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capkinkmod ([personal profile] capkinkmod) wrote in [community profile] capkink2014-02-11 08:29 pm

Prompt Post 1

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At least one of the characters in your prompt must have been in Captain America: The First Avenger or Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

As of May 3, 2014, the spoiler policy is no longer in effect.

Update, April 22, 2014:
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Glass of Milk, Part 4

[personal profile] lauralot 2014-04-18 05:02 am (UTC)(link)
Once the Soldier wakes up a second time – heart pounding and breath racing, but not screaming – he decides that everyone would benefit if he did not leave the room again, not until Steve returns. The less time he spends around people, the quieter he becomes. It’s a struggle to remember the last time he came out of cryo, but he does know that when he first thawed, he hardly retained the ability to speak.

No communication is as good of a mission objective as the Soldier can think of on his own, but it fails immediately once the phone beeps with a message from Steve.

[text received from: Steve Rogers] Bruce is offering to teach you meditation. Want to give it a go?

[text to: Steve Rogers] Stark says Banner turns into a giant green rage monster. I don’t know what he is referring to. But from what I know about meditation, that is a contradiction.

[text received from: Steve Rogers] New rule, Buck: Whenever Tony tells you anything, have either Natasha or Jarvis clarify it.

[text received from: Steve Rogers] And being a giant green rage monster is actually beneficial in this case. Sort of.

He spends the morning on meditation, which sounds promising until he realizes that it is not a less painful, more selective version of HYDRA’s memory wipes and it is not something that can be done to him, but something he must do himself. The Soldier has trouble figuring out whether or not he is hungry without assistance, so how can he shut down the thoughts and feelings and creeping nightmares in his head just by willing it?

When Bruce – who, as far as the asset can tell, shows no signs of rage or greenness – dismisses him with a smile and words of encouragement that must be borne out of pity, the Soldier begins back toward the room where he sleeps, only to be interrupted by Stark, who is in a suit of armor and carrying a casserole dish of the thing called ratatouille. He says it is from Thomas Keller himself, as though the Soldier knows who that is, and he felt like flying out to California to get some and set the mood for the next film viewing. This is how the Soldier ends up eating the second pleasant food he can remember having while watching the adventures of a computer-generated rat, along with the others. Half of the commentary during the film involves Thor trying to pronounce various French words.

His accent would kill Dernier, the Soldier thinks abruptly, and he cannot recall who Dernier is when he tries to revisit the thought.

[text to: Steve Rogers] Are you certain these people helped you save the world? Someone else may have done it for them when you weren’t looking.

[text received from: Steve Rogers] Remind me to introduce you to Youtube when I get back. And don’t ask anyone else about it. Tony would make you watch videos of him for hours, and I shudder to think of what he’s got floating around online.

In the evening, Bruce and Stark disappear into the labs and Natasha announces that she and Barton – the Soldier managed to catch his name during the film – are going to retrieve Oreos. The Soldier does not know what Oreos are, but he takes the opportunity to slip back into his room and is confronted by the voice of the machine in the walls immediately upon arrival.

MR. STARK INSISTS THAT YOU EAT AT LEAST TWO MEALS A DAY, SERGEANT BARNES, JARVIS explains, and the Soldier decides it fruitless to argue. Stark appears to understand how being a human works – he reminds the Soldier of Americans in propaganda films, only he is not obese and nor is he a slave-driver – so perhaps he has a point. Besides, the kitchen will be empty, so it isn’t as if the man will need to speak.

Or so he assumes. In actuality, the possible god is there, drinking from an ornate and massive tankard. “Greetings, Soldier of Winter!”

The Soldier is not sure Steve would want him to respond to that name, so he makes a noncommittal sound in reply.

“Midgardian ales are so small,” Thor says, in reference to his beverage, “and so weak that I have to combine them if I hope to feel anything at all.”

“I can’t drink,” the Soldier says, though he can remember someone, maybe a handler, putting a glass briefly to his lips in celebration of something and laughing at the frown he gave upon feeling the burn of alcohol. He knows enough about intoxication to realize it is a bad idea for someone struggling not to kill everyone while sober.

