Disclaimer: I do not own anything involved with Marvel Comics/Marvel Cinematic Universe or Snowpiercer. I am not making any money off this work of fiction.
General: Spoilers for Snowpiercer. If you haven't seen it, run now to go see it! I'll definitely have spoilers for some of the main plot points, so please be warned, if you don't want to have certain things spoiled before you see the film. Content referenced from Captain America won't go beyond the first movie. I won't be using Winter Soldier material for this fic.
Author's Note: This is a Captain America/Snowpiercer AU. Or, alternatively, Steve's cold-sleep dreams. Because, well, someone had to fucking do it. This story begins at the end of CA: TFA when Steve crashes the plane. He doesn't wake up in a SHIELD recovery room in 2011. He wakes up in a cold, dirty train with a completely different identity. Bucky is alive but doesn't know him as Steve.
Rating: T, for now.
Perpetual Motion
Chapter 1:
Steve never felt the crash. Mercifully, everything went dark fractions of seconds after the impact. He didn't feel any pain. Just sudden darkness and quiet. Steve had wondered so often what it was like to die. Hell, he had lived longer than he had ever thought he would, especially back before the serum. He was never under any illusions of immortality, then or now. The kinds of things he did as a kid, the missions he led with the Commandos; Steve had never stopped risking his life.
After all the wondering and fear, death turned out to be just like the lights being switched off. Darkness, silence, and his life slowly disappearing through your own mind.
That's all it was.
Like going to sleep.
God, he was tired, so tired.
"He's been out for a while now. He got his bell rung real good this time."
"What about that Kr…"
"Shut the fuck up. Do you want everyone in this car to hear you? Every single one o' these bastards would be at our throats for that shite. If they knew we had some…"
"Yeah, and he gave up a whole weeks' worth of blocks to get that box there."
"Dumb bastard don't know his place. God love 'im."
Steve could. not. open. his. eyes. His eyelids felt like they were glued together. His entire body felt frozen, sluggish, and heavy. He couldn't figure out where the voices were coming from. He didn't recognize any of the voices, either. He moved his head to the side, pain exploding throughout his skull with the slight movement.
"Look. I think he's wakin' up. I told ya, that's a tough sonuvabitch, right there." That voice. Steve's eyes burst wide open.
"Bucky!"
Steve flashed groggy, panicky eyes up and around the small crowd huddled around him. He didn't see Bucky at first. What he did see….
Hungry, filthy faces framed by wild and untamed hair. Clothing so tattered the pieces were practically disintegrating.
Weary, sad, hollow faces. Finally, the second time he scanned the crowd, Buck's face was staring back at him. It was so familiar, even underneath the dark beard and grimy skin. Steve exhaled a weary sigh, too aware of the pressing ache in his chest. He managed to squeeze out a single, sobbing syllable.
"Buck."
He was rewarded with a close-mouthed, crooked grin. "Thought you weren't gonna wake up this time, Curtis. Those guards just weren't in the mood for your shit today, man."
Steve tried to sit up straighter, trying and failing at a return smile. "Who's Curtis?" Steve was only watching Bucky, but if he had bothered to look at the other people standing around him, he would have seen nervous looks exchanged, coupled with eyes that went just a bit wilder. The blonde with an Irish accent grabbed his head with both hands and twisted around. "I fuckin' told you. He was out too long. His head's rattled." Steve squeezed his eyes shut against their dull ache and swiped his hand across his forehead. He stared at the sticky red-brown staining his fingers.
Bucky and the skinny blond knelt in front of Steve. He grabbed Steve's hand firmly, ignored the blood, and stared into Steve's eyes. "You don't remember anything this time, do you, Curtis?" Steve shot a panicked glance in Bucky's direction. "No, I can't…I thought you were dead, though, Buck. I watched you fall from the train." More nervous glances exchanged between Bucky and the skinny kid. There was something going on here. What was it that Buck was holding back? "What happened to the plane, Buck? I flew it into the ice. And why do you keep calling me Curtis?" Steve finally stopped, his breath hitching.
The blond Irish kid gripped Steve's hand like it was a lifeline. "Because that's your name. That's who you are. Curtis, the big dumb bastard who can't keep his fuckin' mouth shut." Was the kid...was he crying? It looked like he was trying his damnedest to force back tears. He dug filthy fingers into his eyes and turned to Bucky. "We gotta take him to Gilliam. He'll know what to do."
"I don't know. This hasn't happened before. Gilliam's not a brain surgeon or a head shrinker." Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Can you walk, pal? We're a couple of cars in front of Gilliam. If you can't make it, we can wheel you back on the cart. I don't want you to pass out and hit your head." Bucky smirked. "Although if you did, maybe you'd remember again."
"Remember what, Buck? Where the hell am I, anyway?" Bucky nodded to someone beyond Steve's line of vision, and the space was suddenly flooded with light. Well, flooded compared to the dim glow that lit the room before. Steve looked around him in shock at the cramped bunks and grim surroundings.
"I hate to take you away from whatever paradise you were fantasizing while you were out cold, Curtis, but you're on the train. The tail section. You're on the train, pal."
Continued in Chapter 2
