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cratlord · 2 years ago

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Prince of the Seas - Chapter 17

Pairing: Bucky x Ruby / Some Bucky x Killian

Summary: Things did not get better for Bucky Barnes after he and Sam had their adventure. They got worse. After years of living only through stolen moments of his own life, he is given a chance to build a life in a whole new world. The catch? That life is going to be a very, very long one. This is the tale of the life built in the Realm that will one day be known as Misthaven, or the Enchanted Forest.

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, suicidal thoughts, violence, Sexual content

It had taken less than half an hour for Bucky and Elanor to break camp. Luckily, they weren’t far from the town still, having been only one day out. They were able to make it back to town before midnight. While Bucky went to put on his armor, having been in light woodsman leathers, Elanor went directly to her office at the garrison. She had taken over as the first officer when her father had ousted the dandy the king sent, along with all the paper pushers. Threats had been made, and warnings given, that if they didn’t cooperate with the royal demands, then fresh troops wouldn’t be sent.

That was twelve years ago. The Duke had seen to it that not only were fresh troops sent, but the number of them had doubled since the last rogue sorcerer had come through the region. That left them with nearly 150 elite troops, though a few dozen were out manning the outposts. And wasn’t that a relief, since it had been through the outpost chain that the message had been received.

She was barely in her office when, despite the late hour, her second bustled in. “My lady, updates ready for you.”

“Tell me while you help me into my armor,” she snapped back. She was glad she had been dressed for action, since that meant she was already wearing a form fitting shirt and leather jerkin, along with tight leather pants to fend off the early spring chill of the evening hours.

Her second was a man named Char. He was young for an officer, even if his father was a baron, and some had accused him of bribing his way to his position. Elanor knew better. He had been in this garrison for four years now, and had been hand picked to be her second through her own judgment, seconded by her fathers. He was observant, professional, quick, a good fighter, and just all around intelligent. If he was also a bit easy on the eyes, then who was Elanor to deny it. She was far too old to be worrying about petty little things like social niceties as they pertained to unattached women.

Not that she had actually said anything to Char, or to anybody else for that matter. It hadn’t stopped Bucky and Teddy from noticing, the former of which at least was nice enough to simply smirk knowingly when he caught her eyes wandering where politeness would normally dictate that they shouldn’t.

He began tying on her various pieces of armor for her while he dictated. “Signals so far have only one advance, three ogres strong. They are baring the brown hand on their face, with two eyes, so that puts them at what Lord Eldar calls the Twosies tribe.”

Elanor couldn’t stop the little giggle that escaped her at the sheer exasperation as the usually stiff and formal officer was forced to say Twosies.

Char rolled his eyes and sent El a fond smile which she barely caught before it was gone again. Her stomach fluttered at the little crooked smile which she so rarely got to glimpse. The flutter only intensified as he knelt and began to work the straps at her side, making sure her armor was secure, yet not so tight she couldn’t move in it. She shivered slightly when his fingers accidentally brushed her waist.

Ever observant, Char noticed her shiver and paused. He looked up at her, his expression not as stern as usual, but still unreadable. It looked as if he didn’t even know what he was thinking in that moment.

“I made you my second for a reason, Char,” she breathed, looking directly into his eyes. “Tell me, what are you thinking?”

He boldly met her stare. “I am torn, my Lady.”

Elanor nodded encouragingly, even as she barely breathed waiting for what he would say.

“I am glad to be marching to protect our homes by your side. I know our odds of survival are far better with great warriors like you and your father.” He stayed on his knee next to her, but his hand left her armor straps and oh so gently grabbed her hand, encasing her delicate thin fingers entirely in his own much larger ones.

“I know you are the greatest warrior in the village, Lord Eldar not withstanding, but all the same…” He trailed off. He licked his lips and swallowed visibly before continuing. “A foolish part of me wishes you didn’t need to go. While I know you are particularly suited to battle, the idea that you could die in this war chills my heart through.”

Elanor turned to face him fully, a soft smile blooming across her face. “That you know that part of you is foolish speaks well to your wisdom. But know, I will fight secure knowing that it will be you by my side, because I know you would not let anything happen to me.”

Their eyes stayed connected, the intensity of their gaze drowning out the bustle of the garrison coming to life to prepare for the ogres. Her heart skipped a beat as his warm, calloused thumb gently trailed across the back of her hand. Her knees felt almost weak as he slowly pulled her hand forward and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it.

Then, as if the moment was broken by some unseen signal, they both looked away from each other. Char released her hand and began working on the various buckles and straps of her armor again as if their little interlude had never happened.

“The enemy appears to be making rapid strides towards the region. They are not yet as far as Tangle Grove, but the people of that village have already evacuated and are on their way here,” he said quietly, but firmly in his usual way.

“Good,” she said, turning herself to make it easier for him to get the other side. “Do we have any word on the main body?”

Char shook his head as his fingers went deftly about their task. “Not as of yet, but we do know these came down the East Mountain Pass, between posts 4 and 7.”

At that moment, the door opened to admit Bucky. He was now properly attired in his usual battle ready black leathers. His armor was the definition of function over form, made from various salvaged pieces he’d ‘liberated’ or purchased over the years, each with their own style and shape. The only similarities were that they were all died black and they all fit him at least well enough to be functional. He’d never let anyone make him his own suit before, though he’d never told El or Teddy why.

He walked right by Elanor and took her seat behind her desk, watching both of them carefully on his way past. He watched as Char began strapping on the grieves onto his daughter’s legs, and basked in the tense silence his arrival had created, certain that the tension had been of a slightly different kind before he’d gotten there. A knowing smirk pulled at his lip as he leaned back in El’s chair and folded his hands before him.

“You know, I feel like we got this really turned around,” he said lowly, but still loud enough for Char to make out his words. “Usually a father gets upset when a man takes off his daughters clothes, not when he helps her put them on.”

Elanor shot him a scathing look, but her blush gave away her true feelings. As for the poor bastard helping her dress, he continued on as if he hadn’t heard the father of the woman he served comment on what he was doing. He did have suspiciously pink cheeks though. Which naturally only made Bucky laugh.

“Relax, princess,” he chided, putting exactly zero stock in her murderous death glare. “You know I don’t mind. Someone needs to get me some grandkids at some point, and I am well aware of what that process entails, having been a part of it twice myself.”

Bucky felt his esteem of the man raise slightly when he noticed the slight quark of his lip as the young man attempted to keep from chuckling at El’s reactions. She had always been energetic and a bit dramatic. It made her so much fun to rile up.

Case in point, she was currently gasping and huffing at him, muttering obscenities that would probably make the poor man helping her blush even redder. Her vitriol only got funnier the more Bucky laughed.

Finally, El rolled her eyes. “You are such a shit, Papa.”

He scaled back his laughter until he was just looking up at her with that particular twinkle in his eye. “I thought we already established that I have been a shit far longer than I have even been a god.”

“Are you ever serious?” she snapped back. “Ogres are headed towards a village and you are teasing me about grandkids.”

The twinkle faded from his expression as he stood. “I’ll go check on Al.”

And with that he left, shutting the door softly behind him.

Silence filled the office until Char finished with the last buckle. He stood back up, keeping his feet planted as he did so that as he stood he ended up so close to El’s back she could feel the warmth of him. She leaned back slightly so that her back pressed against his firm, leather armor clad chest.

“My father is the same,” he murmured into her hair as his arm snaked around her shoulders. “He spent his youth on the Western Border fighting off his majesties enemies from Tolben. He will joke and speak of everything but that which haunts him.”

El pouted. “Seems like it would be easier just to get it off his chest so he could be through it already. A burden shared is half as great.”

Char took a deep breath, inhaling the floral notes of the soaps and oils El used for her hair before letting it out in one deep gust. “To share a burden, one must relive it. He seems to me a man who is burdened with great sorrows.”

“And what do you know of him?” she snapped. Immediately she clicked her teeth together and closed her eyes as regret washed over her. She opened her eyes and gently pulled his arm from her shoulders.

He stepped back from her to look into her eyes as she turned to face him again. “Only what I’ve seen. The way the surgeon makes him shiver so much he cannot bare to be in the room with him, or the way he sometimes stares into the sunset and appears miles away. How sometimes he looks at his left hand and traces the golden patterns with his thumb, lost in thoughts he will not share. He carries himself in training like a man who has seen much of battle, and no man sees that without having scars.”

She licked her lip and bit it, a habit she shared with her father. Her head lowered and she leaned forward until her head rested on Char’s chest. “You’re right. I’ve seen these things too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I just…”

Silence followed as he gave her a moment to sort her thoughts.

“I just want him to be happy. I fear that the longer mother is gone, the more of the Papa who raised me slips away. He smiles less, he is always working on something, and he no longer does anything simply for the joy of doing it.” She bit her lip again and lifted her now gloved hand to grab at the edge of Char’s armor. “Now with Teddy gone, I fear it will only get worse. That he will speak in nothing but quips and business, and spend more time in his solitude. That he will eat nothing but sustenance to stay alive and deny himself even the most basic of joys. Aunt Alana said that when they arrived here originally, the townsfolk spoke of him more as a ghost than a man. They gave him offerings and asked him for help, but nobody even knew what his laugh sounded like, or if he even liked the things they gave to him.

“I do not want him to become a ghost again…”

“Then we will not let him,” Char said with confidence enough to draw Elanor’s eyes back up to his own. “I will help. We will remind him that life did not end with his wife. We will keep him engaged until he has a chance to heal. We will draw him out of himself, piece by piece, until he remembers how to smile again.” He smiled.

“You don’t have to do this alone. In fact, I think it will be better for him if you don’t. He is loved here by all. It wasn’t just Lady Lisbeth who ran the White Candle all those years, and it wasn’t Lady Lisbeth who founded and trained this outpost into the most respected garrison in the entire kingdom. And it wasn’t the kind Lady, as great as she may have been, who has helped build and guide and protect this village for centuries. The scrolls in the library say this village was barely three winters old when he arrived. The least we can do is care for our god as he cares for us.”

She smiled softly at her second in command. “Thank you, Char.”

He returned her smile, and gently grabbed the hand which was still clinging to his armor and held it delicately in his own. “For now though, I think you should speak with him.”

She nodded and pulled her hand from his slowly. He watched her as she finally turned away from him and let herself out of the office.

It was still the middle of the night, but the night guard was an anthill of activity. Men ran as quietly as they could in their armor, trying to let the day watch get their sleep while also doing everything they could to get ready to march. This town had no walls, so the only choice they had was to go out to meet the Ogres and try to kill them before they made it this far. That meant they would need to be marching as soon as possible. Many of the men paused long enough to snap a fist to their heart as she passed, before bustling on their way again.

She gave them barely more than a passing acknowledgment as she strode towards the stables. Altair got nothing but the best in everything. The best stall, the best grooms, and the best meat. Spoiled little shit. Of course, he was the magically bound mount of a god, and had not only never been beaten in a race, but also tired out at basically the same rate as her father. Which was to say, he could run at a full sprint nearly all day, then fight a battle if necessary. On top of that, he would permit no man to ride him except her papa, and on a few choice occasions, herself.

Bucky was exactly where he said he would be. He had a brush in hand and was smoothing out nonexistent tangles in the immaculately maintained glossy fur of the horned beast while humming a tune she didn’t recognize. It sounded a little sad, or maybe it was just the dead eyed look he was wearing that made her think so.

Elanor had always thought Altair was very much like her father in many ways. At first glance, all people tended to see was the fierce flame in their eyes and the many pointy and powerful ways they could cause the death of you. They exuded raw power and a sort of dangerous wild quality that made many very uneasy. To those who knew though, they were both very soft. The only creature she knew who was as loyal as her father was that damn horse, who would literally forgo the ability to die just to stay by his side, a sacrifice Elanor was only recently getting old enough to appreciate.

They were also both the only ones of their kind. Bucky had told her once that gods were singular beings. Even if there were multiple of them, each one was so different as to make it very difficult to maintain close ties, even if they were friends.

Altair was the last blutford left, as far as anyone knew. Their species are shaped directly by the magic they consume in infancy, which means that he was as much a part of Bucky as Bucky was. The rest of the blutford’s were not so lucky as to find a master like him though. Their value as mounts was lauded most ardently, so that opportunistic poachers took out herd after herd, not bothering to learn about them, or understand that their kind needed magic blood to survive their early years. Altair’s heard was one of the last ones left, and now even they were gone.

Elanor stood behind the door to the stall, watching her father fuss over the spoiled stallion.

His humming stopped, which was the only warning she got before he spoke quietly to her. “We didn’t know it was coming,” he muttered, almost offhandedly.

El blinked in confusion. “Didn’t know what was coming?”

“My first battle.”

Her eyes widened and she froze, scared that if she moved too much he might change his mind and stop talking. He didn’t stop, and later she would wonder if perhaps she had been naive to think she could help him at all.

“We were driving down a forest road when explosives took out the front of the convoy. We were surrounded before we were even out of the back of the transport trucks. I was second in line to get out when the fella in front of me got his head shot out. I didn’t even notice the chunks of him blowing all over me, seeing as how I was too distracted by the whistle of the bullet damn near cleaning my clock too.”

She had no idea what a truck or bullets were. She did understand what chunks were though, and that a man’s head had ended up all over her father. She’d gone with her father to fight a couple sorcerers over the years. They had spells which could turn a tree into splinters. These bullets didn’t sound so different. The thought nearly turned her stomach.

He kept brushing the horse, staring intently at what he was doing and not at Elanor, who knew that he knew she was there.

“Moment my boots hit the ground, my gun was up and I was shooting. Problem was, I didn’t even know where the damn bastards were. They were hiding in the trees. I turned to find my own superior to see if we had any plan for this, and spotted him just in time to see him start coughing up blood while he keeled over with six holes in him.

“I didn’t have time to think of any better plan, so I just used my own superior’s bullet holes to figure out what direction they were coming from, then ordered my boys to follow me. I got no idea how we managed to not get shot that day. I know there was more than one close call. Still, it wasn’t ten minutes later the shooting stopped and we managed to kill every single one of those fucks. Turned out, there were only fifteen of them. They just got lucky and caught us unaware. They weren’t prepared for our unit to be elites, there were expecting regular infantry.”

He sighed. “We had only been traveling with two officers higher than me, and the one who wasn’t dead had a fresh hole of his own through the leg. I ended up having to take charge of the whole group. When we made it to the base camp with the higher officers, I was promoted to Staff Sergent, to take the bastard’s place who got pumped fulla holes.”

There was silence. This Elanor was used to. Her father was like that. He would speak for a while, then go silent, and usually if you waited, he had more to say. She’d heard him speaking with Blue before, conversations which lasted hours but whose content could barely fill one page written. She waited patiently.

Nobody came into the stables, since the horses would be the last to waken, as the soldiers needed their mounts fresh. She could only hope, taking in the dozens of resting animals, that they managed to kill the scouts and receive reinforcements before the main body arrived.

“I know you’ll do great out there, princess,” he mumbled, though his tone dripped with melancholy. “You’re too much like me not to.”

He sighed and finally put the brush to the side. Altair stepped slightly to the side to give him plenty of space to pass with no visible signal from Bucky that he wanted him to do so. Bucky just moved through the stall, taking it as a given that Al would know what he wanted and not be in his way. When he stopped out of the stall, he looked down to meet his daughters eyes.

For the first time in her life, Elanor felt like she understood what everyone else must have felt like looking into her father’s eyes. His face was void of all emotion, but his eyes were glowing, his brand of magic pouring out of them and caressing her very soul. She knew enough about magic at this point to know he had no idea he did this. His power was simply so great, it poured out of him, an inexhaustible fountain which flowed out and under people’s skin, making them feel a spark of the judgment he contained. Today, it was worse than usual. Whether it was the memories of blood and violence, or the upcoming battle with ogres, his magic felt denser, sharper, and far more dangerous than it usually did.

Bucky was so caring for his village, it was sometimes easy for Elanor to forget exactly how deadly her father was. There was no forgetting it today. Even without having to look at him, a normal person would likely feel his lethality with him simply entering a room.

He lifted a hand and gently brushed his knuckled down his precious daughter’s cheek. “This won’t be like hunting sorcerers. Ogres don’t enslave people, they just eat them. And when they come, they come in waves. Those waves can last years. Some will escape, and in a century or two, they will return, as numerous as they ever were. You and your brother will likely live to see more than one ogre war.”

He searched her eyes and seemed to find what he was looking for, because his expression shattered into grief and he moved his hand from her cheek to the back of her head so he could pull her into his chest. She relaxed in his hold and wrapped her arms around his back.

“You are too much like me,” he muttered into her hair, a hitch to his voice. She felt his body tense up around her, his breath coming in lurches. “Please,” he begged as he held her, “I need you to be better than me…”

She squeezed him and reeled internally. “Papa, I don’t understand.”

He forced a deep breath and a shiver wracked his frame, though his grip on her didn’t lessen. Then, like when a damn breaks, so did he. Just like when her mother died, he crumpled. Every breath was a gasp and his whole body quivered and lurched.

