fic: Those Who Know Do Not Tell
Zombie Fest 2014
Title: Those Who Know Do Not Tell
Author: punahukka
Fandom: The Avengers / Captain America (MCU with comic bits thrown in)
Characters/Pairings: Team; Steve/Bucky
Length: 1900 words
Rating: PG-13/Teen and up audiences
Spoilers: For Winter Soldier story arc(s).
Prompt: 009. Any fandom/Original -- In a world where mystical creatures are known (fairies, vampires, werewolves, etc.) humans use them as weapons against the armies of the undead to protect mankind because non-humans can't get infected.
Summary: In other words, a team-oriented slice-of-life-ish AU. As usual, I was going for epic and ended up with minimalistic.
Maria has just paid for her too expensive, too sweet excuse for a coffee when her phone rings, but it’s not like she bothers with anything else than take-away these days.
It’s Fury, it’s zombies and therefore it’s superhuman business, so she settles for gulping down her drink too hot and calling Pepper.
Pepper already knows, and Maria doesn’t know which she hates more: zombies or playing one of the messengers between Fury’s and Stark’s egos.
“Well, tell the Devil we’re gonna need his jet tonight,” she sighs, and maybe it’s mean since only one quarter of Tony’s blood is of demonic origin, but it’s not like it would kill the man to put Fury on his speed-dial. “And get some coffins, we’re bringing in Nat and Barnes.”
*
By now it’s almost a routine: Bucky comes home from a mission looking like he’s been dragged through more hells than one, and Steve tells him to eat.
By now they’re violently toning it down to “no big deal”. Bucky breaks the layers of skin on Steve’s wrist with his thumbnail and latches his mouth onto the wound. He feeds without spilling a drop, as efficiently as he can, swallowing in time with Steve’s heartbeats.
By the time Bucky stops the bleeding with a couple of measured licks Steve’s flushed and rock hard in his sweatpants. He’s still not sure if it’s a vampire thing (but he likes to categorize it as a Bucky thing).
“Good?” Steve asks, surprised by how little his voice wavers. There are hundreds of things he wants to say, starting from favors between friends and how he’s not expecting them to be returned; then Bucky’s in his space, pushing him bodily against the kitchen counter as he places his metal hand on the back of Steve’s neck and brings their lips together.
Steve still likes to think that Bucky kisses far more hungrily than he actually eats. (There’s a thin line between liking to think and denial, but it’s just semantics when he’s pulling at the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt to get onto his skin.)
They’re interrupted by the doorbell followed by a series of demanding knocks followed by unnecessarily loud rustling of keys, and Steve’s pretty sure having your guardian angel living next door is one of those things in this century he’ll never get used to.
“I heard James coming in through the door for once,” Sharon says as she lets herself in with a hand covering her eyes. “Please put some clothes on.”
“Umm,” Steve says. “We’re decent.”
Sharon peeks suspiciously from between her fingers and makes a long-suffering noise but decides that she can live with Steve bashfully hiding behind the kitchen aisle (and Bucky’s shit-eating grin).
“We’re being summoned,” she says without further pleasantries. “Fury needs us to deal with a zombie outbreak. Well, he needs James, but I already told him you’re not going to be left behind.” She flashes a brief smile at Steve. “Go suit up and meet me on the roof, Barton’s gonna pick us up.”
*
One moment Sam’s stopping at the traffic lights; the next he’s got his heart skipping a beat in shock and a red-haired, rain-soaked vampire sitting next to him on the front seat of his car.
“Hello,” Natasha says like it’s no big deal but doesn’t quite bother hiding the smile in her voice as she bangs the door shut. “Thought I’d hitch a ride.”
Sam comes back to himself when the cars behind him start honking and grudgingly speeds up again. “Didn’t know you were back in the country.”
“I wasn’t until last night,” Natasha admits. “Fury called me back early.”
“You keep in touch with him?” Sam shakes his head. “You know, a lesser man could get offended. All I got was a text from Sharon saying I needed to drag my ass to New York.”
“Your words, not hers, I presume?” Natasha asks mildly, still far too amused by the situation. “My text said zombies.”
When they stop at the next lights, Sam theatrically bangs his forehead to the wheel.
*
“Honestly? I’m still not sure whether this whole ‘protection for protection’ is a win-win deal or just blackmailing.” Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose with his hand not holding the phone. “Yeah, Tony, I’ll be there.”
