still is, ahead of his time in that respect.

As Bucky turns the hand over, Steve takes his hand, palm up, in both of his. There are ridges there, the sculpting so lifelike that it might as well just be paint on an real arm.

“Can you feel this?” He asks, suddenly, giving the metal between his thumb and forefinger a pinch. It’s not malleable, like skin, but it almost feels warm.

[woundedwinter]

"She's a genius that would have given Stark a run for his money," there's a hint of dimple as he smiles this time. Wakanda had been a haven for him while he was there.

"Yeah, it's a little muted but I can feel with it." And maybe he curls his fingers around Steve's for a beat.

"The whole thing is fused to my spine to keep it anchored and she was able to tie in sensation when she made this one."

[bottledblond]

"Stark?" It's not like Steve had spent time at the fair the night Bucky shipped not, not in any meaningful way at least. He'd been solely uninterested in the man with the hovering and exploding car. Steve lifts a questioning brow as if to indicate that it didn't matter.

A crazy thought, that, considering how incredibly instrumental Tony Stark and his father before him had been to everything that happened in the last few decades.

"Anyway, under the glove, I couldn't tell at all. Does Shuri live in the building?"

The guy's been two places. New York and New Jersey. He'd been prepared to ship off and see the world, but it's only been there for him in theater screens.

[woundedwinter]

"Howard Stark. He was pretty important to the efforts to take out HYDRA. His son," a shake of his head because how do you explain a guy like Tony Stark? "Smartest guy there ever was and a total pain in the ass at the same time."

"He saved the world too. Twice."

"She lives in Wakanda, it's a country in Africa." Bucky nods at the tablet, "I've got some pictures if you wanna see."

Bucky could reach out, see if he could take Steve to visit Wakanda. He wouldn't mind going back.

[bottledblond]

"Yeah, I'd love to see." He knows Bucky told him that the flat piece of glass by the table could show him anything in the world, but photos? You'd need a camera for that and paper to develop it on. Steve is skeptical, and the look on his face proves it as he lets go of Bucky's hand and heads over to the couch.

He sits the way a twenty-six year old does when with a friend, a way that transcends time or formality practices, one leg up and facing his friend as he looks over his arm at the clearly remarkable device.

"You know a lot of heroes and geniuses huh?" he asks, resting one arm on his bent knee, cheek in his palm. "None of that rubbed off on you though? Shame."

[woundedwinter]

Bucky laughs as he flicks his knee in response. "Punk."

He calls up the photo album, talking Steve through all of it so he can look for himself when he'd like. "Here." A shot of him with longer hair and a beard, smiling with a pretty young woman while children mugged in the background like children have done since the camera was invented.

"That's Shuri and the border village I stayed at. It was.. so peaceful there. You wouldn't believe it," he scrolls to another picture, "but I was pretty good with the goats they raised."

"Here's the capital city," and if Steve thought modern New York was impressive he was about to be surprised.

"Her brother's the king there, T'Challa is a hell of a good man and a good leader."

[bottledblond]

Long haired Bucky is appealing in a way that Steve wasn't sure he liked. He'd never call another man attractive, but the sudden spike in heart rate, the way his pupils dilate, and the prickling of his skin note his interest in ways he can't hide, but also don't specifically draw attention to him. He assumes they're his own embarrassment, and swallows down the lump in his throat.

Bucky's smile in the photos are incredibly familiar, and Steve can't help but smile too. He looks so happy in the images with Shuri and the children. And she looks happy too, a true beauty. Steve ignores the familiar ache likes he's always done.

"Africa looks amazing," he partially sighs, eyelids lowered as they scan every photo before Bucky can skip. "Are you dating...a princess? Buck, scoundrel, you're dating a princess and you're leaving your crap all over the floor in your house? What's wrong with you?"