The world faded out of her notice as she held her papa and for only the second time in her life, she witnessed him sobbing. He wasn’t sobbing for her mother, who was dead, but for herself, who was still alive and holding him. He didn’t seem to care either when soldiers bustled into the stables, likely intent to check on the horses, then instantly turned and fled. She didn’t know what to do. She was panicking and had no idea how to fix it.

And then, he stopped.

Just like that, he straightened up and released her, making sure to keep his hands on her shoulders so that she wouldn’t lose her balance from the sudden shift of being let go from how hard he was holding her. While he did this, a barely there flash of flame swept over him, removing any evidence of his breakdown from his face, leaving him dry and barely even a bit pink around his eyes.

She bit her lip and looked up at him helplessly.

He avoided her eyes, but kept his hands on her shoulders.

They were silent for several minutes, neither one of them moving. Finally, Bucky took a deep breath and forced himself to look at her. He was back to his blank state.

“There will never be a time when everything is right,” he murmured.

El cocked her head in confusion. “Okay?”

His brow furrowed as he considered how to say what he needed to say to her. He licked his lip then nibbled on it, a thing he had seen her do countless times as well.

“Elanor,” he began, releasing her shoulders to delicately grab her face with his mismatched hands. He looked deep into her beautiful eyes, so like his own set in a face very like her mother’s. “It’s good to want to help people, to take care of them, but there is nothing that would make me sadder than seeing you live the same kind of life that I have. Don’t sacrifice yourself, your happiness and your centuries, to protect and care for others while you neglect your own life. Don’t wait for a time when you’re not needed to allow yourself anything of your own. If you do, you’ll never have anything.”

Before she could respond he pulled back and entered the stall again, grabbing the saddle from the stall door as he passed it. Elanor stood there, watching, as her father saddled his mount then put on the rather pointless bitless harness which Al preferred, which was barely more than a small loop over his nose Bucky could pretend to steer with. Then he leapt easily onto the enormous beast.

El stepped aside and watched her father ride past her. As soon as they were completely out of the stall he turned back, his face set in its normal resolute expression.

“I’m going to scout ahead. Join me at outpost 4. I’ll reinforce them as soon as I get the positions of our enemies.”

With that, he turned forward and with no visible prompt, Al leapt forward and began sprinting out of the stables. Neither one of them looked back, not even when she made it back to the door and watched them turn onto the road outside the garrison and head out towards the road east. Her mind was roiling with everything her father said, coupled with the few stories of his life before their mother that she knew.

She was so lost in thought she didn’t even notice Char and the two who had walked in on her father crying entering the stables from the other door. She was still watching the road, a million mental miles away, when a large, firm hand gently grabbed her shoulder. She startled slightly, then turned to see her worried looking second who’s eyes were scanning her every micro-tic of expression trying to figure out what was wrong.

It warmed her heart. Something about this man worrying and fussing over her always just warmed her heart.

She blinked as it finally clicked. Her father was over two centuries old even when he fell into this world… and that was centuries ago. Her mother was his first and only wife. She was the only person he considered the love of his life. Her head spun with the implication that she was the first person to ever really love him back… after all those centuries of caring for everyone else. He had spent all that time alone.

“My lady,” Char began.

Before he could finish asking her what was wrong, she turned and stepped into his personal space. Her hands lifted, sliding into place on either side of his face and pulling him forward and down even as she raised onto her toes. He froze completely as her lips brushed against his. She wasn’t a quitter though, so she just pulled his face a little closer, one hand reaching back and burying itself in his hair, and kissed him more firmly.

That seemed to get through to him. He gasped and she took advantage of it to deepen the kiss, sliding her tongue into his mouth and finally tasting him as she’d been dreaming of for months. He didn’t let his shock rule him for long before he slid his hands around her waist and pulled her in as close as possible in their respective armor, then proceeded to give as good as he got in their kiss.

The kiss was passionate, but it didn’t last nearly long enough. As much as she wanted to keep kissing Char, she knew there was still a mountain of work to do and she had barely even started. She pulled back far enough to see his face as his eyes fluttered open and gave her a look full of wonder.

“I love you.”

A grin spread across his handsome face, showing his solid white teeth, perfect but for the slight overlap of the front two. He slid one arm around her back and pulled her in again while his other grabbed her face as he kissed her again, this time slow and meaningful. As soon as he parted his lips from her again, he pressed his forehead against hers.

“I love you, too.”

Chapter List

#bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #mcu crossover #once upon a time crossover #dad bucky #our boy aint okay

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cratlord · 2 years ago

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Prince of the Seas - Chapter 16

Pairing: Bucky x Ruby / Some Bucky x Killian

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, suicidal thoughts, violence, Sexual content

The sound of the summer cicadas was at peak obnoxious levels, the sounds ensuring he had a complete mental image of the forest around him, regardless if his eyes were open or closed. It did a lot to put him at ease.

Teddy stoked the fire while Elanor tapped the ground, listening for edible roots to go with the rabbits Bucky was dressing. It was just like when they were kids and they used to go out to ‘learn from papa’. Of course, they were much less squeamish about the rabbits now than when they were then. They were also much better at camping.

He smiled to himself.

Teddy leaned back on his heels and blew on the embers until his kindling caught, then carefully fed it the twigs he had gathered, keeping the young flame right at the edges of the driest logs. Without taking his eyes off the flame, he spoke quietly, knowing both his father and sister’s hearing was good enough to hear.

“What was it like when you left home, Papa?”

El paused for barely a moment before she went back to her tapping.

Bucky didn’t bat an eye as he tied off the legs so the rabbit was secure on the stick. “I think my situation was a little different, Theodore. I’d like to think I raised you to know I would always love you, no matter what.”

“I know. I was just curious. I knew you joined your kingdom’s army, but you haven’t talked about it since,” he said, finally looking up to meet his eyes.

El poked her head around a tree and set the full force of her eyes on him as well. “Please, Papa. This may be the last time we’re together for who even knows how long.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. Teddy’s going exploring, not leaving the planet. He’ll be back in a handful of years.”

It had not been a surprise when his son had come to him with the desire to travel. He couldn’t blame him. He’d had quite a wonderlust when he was young, but he hadn’t had the ability to sate it. Their mother had been dead for nearly fifteen years, and Bucky and El would live a very long time, so there wasn’t really any reason to put it off anymore.

El pouted. “Years, Papa! Years!”

Even Teddy chuckled at his sister’s antics. “Theatrics aside, what was it like being away from home?”

Bucky sighed and jammed the sticks holding the rabbits into the ground next to where the fire would be in several minutes. “I feel like this is a bit of a depressing topic for our last week together before you leave.”

Teddy smiled up at him briefly before lowering his gaze back to the little flame he was tending. “Yeah, but we’d still love to hear about it.”

A warm breeze blew through their little clearing, bearing with it the pleasant heat which heralded the final end of winter and the growing strength of spring. The trees rustled overhead and the late afternoon sun danced over the skin of his children.

His children who had been begging for more stories since the day their mother died. His children who weren’t really children anymore. He sighed as he burned the remnants of the rabbits from his hands in a quick white flash.

“Fine,” he grumbled. He pulled his cloak tight around him and nestled into the log he was leaning against, ignoring the way the bark dug slightly into his back. “When I left Brooklyn, I didn’t go far at first. Turned out, the training grounds for the group who recruited me was only as far as Jersey. For context, it was probably only a few day’s ride from where I grew up. First they made me go through Basic Training, which was not quite as difficult as what I make the boys do back in Riverhold. It was after that when I met my first team.”

It had been months since Bucky had left home. It was the longest he had ever been away from Brooklyn, or any familiar faces. First it had been basic training, then further training using weapons, then some very specialized training from two men, one from Britain and the other from France. The two men had hated each other, but the skills they taught were important enough that they put their differences aside and did what they had to.

That all served to leave Bucky feeling like an entirely new man from the heartsick boy who had left home. He now knew so much more than boxing. He could wield a pistol or knife as well as his fists, and he was a good enough shot with the rifle that the instructor said he’d never met his equal. On top of that, he was rapidly learning German, both from his teachers and a kind scientist who was living on base. He had a truly terrible accent, but he was understanding more and more every day, and the French instructor (known only as Jacques), was filled with tips on how to hold his mouth differently to affect his accent in both English and German.

The Brit, a man named David, helped Bucky refine a skill he’d always had, but never known how to really improve. David was a master of manipulating people. He always seemed to know where people’s eyes were moving, and what was going through their heads. What’s more, he knew how to explain it in a way that Bucky and his few peers in the training could learn from. With David, he learned how to predict people’s attention, and divert or exploit it when and where he wanted. He learned how to be even better than invisible. He learned the basics of how to go unnoticed, even when seen.

Bucky felt more confident than he had since before puberty. Not arrogant, but confident, as his teachers were quick to remind him that improvement was not only possible, but necessary until one died.

Today was an important day though. He was finally a Sergent, officially, and this was the day he would be getting his first recruits. The men he would be receiving wouldn’t be getting quite the full treatment he had gotten, considering they were anticipated to join the war effort likely within the year, but they would be getting whatever he could give them before they were inevitably shipped out. Lucky they should already have made it through basic at least, so he could maximize his time by teaching them more advanced maneuvers.

He stood outside in the gun yard, waiting and watching. The autumn sun beat down on him, warming his skin even as the late September breeze chilled it. His calm blue gaze followed the steady stream of men leaving the train and heading for the barracks across the camp. Those men would be getting their own brand of hell, in the form of Basic. His boys were only beginning to break away from the pack and meander his direction, and beyond the obvious different path they took, they were easily distinguishable from the rest of the men heading to begin their training.

He already knew all of them, of course. He’d not only gotten their files, he’d been given a briefing over the phone from their previous trainers. He knew how they performed in basic, their basic personalities, and what had drawn each man into the attention of their scouts. He’d taken his job seriously, and he was going to do his best to give each of these men everything he could to maximize their chances of coming home.

He stood silently at parade rest in the designated location while the men approached and didn’t move as they filed in around him. He gave them no indication of who he was, and just let them make assumptions. He kept his eyes and ears peeled, taking special note of their natural interactions when they didn’t realize an officer was watching.

Because he had made sure he didn’t look like an officer. He was still wearing the same green pants and white shirt that all the men were who were here for training. To any newcomer, he looked like he was simply meeting up for the Army Ranger training.

He kept listening while he stood at a casual parade rest. The one he knew was named Dugan was telling a ridiculous joke about his wife in Boston to a couple of other guys, one with an accent so Appalachian Bucky could barely understand the poor bastard. Another group was standing in a loose cluster discussing what they discussed with the scout to get them here. All of that Bucky already knew, but these men would have only really had the chance to meet each other on the train, and that had only been coming from New York, so it was not a long ride by any means.

They all seemed like relaxed sorts on the surface, but they all had that subtle tense weariness that he’d come to recognize as someone looking for where the trouble was coming from. More than one set of eyes scrutinized him, but it took a little time before anyone approached.

The poor bastard that took the plunge was Dugan. He was an odd one, based on his personal history. A literal runaway who joined the circus and became a strong man. And the man was strong. And tall. He was the kind of huge fucking bastard who had never had reason to fear another man in his life and it showed in ever facet of how the man carried himself.

“Hey there, soldier,” he said with a smile, extending his hand. “I’m first private Dugan.”

Bucky looked at the extended hand and gave the behemoth of a man his own shark like smile. “And I’m Agent Barnes.”

The affect was instantaneous as every man jumped to attention in a straight row. Within two seconds he was looking at a ruler straight line of men each at full attention. He couldn’t help the laughter that pierced the cool morning, only getting louder as the men started to sweat.

“You didn’t really do that to those poor men, did you?” El asked poking the tubers on the big skillet which was perched in some embers.

Bucky laughed out loud. “Of course I did. What’s the point of being an officer if I can’t fuck with people?”

Teddy rolled his eyes. “Why anybody gave you a rank is beyond me, Papa.” He set his eyebrows in a quizzical look. “I thought I remembered that you were a Sergent, not whatever an agent is. Did you get demoted, or would it be promoted?”

Bucky pursed his lips while he turned the rabbits on their sticks with his metal hand over the fire. “I was both, technically, though in the public record, it was listed as Sergent. It was a bit complicated.”

He was more than willing to leave it at that, but both his kids hit him with the double whammy. He got the eyes and pouts. He shook his head and gave a chuckle.

“Fine, you little shits,” he said graciously, prompting both to grin. “In my world, the army was a much bigger organization than it is here. The population was much higher, and the world more densely populated than anything either of you have seen. In the main army, I was listed as a Sergent, but it was in the SSR, or Strategic Scientific Reserve, I was listed as an agent, which had the pay scale of a lieutenant actually. The main difference was that the SSR worked within the other branches, secretly and unofficially. On top of that, nobody was drafted into the SSR, it was very selective and only took the best of the best. A private in the SSR was on the same pay scale as a First Sergent in the regular army.

“Course, the trade off was that we spent an indecent amount of time behind enemy lines, coordinating with various resistance groups and in general making a nuisance of ourselves for our enemies. Of my first group, only half survived the war, and nobody left unscathed.”

Elanor cocked her head to the side and opened her mouth to ask a question when all three of them tensed and froze.

A horn had sounded. One long blast, then three short ones, followed by a mid length one.

“Shit,” Bucky cursed to himself. He looked up at his kids, both of whom were looking at him with the first glints of fear in their eyes. He locked eyes with his eldest.

“Teddy, I need you to go to the Duke. The first scouting parties have arrived, and the main tribe will follow. We need reinforcements if we are going to hold off without any damage to the town.”

He looked down at the rabbit thoughtfully, then turned to his bag and pulled out a cloth. He put the biggest rabbit and a couple of the smaller tubers in the cloth and wrapped them up to hand to him. “Take these, son. And your horse.”

Teddy looked at him with the biggest eyes he’d ever seen as he grabbed the bundle. “Papa…” he muttered softly.

Bucky crouched around the fire and knelt next to where his son was sitting and pulled him in for a firm hug. “I love you more than words are capable of expressing. Don’t worry about us. Go.” He leaned back to grab his son’s face and look earnestly into his eyes. “See the world. Meet new people. Try new things. Learn as much as you can. We’ll be here waiting for you.”

Teddy lifted a hand to his fathers which was still cupping his face. “You sure you don’t want me to stay and help?”

Bucky was already shaking his head before Teddy even finished speaking. “Get out of here. I wish we could have enjoyed more of our camping trip. I’d have loved to see you to the duke’s gates myself, but I know you are a good enough woodsman to make it there on your own. After all, I taught you myself.”

“Thanks, Papa,” he said, finally pulling back from their embrace.

As if that were the signal, all three of them began moving in a rush. The small clearing they were in was just big enough for their campsite and the horses. Teddy went over to saddle his own while Bucky and El began gathering his bedroll and necessities. In barely five minutes he was ready, holding the reigns as he looked back at his father and sister.

“I’ll send word back when I can,” he said, a small smile creeping through the concern on his brow.

El grinned back at him. “And that better be often, or else!” Teddy just rolled his eyes and pulled his bratty little sister into his arms. They held each other for several seconds, then finally Teddy stepped back first, eyes noticeably moist. “I’ll miss you, brat.”

She stuck her tongue out at her older brother, the effect not diminished in the slightest by the single tear trailing down her face. “I’ll miss you too, turd.”

The small family gave one last soft smile at each other before Teddy turned away from them. He stepped carefully, leading his horse back into the trees in the direction of the nearby road, which was just far enough through the trees to provide a bit of privacy to the campers from any passers by.

Bucky watched him go, his heart heavy in his chest. His son was freshly seventy-six. Most parents didn’t even live to see their children this old, yet here he was mourning that he was only just now watching his boy move out from under his roof. True, they lived in an Inn, so living in the same building felt more like living in the same apartment building than the same house, but still. He would go from seeing his son almost every day, to maybe not seeing him for years.

He stood still and listened as Teddy finally broke through the trees and mounted his horse. Within second, he was at a gallop down the familiar road towards the Duke’s city. He looked over to El, who was watching in the distance clearly listening the same as he was. They locked eyes and kept their gaze until the sounds of Teddy’s horse was dim even to their enhanced ears.

The signal sounded again on the horn.

Bucky sighed and moved over to where he had put Al’s saddle bags. He fished around in one of them and pulled out a long horn of his own. Several blasts of varying length later, he stowed the horn back into his bag.

“So, what now Papa?”

He stood from his crouch and turned his intense gaze back to his daughter. She was tall and lean, like her mother, with her mother’s long, wavy black hair, but his big blue eyes. He knew the men of town made a game of trying to flirt with her, but so far only one had caught her eye and even still, she hadn’t done anything about it. It was hard for the men to understand, but not Bucky. He understood perfectly.

Despite her affectionate nature with her family, her heart was not that of a lover. In her chest beat the heart of a warrior. He’d known since she was a child she was destined for glory on the battlefield. She could out spar any grown man but himself before she was even fifteen. Unlike her brother, who went down more of a scholars path, she endlessly pursued her martial prowess. She had even managed to learn a few spells to aid her in battle. She’d learned everything she could from Bucky in an effort to be as much like him as a non-god could be… and she’d basically succeeded.

He smirked. “You heard my signal. Word has been sent. Now, we ready for war.”

