spaces_between | It's all the Past. (Closed to captain

It's all the Past. (Closed to captain_asthmatic)

Who: Steve Rogers & Brock Rumlow
When: Summer of 1941
What: Rumlow is sent to the past in order to alter the future for an assured victory for HYDRA in the Second World War.
Warnings: Rumlow being Rumlow. Violence. World domination

HYDRA was finally strong enough to have partial access to the Tesseract and the power that it held. Most of SHIELD science was trying to use the cube in a different way, as a power source but also as a gateway to another world. That was what it was for, but HYDRA had other plans for the Tesseract. The failure of the war was considered pivotal enough where some believed that if the past was altered then the miserable future that they currently lived in would have never come to pass. It would be a better world under the Red Skull.

He was just a boy when they started to study the ability to use the Tesseract as a gateway to span between time and space. He hadn't even decided what he wanted to be when he had grown up save that he would be a drunk and he would be a better man than those who were weak enough to die in the ditch. New York was a tough place to live where he did, but he survived and he go tough despite being in trouble with the law.

He was recruited in juvenile detention, and his life changed. His life became something worth living, so he served and went where he was told, learned the skills that they told him to. He survived, and he learned that just like the miserable kids on the streets, he could lead if he said the right word. It didn't matter to him about race, gender or social class. If one could get the job done and do it well, he would respect them. If not, they were no better then dirt under his boots. He drove men to better though because he wasn't dying because they were weak.

When he was twenty-four, he was taken off of his final tour and sent to New Jersey. He and twenty other men were put into Project Rewind and they were drilled hard and fast into the early forties such as culture, class, history, fashion, currency and even linguistics patterns. The Tesseract was going to sent one lucky man back to alter history to assure HYDRA of a win it was owed. He studied hard, but he wasn't top on the list to get chosen for trial; he was somewhere in the middle.

The first six men never came back. Rumors began to circulate that the project was never going to work. He ignored them and kept fit and loyal. He had to know what to do if it was him that made the transition. He knew the people he was supposed to talk to, the hands he was to shake, the men who would get him in and let him follow the final order to the best of his ability. The next three men never came back either.

Brock volunteered as the tenth. He was given his orders: find Steve Rogers, get close and deliver the super soldier to the Red Skull. Do that and victory was assured.

He was dressed in clothing appropriate to the time era he was supposed to be going to save that he snuck his favourite knife into his boot. He was given some currency with the appropriate dates and told to stand in a particularly spot. He was staring right at the Tesseract, and it seemed far more beautiful than the potential of a horrible death. He noted the spot where he was standing smelled like burnt flesh. It made his toes curl in his boots, but he set himself.

Brock Rumlow was born in 1971. When he opened his eyes after the blue flash of light and the frigid cold of energy that felt like it was burning his flesh right off of his bones, he was standing in the streets of New Jersey in 1941. He was twenty five, and he hadn't even been born yet. He was here to change the future, a future that no longer existed for him because he was here. This was his present. This was his future.

Slowly, he tottered off on shaky legs to get in touch with the right people. He enlisted at the right time, at the right station with the right doctor and he was chosen for Project Rebirth. He was shipped to Camp Lehigh to form a unit of special forces for the United States military under the SSR. The first day was debriefings, a set of their itinerary, books, the start of the rigors of usual boot camp. It wasn't even as physical as his boot camp had been.

It wasn't hard to spot Steve Rogers, and he admitted to not finding the kid anything to look at, but this was going to be a legend. This was going to be Captain America, and he knew what that small frail body was going to turn into and what that stubborn man was going to do for America. Rogers was the joke of the group on a lesser level than Agent Carter. Everyone expected Rogers to drop out or die. No one even really talked to the guy for the first day, not even in the mess hall.

Rumlow sized the guy up all day, waiting and looking for opportunity to approach. Their assigned barracks were pretty much like ancient cabins, the bunks were alright, but the living quarters the usual crammed pieces of crap. He took the bunk on top of Steve's when it was apparent no one else would; he knew guys were punished for not pulling their weight. He swaggered over and stood in front of the scrawny man with his pack on his shoulder and his uniform jacket hanging open.

