Chapter Text
Bucky could not believe his eyes. A short, bearded alien creature — a Dwarf of all things — was standing right before him on the fucking doorstep of his own tiny apartment in Brooklyn. The Dwarf had an honest-to-god axe strapped to its back, and was wearing head-to-toe armor, including shining chain mail and a helmet.
Now, despite him being more than 100 years old, Bucky did have some familiarity with these things. He had met a talking raccoon that wanted to snatch his vibranium arm, a sentient tiny tree, and some various aliens of different shapes and skin color shades. A Dwarf was, by all comparisons, a trivial matter; he read books about them after all.
But this Dwarf in particular was giving off a distinctly non Tolkien-like vibe. With a look of what could only be described as intense concentration — but hey, what did Bucky know of Dwarfian facial expressions? — the creature was addressing him about.. a payment?
"I'm terribly sorry," Bucky tried to be as polite and as unruffled-looking as possible, "but you lost me. Can you repeat that, please?"
"But of course!" the alien shouted cheerfully. "The Knight of Winters, as the payment for services your honorable sir has done to the Lady of the Archive-scribing and Record-keeping.."
"Hang on, hang on a sec, please," Bucky interrupted again, raising his arm (the Knight of Winters??! a part of his mind screamed, but he decided to focus on the other part of that speech), "What services? I'm sorry, but I don't remember any services I performed for any Ladies!" Had he lost a part of his memories again?
"Why, honorable warrior, you graciously saved the Lady of the Archive-scribing and Record-keeping and her invaluable books a fortnight ago from the fire." At Bucky's bewildered expression, the Dwarf waved its arm somewhere in the northern direction, "Down the street lives the Dwarf Lady, who keeps records and scribes archives. Her house was on fire."
"Oh, yeah," Bucky finally recollected the incident. He had been in the neighborhood, and having heard some yelling, only to round the corner to see a fire starting in a dingy-looking little house. He had dashed inside without hesitation and helped to evacuate the building, and had grabbed a tiny wrinkled old man (the Lady??? She had a long beard? But, on the other hand, who was Bucky to say how a Dwarf Lady should look like?) and carried her (??) outside away from the fire.
In the heat of the moment, literally, he had used his vibranium arm to scoop a pile of antique-looking books to remove them from getting damaged in the flames. As he now recalled, the Lady (??) had been more preoccupied with the state of those books than with her (??) own well-being. But Bucky had met librarians, archivists, and historians before, so that behavior hadn't been surprising at all; some of those people (and apparently Dwarves too) would not hesitate to give their own life if it meant preserving books.
At the present moment, he finally nodded, "I remember the fire.. and helping the.. Dwarf lady," he added less certainly.
"Excellent!" the Dwarf beamed at him through their beard (let it be their. Bucky had read about gender fluidity, and decided to hell with it, Dwarves can be whatever the fuck they wanted to be).
"As the payment for your services, the Knight of Winters, the Low Queen of the Dwarves" (the supersoldier decided not to ask any questions at that) "has graciously decided to regale you, honorable sir, with a gift. By the order of Her Majesty the Queen, you are granted the Words that have been Lost but are Rightfully Yours, oh Knight of Winters, sir!"
With this proclamation and before the supersoldier had any chance to panic at the phrasing "your words", the Dwarf produced — out of fucking where? Bucky had no idea — a huge box. A chest, really, if he was being honest.
The Dwarf stood with their arms outstretched, holding the chest, presumably for Bucky to take. But the supersoldier had both armed and disarmed many bombs in his long life to just grab and open a suspicious-looking item such as that. Besides, for some inexplicable reason, he imagined the chest might have teeth inside the lid?
The two of them stood there, staring at each other in silence. Then the Dwarf shook the chest in his general direction with intent, "Honorable warrior, sir?"
"Is that.. for me?"
"Why, yes! The Dwarves owed the Knight of Winters a boon. And we Dwarves always settle our debts. Always."
Why did that sound so foreboding? Bucky felt sweat run down his spine.
But whatever, he decided fuck it and took the chest. It was lighter than it looked.
"What is it?"
"As I have mentioned, the Words that Belong to You!"
"What does it mean?" he risked a question.
"The letters that have been written to you but never delivered, oh honorable Knight of Winters. Restored and placed in this box by the order of the Low Queen of the Dwarves."
Bucky felt his jaw drop, "Restored? How is that even possible?"
"Oh, Dwarves know the way with written words. We know how to restore the erased words. 'The first thing Tak did, he wrote himself. The second thing Tak did, he wrote the Laws. The third thing Tak did, he wrote the World.' Those are The Things Tak Wrote. And the words that are once written cannot be destroyed without a trace."
Why did he even bother with asking questions? "Okay, sure, The Things Tak Wrote."
The Dwarf beamed at him,
"I am glad you understand, honorable Knight of Winters! I shall return to Her Majesty, the Low Queen of the Dwarves, to inform Her that you have accepted the gift as the rightful reward for your valor, and as such, we settle our boon. Fare well, may your words shine like the gold in your arm!" the alien was looking at his metal arm as they said it. That was a definite approval if Bucky ever heard one.