Next Chapter

Chapter List

#Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu crossover #once upon a time crossover #family bonding #dad bucky

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cratlord · 2 years ago

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Prince of the Seas - Chapter 15

Pairing: Bucky x Ruby / Some Bucky x Killian

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, suicidal thoughts, violence, Sexual content

The body had long ago dispersed into ashes. There was nothing left of the woman who had given her every moment to him. He stood next to the stone, staring at the fire which refused to go out, despite having run out of flesh to consume. The flames continued to lick up the side of the sacrificial alter before flickering up into the air where the breeze carried them up and out of town, where they twinkled a rainbow of colors amongst the stars.

There was nothing left. She was gone.

Bucky felt his knees hit the ground, the impact creating a jolt of sensation which shattered every vestige of calm carefully built up around his heart. His ribs felt like they were trying to suffocate him. Every gasp of breath only served to stoke the flames pouring out his eyes in time with the sobs they pushed out his throat. Every feeling he had pushed aside regurgitated itself all at once, leaving him feeling somehow like he was burning away to nothing but freezing to death at the same time.

Blue was the only one left by his side. The townsfolk had long since gone home for the night, tactful enough to give the grieving god space once the last of his wife burned away into the heavens. Even his children had gone reluctantly back to their home, the Inn their mother had so loved, at the Fairy Queen’s quiet insistence. Blue had known Bucky long enough to know what her friend needed.

She kept her movements slow and predictable as she approached him, finally kneeling so she could hold him in her arms. And she held him. And he cried.

When the sun finally rose, he barely noticed. His head was cradled in his friend’s lap with his eyes still glued to the white fire. His tears had slowed, more from dehydration than any relief in the unrelenting pain. The fluffy blue dress Blue wore was softer than he had ever really expected, even now, crusted as it was with his tears and less savory fluids.

“I am the goddess of hope,” the gentle fairy said softly as she carded her fingers through Bucky’s hair. “These last decades though, I must admit that it has been you who has given me hope.”

The raising sun cast the sky in innumerable hues as the townsfolk began to stir again. The sounds of them raising and beginning their days floated through the town commons and to the two still next to the burning stone.

“Long ago,” she continued quietly, “my name was Reul Ghorm. When I arrived in this world, the primordial forces from the sundering had not yet settled. Somehow, it had ended up with myself in the position I now occupy, though there were many I arrived with. I fear I am the only one now who still remembers those times.”

There was no rush between the two immortal gods in the grass. Both of them could feel the eyes of the curious townsfolk on them. Both of them could hear the gossip of the people discussing the still flaming stone and what it could mean.

“I was never one really for the desires of the flesh, but that doesn’t mean I am immune to the need for companionship. To see you down here, living in such bliss with people you love, people who love you… it has rekindled my own love for the people of this world.

“It’s hard though. I am torn, because to love these humans is to want to help them. To use my power though, I must feel my sorrow at their pain. It feels sometimes like it is the price of my godhood to suffer this way, and it feels particularly unfair sometimes when I consider it is a burden I never asked for.”

Bucky rolled onto his back so he could look up at Reul. “It’s grief for me,” he rasped up to her. “My flame burns on the pain of all I have lost.”

They were quiet for several minutes while they both just watched the sun rise. Their conversations often went like this. Little bubbles of words with stretches of silence between.

“When I was a young man I wanted a family more than anything.”

His eyes were so dry. He closed them to keep the sandy feeling from burning even more.

“As I grew older, and the world grew darker, I lost hope that true love was ever something I could have,” he whispered into the warm morning air.

Reul turned her curious gaze down to him. “You mean your old world?” She kept carding her fingers soothingly through his hair. “You never talk about it. I didn’t want to ask if it brought up bad memories.”

“That whole world is a bad memory,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “I probably should talk about it though. I got too much pain, I don’t know what to do with it.”

Blue smiled sadly down at him. “I’m here to listen.”

Bucky thought back to all of the therapists over the decades who had pestered him to talk. It had always seemed like a fun game to tell them to fuck themselves, or feed them some line of bullshit. The well intentioned friends over the years asking him to talk had been harder to blow off. He’d never intended to keep Sam, Yelena, and so many others at arms length, it was just… he’d always known deep down that unloading on them wouldn’t fix it. Not when so much of his problem was how he had a nasty habit of outliving everyone, no matter how much he’d wanted to die at times.

Reul was different though. She was actually older than him. She wasn’t someone he would ever watch die. There weren’t any painful feelings when it came to her. She would never judge him.

“Would you mind if we had this conversation with a drink?” he asked. “I’m parched, and to be honest, if I’m going to talk about this I’d rather do it with a beer.”

Reul nodded, and they both pushed themselves up (her far more gracefully). Fifteen minutes later they were in the White Candle, sitting at the bar with a foaming mug of ale in each of their hands. The tavern was closed, considering nobody in their family was really up for keeping it opened at them moment, but Elanor and Teddy were still downstairs, looking about as put together as Bucky did. She was in a stool next to Bucky while Teddy was behind the bar, his own mug in hand half empty.

Nobody spoke for some time. The kids seemed to be in a silent sort of shock, with their mother being their first family member lost to death. His heart ached to know that it was a feeling they would likely experience many more times, if their lingering youth was anything to go by.

“I was born in a world called Midgard,” he began, his tone loud enough to signal to the kids that he didn’t mind if they heard.

Elanor blinked rapidly and turned her head to him. Teddy’s eyes widened and he abandoned taking a drink of his ale with the mug hanging halfway there. He couldn’t blame them for their surprise. He’d never told them anything before.

He took a gulp of his own ale and pushed himself to keep going. “I was born in the middle of the greatest war my world had ever seen. Ma told me it had felt like the whole damn world was tearing itself apart. I was still a baby when it ended, but I still remember how for the first years of my life, people were acting like the world was cursed, like they needed to get theirs before it all went to shit again. I didn’t really get it, cause my family was too poor to be acting foolish and taking risks like that. We didn’t have the luxury of bargaining the future.

“One thing my Ma wouldn’t compromise on was my education. Our government provided schools for all the kids if they wanted it, but that wasn’t good enough for my Ma. She wanted me to go to the same school she did. It was run by a Church and taught very particular views on how a person should be. As a kid, I didn’t really know any better, so I just took their word for it.”

Teddy seemed to snap out of his shock at hearing Bucky actually talking about his past and furrowed his brow. “Is that place why you don’t like churches?” he asked.

Bucky nodded. “It’s one of the reasons. I didn’t hate that place so bad though. It’s where I met Steve…” he trailed off wistfully as the memories of getting into trouble with his best friend reeled across his minds eye.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” roared Sister Mabel.

James sent one last mean mug to the boy on the ground who now had a satisfying trickle of blood dripping down his face from his nose before turning to look at the irate nun. His chest was still heaving from the fight and his knuckles stung from hitting the older boy, but he didn’t regret a thing.

Sister Mabel looked less than impressed. Of course, the fact that he was barely fifty pounds and only six was certainly a factor. “You can rest assured that your mother will be hearing about this. Brawling in the schoolyard is unacceptable behavior. There is never a reason to turn to violence!”

“But Sister Mabel,” piped in the small blond boy who sat next to him in class, “Billy was being mean.”

“That is enough from you, Steven. Don’t think I didn’t see you’re part in this,” the nun hissed at the smaller boy who had planted himself by James’ side.

James glared up at the woman scolding them. “If you could see his part, then how come you didn’t do nothing to stop Billy from pushing Mary?”

Several of the kids still standing in a loose ring around the spectacle chorused an ‘ooo’ at his declaration.

Sister Mabel’s finger waggled down at them. “Now don’t you talk back, Mr. Barnes. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“And how come Billy ain’t in trouble? He’s the one who was being and asshole,” James sputtered out indignantly.

His head spun as a sharp slap echoed through the school yard. His cheek burned with the sting of the strike. “I said that is enough out of you, boy.” The nun stepped around the boys and grabbed an ear of each of them. “It’s to Father Donovan with both of you.”

James knew he was going to ask Steve to play with him later when he heard the smaller boy mutter from the other side of Sister Mabel.

“I thought there was never a reason to turn to violence.”

“Who’s Steve?” Elanor asked, speaking for the first time since the previous morning.

He smiled at her sadly. “My first love.”

Blue hummed softly under hear breath. “I didn’t know that about you,” she said before taking a drink of her mead. “He must have been something quite special. You always had an eye for quality people.”

“I met Steven Grant Rogers in first grade when I was six years old. Even at that age, that scrawny, sickly little fuck managed to find every single bully’s fist within six blocks with his face. He had a real talent for pissing people off.”

He chuckled to himself. He could still see Steve wiping his bloody lip saying ‘I had them on the ropes’ after the countless times Bucky had bailed his ass out of the fire. He shook his head and took another drink.

“I had to learn how to win all his fights just so he wouldn’t keep getting his ass kicked. Even after school, when we were full grown, he was barely 90 pounds soaking wet. He’d had asthma his whole damn life, and scarlet fever twice.” He smiled fondly. “Even so, he was always willing to fight if he thought it was the right thing to do. That puny little shit had more balls than any man I ever met. Between that and his gorgeous blue eyes, I was sunk.”

“Steve,” he whined. “Come on! We’re gonna miss the start of the picture!”

It was Friday, and for some reason, Steve was loitering by the gates to the school instead of fleeing with the rest of the sane kids eager to start their weekend. Bucky just shook his head at his friends odd behavior.

“Just a minute, Bucky,” Steve replied, as if every 8th grade boy just loved standing by a fence and doing nothing on a Friday afternoon.

No sooner had Steve said that than the Bucky realized exactly what stupid reason Steve had for wanting to stand next to the damn gate for ten minutes. The classes for the day had been let out an hour ago, and now the last of the clubs were getting released. The doors to the chapel opened and the girls choir bustled out.

Bucky let his eyes pass leisurely over the girls, flashing a cocky grin at a few of them as they passed by and dispersed onto the sidewalks into the city. He got a smug satisfaction when a few of them actually batted their lashes and giggled back at him.

He turned a snarky grin at his friend which faded the moment he caught the look on Steve’s face. It was a particular dopey eyed look he’d seen on any number of their classmates right before they’d gone all girl crazy and been absolutely insufferable. His stomach fell. Steve had a crush on a girl. Suzie by the looks of it, based on where his eyes were glued.

Why did it hurt so bad?

His expression fell. “Course, two men loving each other was frowned upon on my world. Seen as a perversion. Between that and the fact that Steve only like girls, I just kept it to myself. It wasn’t so bad at first. I just pretended I didn’t feel anything, and tried my best to find a nice girl. I never really wanted to string a dame along though, and it didn’t really feel right trying to use them to forget about him. Eventually, I tried just avoiding him.”

Bucky closed the door behind himself as he let himself out of Steve’s room. The little punk had finally gotten to sleep. It had taken a few hours, but Bucky had patiently read to him until he nodded off. The damn cough didn’t help.

He set the dreadfully boring philosophy book from the library onto the table in front of the short couch. Sarah Rogers was sitting tiredly on the couch reading a book of her own, a steaming mug of tea in a cup on the side table next to her. She set her bookmark and closed her book as he approached and patted the couch next to herself.

As soon as he sat down, she leaned over and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I take it he’s finally asleep,” she whispered into the silence of the room.

Even the clock had been stopped because the ticking had irritated Steve’s migraine. The windows were all tightly curtained and the radiator was on as warm as it would go to fight off the early spring cold snap. The room was as clean as Bucky had ever seen it, as Sarah had obsessed over getting rid of the dust just in case it helped with Steve’s cough.

He wrapped an arm around the woman he considered an aunt after all these years. “He’s out like a light.”

Sarah fidgeted her fingers as tension rolled through her body. Finally she shifted away from him and looked up into his eyes. “I remember a time when I had to look down to talk to you.” She gave him a sad smile. “You’re all grown up now. In a few months you’ll graduate and go out into the world and make your fortunes.”

A tear escaped her eye.

“Hey, Aunt Sarah, none of that. Steve will bounce back from this. No problem,” he said with a gentle smile, doing his best to sound like he believed it. He looked slightly down at the kind face of the short woman who by this point had basically half raised him. She wasn’t looking at her son’s room. She was crying while she looked at him. “What’s the matter?”

She bit her lip, her strong eyebrows so like her son’s when they bunched up in the middle of her face. Another tear slid out.

“Bucky, I would like to say something to you, but I want you to promise you won’t flip your lid, and that you’ll listen till I’m done before you interrupt.”

It was clear in every terse line of her body that she was very serious about whatever she wanted to say. Bucky had no tolerance for crying dames, especially Steve’s Ma, who was about the sweetest lady he’d ever met. He nodded, then wiggled his butt on the couch to signify he wasn’t going anywhere while he mimed zipping his lips.

She collected herself before she finally reached forward and grabbed his hand which was closest to her with both of hers. She met his gaze earnestly. “Buck, I know you’re in love with my son,” she started.

He instantly made to pull his hand back but she only tightened her grip. Tension roiled through his back and abdomen. His eyes felt like they were going to burst out of his face and his ribs seemed unwilling to expand to facilitate any sort of meaningful breathing.

More tears slipped out of her eyes as she saw what he knew was a clear confirmation of her statement in his reaction.

“Thank you.”

The statement only confused him. His mind didn’t seem to want to comprehend that she had just thanked him for… he opened his mouth. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. About a million thoughts were jumbling themselves in a heap between his ears. Before he could say anything, she held up a hand.

“I’m not done yet.”

She carefully wiped the wetness from her eyes then held his eyes hostage with the kindness in her own. Despite himself, he felt his shoulders begin to droop as his chest finally loosened up enough to let a shuddering breath in. His own eyes began to burn with the complicated mix of shame, guilt, and grief that so often plagued him when he thought about his feelings for too long.

“Thank you for seeing in my boy what I do, for recognizing what a great man he could be, the strength in his heart. You’re a good man, which for a man as young as you is no small thing,” she said with confidence, even if it was barely above a whisper. “You’re a good friend to Steve, and just good for him in general. Nevertheless, I wish you would stop doing this to yourself.”

He couldn’t keep holding her gaze anymore. He turned away and looked at his own knees. He didn’t try to escape again, knowing she would only pull on his hand if he did, but that didn’t mean he would be a willing participant in this conversation.

She wasn’t willing to stop though. She took a breath and forced herself to continue. “I’m not upset with you. I’m honored that a man like you would take such and interest in my son.”

She reached a hand forward and hooked her fingers around his jaw so she could pull his face around again to look at her. “Bucky, there is nothing wrong with you, no matter what those blowhards at that school say. You are not broken, you are not a perversion, and you are not unnatural. This sort of thing ain’t nearly as uncommon as people like to say.”

Everything she said sounded so nice. So tempting. It felt like a knife slipping slowly into his chest. For the first time in years, he felt tears falling down his face.

She continued relentlessly on. “But just because it’s not wrong, doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

She let go of his hand completely and grabbed his face with both of her hand, pulling him forward until she was certain he couldn’t avoid her words. “Steve is going to die.”

He pulled back out of her hands and stood up, retreating several steps away from her. More tears poured down his face as he shook his head.

Sarah was crying freely, but in a way that sent shards through his heart. Her shoulders were slumped and her hands collapsed in her lap. The grief pouring out of her expression said everything he needed to know.

She had lost hope.

“Bucky, there is no point denying it,” she said softly, just barely loud enough for him to hear. “Even if he makes it through this, he will never get any stronger. His heart is weak, his lungs barely work, his spine is curved, and he’s half the weight he should be. His list of ailments is longer than most seventy year olds.”

“On top of that,” she paused and bit her lip for a moment. She took a fortifying breath then continued on. “On top of that, he will never love you the way you love him, and you deserve better than that.”

Her words carved out a hollow place inside him. He knew she was right. The tears kept coming, but he couldn’t come up with an argument against what she was saying. Steve liked girls. Only girls. He had never once even entertained the notion that he’d ever thought about the idea of men being attracted to men, let alone shown any attraction to one himself.

And he was dying. It would be a miracle if he saw twenty-five.

Sarah crossed the room while he was having his internal meltdown. Her hands delicately framed his face, letting her thumbs wipe his tears away. “You’re a good man, and you deserve to be loved by someone as fully and deeply as you love them, and I’ve seen how deeply you love people.” She sniffled wetly. “Nobody would blame you if you took a step back, gave yourself some space. Broken hearts hurt real bad, but they do heal if you allow them to.”

“How?” he whispered brokenly.

She patted his cheeks. “You just leave. I love you like a second son, Bucky, and I want what’s best for you. I want you to leave, and not talk to Steve for a while.”

He licked his lips. “But…”

She shushed him. “I am his mother, and I will take care of him. And you need to take care of yourself for once.”

He nodded silently. She shooed him and without another word he left with nothing more than one last brief glance back.

“Did it work?” Elanor asked, blinking innocently at him.

He pursed his lips. Both of his kids had never really shown any interest in settling down. He wasn’t sure either one of them had ever had more than a passing crush on someone. It was odd considering how he was… but it could just be that they were normal and he was the odd one. He did tend to hold onto people a little too tightly.