"Do you mind if I take the top bed?" Everyone stopped to look, but he paid them no mind. Instead, he reached out with his right hand. "Brock Rumlow, pleased to make your acquaintance." Ugh, he was going to barf on his shoes with all this niceness.

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"I hope...you're right," he admitted.

He hated the idea of not being able to stand up for himself, but five partially trained soldiers was far more than anything he'd had to deal with on the street, and on the street he'd mostly had Bucky to save him. Now, apparently, he had Brock. His pride made it hard for him to deal with this, but he was also grateful.

Steve was beginning to shiver, partly the chill of the night, and partly from reaction to the beating he'd taken. As Brock leaned in close, he nodded awkwardly, and reached out, gripping his shoulder and giving him a shy, but sincere smile. "Thanks, Brock..."

Steve was going to show them all when the guy became the fabled Captain America, since no one else had the good Doctor's eye at all. He wondered what would happen if he smothered Erskine in the night before the experiment and stole the serum. What would happen to the timeline? No, he wanted Rogers big and strong to be of more use to the Skull and if things with him and the Skull didn't work out, have Rogers on reserve to kill the bastard.

The corner of his lip upturned at the smile, and he rubbed the cloth gently on dirtied skin to remove it. He washed down Steve's small arms, but his dark eyes continued to flick up to Steve's face.

"Look, I protect you now, and when you get to be the first ever super soldier, you can save me when we hit war. Sound far?" It wasn't like he needed help, now with his current experience in warfare, but it might cement Steve to him a little more.

Steve was still shivering, the shudders growing worse, and his breathing hitched in his throat with each shudder. But despite how cold he was, he was relaxed and reassured by Rumlow's ministrations. He found himself leaning closer, leaning into the warmth.

He smiled, their faces quite close together now, and lifted a hand to brace himself a little bit against the other man. "We've got a deal. I'll... I'll protect you, Brock. N-No matter what."

He stepped in once he had washed away the dirt on Steve's body and leaned over the man's shoulder to avoid any kind of eyeing one another. He examined Steve's back as much with his eyes as with his hands, fingers walking slowly along the smaller man's flesh in search of bruising there even if they were practically embracing by now.

"I'll hold you to your word," he whispered into Steve's ear. There might come a time when Steve would choke on them, and he would glory in that. He'd watch and laugh because it would be the day that Brock Rumlow ruled over Captain America and his mission would be fulfilled.

"Cold?"

Steve closed his eyes when Rumlow practically hugged him, trying not to give in to the urge to press in close and bask in the warmth. He barely knew this guy even if he was his only friend here, and he doubted their friendship had reached the cuddling stage.

He had no idea, not the tiniest suspicion, that Rumlow might not be who he said he was.

At the question, he gasped a soft laugh, and ducked his head. "Y-yeah, a bit."

Well, he decided that Steve was going to live but be sore for a few days as the bruises healed. He couldn't find anything broken and stepped back a single step before he took Steve's chin in hand and used the cloth to wipe the other man's face. Captain America in the flesh... so easy to eliminate and stop a problem before it began.

Except he still couldn't take out Skull if that man was not going to actually produce a better world for everyone. A world that HYDRA's hand would be guiding to the right places.

He chuckled airily. "You've got no fat on you, so I can see why. We'll get you back in your shirt in a minute. How about your legs? Do I need to clean up on those?"

Steve closed his eyes and lifted his head trustingly as Rumlow held his chin. He smiled shyly, and blushed at the question.

"I-I'll be okay. I just... just need to get warmed up and, and relax for a w-while before I have an asthma attack." He squirmed down from the counter, reaching for his clothing with trembling fingers.

He supposed that he should have expected the blush. There was something about sexuality limits that he hadn't particularly been able to find details about. Of course nurses and doctors saw soldiers naked, but that was different. Things were a bit more free and yet tight at the same time. He was just playing it by ear and hoping he didn't fuck up.

He shifted to allow Steve off of the counter without complaint. "Sounds fair," he agreed. "Do you need one of your cigarettes?" He was hoping to avoid an asthma attack as it would be difficult to explain if it was bad enough. "If you want, you can... uh have my blanket for the night?"

