pennysheets | Crossed Wires of the Universe

Though the remains of Dogtown are peaceful now - have been peaceful since the portal collapsed and shunted the survivors of that final, horrible ritual some fifteen years into the future - those who opted to remain behind in Gloucester, and those who've returned now and then to check in on their fellows, haven't been able to leave it entirely unpatrolled.

Yelena's one of those who's gone and returned, checking in with the small network of offworlders in person, because they all know all too well how little remote contact can be trusted. And it's her turn in the rotation today, to walk beneath the peaceful but still-eerie trees, and watch for shadows grown too long, or birds too persistent, or - oh, so many things that could be a prelude to yet more horror.

Peaceful or no, the place is usually empty, save for the survivors of ADI, and so the sight of a man pushing himself up from a flattened circle of grass certainly catches her attention. She approaches, cautious, footfalls nearly silent - and then stops dead when she gets close enough to pick out features.

She knows that face. She watched him die.

"Fuck," she says, in unknowing agreement. It's quiet, but not quite quiet enough that it doesn't carry over the birdsong.

His head swivels around-- he regrets it, because his head is pounding now that he's at least partially vertical, but he does it anyway-- because one, that's a person right there who might be freaking out at the sight of random person potentially appearing in the middle of her morning jog, and two, that is a familiar sounding person.

He stares. He forgets, at least temporarily, about the headache. "Yelena?"

It comes out weak and almost afraid. The last time he saw her, she said she wanted their pairing to be undone, and he'd said he'd consider it, if she could give him a couple names of who she'd like instead. She was his last inmate on the Barge. She was the last reason he had to stay on the Barge, as Steve's inmate had graduated and Natasha didn't stay after her sister went back to her own death. She hated him. He'd failed her. He still loved her so damn much.

And that's her, staring at him from a walking path through the trees.

Except she's alive, and she's not yelling at him for interrupting her morning.

She sucks in a sharp breath at the sound of her name, like it's struck some half-healed wound, and takes a few cautious steps forward. She doesn't look angry, but she does look alert, watching him and the shadows both.

"Winter?" she asks quietly, cautiously, hope and dread both knotting in her chest so it feels like she's choking.

She'd watched him die. If he's back, there's something gone horribly wrong.

If he's not, there's something gone horribly wrong.

... what?

Was there some universe where someone with his face had gone by Winter?

After a moment of shock that only edges slightly into horror, B decides he really can't judge, given his name is a letter. He shakes his head a little. "B. Uh. The letter. Used to be called the Winter Soldier, but-- never thought about--" He's babbling. He stops, trying to reorient himself. This Yelena knew some other version of him. Just like he clearly new some other version of her.

This Yelena might not hate him.

As she gets closer, she can spot other differences between Winter and this new version. The hand sticking out of his hoodie is black metal with gold veins, for one, rather than silver. There's more expression to his face than Winter ever easily showed, though the expression at the moment is pained, unhappy confusion. His hair is longer, and better cared for. He's still wearing remarkably similar combat boots, though, and the penchant for layers seems to run true.

She swallows hard, then nods. "B," she repeats. "All right."

It isn't. Not really. But she forces down the fresh surge of grief, running a hand over her tightly braided hair - and there are hints of an odd reddish-brown at the roots, like it's been dyed and is just starting to grow out - and exhales a sharp breath.

"Fuck," she says again, taking in those differences along with the painful similarities. "Welcome to Gloucester. We were supposed to be done with this shit."

She closes enough to offer him a hand, though there's something cautious in her stance, like she's not quite expecting violence, but is prepared for it.

"It was probably as much a fault on my end as this place's," B suggests, taking her hand and getting to his feet, not putting a lot of his weight on her arm, but still using it enough that she can feel it. He's a heavy guy. Which she probably knows, really.

There's no violence, at least.

"There was some kind of-- storm. Or anomaly. I tried to get us past it, but it kind of-- grabbed me. And dropped me here." That does, however, beg the question: "You used to get random people teleported into your forest...?"