“Not as well as I’d have hoped,” he said before downing the rest of his beer and gesturing for Teddy to pour him another. His throat finally a bit wetted, he continued on with his story.

It had been eight months since a classmate named Sal had invited him to his uncle’s boxing gym. Apparently it had gotten around the school that he hadn’t been in a fight in a few months, and Sal figured he’d want to keep up his form.

Turns out, he was pretty good. Sal’s uncle Tommy was a trainer and took an instant shine to Bucky, said he had a lot of raw talent. As he sat on the bench unwrapping his hands, he pondered what it meant to have talent at this sort of thing. He hit hard, fast, and with an accuracy that belied the number of times he’d been in fights with fellas way bigger than himself. He was also very good at dodging.

More than that though, he had anger. And grief. It had been nearly a year since he stopped hanging out with Steve. Almost a year and he wasn’t sure if he was getting any better. Every attempt at relationships had flopped pretty miserably, to the point that he had started going out to get laid more than to actually make any real efforts.

He had made a lot of new friends, something that had been more difficult when he hung out with Steve considering Steve’s habit of pissing people off by pointing out all their hypocrisies. His new friends didn’t really feel like friends. He knew if he told them something about himself they didn’t like, they would be out the door faster than he could blink. He was starved for good conversation too. Turns out, most men didn’t really talk about anything of substance.

He could play the part of vapid playboy well enough, but it was kind of exhausting. It didn’t really feel like anybody knew him anymore. It felt like all he did was work, read, and hit things. And now Sal was asking if he would consider hitting things for money.

He put his bandage ball in his bag and pulled out his fresh clothes to hit the showers. He pondered everything that had happened in the last year as he washed the sweat away in the frigid water. The cold never really seemed to sink in. Or maybe he just already felt cold. It was hard to tell.

After a quick bye to Tommy and the boys, he slipped out into the cold winter evening. He hustled down the sidewalk in the direction of home, head down and collar up like everyone else on the street. He barely saw the others on the sidewalk as people. It kind of felt like nobody was a real person anymore. Or maybe they were real people, but he didn’t feel like one. All he did was work and hit things.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a dark little miserable lump on his stoop. The lump looked up at him with familiar big blue eyes as he approached. He looked like absolute shit. He was even thinner than he had been when he was sick and his eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed. His hand was clenched around a bottle shaped paper bag.

“Becky told me where you lived,” he rasped out. “I didn’t know you’d moved out.”

Bucky nodded and gestured to the door. “Yeah, several months ago. Lets get inside before you catch a cold.”

Steve pried himself up off the cold steps then shivered as a frozen gust of wind pierced his shoddy thermal defenses. They both meandered through the door then Bucky led the way up the creaking stairs slowly, knowing Steve wasn’t much for cardio. He was on the fourth floor and he didn’t want him to keel over before they got there.

Steve stood listlessly behind him as he got the door open. Neither one of them spoke as they entered the shit hole apartment.

“It’s not much…” he trailed off, trying to think of some way he could build on that statement. “Yeah. It’s not much.”

And it wasn’t. It was a studio with barely enough space to be considered more than a closet. There were two cabinets and a counter with a sink next to an old fashioned ice box and oven. He hadn’t used either much and the dust on them showed. There was a single radiator next to the bathroom door, with his small single sized bed on the other side of the door. His clothes were at least kept up, with the clean ones hung neatly, the folded ones in a medium sized chest next to the rack his shirts and pants were on. In the center of it all, pushed up against the foot of his bed, was a small two person couch that had really seen better days with a stack of library books beside it. It was off green with the fabric near worn through in a few places, and so lumpy you could see the dips and bulges long before you experienced them.

“Why?” Steve asked, finally breaking his thousand yard gaze to look into Bucky’s eyes.

The overwhelming grief in Steve’s eyes left little room to pretend he didn’t know what the vague question was referring to. Bucky’s shoulders slumped and he gestured to the couch as he made his way into the room and tossed his shed coat onto the bed. Steve kept his on for the moment, but still made his way to the lumpy couch. He sat, then shifted several times attempting to find a comfortable position, gave up, and just leaned his head back miserably to stare at the dingy ceiling.

“You’re couch is shit,” he mumbled.

Bucky didn’t bother commenting. The couch really was shit. He sat next to Steve and grabbed the bottle, popping the cork out and taking a swig. He shuddered and had to force himself to finish swallowing. “This gin is shit.”

Steve shrugged. “It was cheap.”

They were both quiet for several minutes. Just when Steve was ready to give up on this whole thing, Bucky finally spoke.

“You were asleep. Your mom and I had a…” he trailed off. There was a lump in his throat thinking about it. He swallowed it down and continued, ignoring the sting in his eyes, pretending he couldn’t feel the cold tracks down his face. “Tough conversation,” he finished delicately.

At Steve’s curious glance, he clarified.

“She verbalized a few things I’d been avoiding thinking about for a while.”

Steve looked away and bit his lip. His eyes followed the line of a crack through the plaster wall all the way to the ceiling. He looked back when he heard Bucky sniffle. His stomach sank. He’d kind of suspected but they’d never really discussed it.

He grabbed the bottle from Bucky’s hand and took a swig himself, forcing the foul swill to stay down. “So all those girls, were they just for show?”

Bucky wilted even further into the couch, becoming one with the lumps. “No. I do like girls. I just…” he shrugged, “also like fellas. It’s more like, I’m more attracted to the whole person instead of only the equipment.”

He turned the full force of his own puppy dog eyes on Steve. “How long did you know?”

“Puberty,” Steve replied crisply. He shrugged. “I could never prove it. You were always more subtle than most people, but we’ve been friends a long time. I suspected.”

Bucky’s chest felt like it was going to cave in. Steve knew. He’d basically always known.

“You don’t hate me?” he asked in a quivering voice.

The sounds of his neighbors fighting drifted through the silence between them. They could make out a few of the words and neither party sounded like they were behaving like they wanted a resolution.

Steve brushed off the vulgarities drifting in from the wall and turned back to Bucky. “You’ve been my best friend since first grade. There’s not much that would make me hate you, and even less that I would believe you actually did, if that makes sense. I don’t care if you like men. I know you would never force yourself on someone who didn’t want it, and that’s all that matters to me.”

He reached over with the bottle offering it back to Bucky. “What happened to you?”

Bucky grabbed the bottle and took a healthy swig, the third one going down far smoother than the first had. “I made it home after talking to your mom. Dad could tell I’d been crying. We got into a fight. He said he didn’t have a son. I only got my stuff cause Becky packed it for me and carried it out into the hall while Mom told him I at least needed some clothes so I could hide my shameful nature.”

“Your own parents kicked you out?” Steve said indignantly, his usual passion shining through his expression for the first time in their discussion.

Bucky’s voice sounded flat, despite the tears running down his face again. “Downstairs neighbor heard the whole thing. Had a fella over at the time who’d had a similar experience when he’d been my age. He let me crash on his couch for a few weeks while I got some scratch together for this dump. They didn’t unenroll me, so I just kept going to school and pretended like everything was normal. Becky covered for me a few times till graduation, then I went to working full time. Haven’t talked to them since.”

Steve tightened his fists in his lap. He bit his lip and looked down to his own knees. “They shipped Mom off to Riverhold last week. She died this morning.”

The next morning, Steve helped Bucky pack up his apartment of his scant few possessions so they could move him into Sarah’s old room.

El’s head gently rested on his shoulder and he lifted his arm to wrap around her. “Papa, that wasn’t fair for you.”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head then leaned his own head on it. “My love life hurt, but it was the least of my worries. When I was twelve, the global economy collapsed. The reasons are complicated, but that didn’t make the hunger any harder to understand. There just wasn’t enough to go around, and even years later, keeping enough food on the table for me and Steve, especially when he was sick, was almost more than I could handle. I ended up boxing professionally for a while on the weekends just to make some extra cash. I was actually a champion. The money helped, but it always managed to get sucked up in bills or food or something.

“To top it off, the whole world was going to shit. After over a decade of desolation, people snapped, and another war started. My country was deciding still if they wanted to join with their allies or try and stay out of it. I read about the invasion just a few days before my title match. I remember cause that was the day I found out my Ma was going to die. She got cancer.”

The bell rang.

He stood looking down at his opponent. Hank was a good guy. He felt a little guilty for the concussion he clearly had. He was writhing on the floor completely unaware of his surroundings. He’d get better… probably.

He felt his arm lifted and the world suddenly hit his senses again. The crowd was screaming their heads off and Dizzy’s voice was echoing through the arena announcing his win by KO. Tommy would certainly be giving him an earful about his lack of showmanship on this one.

Usually he was one to give the crowd a show, but today his heart just hadn’t been in it. The last few days had barely felt real. Everything seemed to be happening all at once, and it left him feeling disconnected. He knew this was just the quiet in his head before the oncoming fist collided with his face. He felt a lot like… like Hank, writhing on the floor unaware of where he was.

At least he’d made a bet on this one. He locked eyes with his bookie as he felt the robe being placed over his shoulders. Tommy was holding up his new trophy. Third one Bucky had brought to Tommy’s gym. Bucky was more excited about that payout. He’d get a bonus for winning the Championship, then he’d get that sweet cash from the long shot bet he’d placed that he would KO Hank before the end of the third round.

He stood there while Tommy grandstanded for a minute, going through the motions. He smiled for the camera, cracked a few shitty jokes, smoozed a bit. Finally, Tommy threw his arm around his shoulders and started leading him out of the crowd and in the directions of the showers.

The noise of the crowd crested again as they hit the door out of the arena show floor as Dizzy started talking again. Winning the world championship in his class was great and all, but it didn’t change the fact that all most people cared about was the heavyweight class. He could win three championships in a row and most people still didn’t know who he was. That bet though. That bet was real money. That money would spend well. All Steve’s doctor bills would get paid, rent was taken care of for the month, and there would still be a few dollars left over.

For one brief moment, they were caught up on everything. He wished he was in a state to appreciate this rare event. Instead, everything only felt more surreal as the doors closed behind them and the noise diminished even further. Everything got more quiet as they made their way down the stark white hall towards the furthest locker room.

Tommy pushed his shoulder down guiding him to sit on a bench across from the showers. He looked Bucky up and down then squatted down in front of him to put his face in Bucky’s line of sight.

“Hey Kid,” he started in a subdued tone. He sighed and ran his fingers through his graying hair. “I know shit’s rough for you right now, so I get why you ended that so quickly. I ain’t mad.” He tapped him lightly on the shoulder with his fist. “Don’t keep all that bottled up, kid. Come by the gym and hit the bag for a bit. Let it all out. That shit will kill you otherwise.”

He gave his mentor and coach a weak smile. “Thanks, Sal. I’m gonna get cleaned up and head out of here. I got work tomorrow still, and we’re three hours from Brooklyn.”

Sal nodded and pushed himself up from his knees, then left the room.

It was silent in the locker room. Quiet enough to hear a dripping faucet in the showers. He leaned forward and let the quiet sink into his bones. Everything had been so loud lately. Europe at war. Title match. Other things.

He felt the tension cinch his back and took a deep breath to try and head it off. He was still in the damn arena. Not the location to fall apart. He undid the straps holding his right glove on with his teeth then pulled it off in the crook of his elbow. With one hand free, he took off the other glove and set them aside. He rested his elbows on his knees and began the slow ritual of rolling up his hand bindings. The familiar motions soothed him better than anybody’s words could.

“For a three time world Champ, you don’t look too thrilled,” came a cocky, but mildly familiar voice, followed by the creak of very nice shoes on the smooth concrete floors.

Bucky looked up to see two men file into the locker rooms whose very appearance made his gut plummet. One was an older gentleman, clean shaved, a touch of gray at his temples. His crisp dark green uniform showcased the bars of a colonel, and his eyes betrayed his years of experience. His expression was neutral, but it was clear he was focusing intently on taking everything in.

The other man, the one who had spoken, was Howard Stark, genius millionaire weapons developer, scientist, and owner of Stark Industries. His dark hair was perfectly coiffed, with a well shaped and uniform length mustache and big, dark eyes which were an endless fountain of curiosity and energy. All that sitting on top of a perfectly tailored suit and shoes so shiny they looked entirely out of place in a grimy locker room in Philly.

Bucky took all this in with a stoic gaze before going back to unwrapping his hands. “What can I do for you fellas?”

The older man stepped forward and extended a hand down to Bucky to shake, which he did.

“My name is Colonel Chester J Phillips. I’d like to speak with you privately regarding a job offer.”

Mr. Stark bounced on his toes in his position behind the colonel. “Yeah, so get cleaned up and we’ll give you a ride back to New York if you like.”

He untucked the end of the wrap on his other hand and started the process of rolling it up. “Okay. I’ll just take a shower and meet you in the hall.”

He listened to the two men exit the room and sighed as he tucked the rolled bandages into his bag. He pulled out his street clothes and hit the showers.

Barely twenty minutes later he was opening the door to the hall, bag in hand, to meet the two men who were, unfortunately, still waiting for him. They looked up at him as he walked through the door and stopped their whispered conversation.

“I gotta grab some cash from my bookie, then I’ll be your captive audience till we get back home,” he said with a twitch of a smile. With that, he led the way back down the hall and through the arena, now filled with fans screaming Joe’s name. Bucky ignored all that and made a beeline for Ken. One hushed conversation later, and he was carefully tucking a sizable wad of bills into his jacket pocket.

He nodded to the Colonel, who was surprisingly waiting patiently. As soon as he got a signal, Colonel Phillips turned and led the way out a side door where a long black car was waiting. A well dressed gentleman inclined his head as they approached and opened the door to the back for them. The two other men nodded their heads in thanks as they slid in, then Bucky followed, tossing his bag in first to the seat facing backwards across from where Phillips and Stark were. He slid in next to his bag and waited quietly for the two of them to say their peace.

“You know, there are guys who say you might be the best fighter the ring’s ever seen,” said the Colonel as the car started and began to pull forward onto the street. “Between your speed and power, you also got accuracy and a flawless form. I can tell by watching you though, the real reason you’re so good is cause you learned to fight before you learned to box. You got the instincts of a man used to fighting with higher stakes than a trophy.”

Bucky shrugged. “You got good eyes, Colonel.”

The older man leaned back and narrowed his eyes. “We did some digging on you.” He reached his hand to the side and Mr. Stark handed him a manila folder. He opened it to a details page with a picture of Bucky at the front. “Graduated from St. Mary’s top of your class on a school granted scholarship. Tell me son, why did your parents stop paying for school? It was one of the best in the state, and I know they could afford it still.”

Bucky forced himself to breath through the sudden sharp pain through his chest. “We had a philosophical disagreement, and I was disowned. I haven’t spoken with them since.”

Stark looked at him curiously. “About that. Your whole building knows about some big fight you had with them, but nobody would say what it was about.”

“It’s because I like fucking men,” he stated bluntly, too tired to beat around the bush. “My parents are very Catholic. I’d already strained our relationship by coming out as an atheist. Then I had the audacity to actually read Marx and develop an opinion on socialism that didn’t stop at saying it was evil. Them realizing I was in love with a man was the last straw, and now I have no parents.”

Colonel Phillips pulled a pen out of his pocket and started taking some notes on the paper in the folder. “So, you’re a homosexual?” he asked casually, holding his pen steady and waiting for an answer.

Bucky froze. He’d never actually used that word out loud about himself. He’d never really used any label. He licked his lip and bit it while he considered what he would describe him as.

“Well…” he started, tone uncertain still, “I wouldn’t say that. I do actually prefer dames, and I have been with a lot more dames than I have fellas. Every now and then though, a fella just stands out. More the exception than the rule.”

The Colonel just nodded, like he’d just shared his favorite color or brand of tea, then jotted down a quick note and looked back up at him. “Would you call yourself a communist?”

“Eew,” he accidentally blurted without thinking. He blushed slightly at his outburst and the smirk Stark gave it. He cleared his throat. “No, sir. I do believe that Capitalism is a more feasible system, especially considering out cultural norms and diversity of our population. I’m not sure communism could actually work in a population which wasn’t homogeneous, and I don’t believe there is any ethical way to take the steps which would be required to solve that dilemma. But I do also believe there is a lot of middle ground between the two systems. Some industries are just so cumbersome, yet essential, that in my opinion it just makes more sense to have them owned and ran by the government. Things like the mail and the railroads. I think an argument could be made for healthcare as well.”

He was slightly confused at the calm and dignified way the man was just taking notes about his answers. He wasn’t freaking out, making faces, scooting away from him, or making any indication that anything he’d said was abnormal at all. He’d just blatantly admitted to being a man fucking socialistic atheist, and he was just calmly writing it down like this was a normal job interview.

“What special skills to you have?” Phillips asked, again giving Bucky an emotionless and bland look. “And please be specific. All skills can be useful in the right context.”

Bucky ran his hands through his hair and considered what would count as a skill. He ignored the bumping of the car as it made the last turn till it entered the highway. The road was still relatively new so once the driver had made it there, it was quite smooth still. He looked back to the well dressed men across from him.

