pennysheets | Gargoyle Bucky

Steve has had a very weird couple of days. He'd blinked and between one moment and the next, found himself inside this dusty, abandoned garage, with a motley collection of drivers and vehicles parked outside. They'd explained what was going on, as far as they knew, and how he should find his vehicle and come with them.

He'd been more interested in trying to figure out why this was happening, and who was behind it, and where the world he knew was - at least, until the monsters had attacked.

A mass of clawing, crawling scorpions - if scorpions were as big as Labrador Retrievers, anyway - had overrun them, and while Steve and many of the other drivers had finally driven them away, they'd all been slightly worse for wear by the end of it. His arms and legs are scored with... well, they're not scrapes, exactly. Or, at least, not normal scrapes. Normal scrapes would've healed.

These just left behind... scales. Shimmering, blue-green, hard-as-steel scales, peeking out from beneath the edges of his torn skin. The convoy had tried to explain that these kinds of things happen, that it's maybe not normal, but expected, it's happening to all of them, just like the need to keep moving - and Steve had basically, to borrow the modern vernacular, noped right out. Whatever was happening, he didn't want to be a part of it. The decision actually hadn't been all that hard, in the end: to stay here when they moved on, leaving a single motorcycle parked out front in the beating sun.

And speaking of the sun, Steve isn't sure he's ever been this weather-beaten or thirsty in his entire life. He must've felt worse, during the war, of course... but it's hard to bring any of those times to mind right now. He'd been heading outside to try to find a source of water - when someone had stepped into the doorway of the garage.

And it's - "Bucky?"

That - that can't be right, can it? He's seeing things. He's hallucinating. Can he hallucinate?

His body is caught halfway between tensing for a fight and wanting to fall to its knees.

Edited 2025-03-17 03:20 (UTC)

He remembers that word. He remembers that face.

He does not remember there being scales on his arms, but then, the asset also didn't have wings, horns, and a tail the last time they fought, either. Maybe it's something similar.

He continues to stare at Steve Rogers Captain America, target level six for a long moment, but there's no urge to continue the mission. The words Steve Rogers had said then had apparently broken that command for good. He still has confusing and angry feelings attached to that face, but he can control them.

His wings twitch and his tail lashes, and he advances on Steve Rogers. "You can't stay here," is what he says. "It is not secured. Something will come along and eat you."

Yeah, Steve definitely doesn't remember all those extra... appendages on Bucky. But that's Bucky's face. And more than that, that's Bucky's voice, coming out of Bucky's mouth and even though the body is shaped different, and Steve's gut twists with wrongness and worry and fear -

Well, that is also Bucky, coming toward him. Not running away.

And he has a point. The garage isn't very secure. "Something bigger than dog-sized scorpions?" he asks, maybe a little stupidly, but his mind is still running in very small, screaming circles, the way it has nearly every time he's seen Bucky in this century. For so many reasons.

"Are you all right?" is what tumbles out of his mouth, next - just as stupid, really, but there are the wings and the tail and the horns. Steve's got weird scaly patches on his skin, but that's not... all of that.

Edited (dangit I meant to hit Preview lol) 2025-03-18 02:38 (UTC)

"Fine," the asset dismisses the question. He circles Steve Rogers, looking him over. No obvious injuries. Probably thirsty and hungry, if he's been here long. He doesn't see any food supplies or working plumbing in this place. "And yes. Bigger than dog-sized. I killed a bird with twice my wingspan six days ago, and a snake three times as long a few days before that."

He considers hard, coming to a stop in front of Steve Rogers again, looking at his face but not quite making eye contact. The other people of this world he can hurt. Steve Rogers... might be able to stand his ground. If he doesn't throw down his shield again and let him try to murder him.

Being alone is not pleasant. He doesn't deserve to have a pleasant life. Steve Rogers would disagree. Steve Rogers is as strong as he is. Being alone is unpleasant.

"You can come with me," he says finally. "If you promise not to let me hit you again."

Twice my wingspan, Bucky says, and that tells Steve something, all right. Bucky's had those wings long enough to get at least a little comfortable with them. Or, if not comfortable, familiar enough to start comparing things to their span.

None of this adds up to anything good, but then, nothing has added up to anything good since he appeared in a burnt-out circle with a curving mark on his skin that hadn't been there before.

Which is why, when Bucky says You can come with me, it's all he can do not to sag with relief. He hadn't even asked yet, but Bucky is already offering -

Except, "What? Promise not to let you hit me again?"

That's... clearly a concern. Apparently. And if Steve stopped to think about it for three seconds, he'd probably realize why, given the way more than one of their encounters on this side of the year 2000 have gone, but nonetheless, he ends up asking, "You're worried you might?"

