woundedwinter | Sandbox thoughts

Sandbox thoughts

Torchwood.
The last place Bucky was looking to find answers was in Cardiff, of all damn places, but he had run out of options.

Seventy odd years ago he was a solider, a sniper in the 107th and he had everything a fella could want. A best friend, a damn good career and a unit he cared for. A mission in the mountains had gone wrong. They were ambushed and in a desperate attempt to save his friend, Bucky fell. He didn't tumble down the side of the mountain or crash into the ice, though. He was swallowed up by a burst of blue-white light and six months ago he dumped in the middle of New Mexico with an artificial left arm and no memory of what had happened to him or why he'd been flung so far into the future.

He called in what favors he could, talked to anyone who would listen, desperate for answers. What had happened to him? Where had he gone? The Howling Commandos were long gone. He had nothing left.

It was easy to strike the deal in the end. Work with Torchwood and try and find the answers. They dealt in the weird and unexplained and god knows Bucky had enough of that.

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Bucky glances down at his shoulder and the heavy scarring where metal met skin. "I don't know. Rift activity is bizarre on a good day. All I really remember is falling in the mountains, then waking up in the desert."

"None of the scars were fresh when I woke up. Doctors said they were years old already."

Years that he still can't remember.

Bucky finishes stripping down and steps under the spray to distract himself. "That's how I wound up with Torchwood. They deal in weird and I qualified."

“And that was before the arm and the time travel,” Steve says, warming back up to Bucky as he finally starts wiping the grime and blood off of him. “But the Rift is the best thing that happened to me since I lost you, pal.”

He could shut up. He should shut up. It’s just too late. The words are all tumbling out now.

“I only had to do six months without you, so I count myself lucky there. Things happened. But it’s like finding you at Azzano all over again. I feel lucky.”

"Only this time it was me coming for you, huh?" Bucky tosses the soap at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "I feel like I can breathe again," because Steve isn't the only one who really should stop talking.

"I missed you. Waking up here, it was hard. Jack and the others, they try, but it hasn't been the same."

“It is pretty hard to be friends with anyone else after you’ve had me,” Steve agrees, glancing down at himself. A sink and soap isn’t going to do anything at all, but he doesn’t know how much hot water they have to waste.

He wrinkles his nose a little and just lathers up what he can.

“Jack seems…. Determined. Chatty without saying much?” Kind of like that Peter kid who talks just to talk.

The water switches off and Bucky emerges a few moments later, towel slung around his waist. His skin is rosy from where he'd scrubbed up, trying to get clean as quickly as he could. The hot water is nearly limitless in the future but old habits die hard.

"The sink ain't gonna get you clean enough, get in the shower. I found enough clean clothes for everyone."

He pulls on a sweater first, grumbling as the shoulder seams catch on his arm and he has to give up and wrench the whole sleeve off. "Yeah, he's a talker all right. But he cares about his team, he wants to see everyone come home safe." There's still a lot about Jack that he doesn't know, but everyone who comes to Torchwood has secrets.

"And he'll flirt with anything breathing."

The shower does actually look nice…. Steve gets distracted by the ruined wash cloth and then the sound of Bucky tearing his sleeve off. He catches the last second of it in the mirror and then turns to look over his shoulder at the other man.

“Are shirts in the future made of newspaper or are you a lot stronger than I remember?”

He’ll get clean in a second, this is far more important!

"They did something to me at Azzano, I think." Grimacing he tosses the sleeve away. "Or it was something in the Rift, I don't know. But.. yeah. Not as strong or as quick as you, but more than I used to be." And what he wouldn't give to be normal again? To just be Bucky Barnes, ex-boxer from Brooklyn who was hopelessly, recklessly devoted to his best friend.

"The docs keep wanting a full workup, and I keep finding reasons to tell them no." He can't explain why the exam chair makes him so uncomfortable.

“Yeah but you should. Just in case there’s something not as great as being strong enough to rip your shirt clean off going on.” Steve grins despite being covered in blood. His smile is soft, and he winks at Bucky before he gets into the shower to scrub himself as clean as he can.

The moment the curtain closes, Steve loses his smile. He feels emotion climbing up into his throat and swallows as hard as he can against it.

He might sneak a peek of Bucky through the curtain.

Just to make sure he doesn’t disappear.

While Steve showers he hums to himself, moving around just noisily enough as he gets dressed and checks in with Jack to make sure everything is all right. It reminds him of when they were ages younger, one getting dressed while the other scrubbed down in the same room.

Getting answers would be the smart thing to do. But it also makes him worry about what had been done to him. Why did someone take his arm and give him another one? Why can't he remember?

"You know, when we get back it isn't a long flight to France. You should see the place. Hell of a lot different than the last time we were there."

Steve feels so much better when Bucky is there. He’d tried to busy himself with getting the blood out of his hair but it’s just not working. His hair is matted for all eternity.

“I think I might be done with plane rides,” Steve says, still scrubbing at his scalp. He turns off the water and leans out to grab a towel. “And France. And—. Where actually are we?”

Bucky will pin Steve down and fix his hair once they're out of immediate danger. He can't let go of his instinct to take care of him and he's happy to continue with that once they're safe.

"It's an eight hour drive from Wales, which is where we're based. Cardiff. Right now? We're in Antarctica. Land of snow and ice and damn little else."

“And eight more anomalies,” Steve gripes. “Antarctica. Well I guess you really do end up seeing the world when you join the Army,” Steve mutters and ruins the towel with goop that hadn’t come off of him. He looks better now than he had before, and considering he’d recently been inside a blob, he thinks anything is an improvement.