“Ah,” says the god, and retrieves a second, equally enormous tankard, pouring the full gallon of milk from the refrigerator into it. “Here.”

The Soldier decides that is a large enough portion to constitute a complete meal and begins to drink.

“What does it come from?” Thor’s eyes are on him, his expression both puzzled and smiling, as always.

“крупный рогатый скот.” The Soldier wipes at his mouth. “Cattle.”

“There are cattle on Asgard.” Thor’s voice when he says it – when he says most things – makes it sound as though this is the best thing he’s ever heard. He is off, going on about what Midgard has that Asgard doesn’t and vice versa, and something about “bilgesnipe” and his encounters with them, the way that he and his brother would provoke them.

The Soldier is content to let him speak, drinking in silence. The lighter the tankard becomes, the more aware he is of an odd and increasingly unpleasant pressure in his stomach. The Soldier has never been full before, not that he can recall. He eats when he is told to and stops when what he’s been given is gone. The thought of listening to his body’s signals and ceasing before the glass is empty does not occur to him.

Around an hour after sitting down, the tankard is empty and the Soldier is reeling internally in a mix of nausea and pain and completely missing all of the adventures the god is describing. He concludes that this sensation must be a result of sabotage, poisoning, and in that moment, the most logical course of action that occurs to him is to rip the door from the refrigerator with his metal arm and send it hurtling toward Thor’s head.

Five minutes or so into the ensuing battle, the Soldier’s metal arm is malfunctioning from the blows rained down upon it, and that only serves to make him angrier. He resolves to make this god bleed, but the effort is immediately halted by the sudden and uncontrollable vomiting the Soldier begins to experience. By this point, Stark and Bruce have arrived and Thor is holding the asset’s hair back, apologizing for not understanding the frailty of Midgardian physiology.

*

“I think it’s time for some house rules, Frosty,” Stark says. The Soldier is lying down on one of his workbenches, body tensed and ready for searing, all-consuming pain that does not arrive as the man repairs his damaged arm. “Rule one: No destroying appliances lovingly selected by Pepper. I mean, that’s getting me in trouble here without even having the chance to earn it. I can destroy my own fridge, thanks."

Elsewhere on the same floor of the building, the Soldier can just make out Barton shouting at the god. It isn’t the fight that bothers him from what the Soldier is hearing, but rather the lack of milk. He makes out the words “You can’t wash cookies down with water!” and then the sounds of someone stomping away.

“Rule two,” Stark continues, “next time you think you’ve been poisoned, you say “I am not feeling well and may require medical assistance.” Or something similar but less “Danger Will Robinson” about it. You know, so we have a chance to see what’s wrong before you use your karate chop action?”

“Well?” the Soldier repeats. Missions go well. He understands the word then. What does it mean in regards to people?

“Yeah, well. As in, not about to be sick everywhere? Content? Not in pain? Healthy and happy?”

“Happy,” the Soldier repeats.

“Uh-huh,” Stark murmurs, switching out one tool for another.

“Then I am never well.”

There is a pause in which their eyes meet. “We’re also gonna have to have a talk about things not to say when Cap’s around,” Stark says finally, but the Soldier’s mind is suddenly in another place, another time.

“Your father said we’d have flying cars.”

Stark blinks. “One train of thought at a time, Tin Man, okay?”

“At the expo, decades ago.” He can remember watching. “He said it would be a few years before everyone had a flying car. What happened?”

“Fury’s car had flight capabilities before you flipped it with your Frisbee of death,” Stark offers. “Dad got a little distracted with stuff like the war, searching the sea for MIA patriotism popsicles, and forming SHIELD and all, but hey, remind me once we’ve taken out HYDRA for good this time and I’ll see what I can do for Project Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.”

The Soldier’s expression goes blank at “MIA patriotism popsicles,” and it remains that way.

Thor enters, leaning against the doorframe with a sigh. “Your people are so excitable. And confusing.”

The Soldier realizes he is included in that statement, yet he still cannot help but agree.

Re: Glass of Milk, Part 4

(Anonymous) 2014-04-18 01:43 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm the anon who said Thor would give the Soldier a tankard, and now I feel sort of guilty. But mostly I'm loving this fic and its blend of humour and soul-destroying little moments of angst.