“Well, boxing, obviously,” he said, watching as they both nodded and the colonel wrote it down. “I’m a carpenter, real steady with a knife, and I got some mechanic skills for all the machines we use. I have to fix them pretty often. I play the piano, have since I was five.” He thought about what else may be useful and shrugged. “I’m a good endurance fighter, not that I really showed that tonight, but cardio is actually my strong suit. Um… I am proficient in Italian.”

“Any other languages?” the colonel asked.

“No sir, but I would love to learn more.” He twiddled his thumbs and readjusted his feet in the space between them. “I’ve been working on my Italian for a few years now, and Sal and Tommy say I pick it up fast. I always dreamed of being a polyglot someday.”

“Any other skills you can think of?”

Bucky looked out the window and began thinking several less appropriate thoughts. “Not sure if I would brag about it, but I am good at blending in when I want to. I got the ability to direct people’s attention where I want it usually. Sounds kinda manipulative to word it like that… And I’m pretty good at math. Geometry and trig, to be specific.”

The colonel wrote that down, then asked the next question. The questions ranged from broad, like asking his skills, to extremely specific, like asking his thought processes in very particular situations. Sometimes the questions were very personal, like where he’d stayed when he’d been kicked out, and other times it had been his opinion on specific events or people. He wasn’t entirely sure what the point of all of it was, or why he was bothering with it, when he didn’t even know what the damn job offer was. He was far too tired to bother lying about anything though, so he just kept it brief and sometimes painfully honest.

They were over two thirds of the way back to Brooklyn when the Colonel finally put the damn folder away. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. All the questions had left him a bit off footed and raw, and he was very much looking forward to his bed. Unfortunately, there was still nearly an hour left in their drive and was stuck in the car with these two nosy bastards.

Phillips readjusted himself in his seat and kicked his feet forward, crossing them at the ankles and leaning back comfortably in the well padded seat. “I know I mentioned this is a job offer, and that interview was the last step. Congratulations, Mr. Barnes, you passed.”

Stark, who had been staring out the window looking miles away shook his head and turned to fact Phillips. “Oh man, you’re finally done. My turn?”

Phillips rolled his eyes, but gestured for Stark to go on.

Stark grinned. “About time,” he muttered as he rubbed his hands together and leaned forward to peg Bucky with an intense stare. “Let me tell you about our organization, then I’ll let you know about what I want you to do.”

Bucky gave him a quizzical look, but just rubbed his eyes and nodded politely.

“We are starting an international intelligence organization, funded and manned by the US and her allies. Our purpose is to discover, predict, and counter as many of our enemies scientific and intelligence advancements as possible.”

Stark was well known for being a charismatic businessman on top of being a genius. Bucky was two sentences into his pitch, and he already understood the man’s appeal. The more interested he was in the subject, the more attractive he looked. He did his best to ignore the thought and pay attention to what he was being told.

“In order to accomplish our goals, we need the best of the best. We need men and women with a variety of skills and abilities, to fill all roles. Considering the complex and delicate nature of some of our specific objectives, we need people who are more than just brainless fighters. We need smart people, who can think on their feet, and most importantly, stay alive to give their reports.”

His grin stretched even bigger and he was nearly bouncing on his seat. “And we want you to help us build that team.”

“Build it?” Bucky replied, the skepticism clear in his tone. “You sure I’m qualified for something like that?”

“Mr. Barnes,” interrupted the Colonel before Stark could get going again, “you may be one of the most qualified men your age I’ve ever seen.” He laced his fingers together and looked intently forward at Bucky. “You are the best fighter in any class, and I’m half convinced you could take down the damn heavywieghts. On top of that, your academic record is impressive, even with your personal issues. Your teachers, even after five years, still rave about how brilliant and quick witted you are. Every man you have ever worked for has similarly enthusiastic compliments about your work ethic, problem solving, and leadership potential. I don’t think you realize how rare all those qualities are in a man who can fight as well as you do.”

Bucky’s eyes couldn’t get any wider if he wanted them to. That they had already talked to his teachers and bosses had him a bit floored. He wondered at how long they had been watching him. And they had gotten good reports from them. Even his teachers. His teachers who had regularly told him he would burn in hell. Those teachers had told the army he was brilliant and quick.

“Oh,” was what his stalled out brain came up with as a response. He turned back to Stark who was giving him an encouraging look. “So, what exactly would I be doing?”

And there was that million dollar Stark grin again. “Officially, you would be part of the 107th, in the Army. Really though, you and your immediate subordinates would travel with them regionally, blend in with them when you aren’t needed, but when you are, you would break off and fulfill missions for the SSR before returning back to the 107 to report. The regular rank and file of the 107 wouldn’t know a thing, so you and your boys gotta blend in. While you’re there, you need to work on making your boys as good in a fight as you are. You got a leg up, and we need a combat specialist with your people skills.”

A bubbling suspicion rose in his gut. “And what kinds of missions would these be?” he asked hesitantly.

The colonel jumped in again. “Mostly going behind enemy lines to acquire supplies, intel, or human resources.”

“It’s very dangerous work,” Stark conceded, “but it’s work that really needs doing.” At Bucky’s uncertain look, he continued on. “It ain’t like you’d be dodging bullets tomorrow. We ain’t even in the war yet. None of us are naive enough to think we won’t end up in it though, and you got till then to get your team as ready as they can be.”

Bucky was silent as he thought about it. The Colonel and Stark seemed content to let him mull it over, so he did. What followed was a rather depressing series of conclusions.

First, Aunt Sarah had been right. Distance would have been way better for getting over his feelings for Steve. He’d been living in her old room for over three years now, and nothing had gotten any better. If anything, he was even more hung up on the scrawny little fuck. It hurt. It hurt every day.

Second was the conclusion that he really didn’t have any real reason to stay. His job was alright, but also something with consistent enough demand that he could pick it right back up. More importantly though, nothing he made at work was really what he wanted to make. He loved creating things, but most of what he made was plain and boring shit which took minimal skill and resources. He had no family, or at least none that would be caught dead talking to him. His friends felt more like acquaintances really. The only thing he really gave a shit about in Brooklyn was Steve, and that was kind of the problem.

Third, he didn’t like what his life had become. All he did was work, read, and hit things. When he got home, the best he could hope for was that he would be too exhausted to think too much. He wasn’t proud of his life or anything he’d accomplished. Sure, he and Steve had plenty of good memories together, doing fun stuff and being mischievous hooligans, as single young men should, but when the time came every night to lie down in his bed, all those memories brought him was a deep aching pain. Pain that he would never have what he wanted most. Pain that he knew Steve was falling apart, getting more sickly every year. Pain that his own parents didn’t love him.

His mind flickered to the letter he knew was at the bottom of his bag. The letter Becky had written to tell him that her mother was dying. She had implied that the stress of his sinful ways and the shame it brought her had somehow contributed, but that was fucking stupid and he knew it. Stress didn’t give a person cancer. It hurt to know that Becky thought of him that way though. He had hoped that someday his sister would grow out of the bullshit their parents spouted, but instead she had just fallen in line like a good little Catholic.

This job though… it could be a fresh start. Something new, something different. Maybe even something he could be proud of, if he survived. If he didn’t, well, he’d be dead. Dead men didn’t give a shit one way or another. If he survived though, being an officer could open a lot of doors for him. Maybe he could leave Brooklyn, have a whole new life somewhere new. Maybe this SSR would even go on past the war and he could do neat intelligence things, which sounded a whole lot like cool spy shit.

It wasn’t really a choice. He looked up to meet Stark’s eyes. “Sure, why not. I’m in.”

Bucky shrugged. “I was shipped off to training within the week, and an officer on the front lines less than a year after that.”

His voice stuck there. It was hard enough talking about Steve and his family. Hydra was a dark place in his memory. He turned his attention to his drink instead.

Silence filled the room as everyone muddled their thoughts. Outside he could hear the bustle of town, unchanged from the events of the previous day. It had been the same on Earth in that regard. No matter how his world crashed in on itself, everything else just kept going relentlessly forward. Time just kept marching on, leaving him further and further behind.

He pushed his freshly empty tankard forward and silently bid his son to fill it. Teddy nodded and turned to refill it with Bucky’s preferred ale and set the foamy beverage back on the counter.

Bucky was lost in memories of blood and mud. “I made it through three battlefield promotions fighting through the closest thing to hell I think any man can get without dying first. The weapons on Midgard had advanced to the point where they were almost too effective. Everything died in their wake: the men, the trees, even the weeds. Fire and explosions rained down from the sky and our enemies shot projectiles at us which could tear a man to pieces from hundreds of yards away. Between battles, the pained cries of the wounded were even worse than the dying screams of the men left on the field.

“But our enemies were such that we couldn’t turn back. Tyrants who saw people as obstacles in their path to a utopia where everyone left alive looked and thought exactly like them. It was a war for the very soul of our world.”

His words trailed off as his gaze lingered off into an invisible middle distance. “I was captured for a while, but I’d rather not talk about that.”

Blue smiled at him, sensing that this was his limit for the night. “Thanks for sharing, Bucky.”

Teddy looked up at him with the same big eyes that always spelled disaster for Lis’ restraint. “Will you tell us more later, Papa?”

He shook his head. “Well, I don’t know why you would want to know. It’s pretty ancient history. Not even this world’s history. Also, almost entirely depressing.”

“Please!” El begged, her own eyes getting big.

Between the two of them, he knew it was only a matter of time.

Next Chapter

Chapter List

#james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu crossover #once upon a time #once upon a time crossover #flashback time

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cratlord · 2 years ago

Text

Prince of the Seas - Chapter 14

Pairing: Bucky x Ruby / Some Bucky x Killian

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, suicidal thoughts, violence, Sexual content

Bucky opened his eyes to the very first tinges of light from the open window. He opened his eyes, but he didn’t move.

This was very different than how so much of his life had been. He was warm and comfortable, and had absolutely no interest in getting out of bed just yet.

Of course, not wanting to get out of bed wasn’t the only thing that was different. He shifted and pressed a light kiss to the head of thick dark hair currently sleeping on his softer shoulder. He was glad he didn’t actually need very much sleep, because Lis had been kicking like a mule in her sleep all night. She was not typically a side sleeper, but the third trimester hadn’t left her much choice. Despite her less than ideal sleeping requirements, and their less than ideal consequences, she was extremely clingy and snuggly in her sleep.

It was absolutely adorable.

He relaxed back into his pillow. He knew he didn’t have long, but he was determined to soak in as much of this peaceful domestic bliss as he could get away with.

He let his eyes wander over the white ceiling. The room wasn’t very big, but unlike his old one, it was attached to others instead of just being one room with everything in it. Lisbeth had confided in him after only their first week together that her secret dream in life had been to run an inn. So he had built her one.

The three story structure was one of the largest in town, and their little family shared the three rooms on the top floor. The middle floor was split into six rooms for guests, and the bottom had two more rooms and the tavern. He’d even dug her a basement for her kegs and extra storage.

It hadn’t been easy building her an inn, especially since so much of his time their first year together was spent with them helping build new buildings to house and employ their new townsfolk. He’d also had to coordinate with the Duke’s people to build the garrison. Between the two influxes of people, his cozy little hamlet had turned into a bustling small town seemingly overnight.

Which meant their tavern ended up becoming a hit very quickly. Lis had been over the moon about that at first, but quickly ended up having to hire three of the ladies who had worked her father’s kitchen back in Appleton to help her keep the place running. Eventually, they had managed to find a rhythm to everything, making their little slice of heaven run like clockwork.

Of course, then a rather big disruption arrived in their smooth working machine of a restaurant. The same disruption he now heard padding loudly down the hall directly for their door. The latch clicked and the door flew open.

“Papa!” cried the excitable little boy.

Teddy was just two months shy of four, and looking more like his father every day. He also seemed to get more energy every day, much to his poor mother’s consternation. He ran with all his might and leaped, just barely making it onto the high bed, so he could get a good morning hug.

“Good morning, Theodore,” Bucky said as he gave his son a bone crushing squeeze, prompting the boy to giggle loudly.

“I can’t wait until you’re a teenager. Then you’ll be begging us to let you sleep in,” grumbled Lis as her eyes crusted open. She couldn’t hold the scowl for long in the face of two sets of big blue eyes both being used at full force against her. Her expression softened into that same soft loving smile, filled with exasperation and adoration in equal measures, that she tended to give her boys every day.

He smiled back at her. “Sorry love,” he said before leaning over and giving her a kiss. “How bout I take Teddy downstairs and get him fed and you stay up here and sleep in?”

She grabbed his face as he made to pull away and deepened their kiss until Teddy finally moaned that they were gross. They both chuckled as they pulled away. He was careful as he slid out to minimize the gust of air his departure would blast under the blankets, and tucked them in securely around her so she would keep some of his warmth.

He put on his shirt and pants, fending off the impatient toddler. He put on his socks and shoes, knowing that after breakfast he would also be needing to get to work. Once he was fully clothed, he scooped his son up and made it towards the door.

He paused at the door. He held his perfect and adorable son in his arms as he looked back at his beautiful wife who was carrying their second child. His chest was filled with a warmth he had dreamed of for centuries. This was what he’d always wanted. Finally he knew what true happiness felt like.

He stood tall at the front of the courtyard watching everyone’s forms. He’d promised in Graystone that he would help to train the troops sent to protect Riverhold, and he had kept his word. He knew being assigned to his garrison was considered both a curse and an honor. On the one hand, the troops he trained tended to be some of the best in the entire kingdom. He knew what he was doing, and sixteen years later, most of the other garrisons were now being led by men he’d trained.

On the other hand, he knew firsthand that the training was hell. He could see the agony in the men’s eyes as they repeated the forms again and again. He hadn’t told them to stop either. And there would be no break. No mercy. Once they were done with their morning physical exercises, they would move on to their mental ones. He spent several hours every afternoon teaching the men various aspects of running an army. He’d had enough lifetimes of experience that he had ample wisdom to give.

They were mostly done with their forms today, which meant they would be going off to lunch soon. Most of the men looked dead on their feet. The men stationed here had been rotated recently, so about half of the men were fresh. This happened every two years. They were still gasping and pouring sweat. He gave it a few more months before they would be walking muscle ready to march at a moments notice.

Like his own kids were. Teddy and Elanor both had perfect forms. He’d started training each of them the day after their seventh birthday, so now they were both the best trained fighters, outside of himself of course, in the kingdom. Teddy was only fourteen.

He kept them going even as he clocked Lisbeth leaving the Inn down the road and turning in their direction with her normal big basket of lunch fair for him and the kids. He smiled as he watched her approach.

A few of the men caught his little smile and gave one of their own, knowing that their torture was nearly over. They held their form though. The carefully mapped movements which were to be completed every day as both a muscle builder, balance enhancer, and meditative aid. It was sort of like a cross between tai chi and the knife training he got in basic. It alternated between gently flowing through forms with the sword in a way to strain and build all the major muscle groups, and sharp quick movements he help cement the muscle memory of actually killing with a blade.

He was always very blunt about the fact that weapons were intended to hurt, and nothing else. There was no romanticizing violence in his training, only cold, harsh reality. It had done well to deflate many an ego over the years, and add a cold hard dose of realism to many of those who somehow hadn’t realized that to fight was a messy sort of affair.

It had also worked wonders to ensure that his children didn’t harbor any sort of daydreams about the glamors and honor of killing things. Between that, and having them help him on his hunts, they were both quite opposed to violence so far. This was of particular importance considering just who their father was, and what that meant for them.

“Is Elanor already using a full sized sword?” asked Lis once she made it to his side.

He smiled down at her and gave her a quick kiss in greeting. “Yes. She proved to me in our sparring today that she was ready.”

Lis looked at their youngest critically, watching the freshly eleven year old flow through the practice, then jab with such speed and control that she put the grown men around her to shame. “She’s so strong. Just like her brother.”

“Well they are both demigods, so that might come with the territory,” he commented with a shrug. “I wouldn’t know. They are the first kids I’ve ever known.”

She snorted. “If only being a demigod meant we wouldn’t have had to teach them how to not shit themselves.”

He laughed out loud, ignoring the longing looks of even the seasoned troops who were all sweating out in the courtyard. He looked at her as she started laughing. Her eyes crinkled at the edges in lines that were becoming more creased every year. Soon they would stay that way, the lines of her beautiful smile etched into her skin, a mark for everyone that he had done his most sacred duty as a husband and kept her smiling since the day he’d brought her home.

“You’re so beautiful,” he blurted before he even considered his words.

She turned her smile to him. “You’re quite handsome yourself. Even so,” she arched an eyebrow playfully at him, “you should probably let these poor men eat lunch before they keel over.”

He looked out at the men and his own kids. All of them were worked to the point of quivering. He’d designed this flow to be particularly taxing in order to build muscle and balance, and it was clearly doing it’s job. He pretended to think about it for nearly a minute, letting the poor bastards stew in their agony. Finally, he gave his wife a little wink.

“Lunch time!” he called, then laughed again when half the men just fell to the earth panting.

“Steady, Al. We don’t want to break Lis’s present,” he said, patting his pitch black mount softly on the neck. Altair always got excited when they got close to home, and they had been gone over two months so he was extra excitable.

