stands_for_hope | Firebrand, Superman, Lois Lane, and the Avengers in... Unfortunately Lex Luthor Is An Asshole

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Firebrand, Superman, Lois Lane, and the Avengers in... Unfortunately Lex Luthor Is An Asshole

That morning, there wasn't a paper that didn't have a variation of one headline:

Captain America Comes Out in Support of Superman

The quotes were all different, though: 'He's here to help, same as me.' 'I've never met a kinder, more civic-minded man.' 'I've fought beside him and I'd do it again; there's very few people I'd trust to have my back like Superman.'

The Planet was the only one who had a full interview to go along with the statement that had been distributed to the various publications, an exclusive as written by Lois Lane who was starting to get known as the woman to go to if you needed to talk to a harder-to-find superhero. Lois didn't mind that one bit, honestly, though Cat Graham had started to ask her if she knew any of their numbers to get herself a date.

Later, on another day, Clark might wonder if that had been as much of a catalyst as anything. Because that was the day that Lex Luthor decided to make his play.

The massive spider mecha seemed to appear out of nowhere, towering over parts of the downtown area that had only just begun to be rebuilt. The streets were suddenly filled with rolling war machines, filled to the brim with alien soldiers speaking a language that was unfamiliar and strange to anyone who might hear it. Strange flying ships made their way from the outskirts of the city inward, terrifying the people as they scattered them from the streets. And all of them, each and every one of them, wore red, blue, and gold... and sported the s-like curve as an emblem.

The invasion had begun.

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Steve took a bite or two from the box he'd snagged himself, just as obviously to get his thoughts together.

"Not so much on my mind. Just... one of those things, you know? I think I've made it pretty clear you're-- you're one of the most important people in my life, however we're working things out."

He took a couple more bites, chewing them over as much as he was chewing over his thoughts.

"Part of that is... well, I guess it's kinda a modern thing nowadays. Or so I've read. One of those things you do with... people. I mean, you're not the first person I've talked to about it. Sam helped me figure things out and Lois and Margot--"

He let a hand scrub his face a little as he started to curl in on himself before he pointedly made himself stop and relax. There was no reason not to relax, to be afraid. This was Bucky.

This was Jim.

"It's one of those things, you know? Where... if we're gonna do this, I figure we do it right. And part of that is being honest about who we are, right?"

"...Right."

His tone was tentative. He was tentative. Whatever Steve was thinking, it bothered him - or it bothered him to talk about. And that made him wonder just what it was Steve was going to say. He prepared himself silently. Whatever it was, he was going to need... some kind of preparation, it felt like.

Steve sunk a little at the tone in Jim's voice but, because he was Steve, he soldiered on. Never run from a fight. Never start running or you'll never stop.

"I guess... it's not how you and I grew up thinking about things, but it was pretty damn helpful when I found a word for it. You know. Like a diagnosis, or-- well, not that. I'm not sick or anything."

He waved that off immediately.

"Sorry. I'm flappin' my lips like a goof here," and he gave Jim a little smile before ducking his head and trying to shake it off.

"Might as well just say it, you know? Shouldn't... shouldn't change anything. Doesn't change anything, between you and me, at least from me. I just figured... like I said."

He put the box down, sat forward in his seat, and looked Jim straight in the eyes.

"Bisexual."

He didn't pause long.

"I'm... I like girls, I like guys. Don't... never really had much of a divider on it, 'cept for always wanting to prove every other asshole wrong about me being fruity back in the old neighborhood. But that's not here or there."

He breathed in then, looking up at Jim, trying to see what the reaction was, trying to if he'd ruined everything. His hands clenched tight around his own knees.

"I just... we're startin' fresh. I wanna start... right. Clear. That's all."

"And you just had to throw it out like that."

He'd known. He'd known since Steve had gotten that look the last time they'd met in purpose. That hopeful look, that puppydog look. It had said it all, and while it was easy to brush off, it was easy to brush off because it hadn't been said.

Now, he couldn't brush it off. He couldn't pretend it wasn't there. And it put him in a place he didn't want to be in.

His fork stayed put in the little white box that was now going neglected and he sighed, jaw working before he spat out, "Damn it, Steve."