Re: Glass of Milk, Part 4

[personal profile] lauralot 2014-04-18 02:41 pm (UTC)(link)
I mean, it was a really sweet gesture on Thor's part. "Oh, you can't have this? Don't fret, little Midgardian, have all of your favorite thing!" It's just that the Winter Soldier doesn't understand how eating works.

Glad you like it!

Glass of Milk, Final Part

[personal profile] lauralot 2014-04-18 02:38 pm (UTC)(link)
Today is the day when Steve is returning, at least temporarily, and after the destruction of property incident from the night prior and the way he was sick over Thor’s boots, the Soldier has decided that everyone would be best served if he did not leave the room until Steve arrives, sustenance be damned. But his thoughts drift to the refrigerator and while he is not sorry for breaking it, he imagines Steve would want him to be, so he decides to take a closer look at the damage and see what can be salvaged. The metal will be dented from striking the god’s head repeatedly, but perhaps it can be hammered out.

When he arrives in the kitchen, however, the refrigerator is in one piece, looking so exactly as it did that he begins, not for the first time, to question his perception of reality. The Soldier reaches out with the human arm, gingerly opening the door just to make sure it is fully attached.

“Stark flew a replacement in,” Natasha explains, refilling her coffee mug. “Thought if he took care of it fast enough, Potts wouldn’t find out. Of course, she knew before he even left – Hill picked up the fight on the security sensors and then JARVIS filled her in on the details.”

The Soldier nods as though he knows who either of those people are. Natasha is still speaking, something about how Potts isn’t angry with him but he isn’t listening, partially because he doesn’t care and also because the contents of the new refrigerator have caught his eye.

“What is Silk?” he asks. In his memory silk is a fabric, not a carton of presumably edible liquid.

Natasha sighs. “Soy milk. Or in this case, almond. And you’re not allowed to complain – Clint already pitched a fit, but that’s all we could find yesterday.”

His mind begins to calculate the statistical improbability of there being no milk in New York City, but the Soldier cuts that off because milk is the one thing in the world he is currently absolutely certain about, and he’s certain her words make no sense. “Milk comes from animals.”

“Not necessarily.” Natasha carries on as if she hasn’t just shattered his perception of reality. “You should try it – Clint’s sure as hell not having any and I don’t think Stark drinks anything that isn’t at least 180 proof. Besides, there’s no lactose.”

“Lactose?”

“лактоза,” she tries. It isn’t familiar that way either, but if lactose, whatever it is, is the thing that made him ill yesterday, then avoiding it in the future would be preferable.

A moment later and there is a glass of the not-milk in his hand. The Soldier stares at it hesitantly.

“All right, look,” Natasha says, slipping her mug into the dishwasher. “You’re a perfect shot and you’re terrifying in combat, but if you’re afraid of almond milk, your intimidation factor is gone.”

Is that an insult? Her insults are not as harsh as HYDRA’s if it is. He drinks. It tastes vaguely of vanilla and while it isn’t bad, it is different and he’s not sure how to respond to it.

He remembers suddenly a different, much smaller kitchen in a different, far off time. He can remember Steve, but Steve is so much younger, so, so much smaller, and this vision of his friend makes him tense, feeling the urge to protect the child even though it’s only a memory. They are in someone’s kitchen – Steve’s mother or Barnes’s? – and they have dared each other to drink straight buttermilk because they are – he does not know whose words he is remembering – “stupid punks.”

They both drink, then gag, and Barnes is concerned Steve will be sick, that this will trigger an asthma attack or an allergic reaction or any of the dozen things likely to go wrong with Steve at any time. But then Steve is laughing and Barnes is laughing, and outside of the memory the Soldier feels his mouth shape the configuration called a smile.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Like it?”

The Soldier shrugs.

It is then that Steve enters, panting and sweaty, and the Soldier feels that Barnes would have hugged him. He does not, because his mind is half in the past and he worries he would break the man. Even with the serum flowing through Steve’s body, the Soldier has nearly killed him before. He has just decided to linger back when Steve is hugging him anyway and the Soldier hugs back, hard. “Good to see you, Bucky. Natasha.”