Al turned to give him a look, angling his head so he could see his rider under his thick, glossy black horn. He gestured with his face in a forward direction.

Bucky drug his fingers through the soft, glossy fur on Al’s neck. It was so soft it was nearly like touching nothing at all. It was mesmerizingly beautiful as well, with the pitch black subtly reflecting a variety of colors in the sunlight which speckled through the tree cover the same way a raven’s feathers did.

“We’re almost there anyways. Lets not break it now, since we’ve been so careful this whole way.”

The blutford huffed and rolled his eyes, but kept his pace steady and smooth. Bucky checked the bags to make sure they were still secure on his flank, and it looked alright. He relaxed back into the saddle and watched as they rounded the last curve in the trees before the road opened out into the well kept bee hives. The small cabin he lived in for so many years still stood, now surrounded by flowers and bees, tended now by Alana’s son.

She’d passed two years ago. It had made Lisbeth cry for days. They had been best friends for nearly 40 years, ever since they met in those slaver’s wagons. She’d remarried to an older man, an officer from the garrison, and they’d had one son together. Now that son made some of the best mead Bucky had ever tasted.

As he passed the old cabin, he saw Aric on the other side, working on doing some repairs to his bee protection suit. He gave a wave and the man smiled broadly and waived back.

From there, they entered the fields. They hadn’t expanded as much as he would have expected. He was proud of how much the townsfolk resisted in just cutting down the forest for their own convenience. Instead, they had learned to grow crops within the forest. They seeded for mushrooms, berries, and root crops which grew better under the canopy and who’s roots in turn helped the trees. This system also brought out a lot of small game, which coupled with the fish from the river, meant that their town ate very well.

It was just after midday, so when he made it into the town proper, everything was bustling. His little town of only about five hundred people had grown to well over a thousand in the last forty years, and the streets were evidence of the raise in activity.

A path opened up in the street to allow him to pass easily. He was surprised with the number of people who were new in town at how many still showed him such reverence. Almost everyone was bowing to him, the ones who didn’t were confused looking enough that their neighbors explained it to them. Several of the old timers gave him a friendly greeting once they raised their heads again, which he returned happily. It was nice to feel like his town still loved him, even if the town had literally nobody left from when he arrived.

As large as the town had grown, it still only took about ten minutes at a steady but walking pace to reach the door of his inn. The White Candle, as Lisbeth had named it, was only just starting to show a few signs of age. He spotted a few of the blue shutters shutters which would likely need replaced and some of the white siding panels which could use some love. Even one of the clay roof tiles was looking crooked, as if blown off kilter from a storm. It wouldn’t do for the place to get scruffy looking, not when Lis loved it so much.

And he loved her. As he walked in the door to the inn, leaving Al outside for the moment, he saw her behind the bar and was struck once again at how beautiful his wife was. His wife. They had been together one month shy of forty years now, and despite all her protests, she was still just as beautiful as she was the day he met her. Her dark hair had gone gray, and her bright eyes were now lined in an eternal smile. Despite the years, she still stood tall, and her mind was as sharp as the day he’d met her, not that 62 was all that old, really.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood in the entryway transfixed by her, but eventually she noticed him. It was like nobody else existed in the room as she turned from the couple at the bar she had been chatting with and finally saw him standing in the doorway. Her smile lifted centuries from his shoulders.

He felt almost like he floated across the room. He barely registered he had moved at all when he finally felt her melt into his embrace. His lips met hers as they had thousands of times before, and like every other time it filled him with a warmth and joy that left him complete in a way he’d never realized he wasn’t before he met her.

When their lips finally parted, she looked up at him warmly. “I missed you,” she said simply.

He ran his fingers through her hair. “I missed you too, love.”

“What did the king want?” she asked curiously. The few patrons in the room went quiet at her question to listen in.

He didn’t bother keeping his voice down. It wasn’t a secret and it was bound to be all over town by dark regardless of his volume. “One of the Baron’s was accused of some pretty heinous crimes. He was dabbling in dark magic, and abusing his people. He needed me for the investigation and trial.”

Lisbeth frowned up at him, though she kept her fingers in his short hair so she could play with the little hairs on the back of his neck. “They should really find some mechanism to investigate the nobles without having to rely on you. Too many of them get away with far too much.”

He pressed another kiss to her forehead. “I agree. I mention it every time I’m there. Unfortunately, I just don’t think the central authority of this kingdom is strong enough to exert that kind power over their aristocracy. They spread themselves too thin when they pushed the frontier this far.”

She sighed, but perked up again quickly. “Well, whatever they needed, I’m glad you’re done with it.” Her smile grew. “And you’re home in time for the solstice.”

“Papa!”

Both of them grinned as they separated and turned to the now open door letting in the sunlight. Elanor stood there, looking exactly as he had left her. Her deceptively youthful face was radiating joy, and she’d braided summer blossoms into her hair again. Her bright red dress was one she’d altered from her mother’s closet, and she’d lined her eyes with a bit of Kohl. Not that she looked all that put together really. Her skirt had some dirt on it, along with some wrinkles and there were blades of grass still in a few of the creases in her sash, leading him to believe that she had probably been out gathering blossoms and herbs for the solstice celebration.

He wasted no time in vaulting the counter and catching his exuberant daughter as she ran to him and leaped. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up above his head and spun her around, bringing out a chuckle in the patrons as much as himself as she flung her arms out like she was flying. As soon as he put her down she threw her arms around his neck and did her best to squeeze the life out of him. When she finally pulled back, she was smiling so broadly she looked like her face would break.

“I’m glad you’re home, Papa.”

She didn’t even bother waiting for him to speak as she launched into a passionate ramble about every tiny little thing he had missed. They made their way to the bar and took a couple of stools themselves. He shared a bemused look with his wife as she slid two mugs of mead to them, by now their daughters inane jabbering a comfortable noise which filled the air around them in their home.

The bureaucrat droned on. And on. And on. The man just didn’t seem to know how to shut up.

Bucky rubbed his eyes as the self important buffoon kept strutting about the main office of the garrison and blathering on. He was beginning to wonder if it would be more just to kill the man, and save the rest of the officers from having to keep putting up with him. Where the new king dug this blowhard up was a mystery to everyone.

Even more mysterious was why the new king thought he could control anything Bucky did. This king’s father had stood by his grandfather’s side and watched as Bucky burned the slavers alive in the gardens of Graystone. That king had had a healthy respect for what Bucky was, and his role in the kingdom reflected that. This little shit seemed to have a few delusions of grandeur.

He would keep the office though. It was nice.

The very first thing this stupid dandy had done was waste time and resources building a new and unnecessary office for himself in a new administrative building of the garrison. He had then proceeded to fill the new administrative wing with all sorts of unnecessary paper pushers, all of whom seemed as self important as this guy did. They strutted around like their ability to do math and read was something special.

Which, maybe in the rest of the kingdom it was. Here, it was baseline. Bucky had built the town a little school house centuries ago, and the village had maintained and added on to it ever since. He had taught that first generation how to read himself, then from there, he helped everyone support the teachers who taught the kids. Every single citizen of this town could read and write, and the town library had grown substantially in the last few decades especially, up from the few mostly business records it had stored before. It even had it’s own building now, instead of being an offshoot of the schoolhouse.

He leaned back in the stiff wooden chair facing the desk. That desk would be the first thing to go when he took over this office. All the other furniture he’d built himself, and it was beautiful. The shelves were sturdy, but with charming accents at the corners and seamless connections. The chairs were stiff, but in a classy way, with clawed arm rests and cushioned seats. Even the trim around the room was perfectly mitered and seamless in appearance.

Then there was that trash desk. It looked… rustic. Not rustic in an old and well loved way, but rustic in a ‘made by a shitty craftsman’ kind of way. There was a warble on one corner of the top where it wasn’t even sanded perfectly straight. It was driving him mad.

The irritating man had the fucking gall to snap his fingers in Bucky’s face. “Are you even paying attention to me?” he rolled his eyes. “What is wrong with you?”

And that was it. An image of a spent casing rolling on a courtroom desk flashed through his mind and Bucky was out of his seat and had his hand around the man’s throat before the man could even comprehend he’d moved.

“I’m done listening to you, you arrogant piece of shit,” he snarled. He was sure to hold the man’s head close enough that the man had no choice but to look into his eyes. He knew the weight of his own stare.

“Now, you are going to listen to me for once.” He lifted the man so that he was barely supporting himself on his toes to avoid being strangled to death. “I don’t have time to waste on your petty bullshit. We do not need more paperwork. We do not need fancier uniforms. At no point, now or ever, will I be making any oaths to you or any noble.”

He narrowed his eyes at the man, still not seeing evidence that the man had realized the error of his ways.

“Let me settle a little something for you, because you seem to have a misunderstanding as to your position here in Riverhold.” He paused to make sure he had the man’s full attention. “I do not work for you. I am not an officer in this army. I am not a subject of this kingdom. I am older than this kingdom, and I will still be here long after this kingdom falls. I outrank your king. I am the fucking god of Justice. I do what I do for this garrison because I feel like it, and no other reason. This town is mine. You can accept that, or you can leave.”

He went silent after that. He kept his hold on the man’s neck, making sure the jackass was forced to hold his burning stare. Sure the man was afraid, but he didn’t appear to have really understood. Bucky had no doubt that the pathetic excuse for an officer would be trying to tell everyone he was a violent barbarian before days end.

Then he heard something a bit out of place. Wings. The double flapping distinct in dragonflies and…

He turned to the window which had been opened to let in the crisp fall breeze. It wasn’t Blue who flew in, but a dark skinned fairy in a fluffy orange dress. She looked at him holding up the man, and took a moment to assess the situation. It didn’t take long for her to completely disregard the man who was now beginning to make slight whimpers as his feet got tired.

She bowed deeply then looked back up to Bucky’s face, her own masked in grief. “Lord Eldar, my lady has sent me to come fetch you. You are needed at home.”

His stomach plummeted.

His arm slowly lowered and the rage burning in his eyes dimmed until his expression showed completely flat. He was blank. A numbness pierced through him, making him feel untethered from himself. He felt himself breathing, releasing the petty little man, and turning towards the door, but he wasn’t really consciously aware of giving the orders to his body to do these things.

He felt like he was gliding. The little orange fairy fluttered beside him as he walked silently through the administrative building hall and out the solid oak double doors to the courtyard where the there were men standing in small groups in hushed conversations. His ears picked up the whispered speculation about his meeting with the annoyance in the office, but his seemed to skim off the top of his mind without really settling in. He didn’t even send them his usual threatening glare to get back to their forms.

The town was bustling, but it was not the normal din of cheerful stalls and shoppers on the main road. It was still early in the day, but the hiss distinct to gossip was burning through the air. He knew what they were saying. He didn’t even need to hear the words to know. The hiss became more and more prevalent as he got closer to the Candle. When he was in the final block before the inn, there were no whispers. People saw his approach and bowed in reverence, many with tears on their own faces.

His feet stopped on the cobbled walk before the first stair. He had entered this building so many times in the last six decades, but today, for the first time, his mind didn’t really recognize it. Sure he knew it was his inn, he saw the sign, the cheerful blue shutters, the flowers in the window boxes, the clay tile shingles on the roof. He remembered crafting every single inch of this place. But it felt like a strangers home. Nothing in it felt real.

He lifted his feet one at a time and mounted the stairs. He forced himself to take a deep breath. His hand reached out, the vibration of the contact with the lever barely registering through his metal arm’s sensors. The door swung open.

The tavern was full of people, most of them older, though a few younger ones, mostly current or previous employees, were sprinkled through the crowd. Every single face shined with shed tears. They wordlessly parted for him and bowed in respect. He heard the whispering of his title from their lips, directed to the floor as they kept their heads low.

His own head was held high, more out of years of Catholic school and military ingrained habit than any sense of confidence. Couldn’t even feel his feet, knowing they were moving more by the movement of his field of vision and the sound of his own footfalls. The concept of confidence wasn’t even possible to comprehend for him in the moment.

He went up the stairs at the same slow even pace he had floated through town with. He turned at the landing and went up the second flight, leading to the personal rooms. At the top of the stairs, the short hall was empty. Two out of three doors were closed, and the third was cracked. His door.

He pushed it the rest of the way open.

Teddy stood stoically in front of the window on the other side of the room with his arm around his sister. Silent tears streamed down his face, but his breath remained slow and even. In his grief, Bucky couldn’t help but notice that his son had never looked more similar to himself.

Elanor had her face buried in her hands as quiet sobs visibly racked her frame. Her shoulder was pressed into her brother’s side as he held on to her. Neither one of them looked a day over 24, despite being at least twice that age. They looked far too young to be mourning as they were.

He tore his eyes from the sight of his children and forced himself to look over to the bed. There his wife lay. The gray of death was already robbing her of what little color she had left. She looked peaceful though, the strain of her illness no longer shadowing her expression. Her lips were even tilted into a small smile. Her hand was still held delicately in the firm grip of Blue, who was kneeling next to her. There was a small note and quill lying in her lap.

Blue, tears streaming freely down her face, gently lay the hand she was grasping onto the blanket and stood up. She grabbed the little note and turned to face her friend.

“She had a few words for you before she went. I wrote them down,” she said in a smooth clear voice.

He nodded and reached his hand out for the paper.

My dearest husband, I am honored to have sacrificed my life to you. If I had a thousand more lives, I would give them all to you. For now, and unto the end of time and all things, I am yours. You are the light in my heart, and I will carry your flame until we meet again. Lisbeth Ophelia Barnes

He had seen this so many times. A clarity in a person’s final moments that they hadn’t displayed for months, sometimes years. He was glad she had enough wherewithal to give any final words. He was glad someone was here to take them.

He looked up from the letter to the one he now considered his oldest friend, even if they saw each other only every several years. The compassion in the goddess’s eyes did a lot to put him at ease. His wife was dead, but he was not alone. And she hadn’t been either, in her final moments.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice sounding like sand paper on gravel. “For being with her. For this,” he said, lifting the letter. “I can’t tell you what it means to me.”

Blue nodded, a sad smile on her face. “Of course, James. You are my friend. She was a good woman, with a pure heart and a beautiful soul. I was honored to stand with her in her final moments.”

He walked around the bed and sat delicately next to Lisbeth on the blanket. He leaned forward and brushed his hand down her face, then closed his eyes and pressed one last kiss to her forehead.

“Goodbye my sweet Lisbeth. I’ll make sure you’re as beautiful in our last moments together as you were in the first.” He chuckled dryly as he leaned back to look down at her. “Not that I ever thought you weren’t.”

He knew what she wanted for this moment. They had discussed it several times. His wife had always been a hostess, likely a trait ingrained in her by her father’s noble title. She had been given purpose by running her inn, and she took pride in every regular customer she had a relationship with. She was a pillar of the community, an institution in and of herself. She had been so much more than hotel clerk, she had been a welcome wagon for every guest to Riverhold. She had been more than a server, she had been the magnate that pulled people together through the sharing of good food in a warm place. She had been more than a bartender, she had been the unpaid therapist that half the damn town had spilled their guts to at some point or another. There was likely not a single person in this entire town whose life she hadn’t touched in some way. She wanted her end to be like that as well.

Which meant he needed to get the staff together. The kitchen fire wasn’t even lit, and they needed to get dinner started now if everyone was going to feast with their family tonight. Luckily, most of the current and even the past staff were all downstairs already. That would certainly speed things up.

He stood up from the bed and turned to his kids. “Teddy, I need your help preparing for tonight. Your mother had very specific wishes for this day, and I want to make sure it’s everything she dreamed it would be. Elanor, I need you to get your mother cleaned up and dressed. Tonight’s her big night, and she wanted to go up in her red dress.”

His children both nodded and moved to go about their tasks. Bucky took one last moment to see his beautiful Lisbeth. He took a deep breath and carefully folded the precious note Blue had written. He still couldn’t feel his own body. That didn’t matter. Lisbeth had been very firm on what she wanted. He would do what he had been doing since the day he met her, and give her everything she asked for.

Next Chapter

Chapter List

#Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #he's just living his life #bucky got a hug #sorry for the sads #i do love torturing my blorbos #sad bucky #once upon a time fanfiction #mcu crossover

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cratlord · 2 years ago

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cratlord · 2 years ago

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someone: hey I noticed this thing you did in your writing!

me, kicking my feet up flirtatiously: oh??? do you want to hear my thoughts on why I did that? do you want a play-by-play of the language choices in every related sentence? do you want an exhaustive breakdown of The Themes???

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cratlord · 2 years ago

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I miss Steve rogers and bucky barnes very...

Very much.

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cratlord · 2 years ago

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when u come up with a tiny change for your story that not only makes the writing flow better but also hammers in the character motivations and story theme

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cratlord · 2 years ago

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D&D Planning

Oh my god. I have recently gotten into using Chat GPT to help plan for D&D sessions. I am designing a dungeon for my characters, and needed some sweet traps for them in this Game Show themed villains lair. I typed the below prompt. The answers were freaking great, so I figured I would share.