There was a split second where he looked like he was going to stand up, going to offer to leave. Where he was going to apologize for straining their already-strained friendship. But then he sat up and steeled himself. He didn't put up the shield, didn't slip into Captain America... but he'd talked to Sam and he'd talked to Lois and he'd talked to Margot, even, and they'd all told him the same thing, told him he was right.

It wasn't shameful. There was nothing wrong with him. And he wasn't going to be ashamed for who he was. No one was going to shame him for who he was, not Jim, not anyone.

"I just had to tell my friend about who I am," he said firmly.

"I just had to trust someone with the truth about myself, not because I was worried or scared, but because I wanted to. So yeah. I just had to lay it out, Jim. We're doing this right, then all cards are gonna be on the table. I'm bisexual. Steve Rogers likes guys and gals. Captain America's interested in the stars and the stripes. There it is."

"I think of all the people I defended you against, all the guys who wanted to take it out on the skinny little punk, the pretty boy, and what, now you go and make a liar out of me?" He snorted. "Guess my 'bullshit detector' ain't so great after all."

Worse, he thought, than when he'd been brainwashed, confused, and had orders and a gun. Worse, because he was choosing to say this and he knew it. But he'd had years and years of practice of making his face what he wanted it to say. Of keeping a mask in place even when he was ramming a knife into somebody's heart. Just usually, the knife was more literal.

Steve stared, incredulous.

"That's what's got you angry? That's what--" he stood then, shocked and... he didn't even know what. What could he even say to that?

"I come to you, eighty-somethin' years down the line, after everything--"

His eyes were wild, his muscles tight and shaking. All that was between them, all they'd lived through together, everything they'd done for each other, every moment he'd lived with the other man, every memory...

Every bruise, every punch, every freezing cold night curled up in an apartment where the heat worked every other Sunday when they were lucky...

Every smile, every laugh, every stupid joke and prank, every warm summer day at the beach, every trip to the movies, to Coney Island, every scrapped together meal that still tasted so damn good on an empty stomach...

"That's it. You... you regret defending the fruit, Jim?"

"I regret a lot of shit, Steve," he bit in return. "I'm just still finding stuff to put on the list."

There was a quiver in the muscle of his one true arm, a flex in his jaw. The carton of Chinese food had crumpled under the force of his metal hand. Something to clean up later.

"Why couldn't you just keep your damn mouth shut?"

"And that's on the list?"

He sounded almost hysterical. Because that's what it was: hysterical. Two dozen assassinations in seventy years and that was on the list. What in the living hell was he supposed to say to that?

"Keep my damn mouth-- because I don't have to! It's 2014 out there, Jim. I finally got a word for everything that's eaten me up inside since I was fourteen years old and I came to you because I figure, anyone understands how fuckin' hard this might be, grew up when I did, it'd be you. Someone I could trust with this, it'd be you."

He looked at the crumpled Chinese box, at Jim's hand, at Jim's eyes.

"...and I'm on the list. You fuckin' asshole."

"I never claimed to be anything else."

He wasn't a nice person. He was an ass. Just sometimes he was an ass who was on somebody's side. He beat people up, shot them, stabbed them, hustled them over poker. He was never a good person.

His arm trembled and he looked, stonefaced, across the room, teeth clenched and grinding-- And then he took a breath. And instead of a breath, it was a choke of a sob and he hated it because it was weakness. It was a chink in his armour, waiting for something to find its way through, and that was no way for him to live.

He'd been spitting mad, using the kind of language his mother would have washed his mouth out for, and he'd been ready to do... something, probably something stupid. But then Jim let out that noise, a sob of all things, and it all fell away. Every bit of it fell away because Jim could be an idiot and he could be an asshole but if Steve knew anything, it was that he got mad like this most when he was scared, when he was hurting, and the sob just confirmed it.

He didn't step forward, but it was in every line of his body that he wanted to.

"Jim... I'm-- I'm sorry. I didn't mean-- you're not an asshole. I shouldn't have said that. I don't know when to shut up and you--" Deep breath. "I was worried enough as it was about this. Never could keep my temper when I oughtta."

He didn't answer. If he tried to speak, he knew - he knew that just more sounds like that would follow, and it wasn't right for Steve to keep apologising, but he couldn't stop him. All he could do was slowly curl up, knees drawn to his chest, arms around them, but only one trembling. The other was far too well-made to tremble, a thing of science and precision, but not human enough to tremble.

