Two House of M Fan fics (Bucky/Toro)

[cat_13145]

Title: House of M: A Man for all Seasons
Author: cat_13145
Disclaimer: Marvel owns it all!
Comic: House of M/ Captain America?
Spoilers: (if applicable) Only for very briefly for Captain American 10. Oh and if you have no idea about the House of M
Pairing/Characters: Bucky, Wolverine, Toro, Spiderwoman
Rating: PG 13

Summary: Bucky Barnes life in the House of M
Author's Notes: This was written because I hated the depiction of Bucky in the House of M, both in Civil War 3 and Captain America 10. This fic was an attempt at correct this. If anyone can suggest anywhere else I could post it, I'd be really grateful. It's a bit different to my normal style and unbetaed, so let me know how it works out.

 

 

Daffodils.

He was trying hard not to scream, harder than he had fought when Zemo sent a whip over his back. But it was hard when every muscle, every sinew, every cell in his body wanted to scream at Steve “That’s Not Me!”

Couldn’t’ Steve tell? Couldn’t he see the way Davis’s hand (metal, his true one lost during a mutant suicide bombing at the stadium and hidden beneath the artificial skin) moved stiffly and unnaturally? Didn’t he notice that rather than his usual (banana spilt with extra whipped cream) Davis had ordered a coffee?

And most importantly, didn’t Steve know he’d never turn his back on a friend, never abandon Toro?

“Get him out of here.” A voice, he couldn’t see who it was, snarled at him. “If he loves mutants so much put him with them.”

He lay like a rag doll in their arms, not thinking, not really feeling. Steve wasn’t coming to rescue him. How could he when he didn’t even realise he was missing?

Collapsing as they flung him into a cell, James Buchanan Barnes drew his legs up to his chest and fought harder than he had done in nearly 20 years to keep the tears inside, to be brave.

“Kid?” The voice sounded raspy, like it hadn’t been used for a while. Bucky couldn’t blame him. What was the point talking when no one listened?

“Kid?” It was a bit more persistent this time, and he could see the speaker. Black hair in turfs like a lion’s mane, blue eyes staring at him out of a face that looked old and tired. “What are you doing here, kid? You ain’t a mutant.”

And in spite of his best intentions, James Buchan Barnes found himself crying. Weeping at the fact that this man, who’d met him maybe three or four times knew him better than the man he’d thought of as his big brother.

 

 

Heat of summer sunshine.

“Won’t be long now, kid.” He wasn’t sure if Logan meant till they were shot or till the fever killed him. He wasn’t even sure if he’d actually heard the words, or if he’d just translated the grunts and animal noises Logan made. It had been too long since anyone actually spoke to him.

The guards talked, but they either talked at them, or as though they’re deaf or stupid.

It’s been three days since the power went out and the guards stopped coming.

He turned groaning softly, seeking the last bit of cool from the water Logan had poured on his face. Or where he’d licked him, he wasn’t quite sure which one.

Suddenly Logan stiffened, his head cocked like a dog’s.

Bucky strained his ears into the distance, realising he could hear it to, the faint hum of voices, the stomp of feet coming closer.

“How many?”

“Three, I think.”

“Powers?”

“One’s got a healing factor and claws. Another, the kid can fly and shoot blasts. I don’t know about the third, he’s just always been there.”
If he was going to be taken out and shot, he was going to face them on his feet. Jess, the little kid Dum Dum had flung in with them after Fury was summoned to Washington,      back up against the wall. Logan’s claws were out and he was growling, furious at anyone trying to hurt his...pack was the only good description.

He heard the sound of a key in the lock, but wasn’t quick enough to shield his eyes, as the light from the outside world came rushing in.

“Dear God.” He heard, and noticed the feet that he could just see through the edges of his vision were webbed.

 

 

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

“Bucky is dead.”

“I know that, and I ain’t arguing with you about that.”

Could have fooled me James thought, as he watched the mutant take devour the meatloaf.

“All I’m saying is that don’t mean you have to be.”

James shrugged, managing not to wince as he swallowed the piping hot coffee. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Logan snorted. “We’re been out of that pit for a year now, have you even looked at the world outside?”

“Have you?” He shot back, almost immediately regretting it, as he felt the eyes of everyone in SHEILD cafeteria on them. Logan glared and everyone immediately went back to what ever they were doing.