*
The flight to zombie-infested city in the west coast is meant to be as uneventful as possible. They only get to leave at nine in the next morning with the vampires safely tucked in boxes and Maria having slept for a couple of hours to be able to pilot. Clint declares himself the co-pilot as an excuse to sleep in the cockpit while Bruce, Sam and Sharon snooze in the cabin. Steve accompanies Tony at the table but refuses the offered drink.
*
“What do we really know about vampires?” Tony suddenly asks some twenty minutes later when Steve’s been lulled in the false hope of ‘company’ being Tony tapping his pad and Steve reading the paper.
He looks up suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“No, really: what do we know about vampires? I mean, know, and about these creatures we call vampires.”
Steve’s eyes instinctively flicker towards the back of the plane (towards Bucky). Erskine was the first vampire he’d met, and he remembers how the old doctor used to label his former beliefs of fangs and crucifixes ‘fortunate misconceptions’.
Tony doesn’t wait for him to answer: “Holy water, garlic, grave dirt, mirrors and other idiotic things aside, I personally was disappointed by the lack of fangs. But yeah, they only eat human blood and burst into flames in sunlight and have abilities somewhat similar to those pumped into you in the Super Soldier Juice. But it’s the undead issue that’s been bothering me. I mean, c’mon, if they have a digestion system - and a heartbeat and circulation since they apparently have hot steamy heartbreakingly angsty gay sex with their super partners - and oh so many feelings, by my standards they’re very much alive.”
“Yes?” After the first time Steve saw Bucky without the Winter Soldier mask he’s never really even considered the possibility of Bucky having died.
“What is your opinion on souls, Captain?”
“Bucky and Tasha definitely have souls, if that’s where this is going.”
“Exactly,” Tony says approvingly. “And, having done some research, I have a… an idea.”
Steve admits to himself he’s not going to read the paper and carefully folds it aside. “Let’s hear it, then.”
“Let’s assume that soul is the little spark beyond physiology that makes all living things… well, living things. I’m an engineer, not a priest, so work with me here, this is still only an idea and it hurts my soul to speak of things on this level. Anyway, let’s assume that soul settles into a human at… I don’t know, but let’s assume the soul lives in the brain and makes a nest there when the brain is developed enough. And when the person, or the brain, dies, the soul takes off.” Tony pours himself another glass of scotch and grimaces. “I’m still working on this part.”
Steve swallows ‘Congratulations, you re-invented religion’ and instead nods him to continue.
“So, imagine a soul is like a washcloth. When it’s served its time, it gets send back to the washcloth factory and into the laundry. When it’s washed clean it’s sent back on duty, to live with another human. But no washcloth can last forever, and even if one is still usable, it can have tears and stains that just won’t come off - hence, people who claim to remember their past lives, only it’s not their past lives but their souls’. A washcloth can be personal but it doesn’t have an actual personality.”
Steve studies Tony’s face and decides that despite the usual rambling he’s serious for once, so he nods again, slowly: “Of all the theories you’ve told me, this one actually makes sense.”
“The washcloth metaphor I even worked on,” Tony says. “So, your washcloth must’ve been through some pretty serious shit in its day - that’d explain a lot about all that guilt’n’duty you’ve got going on.”
“Souls come back together,” Sam suddenly mumbles from his seat startling them both. He’s still got his eyes closed and Sharon leaning against his shoulder. “When your washcloths get attached to each other strongly enough they tend to seek each other out even after the laundry.” Then he shifts on his seat, sighs gently and seemingly falls back to sleep.
“O-kay,” Tony says, scrubbing his neck. “What Mr. Divine just said. Anyway, it’s the zombies I’ve been thinkin’ about. And the undead thing. What if the zombies aren’t dead after all?”
Steve furrows his brow. “The virus usually starts spreading from a morgue.”
“Yeah, sure, but there’s still no universal agreement on the definition of death. What if the scientific methods we are using to define brain death aren’t accurate enough? What if zombies are powered by souls just like the rest of us?”
“That would be… disturbing,” Steve admits. “If the condition of the soul depends on the human lives it’s been through, zombification would mean…”
“Some pretty serious shit.”