Then the Dwarf bowed and turned to leave.
A thought struck Bucky, "Wait a sec!"
"Yes, honorable Knight of Winters?" two keen eyes turned to look at him questioningly.
The supersoldier licked his lips, wondering once again why he even bothered. But dammit, he wanted to figure this shit out.
"If you Dwarves can restore the Words that were written, why couldn't you restore the books the Lady of the Record-keeping might have lost in the fire?" he asked, wondering what his life even was at this point.
"Oh! Good question, Knight of Winters!" the Dwarf's smile was dazzling as they boomed in a loud voice. "I can see you have an inquisitive mind. Good, good. The answer to your question is yes. Technically." (Bucky recognized that 'technically' instantly. He used it often enough not to.) "We indeed can restore any books lost to the fire. But, alas, the Restored Words carry traces of the damage they received during their destruction. The Dwarves know many ways with written words, but not how to undo Time itself. The books would not have been in pristine condition.. . Besides," now the Dwarf looked around conspiratorially at the empty corridor in this unremarkable Brooklyn apartment complex. There was not a soul in sight, but they still lowered their voice to be marginally quieter, and from the looks of it, lifting bushy brows under that helmet in a meaningful way, "The books would have ended up in a different Department."
"I'm sorry?"
"The archives would have ended up not in the Lady's current Department, but would have to be moved to the Department of the Restored Words, the Section of Restored Current Chronicles," the Dwarf explained as if it was actually explaining anything.
"And that would be.. not good?" Bucky valiantly tried to keep up.
"Well, of course!" the Dwarf cried as if it was self-explanatory. "As the Current Chronicles are still in the process of being written, the Lady would have been in need to update the books." They looked around again and brought their voice down to normal levels instead of shouting, which probably meant to be confidential, "And I fear the Lady is not in good relations with the Head of the Restored Current Chronicles Section," the little head in the shining helmet was shaking in apparent dismay, "not in good relations at all."
Despite himself, Bucky was enthralled and amused, instantly hooked up on the alien librarian drama, "Yeah, difficult to work with a colleague?"
He could relate to that. A thought of a certain Baron Asshole briefly flashed in his mind. Though the correct word here should probably be complicated. And a big part of the reason why it was complicated was that, no, it was not in fact difficult to work with the man at all, but it should have been, in all fairness. The supersoldier pushed the thought down — now was not the time.
"That's correct! Now I really must bid you fare well, honorable Knight of Winters," the Dwarf bowed, "May Tak guard your words!"
Bucky bowed too, "Yeah. Same to you, honorable Dwarf."
Without any further stalling, the Dwarf took a Device out of their pocket. The thing looked way more modern than the chain mail, the helmet, and the axe would otherwise suggest. The Dwarf did something and vanished on the spot.
For a vague reason that had probably something to do with the movies Sam insisted he watched, Bucky expected there to be light effects during a transportation like that, or at least a sound of any sort. But no, the alien creature was just gone in the blink of an eye.
Oh well. He returned back into the apartment, closing the door and gently placing the chest on the table.
Sometimes, Bucky just didn't know why he even was surprised anymore. At his life, or at the Universe at large. The mind control, the Snap, and the homicidal ecologically preoccupied purple giant alien raisin, and his best friend deciding to leave to have a life in another timeline — all that (and the raccoon, and the tree, and much, much more) should have been a clue this shit was unpredictable at best and ridiculously tragic at worst.
Now he had in his possession a box, a chest, full of words that have been lost but are rightfully his. What the fuck did that even mean?
Bucky eyed the chest innocently standing on the table. He didn't actually have to open it right away. Bucky once more had experience in these questions. When presented with a questionable item (that might explode? Activate the Winter Soldier program? The words??) it's best to run some checks first, scan it with an X-ray or something, to gather what's inside, and if it's actually dangerous. And not (to take a random example) to use a vibranium arm to yank the lid off and peer inside.
Bucky shook his head. No, no. He was smarter and more professional than to make an impulsive decision like that. And he was patient. Or at least the Winter Soldier had been. Besides, he had actual friends and colleagues now. Who could help.
Then again, if he called Sam, it would mean the scan would be done by Redwing. Ugh. Despite him being actually the one who had requested Wakanda to make the things, he still hated those little drone fuckers. They got on his nerves a lot, and to think they would fly all around his apartment. No. Not Redwing.
He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking further. Those Dwarves actually owed him a favor. He did save the little Dwarf Lady and her records from the fire. Surely, one wouldn't send dangerous items as payment for services? He suppressed the thought that a certain Helmut Zemo would indeed send any number of dangerous items as a genuine thank-you, the baron, in fact, had done that 'to James' several times. Well, the items were not really dangerous to Bucky, just dangerous in general.