The asset doesn't usually know what his face is doing at any given time. So long alone, and it didn't really matter what his expression looks like, there's nobody to see it. So the way it settles into a very "are you stupid or something?" sort of look that Steve will recognize easily, despite the curled horns over his brow, feels comfortable enough that he doesn't question it.

"I hit things a lot," he says. And he does. Trees, buildings, monsters, rocks. Anything handy when frustration or fear or anger bubbles over. More pertinently: "I hit you a lot. More than was required to subdue. I am dangerous." He gives his tail an impatient lash and reiterates: "You have to promise."

Edited (typo) 2025-03-19 16:41 (UTC)

The expression is recognizable - in fact, it's goddamn comforting, even as Steve mulls over what he says, which is... well, it's mostly not comforting, and yet part of it is.

"Well, I think I might've gotten on your nerves," he points out, because even with one eye swollen shut, he can remember the look on Bucky's face, between every hit. The way it had changed.

The way he's changed, since then - and that's without considering the extra appendages.

One hand goes to scratch almost absently at his own forearm, at the place where skin and scale meet, his body not sure what to do about the situation. It isn't until Bucky's tail moves like an agitated cat's that he realizes what he's doing and drops his hand, answers the request.

"All right," he says - quiet, but not resigned. If this is what Bucky needs him to promise, then he will promise it. He would promise anything to not be left behind, alone, if Bucky is here and talking to him. "I promise." He doesn't say how he will or won't keep that promise, but he will keep it, all the same.

Of course, he has to add, "It seems like being dangerous is an advantage, around here."

He clearly relaxes at the promise, wings loosening a little over his back. Steve Rogers won't let him hurt him. He doesn't want to hurt Steve Rogers again. He has, sort of, come around to wanting things and not wanting things. There's been no one to stop him.

Then there's a sliver of something not quite a smile, and not quite bared teeth. His teeth are sharper than they ought to be. "Yes, it is an advantage. I have killed everything that tried to kill me, so far."

He turns away from Steve Rogers to give the garage a once-over, looking for anything useful he can bring with them. "I have transportation. I sleep in it. It should fit you, too, but it will be tight." God, he might have to touch the man. He's not sure if he can do it, but he will find some way to manage.

Edited (forgot to complete an edit) 2025-03-19 18:00 (UTC)

Steve can't help the quick, sharp little smile that flits across his own face. "I'm glad you have."

He really, really is.

There isn't much in here that Steve's found, but he's really not much of a mechanic, and the convoy had taken a lot of the usable material with them when they'd left, although they'd at least helped him make sure the bike that seems to somehow be his will run. "Yours must be bigger than mine," he says wryly, since sleeping in or even on a motorcycle is not going to happen. Although if it's too tight, Steve will be the first person to suggest he take the ground outside. He is not kicking Bucky out of what is essentially his own home.

But one thing he doesn't have a source of in here, is - "Do you have any water?"

He hates to ask. But he is so thirsty.

"Yes." He does not, apparently, have it on his person, nor does he immediately go outside to get it. He finishes his perusal of the garage, finding nothing really of use except a ratty brown tarp that he thinks he can use to help disguise the Jeep and maybe Steve Rogers' motorcycle, too-- he did see it outside, and now its presence makes sense-- and, incongruously, a scrap of shiny metal that might once have been a piece of silverware or part of a tool. But it's shiny, and he likes it, so it goes into a pocket.

Only then does he turn towards the door, flicking his tail at Steve Rogers in a "come on" kind of gesture, since his arms are full of tarp.

Parked outside is a genuine World War II army Jeep, albeit one heavily modified with protective siding and a roof over the wide open bed. It's even army green. The asset tosses the tarp into the back, on top of the rest of his bedding, and produces a gallon-sized jug full of water, at last. He offers it to Steve Rogers, shaking it a little so the water inside sloshes invitingly.

It's almost physically painful, the way Bucky says yes and then just - doesn't produce any water. Obviously he's not carrying any that Steve can see, but maybe he'd expected him to actually get it.

(He really is so very thirsty.)

But he's fine. He's fine, because if they're going to toss the place for anything else useful before they leave, they might as well do it, right? Five more minutes won't kill him. (Even if it feels like it will.)

Although when they eventually take what little they found and walk outside, Steve is almost bowled over by the look of the Jeep. He hasn't seen one like that - in use and not in a museum - in years, now. He lets out a slow breath, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh, and admits, "Yeah, I see how it'll be a tight fit." Especially with those wings. And that tail.

He's about to ask more about them - or maybe at least how long Bucky has been here - but the appearance of the water jug completely captivates his attention. He's reaching for it almost before Bucky actually holds it out, and twisting the cap off and drinking probably about the time Bucky's brain has registered the thing leaving his hands.

There's a second or two of pure bliss, everything feeling perfect and right as he drinks, before Steve's own brain catches up with him and he makes himself stop, coughing a little. "Sorry - "

He holds it away from his body a little, clearly not giving it back yet, but with a look of horror mixed with shame crossing his face. He was about to just drink the whole damn thing, and he has no idea if this is all the water Bucky has, and how long it has to last him. Them.