In D&D 5E, the adventurers are entering a dungeon ran by a demon lord who calls themselves the Game Master. She runs her dungeon like a series of game show inspired traps. The adventurers mus fight though the dungeon to make it to the Game Master so they can defeat her. List at least 10 traps the party must get past. Include what game show they are inspired by, as well as how they can be bypassed. Include what must be done if the party springs the trap in order for them not to die.

See below the break for their response

Trap 1: "Wheel of Misfortune" (inspired by Wheel of Fortune) Description: The adventurers step onto a large spinning wheel with various dangerous symbols. The wheel spins rapidly, and if they fail to jump off at the right moment, they'll be flung into spikes. Bypass: The party must time their jump carefully to land on safe platforms surrounding the wheel. Alternatively, they can cast spells or use abilities to slow down or stop the wheel. Safety Measure: If the trap is sprung, the party can find hidden levers nearby to halt the spinning wheel temporarily, giving them a chance to escape.

Trap 2: "Jeopardy Gauntlet" (inspired by Jeopardy) Description: A hallway is lined with stone tablets inscribed with riddles and trivia questions. Answering incorrectly triggers dangerous magical or physical attacks. Bypass: The party can study up on various subjects before entering the dungeon or use spells and abilities to detect magical traps. They can also find hidden passages to bypass the gauntlet altogether. Safety Measure: If the trap is sprung, the party can attempt to solve the riddles or answer the questions within a time limit. Each correct answer reduces the severity of the attacks until they stop.

Trap 3: "Deal or Doom" (inspired by Deal or No Deal) Description: A room filled with chests, each containing either valuable rewards or deadly magical traps. The adventurers must choose chests, risking dangerous consequences. Bypass: The party can use spells or abilities to detect magical auras emanating from the chests, revealing which ones contain traps. They can also search for clues in the room or try to negotiate with the Game Master. Safety Measure: If the trap is sprung, the party must quickly disarm the trap or use protective spells to shield themselves from the ensuing magical explosion.

Trap 4: "Puzzle Pyramid" (inspired by The Crystal Maze) Description: The adventurers enter a room with a large pyramid puzzle. Incorrectly stepping on specific tiles triggers the collapse of the pyramid, burying the party. Bypass: The party can examine the patterns on the tiles or search for clues to determine the correct path through the pyramid. They can also use spells or abilities to levitate or bypass the tiles altogether. Safety Measure: If the trap is sprung, the party must quickly climb the falling rubble, using their athletic abilities or magic to escape before being crushed.

Trap 5: "Survivor's Gauntlet" (inspired by Survivor) Description: The adventurers must navigate a treacherous obstacle course filled with hazards like swinging blades, collapsing platforms, and hidden pitfalls. Bypass: The party can carefully observe the course before attempting it, looking for patterns or triggers that indicate safe paths. They can also use spells or abilities to enhance their agility and avoid the traps. Safety Measure: If the trap is sprung, the party must quickly react and avoid the swinging blades, leap over collapsing platforms, or climb out of hidden pitfalls before suffering severe injuries.

Trap 6: "Who Wants to Be Charred?" (inspired by Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?) Description: The adventurers enter a room with a series of platforms. Incorrectly stepping on a platform triggers flames to engulf the party. Bypass: The party can search for clues or patterns on the platforms, indicating which ones are safe to step on. They can also use spells or abilities to create protective barriers or teleport across the platforms. Safety Measure: If the trap is sprung, the party must quickly extinguish the flames or use protective spells to shield themselves until the flames subside.

Trap 7: "The Amazing Maze Race" (inspired by The Amazing Race) Description: The adventurers are faced with a complex maze filled with illusions, dead ends, and traps. Taking too long or making incorrect choices can lead to exhaustion or triggering dangerous traps. Bypass: The party can use spells or abilities to see through illusions, detect hidden passages, or bypass certain sections of the maze. They can also study the maze from a vantage point to plan the best route. Safety Measure: If the trap is sprung, the party must quickly backtrack or find an alternate route to escape the triggered trap before it inflicts fatal damage.

Trap 8: "Whose Line Is It Anyway?" (inspired by Whose Line Is It Anyway?) Description: The adventurers enter a room where their words and actions create real effects. Saying the wrong things or acting out of character can lead to dangerous consequences. Bypass: The party can observe the environment for clues about what actions or words may trigger positive or negative effects. They can also attempt to communicate with the Game Master to negotiate or gain hints. Safety Measure: If the trap is sprung, the party must quickly apologize or correct their words or actions, aligning them with the character they're playing, to nullify or minimize the negative consequences.

Trap 9: "The Price is Plight" (inspired by The Price is Right) Description: The adventurers encounter a room filled with various magical items. Incorrectly choosing or mishandling an item can trigger harmful effects or summon dangerous creatures. Bypass: The party can use spells or abilities to detect magic or determine the properties of the items before touching them. They can also search for clues or hidden notes providing information about the correct choices. Safety Measure: If the trap is sprung, the party must quickly neutralize the harmful effects or defeat the summoned creatures to avoid dire consequences.

Trap 10: "Double Daredevil" (inspired by Double Dare) Description: The adventurers face a large pool of slime, with hidden objects or switches necessary to progress. Falling into the slime leads to suffocation or encountering deadly creatures. Bypass: The party can use spells or abilities to detect hidden switches or objects in the slime before stepping on it. They can also fashion makeshift platforms or use levitation spells to traverse the slime. Safety Measure: If the trap is sprung, the party must quickly swim to the surface or locate the hidden switches or objects to release themselves from the slime's grasp and avoid suffocation.

#chatgpt #AI #dungeon master #dungeons and dragons #dungeon traps #game show dungeon #dungeon master planing #game master planning #totally not going to kill my players with this #i mean... maybe #if they roll badly enough #roll well #cause i'm lucky

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cratlord · 2 years ago

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I've read so much HP Fan Fiction these days that the lines of canon and canon divergent have blurred. I'm not sure what the real story even is anymore...and I'm kind of okay with that.

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cratlord · 2 years ago

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cratlord · 2 years ago

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Timely Picture Chapter 5

Sirius Black wakes up after spending 20 years trapped in a portrait by his own family. When Old magics are invoked, and ancient entities recognized, how will events change? How differently does everything play out when Harry gets a few more snakes in his corner, namely, the true face of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, one of the few houses who still remember the old ways? As always when a story involves the House of Black, things go to madness quickly

Series Page

The basement was not like the rest of the Manor. It was actually part of a castle before, the dungeons to be exact. The Blacks, ever mindful of appearance, had transformed the castle’s above ground portion into an elaborate manor sometime around the time of the Statute of Secrecy, keeping the pocket dimension intact, but changing the visible portion of the townhouse and Manor into something which fit in much better with the more urban and aristocratic aesthetic which had grown around it in the centuries leading up to it. The magic involved was truly staggering. This transformation left the basement unchanged though, a callback to the origins of the ancient and powerful family.

The books he had read went as far as to say that even before the castle, the basement had been attached to a Villa the Roman’s had built before the Druids of the family, which would take the title Black with William The Conqueror’s reign, slaughtered the Roman occupiers and claimed the estate in vengeance for crimes against their queen, Boudicca.

This all went to say, the magic in the basement was far older than almost anything else in Britain. Sirius could taste it in the air, feel it caressing his skin, listen to it’s whispers. It was the very magic of the House of Black, their clan, seeped into the stone of the basement until it had become sentient. The magic of his clan pressed in around him, as if in an embrace, and he could feel it’s love and support of the son of the accumulated generations whose magic contributed to this wonder of the lost magical arts.

Recalling the proper greeting for the magic, which had been whispered into his ears so many years ago, he whispered back. “Hello atr.”

The magic seemed to ruffle his hair in response, then pulled him forward down the hall towards what he knew was the Summoning Chamber. The hallway was long and dark, with solid petrified wooden doors leading into dark rooms which were once cells. He passed several branching halls, but he knew he was going the right direction. Even if he hadn’t explored this as a child, he knew the magic of the Manor would guide him to what he needed to do. The magic seemed to be building in anticipation as he neared the open archway to the chamber.

The chamber itself was a simple round room, of reasonably large size. The bulk of it was taken up by a large runic ritual circle in the language of his Atr, the father of his house, whose soul had bonded with the land. This was ancient Druid craft, practiced by his line long before his forbearer's even made it to these shores, millinia before the Romans even knew it existed. It was magic of a time when the Olde Ones still walked the Earth in physical form. His line was granted power by the Olde Magics to combat the evils which magic could unleash. A force of order to balance the great chaos which human’s very nature seemed to encourage. This particular circle was crafted with the blood and bone of his house, and blood and bone would always answer it’s call.

Feeling the Olde Magic of his family guide him, he walked into the center of the circle. He immediately let go of himself, surrendering control to the magic, trusting his family to see his will done, as had been done for generations when a family gathering was needed. He instead focused and internally clarified his intentions. He wanted to gather his family, all the worthy members, the ones who could be saved from the coming conflict, the ones who could help in his family’s ultimate mission. But not Harry. He wasn’t ready for Harry yet. Soon, but not now.

The family magics radiated a sense of amusement at his final qualification to his wishes which warmed Sirius to his vary marrow. Then he felt his magic join with the family and pulse, before channeling out of him to the far corners of the island. The next bit was somewhat overwhelming for Sirius. He felt magic flowing, he saw a bright light, he heard a sound like singing of a beautiful female voice heard from the bottom of a waterfall. Time seemed to get all strange for him, and he could not fathom how long he stood there. Eventually, it ended. Abruptly.

Sirius jolted, realizing rather quickly, and somewhat anticlimactically, that it was done, and he had at some point, closed his eyes. When he opened them, he jolted again. All around him were people. A decent number of people, all looking extremely confused. At least until a soft ‘fwump’ sounded throughout the chamber, followed by a very anxious voice shouting “Mother!”

Sirius turned around to see a blond boy around his age with a rather unfortunate likeness to Lucius Malfoy dropping to his knees beside what was clearly his beautiful cousin Narcissa who appeared to be having a seizure.

Without missing a beat, Andromeda pulled out her wand and moved to Narcissa’s side. She firmly but somehow gently held her forehead with one hand, while waiving a complicated pattern with her wand over it. Everyone stood completely still, silently watching the drama unfold. The boy seemed to be shaking somewhat himself, but clearly his mother was far worse off than he was. Even so, his focus was completely on the woman convulsing on the floor of the chamber, not sparing a thought or glance to those around him as tears pooled in his eyes.

Over a minute passed as Andromeda chanted, and finally the convulsions stopped completely, not even a tremor or tremble of a single digit remained. The healer heaved a deep sigh before casting several diagnostics as her patients son watched on in terrified fascination. After another tense minute, she stopped and sat back on her heels, looking up to the boy, who seemed to be having a harder time concealing his own minor tremors.

“How long was she under?” she asked softly.

The tears finally fell from the boys eyes. “Only a few seconds today, but it has been everyday since father…” he paused there for a moment, “left.” He finished quietly.

Sirius heard several mutters and gasps from those gathered around, but kept watching Andromeda. She sighed a deep sigh. “She will need rest, a regimen of muscle relaxers for at least a few days, as well as some neuro-regenerative potions to minimize the damage. I’m sorry, but I can’t guarantee she won’t have long term repercussions from the build up of dark magic in her spine.”

Sirius thought quickly, listening as well to the faint whisperings of magic from the room around him, then finally came to a conclusion. “Andi.”

She snapped her eyes to him, her and everyone else in the room. More gasps and mutterings. Sirius decided he would address them in order of importance. “I will have an elf bring her to a ground level room to rest, you can attend to her after the family meeting.” He took a deep breath, centering himself as he had been taught, holding his shields firm. “Everyone else, to the dining room. We have some important issues to discuss. Narcissa can be filled in later.”

Before he had even finished talking, an elf had already silently popped in and disappeared with Narcissa, causing a significant startle in her son. It took a couple of moments, but he eventually pulled himself together enough to state, “I want to sit with her.”

Sirius paused in his ushering of people out the door, all of whom seemed to be following Andi. He looked at the young blond boy, his own age, still kneeling on the floor where his mother had fallen. He still had glistening tracts where his tears had fallen. Sirius noticed a few people pause, as if to listen to his response.

He raked his fingers through his hair before turning to the boy. “I’m sorry. You are part of this family, and with that comes the burden of responsibility.” He stepped up to the boy, putting his hand firmly on his shoulder. “I promise you, as the Lord of our House, I will do everything I can to make sure she will recover as much as is possible, but right now, I need all of us in this meeting.”

A flash of hurt flickered across his face, quickly replaced by annoyance. “As if you need me. I don’t even know where we are, or who you are, for that matter. Why is this any of my business?” he sneered, a near perfect imitation of his irritating father.

Sirius took a moment to crush down his annoyance at being spoken to so disrespectfully, calmly reminding himself that this little shit may be the spawn of Lucius Malfoy, but he was also the son of a beloved daughter of the House of Black, and he had clearly just gone through a very traumatizing experience. Not to mention, Malfoy seemed exactly the type to try to limit the boys exposure to his Black heritage in favor of promoting his Malfoy side, despite which house clearly had primacy. After getting himself back under control, he met the boys eyes again.

“Where you are is the Summoning Chamber of the House of Black, and who you just sassed is your Lord. The fact that you are here means your magic is tied to the house of Black. I am Lord Sirius Orion Black III, your paterfamilias, and you would be wise to show your lord the proper respect while on your ancestral grounds.” He was rather proud of how firm and lordly he managed to sound through all that.

The boy’s eyes grew wide as saucers during this little speech, his mouth dropping slightly open. There were a few moments of silence, in which Sirius realized even the people in the hall had frozen at his words.

“Bloody fuck, you’re alive?” was what broke the silence, causing Sirius to snort. At least the kid got the Black family vulgarity, he though.

Rolling his eyes, he answered, despite there not really being a question there. “Yes. And it’s a long story, with a lot of convoluted bull shite involved. Thus, family meeting. Huge shite is about to hit some major fans, and we don’t have much time, so up you get.” He nudged the kid’s shoulder. “Family meeting. Dining room.” He ended, firmly.

It took the kid a second, but he pulled himself up and made his way towards where the rest of the family who was still frozen, staring back at Sirius. Sirius made a shooing motion, and they reluctantly got to moving again. Sirius sighed, for probably the eighth time in the last ten minutes. He couldn’t help but think he was in way over his head. He felt a gentle caress of his hair from the family magic, sending a sense of encouragement and courage through him. “Thanks” he muttered quietly to the now empty room.

He took his time making it to the dining room, arriving just in time to see the twinkling of elf magic depositing some tasty looking snacks and tea, as well as a couple of decanters and crystal glasses onto the table. He couldn’t help but notice that the thing closest to his own chair was a crystal of what looked like scotch. Who was he to deny the wisdom of elves?

After pouring himself a finger and taking a fortifying sip, he turned to his relatives, all calmly, if a bit eerily, staring at him. The older ones were all sitting, as well as the ladies. There were several younger ones who there weren’t enough chairs for, so they stood behind their elders.

“So, as you no doubt noticed, I am less dead than was advertised.”

Scoffs met his less than dignified proclamation. “That is one of many questions I think we all are thinking, Siri.” Came the dry tones of Andi. She looked pointedly up and down his clearly not 36 year old body.

Thus began one of the longest House meetings Sirius had ever been a part of. He explained the sacrifice and plots of his little brother and his father, the plight of Harry Potter, the reality of their very own demonic dark lord.

He hadn’t quite prepared for the number of family members who showed up. He had been expecting Andi and Cissy, as well as their kids. He hadn’t really been sure who else would be here though. Cousin Callidora was there, with her daughter and son, as well as her three grand children, who all made up more than half of the current Longbottom clan (nearly all except the main line), of which the Black clan had primacy. Cousin Cadrella was also there, with her three sons, along with, curiously, only six of her grandsons, all bearing the name Weasley.

He really hadn’t been expecting the number of supposedly dead members either. He had checked the tapestry of course, during the last couple of weeks being alone in the manor, but it hadn’t been extremely useful, as according to it, most of the family had been either disowned, or died in the last two decades. Apparently it had been tampered with. He wondered if it had been his father’s work, as the dead ones were mostly of a decent sort, who seemed highly likely to have pissed off a Death Eater. His Uncle Alphard was one. His Grandda Pollux was another. There was also his Great Uncle Marius, Mad Marius himself, and his two daughters, who were apparently witches with German accents. As a squib, Marius looked a fair amount older than his little brother, but he still aged a bit better than a muggle. Sirius had been told he died years ago. Lucretia Prewett was also another surprise. She was listed as dead as of only a few years ago. There was something definitely wrong with the tapestry.

He decided the mystery of the supposedly dead Blacks should come after the important bits, what with the Confession coming and all, so he plowed through his tale of woe like a trooper to the increasingly disturbed looks on the family’s faces. By the time he was done explaining the situation, ending with his upcoming trial and the request for a mass confession, his voice was nearly breaking. He could have heard a pin drop across the room it was so quiet.

“Fuck me arse” came the soft exclamation of his Grandda Pollux. Like a spell broken, the silence shattered and almost everyone suddenly had something to say.