So far, Rumlow hadn't fucked up. Steve was affected by their closeness, and nervous about that, avoiding his friend's gaze. He thought all this was just out of friendship.

But at that suggestion, he looked up uncertainly. "Um, I don't smoke. And...don't you need your blanket?"

Didn't asthmatic use some kind of cigarette to calm the slowly closing lung tissue? Maybe Steve had given it up coming here, since that kind of thing probably wasn't allowed in army regulations. Of course, Steve wasn't allowed in army regulations either, but here the guy was getting dressed after a hazing.

"If it's between me having to curl up and you being warm, I'll lend you my blanket tonight," he said with a shrug. It was really about getting closer, to show Steve he was an alright guy when he was anything but. "The alternative seemed inappropriate to suggest."

Some did, but not Steve. He had tried it, and it had only made his various lung issues worse. He pulled on his shirt, and fumbled with the buttons, unable to quite get them to behave. He gritted his teeth, trying to get the shirt buttoned up.

"I doubt another blanket's going to make that much of a difference," he stammered. "If you're really... I mean, if you really don't mind that alternative - we're both men here. I don't see why it's inappropriate."

Rumlow watched Steve fumble and had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. He instead pretended to be helpful as he batted the smaller man's hands away and grasped the buttons with his own larger steady hands. He slowly did up Steve's shirt without listening to possible protests, playfully knocking his knuckles gently against Steve's chin on the last button.

As much as he would seriously love to, breaking Steve's jaw was not productive to his mission. He bit down the urge. Maybe another time.

"Some might get ideas, that's all," he said simply before he peered into Steve's blue eyes. "I'm not insecure or anything, so if you want... we can share a blanket instead?"

Steve did protest, but not too violently. In the end, he let Rumlow do it, and smiled shyly when the other man chucked him on the chin.

But despite his shyness and the way he still shivered from shock and cold, he met Rumlow's look fearlessly. "I'm not insecure," he said. In the past, Bucky had kept him warm when he felt like this, and he knew it would make him feel better. "And I don't care what they think."

He appraised Steve with his eyes before he nodded as if he approved of what he saw. "Very well, we'll share a bed until morning," he said simply. That would be a point for Rumlow. "I'll head up to my bunk before we get an awakening."

He turned and began to clean up any evidence of their being in that bathroom, in and out without a trace like a sniper. Once done, he cast a side-glance at Steve as if trying to determine if this was really happening and he allowed a small almost shy smile appear on his lips before turning away as if he were collecting himself again. "Come on, I can't have you freezing to death."

"Okay," Steve said, and when Rumlow allowed that shy smile to grace his face, he returned it and ducked his head.

Was he crazy? It really almost seemed like Rumlow was actually thinking of this as something more than two men sharing a bed. He'd been the one who thought of it as inappropriate, and now he was being sort of...cute. Did he actually like Steve?

No one liked Steve. Not like that.

He almost didn't notice how well Rumlow cleaned up and disappeared the evidence of what they'd done, preoccupied as he walked with the other man back to the barracks. All of the jerks who'd tried to haze him were long back in their bunks, it seemed, and everyone appeared to be asleep as they stole back down the line to Steve and Rumlow's bunk.

Steve hesitated, then reached for Rumlow's blanket to put it on top of his own, before climbing under both of them and scrunching over as far as he could, to give Rumlow room.

It was like some strange swan mating dance. He'd seen them on television, and he had noted it came with a lot of head bobbing and shuffling. He couldn't be entirely certain that Steve was receptive, and he wasn't about to risk his entire mission on the assumption the little guy had no problem with men.

There also wasn't a sacrifice he wasn't willing to make for the success of this. He would be whatever he had to be to get it done and to have Steve's favour in the afterwards.

He followed Steve to the barracks, keeping an eye out but all was quiet and they slipped inside easily. He prowled down the hallway between bunks and listened for the sound of steady breathing. They must have been long enough to at least give everyone time to sleep off the incident. He slipped onto the lower bunk with Steve and arranged the blankets comfortably.

