stands_for_hope | The Metropolis Dork Squad, Captain America, and the Falcon in... Angst, Death, and Taxes

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house of am

The Metropolis Dork Squad, Captain America, and the Falcon in... Angst, Death, and Taxes

[continued from here]

The day had arrived. The trap had been set.

They'd gone to Lois's apartment the day before and made their intentions clear, hoping that with a short period of time, the HYDRA forces wouldn't be able to pull together anything that was too hard to handle.

Jim's paycheck had come in, so he'd treated a rather delicious dinner for the three of them, which had been followed up with some surveillance work, a couple of flights over the various buildings to scout for good positions (both to look for snipers and to drop Lois), and a watching of The Incredibles since there weren't any good games on.

Lois hadn't quite gotten Jim into a french braid with flowers, but she had managed to twist up a few smaller braids and tuck the remainder into a pony tail to keep the worst of it out of his face. If Lois was happy about it as much for it's utility as to give Jim a firm, physical reminder of the people who cared about him... well, she wasn't about to say it out loud.

Clark was with them until roughly half an hour before and informed them just before he left that Captain America was on the ground, apparently sketching one of the ruined and as yet unrepaired buildings on a bench nearby with large 'easel case' while the Falcon was half a mile away on a rooftop. Thankfully, while a good portion of the surrounding area had been destroyed during the attack on Metropolis, this neighborhood was semi-functional (if largely empty during the weekend) so he wasn't entirely out of place.

That just left Lois, her HYDRA pin tucked in place at her collar, and Jim in the empty office room, doing their best to psych themselves into believing this would work.

...and Clark going to investigate the singular figure hiding out on one of the higher rooftops nearby.

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Clark grunted, dissatisfied but willing to live with it as he sat down at the table to pull on his shirt. Lois threw an errant ball of paper at him.

"Don't grump. He's, what, 90-something? I'm sure he'll be fine as long as his old sciatica doesn't flare up from the humidity."

Jim snorted a laugh, standing up and heading to his room. "I'll get dressed. Can't exactly show up in my shorts."

Well, he thought, he could. But he was pretty sure that would be frowned upon in polite company. He ended up pulling on jeans, a plain T-shirt, one of the sleeves he wore to hide his arm, and a glove. His hair, he combed quickly and tied it back in a short little ponytail. It held for a minute, but then shorter wisps escaped around his face and he shook his head at them. Someday, they'd either be long enough to stay back or he'd give up and cut it all off.

The last thing he did was pull on socks and his old combat boots. They were already broken in, left room for a knife in each, and were different from the steel toes he wore every day. Even if he didn't anticipate needing to aim, he wasn't going to go unarmed - just in case. And last, but not least, he pinned the pin onto his pocket - a small reminder to himself more than anyone else that he had people to rely on.

All in all, he looked like anyone off the street with a five o'clock shadow. "Ready when you guys are," he said when he stepped out, giving himself one last glance. Normal. That was what he was going for.

Clark was also dressed, a plaid shirt over the t-shirt that only barely hid some of the muscle underneath. He didn't look like 'Clark Kent' exactly, which was partially his intention. He'd even skipped putting on his glasses. Lois, for her part, was content to go as she'd come in, her concern being mostly for getting her story sent in and informing Perry that more was to come.

"Taxi's waiting downstairs," Clark informed them both as he scooped up his tablet and plopped it in his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

All Jim did was pick up his wallet and slide it into his back pocket. He wasn't a target for pickpockets anymore. Baring one arm (with more muscle than he ever remembered) seemed to deter that. "Let's go," he said, and offered Lois a hand up. "Maybe even get this over with."

He wasn't quite sure just yet how this would feel or how this would go. He only knew he was giving it a try, and that was all he could expect from himself.

Lois pouted a little to be pulled away from her laptop, but only a little as she considered that she was going to meet with some of the world's foremost superheroes (the ones who weren't Metropolis regulars, anyway) and that she'd get the chance to try and make Captain America squirm again.

"I don't know if I mentioned," Clark said as they headed down the stairs, "But most people who don't know my real name and aren't calling me Superman usually use 'Kal'. It's short for Kal-El."

"It's helpful for when I almost shout his name in the middle of something stupidly dangerous," Lois added.

Kal-El. Kal. Cover name. Jim nodded - but then said, "No offense, but I'm not going to call myself Jim-Am. Just doesn't sound right. Might pick out a middle name with 'Am' in it, though." That seemed fair.

He so rarely rode in taxis now that climbing in one now felt a little weird. He wasn't sure he'd been in a ground vehicle except a bus since the Army.

Clark laughed a little at that, soft and under his breath.

"The pin was an invitation, not an obligation," he told Jim gently. Then Lois was getting in and he was following after, closing the door behind them before giving the address to the hotel. They were going to be a little late, but given everything that'd happened, he didn't think their visitors would care that much, if they even noticed.

Jim still took the opportunity to ruffle Clark's hair before they were off, and he took the chance during the trip to center himself. To close his eyes and remind himself that he was going to be all right. That he could control the circumstances of his life now - that his choices were his choices. And even if he wasn't Bucky anymore, he could maybe have an old friend.

The trip takes approximately thirty minutes through the heart of Metropolis and across the bridge into Midvale, since the others were very much across town, but thankfully they were traveling during the afternoon lull which meant that the traffic wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Soon enough, they were standing outside of a well-cared-for building that had once been a house, what looked like a mom-and-pop bed and breakfast as opposed to anything more extravagant and Clark was heading around towards one of the side doors.

"This way," he said with some confidence.

Lois reached out and took Jim's hand and gave it a squeeze before following.