Sirius, having absolutely no idea where to start, looked to Uncle Alphard for help. He always liked the mad bastard. With a small snort, his uncle took mercy on Sirius and bellowed “SHUT YOUR GOBS!” in his own particularly carrying way. Surprisingly, everyone did. He shot Sirius a smirk, which Sirius mostly ignored.

Having been trained in manners from birth, he decided to address the elders first. He looked to his cousin Callidora, who was sporting a particular look of plotting on her dignified face. She was a freshly 110 year old woman, and still looked not a day over 50.

She nodded in understanding at being addressed and began. “This is going to be a shite show. No chance in hell even half those wankers will survive this. Laddie, are you going to be able to handle that big of a confession? Have you even used the power yet?”

Several people around the table nodded in agreement.

Sirius felt his shoulders droop a little as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I have had the chance to use the power. I practiced on old Dumble’s little clubby just this week.” He heard a slight chuckle come from both Tonks and Arthur Weasley at his phrasing regarding the Order. “But, your concern is a valid one. I have not yet passed a judgment. I am not sure how this is going to go, but I don’t really have a choice but to try. I was hoping someone would come stand with me?”

He didn’t specifically state that he was scared shitless, or that he was doubtful he would be able to make it all the way back to the manor on his own power, but it seemed most of the family picked up on the unspoken bits. He tried to not think about the idea that his face was probably doing that puppydog look he had been unconsciously pulling out ever since he finished his transformation.

It was Tonks who spoke up first. “I have already faced confession. I’ll stand with you in the Chamber when you face the moot.”

Sirius sent her a small smile of gratitude, then turned to his Grandda Pollux who seemed to be fiercely scowling. “You are going to have to get the Potter boy in on this. He is of our blood, and he is vital to all of this mess getting sorted. Why isn’t he here?”

Sirius felt his own frown begin to match his Grandda’s. “The last Harry Potter saw of Sirius Black was the Golum, when it died to save his life. He never knew any part of the real me, but never the less, he has been pretty traumatized by watching the creature he knew as his only living family die by his own foolish recklessness. From what I have been able to gather from the Order members I have spoken to about him, he likely blames himself for the whole event. I thought that merited a more intimate meeting, instead of throwing him right in the middle of our mad family.”

Pollux nodded in understanding and gestured that he released the floor. Sirius looked over the table, noticing Lucretia raise an eyebrow. He nodded to her to speak.

“This is going to create a political vacuum. We meed to consider how to work this to the advantage of the long term plan. Meaning, we need a long term plan. To start, what exactly are our goals in this whole scheme?”

“Well…” Sirius started. He narrowed his eyes in consideration before carefully putting forth his first thoughts. “The main thing is to off the dark wanker. That is to be our primary goal. Looking farther, we should prioritize maintaining the Statute of Secrecy. The way we are going, it is the primary wedge driving us all barmy, and lord fuckface is going to be doing us no favors on that. Any ideas on that front?”

A polite throat clearing announced Arthur Weasley had an idea. “We need people in power who will take the threat of rapid improvements in muggle technology seriously, as well as increasing cooperation with other magical communities. Their world is becoming increasingly interconnected, and it is becoming more and more true that if one nation fails at secrecy, we all do.”

Sirius was mildly surprised at hearing such sensible words coming from Arthur Weasley, the man who he had just heard two days ago asking Tonks to explain why muggle stores were selling massive inflatable rubber balls as if the answer held the meaning of life. Apparently his mother also found his words surprisingly sensible, based on her impressed expression she shot his way. He blushed mildly.

Sirius grinned his way. “Excellent. Then you should begin researching what sort of things need to happen so we can get the ball rolling on that as soon as possible. Which reminds me, money. Grandda?”

“Yes, Sirius?”

“I need your help cleaning up the estate. Our cash flow isn’t nearly what it should be. We are bordering on becoming one of the merely rich, instead of comfortably obscene. I have found evidence of some corrupt bastards siphoning from our revenues, and I am about to sick my lawyers on them, but I need your help finding more. I am certain I am missing things.”

A truly evil grin crossed the old man’s face. “Why Sirius, I would love nothing more.”

Considering the matter settled in the capable hands of Pollux Black, also known as the Black Accountant in some circles, Sirius moved on. “Do we have any other goals we should be discussing?”

“We need information. This is going to be a blood bath. No way to come out on top with out top notch intel,” Marius threw in.

Cadrella nodded, then chimed in, “He is right. We have a leg up with Dumbles little clubby in the Townhouse. I say we neglect to mention the rest of us are involved and let Dumbles keep having his little meetings in there. Callidora and I can hit the rumor mill, and that will keep tabs on many of the politically powerful families.” Callidora nodded to her sister in agreement.

“I can keep an ear to the ground around the bank, and speak with the Goblins if we need it. Those spiteful little bastards are as bad as a tea party of noble ladies.” This was thrown in by Arthur’s eldest, Bill.

Marius nodded at the input, a thoughtful look on his face. “Who all is in the ministry?”

That included Arthur in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, as well as Tonks in the Auror corps. There was also Callidora’s daughter, Lyra, who worked in the records office.

“Well, that has the Ministry covered, but do we have anybody with an in with the moldy pants brigade?” Sirius said.

Silence.

“Well, at least we know what we need to work on.” He added dryly. “Other than that, we need to work on our political clout. We all need to work on gathering our allies and securing our place on the top. As Marius put it, this is likely going to turn into a blood bath, and most of us have read at least enough of the family records to know that a lot of that chaos is going to end up being blamed on us. Our family has faced this fuckery before, we all know the drill. We have to come out of this smelling like fucking roses. The only way that happens is to have our allies back us. Strength in unity.

“I need everyone to get a list of possible candidates for formal and informal alliances together. We are going to have to move fast. Shit hits the fan in two days so alliances are going to have to wait till we have sent the ultimate message to wizarding Britain.

“Also, security. I want everyone to act like all of us are targets all the time. That means emergency portkeys to the manor, minimizing public exposure, and total paranoia. Is everyone clear on this point?”

He glared around the table, making sure everyone was nodding. When he was satisfied the message sunk in, he relaxed his stance again.

“On another important note, why are so many of you dead?”

Alphard snorted. “I was wondering when you would ask that, though even I didn’t know Lucretia faked it too. Orion helped me pull it off. I may or may not have murdered a few Death Eaters…” he shrugged as if admitting to stealing cookies, a sheepish grin on his face.

Pollux smirked. “I bankrupted the main Yaxley line.”

Lucretia laughed out right. “I did a little digging, and found out that the main Slytherin line did not in fact die out. Little tarted up half blood bastard claims he is the heir of Slytherin, but that dubious honor actually goes to, of all people, the little Potter boy. His mother was a squib line of the main family. The Gaunt’s only claim was, and I kid you not, one bastard fourth son from about four hundred years ago. They were literally just basing it on the Parseltongue. Once I found that out, I sent the information to the ministry, asking if they were prepared to offer the boy his rightful titles, and their answer was that my vacation home in Scotland burned down. With me in it. I, of course, am not an idiot, so I used my emergency portkey to the manor, and asked the basement to help me out.”

There were quite a few chuckles and more than one shocked look at that particular morsel. When it finally quieted down again, everyone looked expectantly at Marius. He was grinning wickedly, pride shining in his eyes.

“I scared the piss out of too many wizards after the last war with Grindewald. I planted explosives with timers and sniped them from rooftops. I had a real gift for catching the blighters with their pants down, then blowing them to pieces. Figured when my girls came around, it was probably better to lie low, so Arcturus helped me fake it. I have at least thirty families on the continent who are out for my blood. I wasn’t about to let those bastards get off scott free after all the shite they pulled in the war though.”

The younger family members looked like they didn’t know what to think of that story, while the older ones who had lived and mostly fought the war against the previous dark lord looked very impressed. Sirius sided with the impressed. It reminded him of a story Lily had told of a group of Jewish soldiers after the fall of the Nazis who hunted down the surviving SS members.

He did notice a few of the younger members, mostly the younger Weasleys and Longbottoms, who didn’t look entirely comfortable with the idea of wonton killings, even if they were basically magical Nazis, not that they were likely to know much about Nazis.

“As awesome as all of that is, and it is awesome,” Sirius paused to nod appreciatively to the ‘dead’ members of his family, “are you going to stay dead? I mean, it’s your choice. I won’t force you lot either way, but it will limit some of our options, even as it does leave certain other avenues open.”

Alphard was the first to answer, with a shrug. “I will stay dead for now. I may make a miracle later, but I like fucking with people too much to let this go when things are about to turn crazy. Plus, that means my place will stay the perfect safe house should anybody need to use it for someone not a Black. It’s under a Fidelius, and I am the secret keeper. As I am dead, nobody will even know to look for it.”

Pollux nodded in agreement. “Good idea, Al. We can always use a good safe house. I, on the other hand, could use a resurrection. I have no doubt that old Yaxley will not be surviving the Moot, and his heirs are all total idiots, unlike him. Besides, I’ll be better able to do my job if I actually have the ability to directly talk to people.”

Sirius nodded, then turned to Lucretia.

She smirked. “I would personally love to not only come back, but to use my research skills truly hurt that snake faced bastards cause. We have all been reading the paper I assume? That poor Potter boy could really use another snake in his corner.”

Sirius had to suppress a mild shudder at her words. Lucretia Prewett was, at one point, the most famous investigative journalist in all of England. She made Rita Skeeter look like a child fibbing about how they got dirt on their Sunday dress. The best part was, she was never once, in her entire career, caught in a lie. Once the Moot was cleaned up, she would likely be welcomed back at the newspaper with tears of joy.

Mad Marius laughed outright at her statement. “Luce, the bastards won’t know what hit ‘em.” He looked to his daughters for a brief spell before continuing. “I will keep the identity I made. My daughters and I can help out just fine without giving up the life we have built. Besides, my beautiful girls have made quite the names for themselves in Germany. Ol’ Mad Marius will stay dead for now, but if it gets out I changed my name somehow, I won’t be too broken up.”

Sirius nodded, not really knowing what else there was to discuss. With that he looked out at his assembled family and just absorbed their presence for a moment. Some of these people he had never met, some he had only met at a few family functions and meetings when he was younger. Still others, like Grandda and Alphard, had been key members of his family, coming over to visit at least once a week. Mad as hatters, the lot of them, but as he looked out at them he felt a sense of… peace.

Reg was right, the little prat. It was nice to have the family together. This was something worth fighting for, something to keep him tethered no matter what may come. A group of crazy fuckers he knew would go through hell and high waters to help him carry the load he had been suffocating under for the last couple of weeks. He could almost feel the jagged edges of the wounds left behind by losing Reg and his parents softening just a little. It still hurt like hell though.

Alphard seemed to sense where Sirius’ mind was going when their eyes met briefly. Without saying a word, he stood, still several inches taller than his nephew and Lord, and made his way over to him. Sirius barely had time to react before his face was smashed into his strong uncles chest, wrapped up in a tight embrace. Without thinking, he hugged his uncle, allowing himself the comfort of his family’s love.

“I miss them too, lad. I’m here now though, you won’t be alone again.” He whispered softly into Sirius’ hair. He felt himself tremble, and squeezed his uncle harder, burying his face in his robes. We wouldn’t let himself cry, not now in front of everyone. He also wouldn’t rush the moment when the hug would end though.

Despite his best efforts, a single tear still escaped his control as his uncle finally let him go. He felt his eyes doing the puppy thing again as his uncle wiped the offending moisture from his cheek. He could only imagine how pathetic he looked. To his surprise, Alphard chuckled.

“You know, you are going to have to work on your tells if you really intend on staying unregistered.”

About half the table chuckled, the other half smirked. Sirius’ eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair.

“Oh Siri,” he sighed, stepping back and ruffling his hair affectionately. “Orion knew the very first break when you started your meditations. He had the elves keep an eye on you just in case. When you figured it out, right before your sixteenth, he bragged to everyone who would listen.” Sirius felt himself blushing, but couldn’t help the small pleased smirk from breaking through. “It was quite the achievement, but still, the bastard could have let it go at some point. Sometimes I wonder if half the reason I ‘died’ was just to get wanker to stop hounding me about how much better his boyos were than everyone else in the world.” He winked at that.

A smirking Callidora added, “And if you thought Orion was bad, don’t get me started on Wally.”

The other ladies at the table, even Andi, all started laughing at that.

“She was so petty about it too,” Cadrella added. “Oh, I hear your eldest just had a baby. Well, we can only hope they make the family proud. By the way, did I tell you about the advanced transfiguration Professor McGonigal just wrote to us about? It seems our Sirius just turned every bench in the Great Hall into goats. Intentionally.” Then she primly took a sip of tea before arching a mockingly triumphant brow at Callidora.

Sirius blushed even harder as Lucretia joined in. “My goodness. Your son has a mastery? By the way, have I told you about how my eldest can read in four different languages? He is only four!” and like Cadrella, she primly sipped her tea and arched a mockingly triumphant brow.

Callidora then firmly cleared her throat. “Well, I never. Your nephews broke six school rules in one day. How plebeian. Why, just last week I got an owl from my eldest’s head of house. He broke eight in one hour. And your nephews have had six more years to practice.” By the time she got to primly sipping her tea with an arched brow the other ladies had tears in their eyes.

Most of the gents around the room were roaring as well. Sirius personally wouldn’t have been offended if the family magic took him in a bit early so he could just melt into the floor.

He turned to Uncle Alphard and quietly muttered, “She didn’t actually tell everyone what I did back in first year, did she?”

Pollux, having overheard, stopped laughing long enough to choke out, “Of course she did, pup. I hadn’t laughed like that in years. Your mother and I both nearly wet ourselves we laughed so hard. She had a real cursed time of it trying to keep her face straight long enough to make that howler she sent you.”

To Sirius’ mortification, Tonks asked a most unwelcome question. “Grandda Pollux, what was it he did?”

The dirty pillock was smirking right at him as she asked it, not even trying to hide her mischievous intent.

It was Alphard who answered, the traitor. “He flew an illegally obtained broom to the girls dorms during the Halloween Feast, after lying and pretending to go to the hospital wing. While up there, he stole several older girls undergarments, then levitated them onto conjured hooks in the stair well, but the cunning little bastard kept a few to hide in the seventh year Ravenclaw boys dorms. Then, for some reason only he understands, he released all of Hagrid’s chickens to roam the halls, and they shit everywhere! Then he cast some kind of charm on them so that they all breathed fire and roared like lions.”

The fire breathing, of course, was an accident. Not one of his better pranks, but those girls had it coming in his defense. Not that anybody ever listened to him. He saw those girls making fun of Pandora, and there actually was a symbolism to the chickens… except that the fire breathing caused so much chaos that most of the symbolism was lost. The Ravenclaw seventh years also had it coming. They were rating girls, as if their entire worth was in their bra size. It was reprehensible. So they had the awkward task of returning the underthings to the girls, or being found out as the creeps they were.

Okay, so he got better over the years. First year was rough. He was still learning how to not get caught. And for some reason, it hadn’t sunk in yet with his house that having a Black on the roster almost always disqualified you from winning the house cup. The only one who stuck by him through that was James.

While he sulked, the family kept laughing and going over more stories his parents had bragged about, most of which Sirius would have really rather kept to himself. Eventually things started to wind down, much to his relief. Finally, Andromeda asked something which meant the meeting was well and truly almost over.

“So, who is going to have to stay here then?”

Everyone quieted down and looked up to Sirius, as if he had some sort of plan. He cleared his throat to buy time while he thought it through.

“Well, Andi, you should probably grab your husband and both stay in the manor. With Cissy needing a healer and your daughter being an Auror, it seems prudent to keep you close by. Dora, when you’re not at work, come back here. Just move in. Cissy and her boy will stay as well, for their safety. Uncle Alphard, will you be staying?” he looked to his uncle.

“Of course. I will just need to send the elves to grab some things.”

Sirius relaxed a bit at that. Then he looked around the table. He wasn’t sure what everyone did, or what he had even pulled them from doing when he called the meeting in the middle of a weekday. Suddenly he felt a bit bad about that. “Is there anyone else who would feel more secure in the Manor?”

He decided to leave it to them.

Unsurprisingly, Lucretia immediately volunteered to move in. Callidora and Cadrella, both widows at this point in their lives, also asked if they could stay. Callidora’s daughter, Lyra, said she would grab her husband and sons and move in the next day. Apparently her husband was a private ward designer, and they did not fair too well in the last war. Cadrella’s middle son, Henry, said he would move in with his family, his two son’s already being here meaning he would only need to grab his wife. She was a muggleborn, so she had been feeling pretty unsafe since Voldemort’s return.

What was a surprise was when, after a brief muttered discussion between Arthur and his eldest, he announced he would be grabbing his entire brood to move in. All eight of them, including Arthur but minus his middle son Percy. Then again, maybe Sirius shouldn’t have been surprised. His youngest son was Harry’s best friend, his eldest was a curse breaker, and the twins, from what he had heard, were unholy terrors. Always good allies to have.

Well, he thought as the meeting broke up, at least the Manor wouldn’t be quiet anymore.

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#Sirius Black #Harry Potter Fanfiction #Harry Potter #ancient and most noble house of black #family meeting #hp fanfic #ancient magics #family magic

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