“Go for a run?” Natasha asks.

“Traffic was at a standstill,” Steve explains, and he looks tired. Nothing tires Steve, so the Soldier assumes that he ran all the way from DC. “I left the cab early. Needed time to clear my head anyway.” He is taking the glass from the Soldier’s hand – “Hey, buddy, mind if I –” and drinking before the Soldier can tell him what it is.

Steve doesn’t gag, but his utterly confused look and the surprised sound he gives at the unexpected flavor, combined with the recently recovered memory, snaps something inside the Soldier and he is suddenly shaking, emitting a sound that he does not recognize as laughter until his ribs are aching and tears are starting in his eyes.

It isn’t until he is gasping for breath and straightening up that he sees Stark holding out a phone, recording.

“Here’s the sixty-four million dollar question,” Stark says, sliding the phone into his pocket. “Should I put that whole thing online, or choose the best seven seconds for a Vine?”

Steve’s eyes meet the Soldier’s, and somehow the asset knows without being told that the ensuing chase around the floor for Stark and his phone is not true combat, but more of a spar, a play. He manages to tackle Stark in the lab, pieces of armor coming through the air and bouncing off of him as they try to affix to the other man’s body. Steve is not far behind, reaching for Stark’s pockets while the Soldier keeps the captive contained through an attack that he somehow knows is called tickling.

Behind him, he hears Bruce’s voice – “Two against one’s not fair, guys,” before he can feel the doctor’s hands spidering over his body the way his are moving on Stark’s. He jerks, but he realizes there is no threat and does not attack, involuntarily laughing again as Thor, Barton, and last of all, Natasha join in.

He decides afterward, panting, realizing he has been smiling throughout as he watches Steve retrieve the phone, that this is what Stark meant by “well.”

Re: Glass of Milk, Final Part

[personal profile] celiaequus 2014-04-19 07:15 am (UTC)(link)
This story has my heart. Right down to the tickle fight (and especially the tickle fight).
marbleglove: (Default)

Re: Glass of Milk, Final Part

[personal profile] marbleglove 2014-04-19 01:35 pm (UTC)(link)
All the feels! This is wonderful.
snarkyducky: (Default)

Re: Glass of Milk, Final Part

[personal profile] snarkyducky 2014-04-19 07:20 pm (UTC)(link)
thank you for sharing this gem! i loved reading every word :)

Re: Glass of Milk, Final Part

(Anonymous) 2014-04-20 05:52 am (UTC)(link)
This was super great. Also a direct hit to my Bucky feels. Sad but hopeful and sweet.
rivers_bend: (women: emma watson camera)

Re: Glass of Milk, Final Part

[personal profile] rivers_bend 2014-05-01 05:25 am (UTC)(link)
this is both delightful and incredibly moving. i'm so glad the plot bunnies bit!

Re: Glass of Milk, Final Part

(Anonymous) 2014-05-04 10:15 pm (UTC)(link)
omg, this is AMAZING. <3

Re: Glass of Milk, Final Part

[personal profile] lauralot 2014-05-05 01:33 am (UTC)(link)
Thank you!

Re: Glass of Milk, Final Part

(Anonymous) 2015-01-01 02:09 am (UTC)(link)
Everything about this was beautiful - so beautiful, in fact, that I had to live-blog as I read it while screaming about feels. Well done you!

Re: Glass of Milk, Final Part

[personal profile] lauralot 2015-01-01 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
Oh wow, that sounds amazing. Thank you!
aome: All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us (all we have to decide)

Re: Glass of Milk, Final Part

[personal profile] aome 2016-04-03 03:17 am (UTC)(link)
I just. I'm in awe that you took the milk prompt and turned it into something so utterly amazing. I love that your Bucky Soldier is struggling so much with humanity, that it is told from his perspective that we can SEE him struggle, from recognizing humor to recognizing hunger, and yet you can see that he's trying. This was a marvelous look through his eyes - I loved it.

Re: Glass of Milk, Final Part

[personal profile] lauralot 2016-04-06 05:47 pm (UTC)(link)
Thank you so much! I was originally just envisioning some short, fluffy thing with Bucky drinking milk, and somehow this happened.