Jim brought up the rear, looking around himself. His mind was automatically cataloging locations, exits, entrances, making note of where he would have a superior position - he'd gotten used to that being how his mind worked a long time before. It was a familiar pattern.

It kept him from sprinting back to the taxi, even as it drove away.

Lois waited back with him.

"I am fully loaded with embarrassing stories about him. I'll turn him red and you can make a quick getaway if necessary."

But, she didn't say out loud, I think you should give it a shot first.

He nodded. "Thank you." But he was going to try. It was the least he could do. He just had to stay calm. He could only remember one other door that had left him as on edge as the one they were facing.

Satisfied that he was coming, Lois headed for the door and followed Clark in.

When Jim got there, he'd see Steve sitting in a corner with a sketchbook, obviously trying to doodle his nerves away. Sam was at the small desk the place had provided, cleaning and maintaining his equipment. Clark was standing beside the room's window, fiddling with his tablet to pull up the map he'd worked on and Lois was sitting at the room's table, smiling thoughtfully over at Steve in a way that was starting to make his ears turn pink.

After taking a deep breath, Jim stepped inside and looked around at everyone, eyes lingering on Sam's equipment (decent guns, interesting wings, he might have to ask about those eventually) before settling on Steve. They weren't in a building full of enemies now. He didn't have something convenient to decide they needed to do instead of talk. There was a door right behind him, but he was trapped in a completely different way.

He didn't quite notice the tremble in his right hand. All he noticed was that the only real place left for him to sit was on one of the beds - so he did, right as Hawkeye stepped out of the bathroom.

"I thought I heard people walk in." Clint reached over to the sink, washing his hands and drying them off before turning to face everybody. "So. Introductions all around?" He put a hand against his chest. "Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye. I'm guessing we all know who Steve is. Sam Wilson over there, with the guns and the wings - also known as the Falcon."

Steve looked up as soon as... Jim sat on the bed, the tip of the pencil between his fingers dropping to the paper as his focus on the drawing was reduced to zero. He swallowed, obviously as uncomfortable as Jim was, and slowly closed the sketchbook to let it lean against his chair.

Lois grinned from her seat, her eyes focused squarely on Steve and Jim.

"Lois Lane, and if you haven't heard of me, I'm going to have to assume you live under a rock. Hey, Uncle Steve."

Steve, for his part, ran a hand through his hair and sat up a little straighter before glancing at Jim as if to say 'oh dear God, what fresh hell is this?' in the most polite sort of way.

Clark shuffled his feet a bit before offering the room a small smile.

"I'm just going to go by Kal, full name Kal-El. I'm... assuming you all know about the events in Metropolis."

Sam nodded. "And if we hadn't, we got a fresh new demonstration earlier. You seriously from another planet, man? Or are you one of those Asgardians, like Thor is?"

'Kal' shook his head.

"If you saw the broadcast, then you'd know my planet was called Krypton. I say my planet but... suffice to say, I grew up right here on Earth. Earth is my home."

"Fair enough."

With Lois and Clark - Kal - introduced, he knew it was his turn, and this was going to be just as hard, he decided, as going through the door.

He took a breath and looked at the bedspread instead of at anyone. "I used to be James Buchanan Barnes, but for about seventy years, I was the Winter Soldier. Now I'm not really sure who I am, so I started calling myself Jim Rogers, so just call me Jim."

"I think we can do that," Clint nodded. "I saw some of your work in there, by the way. You're good. We'll have to try stuff out on a shooting range sometime."

He dropped onto the other bed in the room, very aware that the tension was as thick as cement. He was going to have to get creative to defuse this.

It felt like an age unto itself before Steve spoke, mostly because everyone was waiting for Steve to speak. He looked over at Jim, lips curving into a sad, anxious smile, and let his head incline towards the other man.

"You look... good."

His eyes flickered over to Lois and then to Kal.

"You look... happy."

Other than me.

Another breath in before he couldn't quite hold it in and it was an obvious physical effort for him not to tackle the other man in a hug.

"Shit, I've missed you."

Lois pulled out her phone and Clark looked away, giving as much privacy as they could in the crowded room. Sam, for his part, leaned over and gave Steve's leg a soft pat.

Jim, meanwhile, stood, opened the door, and took a step outside. He'd made a choice, and he wanted more privacy than the room offered for it. Words and images didn't stop rolling through his thoughts. He vividly remembered 'end of the line', but now he remembered where it had come from, remembered a small, sickly Steve Rogers depending on him, though never saying it, to stay alive when the worst of his illnesses struck. He remembered choosing dates only in twos sometimes, to make sure Steve wasn't left alone on a day off. He remembered icy winters where the only heat they could afford was two people under a blanket.

So he chose, and he spoke carefully-chosen words. "Come on out here and get it over with, you punk."

For a second, he'd been worried. The legendary Winter Soldier had been headed for the door with an expression Clint couldn't put a name to. And then he spoke and he could hear Brooklyn in the words - and, well. He looked somewhere that was not the door.

There wasn't a choked sob or a show to it. Steve just stood up and walked after Jim like it was second nature. When Jim spoke, he tried to restrain himself at first, keep it to a hand on his shoulder. But a second later, he was holding the other man in a tight hug and the only word he could get out was

"Jesus Christ..."

Because whatever name he wanted to use and whoever he was at the end of the day, it was still his best friend standing there, the one who'd been there through everything, who'd kept him alive in all the ways that counted, and the only thing he could be, in spite of it all, was thankful.

Lois could swear she heard Captain America mutter something about Jim being a jerk, but she was too busy typing on her phone and resolutely keeping her reporter's nose out of it.

Clark, for his part, turned his tablet towards the rest of the room.

"If we want to order from any of these places, I can go pick it up."

Because they didn't need an audience after all.

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