At least he hasn't actually drained it all that much, despite the desperate guzzling. "Sorry," he says, again. "If we've got to make it last - "

The asset ducks back in surprise at the sudden grab, wings mantling a little with alarm, and then stares a little at Steve Rogers guzzling water like he was dying of thirst. He mentally re-evaluates just how long he was in that garage without water. And also whether it might be a good idea to backtrack and refill his water jugs at the last stream he'd found.

Well. It isn't like he has a set destination, here. It won't hurt anything to turn back around. Maybe they can strike out in another direction from the stream, see what is east of there instead of south, like this garage.

"I have two more jugs," is what he says when Steve Rogers stops drinking and looks-- like that. Horrified? Why? For being thirsty? Does he, too, expect to be punished for wanting things...? "If you drink all that at once you will probably get sick, though." He has learned this the hard way, himself, trying to learn how much food and water he needed regularly.

Edited (apparently I am just going to edit every tag a little) 2025-03-20 03:45 (UTC)

It wasn't even that long, he's just - he's just so thirsty. But he should know better than to be careless with a limited resource - the same way he should know that he'll just make himself sick if he drinks it all at once, yeah.

The horror drains from his face when Bucky says there's more, even if the embarrassment doesn't, so much. "Okay," he breathes. "Okay, good - "

He does take another drink - making himself go slower, this time, and taking just a few gulps before pulling the jug away from his mouth again, wiping it with the back of his hand. He doesn't notice, but from the outside, he seems to have perked up more than a little. He hadn't looked particularly worn down, before, but now it's like he's just... brighter. More energetic. The scales visible through the tears in his clothing seem brighter, like they're catching more of the light.

"I wasn't sure how hard it is to get resources out here," he tries to explain. And then, he hazards, "It seems like you've been here a while."

"It's wilderness," the asset shrugs, accepting the jug back to put it away again. "There are places with less water and places with more. We'll go back to the stream I stopped at yesterday."

He fastens the back of the Jeep closed again, looking Steve Rogers over. He does look better. He doesn't make any kind of connection with the water yet, but he probably will before too long. "I have food, too," he offers. "Mostly it is meat and I have to hunt it. But I have some from my last kill left, and some berries that are still good."

Steve nods - back to the stream sounds good. He's feeling much better now, but somehow the idea of running water galvanizes him even more.

Of course, water is great, but now that he's had some, it's a bit like his stomach has decided to wake up and remind him it has other needs, too. Like food. "That sounds - great, actually. I mean, I don't want to just drain all your resources. I can help you hunt. Or - watch your back, at least." Given that hunting clearly means dealing with things that are generally trying to kill you back, if the things Bucky has described are anything to go off of.

"Should I just follow you, then?" The motorcycle is working and has gas, so that seems to make the most sense, even if part of him doesn't want to let Bucky out of his sight again so soon. Technically, he's not, right? Bucky will just be in the Jeep. And Steve won't let that out of his sight.

Of course, he can't keep himself from asking, "Is it even comfortable to cram yourself in there with the, uh - " He motions to the wings and tail.

The asset flicks his tail with a little frown, turning away to the front of the Jeep-- passenger side, where the extra jugs of water and the remains of his last meal are. "It took some time to figure out how to fit," he admits. Which is not to say it's comfortable, or not comfortable, exactly, but he has to work himself inside in a very specific way. The wings are the worst, trying to keep them folded at the right angles, and he's definitely scored some lines in the roof with his horns.

But he manages. He needs it to be a mobile shelter, as much as he need it for transportation, and he's only ever been the only one here to drive it. It's mostly getting in that takes a little time.

He offers a strip of meat that was clearly smoked, somewhat inexpertly, but at least it's edible, if not particularly tasty. "Eat. Then we can get moving. Find somewhere more defensible before nightfall."

Steve just nods - he wasn't asking to point out weakness, after all, just out of curiosity. Maybe even worry - although he guesses if there's an emergency, Bucky could just fly away?

Do those wings actually give him enough lift. They're big enough - he thinks. He is not an expert.

"I just meant - if it's ever easier. I could drive it," he offers, thinking a motorcycle might be better for a guy with wings. But then he's is sidetracked by the meat, which he takes a lot less greedily than the water, but still with eager interest. "Thank you," he says, because this time, he manages to remember some manners before tearing off a bite that is, okay, a bit more than reasonable for actual polite company. Even so, he manages to eat at a semi-reasonable pace, at least for a super soldier with an empty stomach.

"You're pretty familiar with this area," he guesses, between quickly disappearing bites. Maybe not right here, of course, but if he knows where there's a stream and they're backtracking, that's probably a good sign. Steve wonders if there's anything to make a map with - although he could just catalog the landscape in his head as they go.