Everything was better when he could just pretend it was okay. This, though, was not okay. This got you beat within an inch of your life, or shot, or worse. This got you wishing for death. Wishing you were anywhere but under the police station, getting whipped for your perversions. This was not okay.

Even if, everywhere outside his skin, it was okay.

Steve was about to say something else when a hand settled on his shoulder. Clark, looking clear-eyed and maybe a little sad, shook his head and gave him a squeeze. He hadn't done anything wrong, Clark understood, but--

Steve nodded, but he looked back to Jim.

"You... you have my phone number. Whenever you want to talk."

Then he slipped out and back out into the main apartment. Clark walked in, closed the door, and sat down where Steve had been, moving aside the Chinese food box carefully before looking over at Jim.

"Don't worry. We'll figure it out."

He was crying and he couldn't stop. His eyes were burning, and every moment intensified the feeling that he was a failure. There was no mission, exactly, that he'd failed, but he'd failed at the most basic facts of friendship because--

Because he couldn't. Couldn't move past it, wasn't sure how to move past it, or even if he wanted to. But he was sure he'd burned bridges that led somewhere he'd been happy.

He was an asshole. Steve had been right. And there was no way to change that.

Clark leaned in a little, wishing he could do more, wanting to do more. After a moment, he gave up and knelt beside Jim, holding out an arm.

"He's not angry. Worried. Confused. A little guilty. But not angry, not anymore. And he's still here. I wouldn't have stepped in except I heard your heartbeat, you were scared--"

He tried to find Jim's eyes.

"Jim, it's all right. We'll get it sorted out. He's--" he gave half of a tired smile, "he's pacing just outside the door, worried out of his mind about you. It's going to be okay."

He moved all at once, and it was neither graceful or silent. The futon wasn't really meant for movements like the one Jim made, practically diving to take hold of Clark and shiver. Whether he believed what Clark was saying or not, the gesture told him that at least one person hadn't given up on him despite his stupidity.

Clark got his arms around Jim and started running a hand down his back like he was calming one of the horses at the farm, nothing difficult or complicated. Just holding onto him and letting him shiver, letting him shake it out.

"I've got you. It's all right."

A step or two of the pacing outside the door got close enough to be audible.

His next breath was another of those sobs and it added to the coil of hate that had been steadily building since Steve had told him. The worst was that he couldn't find a single word that fit. He couldn't explain without saying too much, couldn't apologise without it sounding terrified. All he could do was keep breathing, keep crying, despite every breath sounding like either a hiccup or a sob.

There was a brief discussion outside, Lois's voice careful and soft, and then footsteps away. Clark let out a little sigh of something very like relief before trying to find Jim's eyes and looking down at him.

"If you need to get it out, anything, Jim, I'm here. Don't cut yourself up inside. You don't have to. It's all right."

"I can't..." His voice trailed off, those two words harder to say than any he'd ever said before, forced out on a breath instead of a sob. It wasn't enough. It didn't explain what. But it was what he could say.

Clark nodded to it.

"If you can't, then you don't have to. If you want to and you're afraid... you don't have to be. And I'll do whatever I need to to make sure you know that."

"I--" He took a shaky breath. "I ... M'sorry..." His voice was tremulous but he couldn't have been more honest. He was sorry - sorry he'd said all that, sorry that he couldn't have said anything else.

"You don't have to apologize to me," Clark said honestly, keeping his voice low enough to stay well within the room, "and if you want to apologize to him... I'll tell Lois to send him in. I didn't mean to get between you two. I was just worried about you."

He reached around and patted the symbol on Jim's shoulder. Brother. Family. There wasn't anything Jim could do to erase it.

Jim shook his head, though. He didn't trust himself with it. Who knew what he'd do if he faced Steve now. There were only so many options and they all scared him. But at least, in the face of everything else, his tears were slowly drying.

Clark gave Jim a nod.

"Lois is talking with him. He's worried about you but she's asking that he give you a little time and he seems all right with that. They all seem ready to head out today, so you don't have to worry about his sleeping arrangements. I can bring his stuff out when I go."

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