*
“Should you guys get something to eat before we go?” Maria asks when Natasha and Bucky wake up and join them at sunset. “We made a quick perimeter check in the afternoon and basically raided a KFC, so we’re good.”
The vampires exchange a look, and Steve can’t help but think of Sam’s words of coming back together.
“Yeah, I’ll have Clint for starters,” Natasha says sweetly; Clint gives her the finger and hands over two vials of blood.
“Sorry, only anonymous willing donors tonight.”
“You can take a sip of me if you want,” Sam offers, and after emptying the vial Natasha unceremoniously walks over to him, slashes his wrist open and takes a couple of measured gulps. The process doesn’t seem to have any special effect on the angel.
Steve remembers how the woman once described feeding on an angel like having an energy drink: a quick boost but no real nutritious value.
“James?” Natasha prompts after healing the cut just as quickly and efficiently.
“Nah, I’m good,” Bucky says. No one says it out loud but everyone must know how Steve’s super blood is still circling in his veins. “Let’s go kill some dead people.”
The determined sound of weapons being strapped to battle suits always loses its dramatic effect when there’s a flash of bright, warm light indicating Maria, Sharon and Sam putting on their huge white wings.
*
Folklore and hard science as well as first-hand experience have thought them that vampires are immune to the zombie virus, already having a supernatural virus of their own. Angels are equally impossible to infect. The humans just try to make sure they’re armed and don’t get cornered because despite their obvious vulnerability they’re still Hawkeye and Captain America. Tony’s Iron Man armor is as good a protection as any; the Hulk’s skin is way too thick for rotting teeth to penetrate.
It doesn’t make cleaning a run-over town any more pleasant or less horrifying.
*
“Sometimes I wonder,” Natasha says conversationally as she and Bucky gun down the now flesh-craving population of a drug store, “if this really is different from what we used to do for the Red Room.”
“At least we’re fighting for a better cause,” Bucky says, thinks of Steve and has to believe it.
Natasha laughs sharply. “We’re not soldiers, James, we’re weapons.”
*
“’…to fight the battles that we never could’,” Tony mutters to himself through gritted teeth. “Fuck you, Fury.”
A/N: Title inspired by Iron Maiden; "Souls come back together" line from X-Files.
Title: Those Who Know Do Not Tell
Author: punahukka
Fandom: The Avengers / Captain America (MCU with comic bits thrown in)
Characters/Pairings: Team; Steve/Bucky
Length: 1900 words
Rating: PG-13/Teen and up audiences
Spoilers: For Winter Soldier story arc(s).
Prompt: 009. Any fandom/Original -- In a world where mystical creatures are known (fairies, vampires, werewolves, etc.) humans use them as weapons against the armies of the undead to protect mankind because non-humans can't get infected.
Summary: In other words, a team-oriented slice-of-life-ish AU. As usual, I was going for epic and ended up with minimalistic.
Maria has just paid for her too expensive, too sweet excuse for a coffee when her phone rings, but it’s not like she bothers with anything else than take-away these days.
It’s Fury, it’s zombies and therefore it’s superhuman business, so she settles for gulping down her drink too hot and calling Pepper.
Pepper already knows, and Maria doesn’t know which she hates more: zombies or playing one of the messengers between Fury’s and Stark’s egos.
“Well, tell the Devil we’re gonna need his jet tonight,” she sighs, and maybe it’s mean since only one quarter of Tony’s blood is of demonic origin, but it’s not like it would kill the man to put Fury on his speed-dial. “And get some coffins, we’re bringing in Nat and Barnes.”
*
By now it’s almost a routine: Bucky comes home from a mission looking like he’s been dragged through more hells than one, and Steve tells him to eat.
By now they’re violently toning it down to “no big deal”. Bucky breaks the layers of skin on Steve’s wrist with his thumbnail and latches his mouth onto the wound. He feeds without spilling a drop, as efficiently as he can, swallowing in time with Steve’s heartbeats.
By the time Bucky stops the bleeding with a couple of measured licks Steve’s flushed and rock hard in his sweatpants. He’s still not sure if it’s a vampire thing (but he likes to categorize it as a Bucky thing).
“Good?” Steve asks, surprised by how little his voice wavers. There are hundreds of things he wants to say, starting from favors between friends and how he’s not expecting them to be returned; then Bucky’s in his space, pushing him bodily against the kitchen counter as he places his metal hand on the back of Steve’s neck and brings their lips together.