OK. So. No Redwing, at least not yet. No waiting till he could take it to the lab of Dr. Banner, or to Wakanda, that would take too long. What he needed was a contingency plan, in case it all went south.
With that, Bucky took his phone and texted Sam.
B: Hey, Sam
B: Currently @ my place. Doing possibly but technically not a dangerous thing. Long story. Check up on me in 5 min. OK? Thanks
And before Sam, if he read his text immediately, had any chance to respond, Bucky strode to the chest and quickly opened the lid with his vibranium arm.
Nothing happened.
The chest stood on the table, full of pieces of paper inside.
The phone quite predictably started ringing.
Bucky sighed and grimaced — upon reflection, he should have phrased that text a bit better.
Oh well, time to face the music, "I'm OK. Hi, Sam!"
"Buck! What the fuck??!!" Captain America's voice was frantic on the other side.
"Sorry," he felt slightly ashamed for worrying his friend this much.
"What did you DO?"
"Umm," he started, looking at the chest, "it's difficult to explain.."
Sam was having none of that, "Are you in danger right now?"
"No, no immediate danger," well, the chest sure looked harmless.
"Okay, you know what? I'm actually not far from your place right now. I'm gonna come and see you," Sam sounded absolutely done.
Bucky felt his chest constrict with a warm and fuzzy feeling. Sam was truly worried about him, about his well-being, and wanted to check up on him and make sure he was all right. That amazed and humbled the supersoldier every time. But he tried to make it a bit easier for the other man.
"I can go to you instead, you know."
"Nope. No," Captain America, it seemed, was in the mission mode, "I'm gonna be there in an hour. Jesus, Buck, some days you just can't be left without adult supervision!"
Bucky felt his lips stretch in a grin, "Fuck you too."
"Don't do anything..."
"Yeah, won't do anything stupid. Actually, I'll order us pizza."
There was a sigh on the other end of the call, "Deal."
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"..Thanks."
"No problem."
***
"So?"
They were sitting on a couch (a recent addition to his flat. Or rather, a substitution. His old couch was out, and a better one was installed. "That thing is atrocious, James. How can you stand it? It's so uncomfortable to sit on! May I order you a much better one? Something that would help you relax and not hinder it?" Bucky had refused that offer out of principle, but later got one himself. The idea was a good one, and the thing was actually comfortable and, damn it, he did feel himself relaxing sprawled on the new couch).
The pizzas were tasty. The two of them, however, were gazing at the Dwarfian chest. It was looking harmless and totally not suspicious, standing open on the table.
They had placed pizza boxes further away in the kitchen, just to be safe.
"So," Sam repeated, talking slowly and making pauses to hammer his point home, "You're telling me - that an alien - a Dwarf alien - gave you this box - as a payment - for saving some Dwarf alien important person?"
"And her books," Bucky interjected. The books were important in this scenario.
"And her books," Sam added, "from a fire - in a house down the street? And - as a result - you have - an alien box - full of alien paper - that belongs to you now?"
"Yep," that all checked out. Why the hell was Sam talking with those pauses to make it clear he was trying to make a point? That was annoying.
"And you opened that alien box - all alone - in your apartment?"
"I did text you to check up on me, just in case," Bucky felt it prudent to point out that bit. He was not completely reckless.
Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose,
"Why didn't you wait for me to scan it with Redwi.." he froze, and turned to glare accusingly at the supersoldier. "No! C'mon, really?"
"Hey, give me some credit! I did inform you."
Sam sighed yet again, then looked at the chest, "So, what's inside?"
Bucky scratched the back of his neck, "I have no fucking idea. Apparently, restored words that are rightfully mine, whatever the hell that means."
"OK, let me scan it now. No objections!"
The supersoldier raised his hands in a placating gesture, waiting for his friend to proceed as he saw fit, no objections from his corner at all.
Captain America, still glaring at him, deployed Redwig drones. It took some time for all the wheezing, buzzing, and scanning to happen. The little devils flew all over and around the chest, shining at it with lasers. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the invasive feeling of those things flying in his own apartment.
Finally, it was over. The drones went quiet, shutting off near the door.
"Huh," Sam said, looking at the report.
"What?"
"It's just paper inside. As far as Redwing can tell, nothing but cardboard and paper, lots of paper. And the wood of the box itself. Nothing else is detected."
"Huh," Bucky stood up, coming closer to the chest. "The words that are rightfully mine," he muttered, peering inside.
"Bucky.." Sam's voice had caution in it. "You don't think it could be, you know, Winter Soldier kind of words?"
"No, activation words shouldn't work anymore," the supersoldier replied. "But only one way to find out."
He reached inside with his vibranium arm, pulled a folded piece of paper, smoothed it out, and began to read:
To Sergeant Barnes.
We write to inform you that your unit..
Bucky scanned the paper further, his eyes finding the date at the end of the letter: 1943.
He quickly picked a different paper from the chest.
Sergeant Barnes,
If this letter reaches you...
Bucky looked up,
"Sam, those are all letters to me."