Chapter Three
Bucky froze. An arm. They were ... An arm. An arm? They were going to get him - "This is a dream." He decided. It had all been a dream. He was going to wake up in the army hospital to the dull white ceilings and the lights that buzzed a one-note song for those lying beneath them.
"What's it going to take to convince you I'm real?" Steve asked, exasperated. "Should I make the clouds spell it out for you? Steve - is - real. Heh. The weatherpeople would have fun with that. My higher-ups would also eat me alive. With lemon pepper and cilantro." He grabbed Bucky's hand. "Lookie, bucko, I'm real. See, feel. Tangibility. Whoo-hoo!"
"Yeah, you're a real pain in the ass." Bucky said, pulling free. "Could you try to not be a public spectacle?" The other cafe-goers were staring. Bucky could feel their gazes, heavy as a pack of rocks. He shifted in his seat. Why the hell was his guardian demon like this? Why couldn't he have gotten a normal guy? Then he wondered what part of having a demon as a guardian was normal.
"What are you exactly?" He leaned across the table to ask quietly.
"I'm Steve." Steve's face suggested he knew exactly what Bucky had been asking, he was just being a little shit about it.
"I asked what, not who." Bucky hissed. Hurt zipped over Steve's face again. Dammit. His face was expressive, and ... handsome, Bucky would reluctantly admit. Not that he admired it. At all. Whatsoever. Goddammit. "I mean," he sighed, gentler. Somewhat. "I mean, you said you're a demon, but what does that mean?
"What am I?" Steve grimaced. "I'm complicated. Demon is a blanket term. Specifically what I am is a whole mess of terminology you don't have the security clearance to hear about. I'm being honest here, pal. I'm a fallen one, I could say. I'm a dark being. I'm not human. I'm a piece of the universe and a twist of fate and a consciousness barely held together. Am I making sense?" He smiled ruefully, genuinely, and Bucky got a glimpse of his own tired pain and loneliness in this being's eyes.
"Did you mean it? About the arm?" Bucky queried in response.
"Dead serious." Steve nodded sharply.
"Can we catch a taxi like normal people, though?" Bucky narrowed his eyes at Steve. Steve grinned.
"Nope. What gave you the idea we were trying to be normal people?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Bucky staggered against the nearest wall, dry heaving. He tuned out Steve's babbled apology, trying to gain control of his spinning head, his twisted gut, his blacked out vision. He felt like he'd been put through an entire wash cycle squashed into three seconds. The sensation lingered, crushing into him, and he sank to the floor, gasping for breath.
When he finally gained control, he realized he was kneeling, his head resting on a shoulder, thin surprisingly strong arms around his ribs. He sagged slightly, his lungs still shaky, and inhaled the faint smell of smoke and some kinda incense.
"James?" Steve asked softly, his arms tightening. Bucky nodded, and pulled away. Steve's hands lingered as he scanned Bucky's face. "I forgot to warn you about long distances with us unconnected. I should have grabbed your hand. That was my fault, I'm sorry. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Bucky rasped.
"The fuck?" A new voice said. A dark haired man stood in the doorway of the dark room they were in, his hand frozen above the light switch. He looked at them like they were impossible.
"Tony!" Steve exclaimed, hopping to his feet. He offered Bucky a hand, but Bucky used the wall, not exactly trusting his matchstick demon to be able to pull him up. "I have found you a new test subject for Project Soldier."
"Test subject?!" Bucky snapped as Tony squinted and exclaimed: "Steve? What. What happened to seven feet tall and muscles?"
"Uh." Steve smiled nervously. "Not important. It's a long boring story involving my higher ups, and that's never fun to hear about."
"You got downgraded." Tony guessed. "It's been a long time, Steve. I wondered if you'd gone for good."
"Test. Subject?" Bucky repeated.
"Oh yeah!" Steve spun. "Bucky, meet Tony, inventor and damn tricky bastard. Tony, meet Bucky, stubborn ass fighter. He's the one, Tony. Don't worry about the test subject stuff, Buck, Tony's a genius."
The genius was currently eying Bucky analytically and appreciatively. "Well, if you're willing to deal with me, you lucky dog, I can make you one."
"What is going on here?" Bucky growled.
"I make robots." Tony said. "I can give you a robotic arm. We can talk about what you want specialized in it. You look like a taser kinda guy."
"I can't afford a prosthetic." Bucky objected. It had been one of the more painful decisions he's made since coming home. It was either Rebecca or him, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna leave her hangingwhen she deserved the cash far more than he did.
"As this is a project that isn't finished and marketed yet, I'd pay you to be one of my test subjects, and we could work it out so that I pay you with your arm, yeah?" Tony said cheerfully. "Let's get started. Take off your clothes. Just kidding, just kidding, I only need you to take off your shirt."
"Uh." Bucky looked between Steve and Tony. This was going so fast it felt like a joke. He glanced behind Steve and saw the dim tables of tools and wires and gadgets, proving they were in a lab, but still he hesitated. His scars ...
"Buck?" Steve questioned, stepping closer. "You alright with that?"
"I mean." Bucky laughed sharply. "It's not a pretty sight."
"I have a reactor for a heart." Tony shrugged. "Don't worry. I've seen my share of scars."
Bucky gritted his teeth and grabbed the hem with his hand, yanking it up quickly to keep himself from thinking about it..