Steve still likes to think that Bucky kisses far more hungrily than he actually eats. (There’s a thin line between liking to think and denial, but it’s just semantics when he’s pulling at the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt to get onto his skin.)
They’re interrupted by the doorbell followed by a series of demanding knocks followed by unnecessarily loud rustling of keys, and Steve’s pretty sure having your guardian angel living next door is one of those things in this century he’ll never get used to.
“I heard James coming in through the door for once,” Sharon says as she lets herself in with a hand covering her eyes. “Please put some clothes on.”
“Umm,” Steve says. “We’re decent.”
Sharon peeks suspiciously from between her fingers and makes a long-suffering noise but decides that she can live with Steve bashfully hiding behind the kitchen aisle (and Bucky’s shit-eating grin).
“We’re being summoned,” she says without further pleasantries. “Fury needs us to deal with a zombie outbreak. Well, he needs James, but I already told him you’re not going to be left behind.” She flashes a brief smile at Steve. “Go suit up and meet me on the roof, Barton’s gonna pick us up.”
*
One moment Sam’s stopping at the traffic lights; the next he’s got his heart skipping a beat in shock and a red-haired, rain-soaked vampire sitting next to him on the front seat of his car.
“Hello,” Natasha says like it’s no big deal but doesn’t quite bother hiding the smile in her voice as she bangs the door shut. “Thought I’d hitch a ride.”
Sam comes back to himself when the cars behind him start honking and grudgingly speeds up again. “Didn’t know you were back in the country.”
“I wasn’t until last night,” Natasha admits. “Fury called me back early.”
“You keep in touch with him?” Sam shakes his head. “You know, a lesser man could get offended. All I got was a text from Sharon saying I needed to drag my ass to New York.”
“Your words, not hers, I presume?” Natasha asks mildly, still far too amused by the situation. “My text said zombies.”
When they stop at the next lights, Sam theatrically bangs his forehead to the wheel.
*
“Honestly? I’m still not sure whether this whole ‘protection for protection’ is a win-win deal or just blackmailing.” Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose with his hand not holding the phone. “Yeah, Tony, I’ll be there.”
*
The flight to zombie-infested city in the west coast is meant to be as uneventful as possible. They only get to leave at nine in the next morning with the vampires safely tucked in boxes and Maria having slept for a couple of hours to be able to pilot. Clint declares himself the co-pilot as an excuse to sleep in the cockpit while Bruce, Sam and Sharon snooze in the cabin. Steve accompanies Tony at the table but refuses the offered drink.
*
“What do we really know about vampires?” Tony suddenly asks some twenty minutes later when Steve’s been lulled in the false hope of ‘company’ being Tony tapping his pad and Steve reading the paper.
He looks up suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“No, really: what do we know about vampires? I mean, know, and about these creatures we call vampires.”
Steve’s eyes instinctively flicker towards the back of the plane (towards Bucky). Erskine was the first vampire he’d met, and he remembers how the old doctor used to label his former beliefs of fangs and crucifixes ‘fortunate misconceptions’.
Tony doesn’t wait for him to answer: “Holy water, garlic, grave dirt, mirrors and other idiotic things aside, I personally was disappointed by the lack of fangs. But yeah, they only eat human blood and burst into flames in sunlight and have abilities somewhat similar to those pumped into you in the Super Soldier Juice. But it’s the undead issue that’s been bothering me. I mean, c’mon, if they have a digestion system - and a heartbeat and circulation since they apparently have hot steamy heartbreakingly angsty gay sex with their super partners - and oh so many feelings, by my standards they’re very much alive.”
“Yes?” After the first time Steve saw Bucky without the Winter Soldier mask he’s never really even considered the possibility of Bucky having died.
“What is your opinion on souls, Captain?”
“Bucky and Tasha definitely have souls, if that’s where this is going.”
“Exactly,” Tony says approvingly. “And, having done some research, I have a… an idea.”
Steve admits to himself he’s not going to read the paper and carefully folds it aside. “Let’s hear it, then.”