“I know it’s hard, feeling like a foreigner in your own land, but you don’t have to do it alone.” At Bucky’s rolled eyeballs, he slapped him on the back of the head. “Don’t take that attitude with me, kid, I saw Tasha making eyes at you.”

Bucky grimaced. “In case you’ve forgotten, she’s at least ten years younger than me.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” James had to acknowledge that for Logan, ten years was nothing. “She’s smart, beautiful, a heck of a fighter…”

“And suitable for me, cause she’s a Sap.” James shot back, bitterly. He watched the sorrow in the mutant’s eyes as he looked him, a look almost identical to Steve’s when he saw Bucky hurt or returning from a mission.

“That’s not what I said or thought, kid.”

“No, but it’s what everyone else is.” He got to his feet, suddenly feeling sick. “You’re an exile returning home, Logan. I’m just a refugee here.”

 

 

 

Winter Soldier

It was a little morbid, probably visiting your own grave. Seeing the words that someone else had chosen carved on a tombstone with your name above it.

He’d heard about the funeral of course, and Logan had even persuaded some one to show him the news footage of it.

Steve hadn’t said anything, he didn’t know if it was because he wasn’t allowed to, or he simply couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure he cared.

Squatting by the grave, he traced the caved stone letters spelling out “Bucky.”

He smiled softly. It seemed fitting. He wasn’t Bucky anymore; he was the Winter Soldier, even if Logan had to stop himself busting a gut every time he said it.

Bucky didn’t think a guy called Wolverine was in any position to point fingers.

He gazed at the stone, wandering if he should apologize. But he couldn’t feel guilty. Davis had known the risks.

Slowly, he got to his feet, dusting the earth from his knees. Logan was right; it was a mistake to come here. What he was seeking, a connection with someone, anyone, in this world wasn’t here.

He was about t move off when a voice came from behind him.

“Bucky?” He turned his head, cursing at the automatic response, to see a young man with black hair staring at him.

“Bucky!?” He barely had a moment before he was grabbed into a bear hug. “It is you. What happened? How did it happen?”

He opened his mouth, ready to deny everything that Toro was saying to him, when he realized this was what he was seeking. A connection with someone.

“It’s a long story.”

Toro shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

He nodded, slowly, as Toro’s arm was flung over his shoulders. For a moment he resisted and then he lent into the touch.

“It wasn’t me.” He said, softly. Toro nodded. “I know.”

 

Title: House of M: Seasons in the Sun
Author: cat_13145
Disclaimer:  If you recognise it, then it's not mine.
Comic: House of M/ Captain America?
Spoilers: (if applicable) Only for very briefly for Captain American 10. Oh and if you have no idea about the House of M
Pairing/Characters: Bucky/Toro, Captain America, Human Torch (I), Anne, Jean Paul, Mystique, Nightcrawler, Destiny, Aurora,

Summary: Thomas Raymond (Toro's)  life in the House of M. Sequel to House of M: A Man for all Seasons
Author's Notes: This was written for ani_bester  who requested more of Toro's life in House of M. As snow has cancelled my activities, I have time to write. Unbetaed
 

 

“He’s not Bucky!” maybe if he repeats this often enough, someone will actually listen to him. Steve looks at him.

“Son, I know things are difficult at the moment, and I admit Bucky’s being acting a little strange, but he is still the same guy you knew_”

“NO!” Toro yells all plans to be calm forgotten in an instant. “He’s not the same.”

How can anyone not see it? See the light roots of the hair, the barely noticeable scars from laser treatment? Or more importantly, Doesn’t Steve remember Bucky being the only one not freaked out when Torch admitted that Toro was a mutant, back in the day? Remember Bucky giving that Sergeant a bloody nose, when he called some pink Triangles perverts? Remember the bruises on Bucky when he stood up for Davey?

James Buchan Barnes was the most tolerant person Toro had ever met and that included Steve who was a little inclined to be patronising and Pig headed when the mood took him. But Bucky always looked for the other guys’ side, even if he couldn’t understand.

He can feel the pity of Steve’s eyes on him, as if he’d heard the terms Fake-Bucky used.

Monster, Animal, Mistake of Nature, Freak.

“People Change son.”

He looks up and meets the eyes defiantly.

“Not that much!”

 

 

*****

It felt ridiculous, standing here, forbidden to speak, listening to people going on and on about what a fine young man James Buchan Barnes had been, and how proud he had been to give his life in the service of his country.