She does know how heavy he is, and the weight of him, even as he stands mostly under his own power, is a mark in favour of being the man he looks like - or, at least, a version of the man he looks like. Something formed from the forest, from the Fears, wouldn't have any reason to match that weight of muscle and metal.

She grimaces a little at the question. "It's not my forest, or my world. This place - there was a portal in the heart of the forest that stole people from other realities. But it's been gone for a long time. Or we thought it was."

A small muscle jumps in her jaw, and she peers up at him. "You said there was a storm?"

"Maybe? I don't know what exactly it was. It looked like clouds and lightning. But it was in space. And. The colors were different." He's babbling again, Christ. It's better than the stopping and starting he sometimes does when he's upset. Except he's kind of doing that a little, too. B scrapes one hand through his hair, gathers up his self-control metaphorically in the other, and says, "I'm sorry, I'm feeling really confused right now... but this must be just as weird for you."

"The last time someone wore that face who wasn't Winter, it was an evil sand doppelganger," she says, trying for wry humour and landing a little short. "Weird does not even begin to cover it."

She tips her head back slightly, looking up at the sky, which is a clear blue, no alien stars in sight. Suppressing a shudder, she refocuses on the man before her. "There is an explanation for this, but - not here. If things are starting again, then we shouldn't stay here to talk. And I will need to warn the others."

Sounds kind of like Barge shenanigans. Except probably worse, since this appears to be a proper world, not a self-contained spaceship.

He nods, a little grimly, noting the tension in her and not liking it, even while he can't help but be relieved that it's not for him. "I hope this doesn't mean things are starting again, whatever they are. But they are, and if I can, I'll help." Maybe it's stupid to promise without knowing anything, but this is Yelena. And he can't not offer.

The smile she gives him is small, and more than a little sad. "If you really are a version of the person you appear to be, I don't doubt that for a second."

She half-turns, tipping her head in the direction she'd come from. "My car's that way. While we walk, you can tell me what you were doing in space."

"It's... a really long story," he says. "And probably not very believable." He follows after her, trying to think of how best to put it. Without tripping over any of the buttons that had made the other Yelena hate everything about him, and it, so much. "But I have a spaceship? It was a gift from a very powerful alien for helping a grouchy young man decide he wanted to live again." He thinks that's what he did for Xiao Xingchen, anyway. Crozier did more than he ever could have, he's sure.

He pauses, remembers more about who exactly he's talking to, and adds, "Not a powerful alien like Thanos or Thor or something. It's complicated."

Her head cants slightly in what ought to be a familiar, thoughtful sort of posture. She's quiet for a moment while she mulls over the summary of that long story.

"A helpful powerful alien would be very novel," she says finally. "We don't have anything like that here. It's 2040, and we don't even have flying cars."

And she doesn't look much older than she had in 2024. He's not, apparently, the only one with a long story.

"Jesus, it's 2040 and you still don't have flying cars?" B snorts. "I was expecting those in the 1940s. Stark was showing one off at the world fair before I shipped out. It only hovered for a few seconds, but we were all sure he'd fix that right up."

Clearly this version of Bucky Barnes has more memories than Winter ever did.

He's not going to think too hard about the date compared to her age yet, mostly because she did mention a portal. Maybe she got yanked here in 2038 or something? "But... hey, if it's 2040, is this going to stand out, or am I okay not wearing a glove?" He holds up the vibranium hand in demonstration.

"You should be okay," Yelena says, though her brow creases a little as she studies the hand, more closely than she had earlier. Definitely very different from Winter's - much sleeker, as though form had been a consideration, and not just function.

"You're from after 2016, aren't you?" she asks. "In our...cluster of realities, I mean."

It's the last she'd heard of the Winter Soldier, years after the incident in Washington.

"Twenty twenty four," B says with a little sigh. "The younger Stark blew off my old arm, and the Wakandans very graciously gave me a new one." He sounds only the slightest bit bitter about that, and even that only partly because of the disengage switch. The arm had been made to be a weapon as much as an appendage, and only delivered to him when it was time to fight.

He does hold it out for her to inspect closer, if she'd like, though. He's got long sleeves on, but the hand is still plenty pretty, even he can admit it. "Lighter than the old one, doesn't pull as bad. Still heavier than the right one, but I can-- manage it."