They should clear out for Sylar either way. The guy still looks like he’d gotten into a fight with a red paint store.

And he wants to talk shop with Jack.

By the time they get back to the others, Peter is bundled up and poking at some of the panels, trying to supplement the power until they can get out again. Constantine is at least upright, but in no shape for another battle.

They'll have to track the other anomalies, but with luck they can wait until the return to Cardiff.

Sylar takes a long time in the bathroom as Jack crouches by Peter to observe what he’s doing. The kid is bright, it’s not all that often you find someone so good with their hands. He even compliments him. Jack is the nicer, more dad-like version of Tony Stark. He’s just as much a genius with machines but he’s down to earth about it. And enjoys being a father figure.

Steve waits until Jack has a moment to ask what they’ll be doing next.

“We have at least two more hours until the vortex manipulator is fully charged. Gabriel used to be able to teleport but he lost it. He’d only be able to take us one or two at a time anyway. When he’s done cleaning up, we’ll go back out. You lot stay here.”

Steve snorts. “I’m coming.”

“No offense but you’re a little too green.”

Mr. Harkness is nice, he listens and asks questions and doesn't make Peter feel like a kid. He likes him. Not every adult goes to that level of effort.

"Two more hours? I can make sure everything is running for another week if you need to!"

Bucky grins at Jack making friends with the kid. He's always been good with people. It's nice to see.

"Two hours huh? Okay. If we can get a signal back to Torchwood I can radio in and let them know what the situation is."

“That’s not a bad idea,” Jack says. “We are no where near a population center so I’m not too worried about u leashing mayhem on unsuspecting people,” he grins. “Not like what happened a few weeks ago. I still keep thinking I smell the sour milk at the grocery store.”

Jack laughs with Bucky, and the arched eye brow the blond gives the Captain goes without answer.

“There should be an array back in the lab. Just don’t release the spiders.”

"Never gonna let me live that down, are you?" Bucky smirks before clapping Steve on the shoulder. "C'mon pal. Let's get a signal back to the others so they know we have company."

Peter brightens, "I can help, I know the systems up there. I mean, they're pretty old but I can get them working."

Leaving John Constantine to his own devices isn’t something Jack really wants to do. Bucky will be close, but a guy that can shoot fire from his hands trumps a metal arm. And that’s just science. He still parts ways with Bucky by putting a hand in his shoulder and squeezing. “We can be back in two minutes,” he tells the man before he takes Sylar back into the facility.

They deal with some run of the mill Rift dwellers, and call back their progress as they go until they get separated sometime after they hit the fourth anomaly. The old Main Room where the Rift had once been managed had go into time dilation.

Jack was caught in it…. But Sylar wasn’t. He’s aware of the problem as his feet take him back into the living quarters where John had been resting.

“The flame throwing. How do you do that?”

John is sitting up, scrubbing a hand through his hair when he hears footsteps. The darker haired one, is it? He's attractive but John's instincts are screaming at him. The man is no demon, but he's dangerous.

So best tread carefully.

"That? That was your run of the mill pyromancy. Magic, mate."

When Jack doesn't return right away, Bucky will drag Steve, and probably by extension Peter, to look for him. Socially he might be late sometimes, but never when he's on the job.

If he’d been operating at full Sylar capacity, he would not have let the others in the lab know he’d come back. Alone. Perhaps it’s a good indication that he really doesn’t want to cause problems the way he’d used to. Hurting people isn’t just game anymore, but he’s still coerced by the very nature of his aptitude.

He wants to know how things work. He wants to know how they interact with the universe. He wants to take something apart to see the gears turning and the springs vibrating.

“Magic.” Magic isn’t real. It’s just science in another package. “How do you do it?”

"I imagine the same way you do your thing, or how the lad can climb walls like it's nothing. Magic is a skill you're born with." He holds out his palm, levitating his lighter a few inches above it.

"You either have the ability or you don't."

Time dilation.
Wonderful.
Bucky snarls under his breath and starts directing both Steve and Peter on the best way to pull Jack free from it.

This either works very well in Sylar’s favor…. Or it doesn’t. Of course Bucky, Steve and the kid get themselves stuck— it will be fine. Time for them will be slow, just a few minutes really. It’s time enough for Sylar to really discuss things with John.

His eyes are already too focused, pupils blown wide open. “Your spider friend was not born with his ability,” Sylar says. It’s likely the only reason why he and Steve are safe. “I would really like to know how yours works.”

Maybe not the telekinesis part. Sylar has that one already.

Bollocks.
The man may not be a demon but he's dangerous. He can see that in his eyes and the way he's carrying himself. John pulls himself to his feet. "Don't go down that path, mate. This isn't a power you can control without consequences."

Like demons. Other mages. Darker forces of the Pit.

“Honestly, heard that one before,” Sylar says,” his hands inside of the pockets of his parka specially to keep himself from reaching out. He doesn’t need his hands to direct his telekinesis but it feels better doing it. The swipe of a hand through the hair, followed by the unseen force sweeping something or someone in the same manner, gives him a lot of pleasure.

He keeps his head very still for the same reason.

“I’m not…. I don’t want to take it from you,” he lies, anger at himself seeping into the way he looks at John. “I just want to know.”

"This power takes everything from you," he warns him. "And everyone."

Constantine has tried so hard to do right with his power and his skill but for every person he's helped and every life he's saved, he's buried friends. Lovers.

Or he's watched them pulled into Hell.

"There's no knowing. There's only doing. Go down that path and it'll consume you."

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