The only problem was, the body in the box wasn’t James Buchan Barnes. He didn’t know who it was, though he thought he’d seen them somewhere before, but he knew it wasn’t Bucky, with the same certainty he knew his own name or that Hitler had been a menace.

He could hear someone laughing and looked around, seeking the one person who understood this, who found holding a service for a man who was still alive as silly as he did. Then he felt strong hands gripping him, guiding him away from the grave and realised that the laughter was coming from him.

Jim Hammond stood so that they were on a level, gripping his shoulders tightly.

“It’s O.K., Toro.” He said, softly. “grief affects us all in strange ways.”

He shook his head. “It’s not Bucky, so why are they talking about him like he’s dead?”

He watched the android’s face pucker slightly. “You need to stop this, Toro.” He said, gently. “I know how much his stance on the...issue hurt you, but you have to accept it. Bucky isn’t coming back.”

“He’s not dead.”
he watched as the android, looking very human, bite his lip. “Come on, let’s go home.”

There are moments where we all make decisions, and looking at the grave stone, Toro knew he made one.

“No.” He said, firmly.

“Toro, you have to_”

“Wanna bet?” He’s starting to flame on, drawing it from deep within himself, tapping into his anger. “Bucky’s still alive, and I’m to find him.”

“Toro, don’t be ridicu_”

He shook himself free.

“Say goodbye to Anne for me.” Jim grabbed him again.

“Toro, you know the instant you leave our house, the Sentinels’ll be after you.”

He’s never told anyone about the tags Nick gave soon after the first ones made an appearance. He said they’d keep Toro safe, and Toro had never known Nick break his word. When he asked Nick why he was doing this, why he was still head of SHIELD, when it was obvious to a blind man what he really thought of their policies, Nick had looked about 150 and muttered. “Maybe I’m scared of what my replacement would do.”

It was sad to Think that Nick understood the situation better than Torch, better than Steve.

Slowly, he shook the artificial hand off him. “Goodbye Jim.”

He doesn’t look back.

 

*****

 

 

“They say it’s all over, bar the shouting.”

To most people, it would probably look like Jean Paul Beauier was getting closer to Toro for the warmth the other man generated. Toro however could feel the rubbing that suggested he had ulterior motives for the conversation.

“Really?” he muttered, gazing into the fire, barely paying attention. Another lead had dried up, and he was rapidly running out of ideas.

Jean Paul nodded. “Uhu. They say Mutants are going to win.” He paused, looking around. “What will you do? When’s the war’s over and we don’t have to live like this?”

He waved his hand encompassing their little band, huddled around a camp fire.

Europe was different from America. No less anti-mutant, in theory, but the borders helped them. Sentinels can’t be used; if the threat is always present that you might start World War 3. So providing they stayed out of the authorities’ way, away from the Big Cities, they were OK.

Returning to his roots as a circus performer felt both natural and unnatural.

Here they called him Flaming Man, never asking for any other name, after he burnt the hand of the circus owner, when he tried to hold back the money they had earned. Toro didn’t feel guilty; the man was one of those encouraging Mutants to join Magneto, by holding back what they had earned honestly. And he had no sympathy with those who’d take food from the mouths of mothers and children.

“They say there’s good money in SHIELD.”

He stole a glance at the blue skinned woman who gave her name as Mystique, her two year old son Kurt walking still uncertainly on legs too thin to properly support him. he watched as she held out her hands and the little demon like child tootled into them.

Jean Paul nodded in agreement. “It has its advantages. Good money and a chance to get a proper education. And to help the cause.”

Sometimes Toro wandered why this young acrobat hadn’t already joined Magneto, but then he watched his eyes rest on his sister, Jeanne Marie. Both were all lines, but where Jean Paul was all sharp lines and harsh angles, there was something about Jeanne Marie that suggests comfort and other things. He was fairly certain that the money she occasionally adds to the pot was not from her performance, or at least not the performance with her brother. Then again, more than once Jean Paul had added similarly mysterious money.

It was sad that frequently it had been that money which kept them away from starvation.

He realised that they were looking at him, evidently waiting for his response.

“Don’t know.” He admits softly, “probably keep looking.”

He had to keep looking. He stayed away from the obvious choices, the Invaders. The only ones he felt he could have trusted were Brian and Roger, but they were both dead, a car crash nearly ten years before fake Bucky’s death.

So he kept to the back roads, hunted down the old resistance members, the old forgers, black marketers, the smugglers, the arms dealers, people Bucky might have got in contact with if he was in trouble.