The asset frowns, looking between vehicles. "The tail might be a problem with the bike. We can try it sometime maybe." He resettles his wings.

He does watch Steve Rogers eating with something like satisfaction, now that he knows Steve Rogers had been alone long enough to be that hungry and thirsty. He's not hurting him. He's helping him. Maybe just because he knows Steve can stop him, but it's still a novel feeling. He doesn't hate it.

"I've been traveling a while," he answers. "Mostly in a line, a little diverging when terrain or hazards required it. I haven't backtracked much. This will be good. To see if traveled territory remains the same, with the same dangers."

Steve nods, chewing another bite. That's clearly a not right now type of answer, so he doesn't push it. Obviously, Bucky has been managing.

But the rest is good to know, although now he figures it's finally reasonable to ask, "How long have you been here? Do you know?"

There's a long hesitation as the asset tries to tally days. He finally gives up and offers, "Two moon warps. But they are not at regular intervals, like a full moon would be. It might be longer than two months. It probably is." He shrugs helplessly, tail coiling around one ankle. "I lost count of the days."

When you have no one really keeping you focused and sane and not going slightly feral like a monster, yourself, it's hard to keep a count. It didn't seem important. Now, though, he feels oddly ashamed of himself for not knowing. The first week he counted dearly, noting how many hours and then days he had of memories. Then he just... stopped.

Moon warps, he says, and at first Steve thinks he means Full Moon, but - no, Bucky goes right on to say that's not it.

So. Longer than two months, probably. He takes in a slow breath through his nose, lets it out.

"I don't blame you for losing count." Survival was more important. Steve's just looking for context, really, because -

Well. Because, "Have you had the wings and the tail and everything. The whole time?"

The expression that flits over the asset's face says "ugh, those". He is not averse to his changed form, really, and it's useful to be able to fly and grab things with his tail, and the horns have on more than one occasion gored an enemy before it could take his head off. But at the same time, they don't feel quite right, either. He's used to them, but at the same time feels like he should be something else.

"The wings came first," he explains. "There was a storm, and it tossed everyone around, and they just tore out then to keep me from bashing into a building, and never away. The tail came at the first moon warp, the horns at the second. I am hoping there are not more changes coming."

He looks back at Steve Rogers, down at his scaled forearms. "You did not have those before, either," he reminds him. "I remember that much."

That look might almost be enough to make Steve laugh, if the situation were any less... well, what it is. Not that he even knows what it is, because - really. What is this?

Part of him feels like Bucky should be more horrified at what's happened to him. But on the other hand, Steve has to be grateful for his straightforward explanation. Honestly, Bucky's been straightforward from the start, in a way that's both unsettling and familiar. Or maybe unsettling because it's familiar.

He takes it all in, considers the timeline, the changes, and then - yeah. His own forearms.

(Also, the way Bucky says I remember that much - that's very telling, too, isn't it. The discomfort in his get only gets stronger.)

"No. I didn't," he admits, flexing his forearms a little, watching the scales flash where they catch the light. It makes him wonder what's going to happen to him, if they're here long enough to undergo one of those moon warps. He kind of doesn't want to be - but also kind of has to plan for it, at the same time. "There's a mark, too. On my side. Like a tattoo."

He didn't think tattoos would take on him. Maybe it will fade. But he doesn't know how he got it in the first place.

He finally looks back up at Bucky. "You don't remember a lot about me?" he hazards.

He has a mark, too, but it's on his back, between his wings, so he hasn't seen it.

"I don't remember a lot about anything," is the asset's answer to that, which seems safer than admitting he specifically doesn't remember much about Steve Rogers. He does, in fact, have more in his head about Steve Rogers than he thinks he should, and it's disturbing. He doesn't know why. "The fight was. It's jumbled up." He'd been drugged and mind-wiped and scared out of what mind he had left. Some things stuck, the words Steve Rogers said had stuck, but he doesn't know if he can even trust that.

He rallies with: "But I remember fighting you. And you didn't have scales. That's from here. You might have more changes, too."

Getting back where they came from has never crossed his mind. Even if he knew how, this place is better than running from HYDRA. Even if he was alone for all this time.

The fight. "On the Helicarrier?" he hazards, just - wanting to know what Bucky does remember, then. Or at least get an idea.

But of course, he is right. Whenever they fought, Steve hadn't had scales. So it makes sense, that whatever is happening to Bucky, here... it's happening to Steve, too. It must be.

It doesn't make him feel any better about it, but at least it makes a certain amount of sense. As much as anything, does. "I guess it'll depend on how long we're here," he says rubbing one hand absently over the opposite forearm, feeling the strange, rough-yet-smooth texture. They don't feel right, dry, he thinks absently - and then has no idea why he'd thought that.

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