Except now that he's thinking about it, it feels heavier than usual, the supports aching a little more than they should. Something about Earth gravity...? It's been a while since he's been on Earth, so maybe...

She does take the opportunity to inspect the hand, though only briefly - she seems unwilling to turn her attention from the forest as they walk along the path, her wariness incongruous with the pleasant, sunny day.

"The same year I came from, then. Originally."

Something complicated flickers across her face as he mentions the weight of the arm, but she doesn't comment. Not for the moment.

"Tell me about travelling through space," she says instead. "The nice parts."

He tucks both hands into his pockets. Even on the ship, he'd had a couple knives on, one of which accessible through a slit in his jeans pocket. If she's on edge, he'll at least be ready. Clearly there's more to these woods than birds and dappled sunlight.

Well, there were random teleported people, he supposes. Enough to make anyone wary.

"A nice part? Well, space stations are pretty damn cool. Especially the ones with lots of different species. You don't stick out there, and there's always something interesting to look at. Our favorite is a smaller one in Starpath Yalesin-- Earth would call it Medusa Nebula. There's a Kree there who makes amazing tea blends, and they've somehow made a park out of coral, despite it being out of water? God, it's amazing, if I had my tablet I'd show you."

To his annoyance, while he does have his knives, he hadn't had any of his communication or storage devices on his person, since he'd been on the ship and it was all networked.

"Space coral." She smiles a little, and in spite of her clear caution, the expression is warmer and more genuine than anything he would have seen from his Yelena, outside of dreams or a Breach. "Now that would be something to see."

There's a faint rustling in the underbrush, and her gaze tracks toward it in time to see a squirrel burst out, darting across the path and scampering up a tree on the far side. It's a moment before she picks up again.

"Are you still running missions for your powerful alien? Or - were you, before this?"

Yes, that is a really nice smile... and B is not going to get emotional about it. He's not. "No. We retired from that about a year ago. We'd spent years on his ship, and-- it was time," B says instead, focusing on that, so it only comes out a little bit sadly. He does remember the Barge fondly, even given everything that happened there.

The squirrel doesn't bother him, and he's a little surprised she's so alert to it. He wonders again just what about these woods has her on edge.

"So I'm a free agent, essentially," he finishes. "I don't think I can call on him to help here. He doesn't exactly come when called unless it's to pick somebody up to work again."

"That's probably for the best," Yelena says, then pauses, giving him a sidelong look. "You said 'we retired'. You were travelling with someone? There's no guarantee they were also pulled here, but we can keep an eye out, if we know who we're looking for."

"I'm hoping very much that he stayed with our ship, because if he did, there's a chance he'll find me," B says with a little sigh. "Find us. It's Steve. Uh, Captain America, I guess you'd know him as." He doesn't know that this Yelena had her own version, who may or may not have gone off the rails and gotten himself avatared and killed after Winter's death... "Also, you know, then he can feed the animals and keep the garden watered while he looks."

She does seem to draw a blank at the first name - and then looks blank for a moment or two before she gives her head a quick shake.

"Rogers," she says, and despite the distance implied by being on a last name basis, there's a note of regret in her voice. "I should have guessed that."

"Steve Rogers, yeah," B agrees with a nod. "I suppose it's not really a surprise, not to anybody who knows anything about our past." And yet, he sounds sad as he says it, given, y'know, what happened with the Steve Rogers in his universe.

He does note her own tone, but isn't entirely sure how to ask about it. "Did you know him, too?" he finally goes with.

She frowns slightly, squinting at him like she's trying to make out words over the noise of a crowd by half-reading his lips, though the volume of their footsteps and the birdsong hardly increased.

"...A version," she says after a moment. "He lost part of his name to one of the creatures here. It - we all forgot. Even now, I can't... It's like static, when you speak. I don't know if this would carry over to your Captain America, if he did crash here too. Maybe not, if you can still say it. Or maybe it's because you weren't here, and the effect is weakening."

Up ahead, the path widens, spilling into what looks like a gravel parking lot.

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