“You will forgive, my friend, if I ask what are you looking for?” He looked into the yellow eyes of Mystique. He wasn’t sure where she was from, she never volunteered it, any more than she offered a real name, but turns of phrases like that made him suspect that if she wasn’t German then she had spent a lot of time there. He looked at Kurt’s ears and furry blue face peeking out from behind his mother’s arms as she wrapped him up. Both mother and child were too thin and he didn’t blame her for being interested in SHIELD. At least they would give them both a decent meal.

“The truth.” He said, softly. “How this could happen?”

Mystique let out a bitter laugh, her eyes running over an old news paper reporting the death of Gordon Creed that was serving as a blanket for her child.

“Aren’t we all asking ourselves that, Mein Herr? Aren’t we all?”

He smiled, uncomfortably, as Jean Paul pushed himself closer, his hands wandering across Toro’s chest towards the sticks piled on the other side. As the hand paused, Toro all but jumped to his feet.

“Got to...” he muttered, gesturing with his head. Ignoring the nods and mutters of the others, he stepped away from the group, away from wandering hands that were so like and so far apart from what he was looking for.

Away, he leant against the tree, allowing himself a moment of despair. What was he going to do?

He’d been looking for years, heard nothing, found nothing. maybe he was being stupid, Maybe Steve and Jim were right. Maybe Bucky really was...

“Excuse me.” He turned slightly to see the blind fortune teller standing a few feet from him, looking at him.

“What you are seeking,” she said, her voice soft. “You will find it when you go home.”

He blinked, as the woman turned and walked away.

He shook his head. He’d better listen to her. There was a reason they called her Destiny

 

 

*****

He tended to avoid Fake Bucky’s grave, with its memories of his final conversation with Torch.

Anne had looked like she’d seen a ghost when he turned up on her doorstep. Then she hugged him, almost breaking his ribs, before dragging into the house.

It was there that she told him that Jim was dead, or more accurately deactivated. Tears streamed down her face as she told him how it happened. How torch had taken the power of an exploding nuclear reactor into himself, destabilising his powers. How he’d flown into the atmosphere to avoid hurting anyone. How Magneto himself had praised his bravery, awarded a medal to his weeping widow.

She tried to talk him into staying, but too much had happened, too much had been said for him to stay.

He also couldn’t help seeing the house as a prison, however unintentionally that had been.

So he’d grabbed what he’d left behind when he walked away from the grave, and found a small apartment and kept looking.

Occasionally rumours reached his ears. Of a SHIELD agent who moved with the skill of a mutant, but whose genes were human.

Every time he tried to find out more, he found doors closed. He might be one of them, but most Mutants saw him as a traitor, for not joining Magneto, for vanishing off the map when they needed him.

Mutants might be in control, but that didn’t mean they like Toro much more than their human predecessors.

 Until that morning, when he found a note pinned to his door.

Plot 72

Arlington National Cemetery,

07:15 Hrs

Be there. The answers’ll be waiting.

A friend.

He didn’t know why he believed the note. Just that the writing seemed familiar.

He’d brought some flowers at the gate, just to make it look better.

By the grave a youngish man was kneeling. Even from where he stood, Toro could see the winged M that was the symbol of SHIELD, and he felt his hands began to flame on.

He knew there were those who hated the man buried here, for killing Xavier, and he couldn’t honestly say he blamed them. But he was dammed if he was going to let some freak desecrate the only grave his friend was likely to get.

Then he realised that the agent wasn’t desecrating the grave. He watched as the agent got to his feet, dusting his knees, shaking dark hair out of his hair. He knew that gesture, He’d seen it done a thousand times, after laying or diffusing a bomb, after examining a plan laid out on the ground by Nick Fury or Cap.

“Bucky?”

The head turned.

“Bucky!?” he couldn’t stop himself; suddenly the man was in his arms, fitting like nothing had changed. “It is you.” It was a prayer, of thanks, of relief, of amazement.

“What happened? How did it happen?”

He watched the familiar mouth open to deny, and saw him stop.

“It’s a long story.”

He didn’t care. “I’ve got nowhere else to be.” He muttered, reluctantly releasing Bucky, but keeping his arm around him.

He watched the conflict in the former Kid Commando’s face, before he leant into the touch.

“It wasn’t me.” The whisper was so soft, he almost didn’t hear it.

“I know.” He replied, simply.