Of course, these were old military bunks and they weren't designed for two people, even though Steve was tiny. He accidentally brushed his feet against Steve's and they had to share a pillow too. They were still very close. "Tomorrow, you say nothing if the Lieutenant asks about injuries on the men. It's better we all pretend it didn't happen, okay?"

Steve waited for Rumlow to get comfortable, then buried against him without much shame, moulding himself to Rumlow's chest as the little spoon and wrapping the blankets tightly around himself. He gasped for a few moments, as quietly as he could, all but willing the warmth to seep into his small, frail body.

He nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "I understand." He shifted uncertainly, then glanced at Rumlow over his shoulder. "Can I ask you something, if you promise not to be mad?"

Well. Okay then.

Rumlow didn't oppose Steve trying to burrow into his body, and he was forced to curl an arm around the smaller body that was settled firmly against his own. He shifted under the blankets so that he was fully covered and so was Steve and he settled and let his body heat them.

He let his face move closer to the whispered words, his cheek resting on Steve's shoulder. "I don't easily get mad, so knock yourself out."

Steve bit his lip for a few moments, struggling to think of a way to get the information he wanted without offending Rumlow if he was wrong. His fingers wrapped around Rumlow's arm, and he closed his eyes, allowing himself to acknowledge that he liked that feeling, that the warmth and strength of that arm was both comforting and pleasant.

Then he opened his eyes and asked his question. "Is there anything you'd...like from me, other than just friendship, Brock?" he whispered.

For a minute, he thought that Steve might just be attempting to go to sleep. Then there was a hand grasping his arm and he tightened it in response. He was warming under the blanket though his feet were rather cold himself. It was probably nothing compared to Steve.

The question was puzzling for all the things it didn't say. Was Steve taking a subtle prod at where his sexuality lay or was he reading too much into this? If he was wrong, he could lose a lot. If he was right, he could gain twice as much.

He chose his words very carefully. "Depends, I guess. You a friend of Dorothy's? She's a swell gal."

Steve's breathing hitched a little in surprise at the question. So Rumlow was as nervous as he was to admit it. That did make sense - they both had a lot to lose if the information got out, or if someone got angry at just being asked.

Though Steve had never talked to another man who liked other men before - at least, not that he knew - from art school and his neighbourhood, he was at least more comfortable with the whole idea than most. And he was familiar with the lingo.

"I... yeah," he said. "Yeah, I think I might be."

So, the ploy in the bathroom had worked to get Steve to open up to him, huh? If he was keeping tally of all of his points, he'd be at about three right now. This was getting too easy, but the worst was to come when the selection was done. He needed to have Steve in the bag before that, and if it came this way, he had no problem doing it.

His fingers crept a little under Steve's white shirt, stroking the other man's belly with tentative affection. "Ah, guess that makes two of us," he whispered huskily, as if he couldn't believe his luck.

He turned his head so that his mouth was right by Steve's ear. "You're cute."

Steve couldn't believe this was happening, either. He drew in a breath, his body tensing in shock as warm fingers slipped up under his shirt and touched his skin in an entirely inappropriate way. Sweetly, excitingly inappropriate.

"I am?" he squeaked. Then swallowed. "I think you are, too - I mean, no, not cute, exactly. Handsome, really. And swell, really, really swell."

It suddenly occurred to him that maybe his issues with talking to women didn't really have anything to do with them being a woman after all.

His fingers immediately stopped when Steve tensed, not wanting to push too far, too fast. He smoothed the smaller man's shirt back into place with an apologetic air, despite the fact he had absolutely no interest in being noble. He shifted behind Steve, giving the other man the option of moving away from him, even if he suspected that wasn't going to be happening.

He hummed a sound of amusement at the squeak. Ugh, really, kid? This was like taking candy from a baby. "I think ruggedly handsome is the term you're looking for," he teased. The great Captain America couldn't even flirt. What a putts.

Oh god, he hadn't wanted to make him stop. He flushed and cinched back a little tighter, covering Brock's hand with his own and lacing their fingers together, feeling his cheeks warm.

"Yeah, that comes to mind." He drew a breath. At least the reactions to the beating seemed to have calmed down now. "I like you, and... most people I like aren't that interested. I'm sorry that I'm awkward."

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