“Let’s assume that soul is the little spark beyond physiology that makes all living things… well, living things. I’m an engineer, not a priest, so work with me here, this is still only an idea and it hurts my soul to speak of things on this level. Anyway, let’s assume that soul settles into a human at… I don’t know, but let’s assume the soul lives in the brain and makes a nest there when the brain is developed enough. And when the person, or the brain, dies, the soul takes off.” Tony pours himself another glass of scotch and grimaces. “I’m still working on this part.”
Steve swallows ‘Congratulations, you re-invented religion’ and instead nods him to continue.
“So, imagine a soul is like a washcloth. When it’s served its time, it gets send back to the washcloth factory and into the laundry. When it’s washed clean it’s sent back on duty, to live with another human. But no washcloth can last forever, and even if one is still usable, it can have tears and stains that just won’t come off - hence, people who claim to remember their past lives, only it’s not their past lives but their souls’. A washcloth can be personal but it doesn’t have an actual personality.”
Steve studies Tony’s face and decides that despite the usual rambling he’s serious for once, so he nods again, slowly: “Of all the theories you’ve told me, this one actually makes sense.”
“The washcloth metaphor I even worked on,” Tony says. “So, your washcloth must’ve been through some pretty serious shit in its day - that’d explain a lot about all that guilt’n’duty you’ve got going on.”
“Souls come back together,” Sam suddenly mumbles from his seat startling them both. He’s still got his eyes closed and Sharon leaning against his shoulder. “When your washcloths get attached to each other strongly enough they tend to seek each other out even after the laundry.” Then he shifts on his seat, sighs gently and seemingly falls back to sleep.
“O-kay,” Tony says, scrubbing his neck. “What Mr. Divine just said. Anyway, it’s the zombies I’ve been thinkin’ about. And the undead thing. What if the zombies aren’t dead after all?”
Steve furrows his brow. “The virus usually starts spreading from a morgue.”
“Yeah, sure, but there’s still no universal agreement on the definition of death. What if the scientific methods we are using to define brain death aren’t accurate enough? What if zombies are powered by souls just like the rest of us?”
“That would be… disturbing,” Steve admits. “If the condition of the soul depends on the human lives it’s been through, zombification would mean…”
“Some pretty serious shit.”
*
“Should you guys get something to eat before we go?” Maria asks when Natasha and Bucky wake up and join them at sunset. “We made a quick perimeter check in the afternoon and basically raided a KFC, so we’re good.”
The vampires exchange a look, and Steve can’t help but think of Sam’s words of coming back together.
“Yeah, I’ll have Clint for starters,” Natasha says sweetly; Clint gives her the finger and hands over two vials of blood.
“Sorry, only anonymous willing donors tonight.”
“You can take a sip of me if you want,” Sam offers, and after emptying the vial Natasha unceremoniously walks over to him, slashes his wrist open and takes a couple of measured gulps. The process doesn’t seem to have any special effect on the angel.
Steve remembers how the woman once described feeding on an angel like having an energy drink: a quick boost but no real nutritious value.
“James?” Natasha prompts after healing the cut just as quickly and efficiently.
“Nah, I’m good,” Bucky says. No one says it out loud but everyone must know how Steve’s super blood is still circling in his veins. “Let’s go kill some dead people.”
The determined sound of weapons being strapped to battle suits always loses its dramatic effect when there’s a flash of bright, warm light indicating Maria, Sharon and Sam putting on their huge white wings.
*
Folklore and hard science as well as first-hand experience have thought them that vampires are immune to the zombie virus, already having a supernatural virus of their own. Angels are equally impossible to infect. The humans just try to make sure they’re armed and don’t get cornered because despite their obvious vulnerability they’re still Hawkeye and Captain America. Tony’s Iron Man armor is as good a protection as any; the Hulk’s skin is way too thick for rotting teeth to penetrate.
It doesn’t make cleaning a run-over town any more pleasant or less horrifying.
*
“Sometimes I wonder,” Natasha says conversationally as she and Bucky gun down the now flesh-craving population of a drug store, “if this really is different from what we used to do for the Red Room.”
“At least we’re fighting for a better cause,” Bucky says, thinks of Steve and has to believe it.
Natasha laughs sharply. “We’re not soldiers, James, we’re weapons.”
*
“’…to fight the battles that we never could’,” Tony mutters to himself through gritted teeth. “Fuck you, Fury.”
A/N: Title inspired by Iron Maiden; "Souls come back together" line from X-Files.