Work Text:
They'd come in a bit late to the broadcast, missed the introduction. They'd been there when the Professor started talking about explosions on Mars, and they were there when the broadcast switched to Grover's Mill, and they were there when the aliens started coming out of their canister and burning people and choking them with black smoke. At least, that's what the announcer said they were doing.
"It's not real," Becca declares, all fourteen-year-old confidence. "If it was real, they'd have the President on the radio, not some dumb Secretary."
"Well, I dunno," Bucky declares from where he lies sprawled on his back, head resting in Steve's lap, the kind of position he never would have risked if his parents were home. "President's a busy man. Coulda been fried up with an alien heat-ray for all we know."
"They didn't say anything about them landing in Washington," Becca's friend Ruth says, frowning at the Barnes' crackling radio.
"They didn't land anywhere," Becca snaps. "Because they're not real."
"Oh, I dunno, sounds pretty hairy." Bucky hums. "We might hafta board the windows if this keeps up, make sure those great slimy bastards don't come to carry you and Ruthie off. Think you're ready to fight off an alien invasion, Stevie?"
Steve opens his mouth, but before Ruth cuts him off."Quiet," she hisses to the room at large, leaning towards the radio as the crackling voice kicks in again. This is one Steve doesn't recognize, a man narrating as his plane is sprayed with fire, giving him no choice except to use it on the machine.
"Dummy," Bucky mutters under his breath as the guy spirals towards oblivion, and Steve gives him a light smack on the shoulder. Real or not, you had to admit that doing something like that took guts.
The show switches to broadcasting from New York City, playing the sound of sirens and ringing bells. Becca shoots a significant look at the window--no panicked masses in the streets, no great lumbering machines visible over the skyline. She sticks her tongue out at Bucky, who rolls his eyes and slumps back into Steve's lap.
May not be real, but Steve can't help thinking that it's...strange, hearing the announcer talking like it is, spinning those pictures out of thin air. Steve tries to picture it, the terrified masses, fleeing for their lives or praying in the church.
He tries not to think about how long he'd last with that terrible black smoke pouring over the city--might not even have time to cough. Not that the air in Brooklyn is that much better even on a clear day, so who knows, maybe they'd all have an advantage when the aliens came.
After the city, they're left with dead air for a heartbeat before the announcer comes back. "You are listening to a CBS presentation of Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the Air," he booms, and Bucky groans so loud Steve can't hear the rest.
"You be quiet," Becca snaps, and Ruth nods in fierce approval. "If you're not quiet, I'll make Steve smother you. You'll smother him, won't you, Steve?"
"In a heartbeat," Steve declares solemnly, laying his hand over Bucky's mouth. Bucky raises an eyebrow, but obediently lets himself be gagged. Professor Pierson--Mr. Welles, it has to be--is monologuing now, talking about life in a desolate world full of ravaging machines and mad soldiers.
It ends happily, of course it does. Funny ending, really--there's no big battle between man and alien, no tenacious human uprising. It's just the bacteria, small and overlooked by most people (well, most people except for Steve, living his whole life in the shadow of one virus or another) that tear the invaders down.
Then Orson Welles, cheerfully out of the Pieson character to prove Becca completely right. Yes, it was all a story, yes, the invaders were never there, so you don't have to worry about them coming back. His joke about the pumpkin patch has Bucky snickering even as he and Steve hurriedly pull on their coats, trying to get out the door before Bucky's parents get home.
(And it's not like. It's not. Bucky's parents, they're nice, always have been, treated Steve like one of their own. But they keep pushing Bucky to start going steady with someone, keep suggesting girls in the neighborhood, and those conversations leave Bucky on edge because sure him and Steve both gonna get hitched someday, but not yet, and. Well.
Some things can't be cleanly wiped out with a heat ray, that's all).
"Sleep tight, don't let the Martians bite," Bucky says gaily as the girls follow them to the door. Becca huffs and slams it in his face, hard enough to rattle the frame. Bucky shrugs and leads the way down the street, whistling the tune to "Star-Dust."
The streets outside are quiet; if there's been any panic about the alien invasion, it hasn't landed here. Steve cranes his neck up at the passing buildings, trying to think of them neatly cut down by the swipe of an alien fist. How long would it take to rebuild something like that?
"...listening to me, Stevie?"
"Sorry." He yanks his gaze back to street level, squinting up into Bucky's worried eyes. "What were you saying?"
"Just asking, you know, for when the aliens do show up," Steve groans, "I'm serious! When they show up, would you rather get stomped under one of their big feet or gobbled up in their bellies?”
“Christ.” Steve takes in a heavy breath. “The hell kinda question is that, Buck?”
“An honest one. Like, say we couldn’t get into those whackjobs in the sewers, they didn’t think they were strong enough or whatever that soldier guy was talking about--"
"You mean, they wouldn't think you were strong enough," Steve mutters, feeling uncharacteristically bitter.
"Ah, shut it. My point is, if we couldn't do the resistance shit and got stuck with the walking machines, would you rather be stepped on by their metal legs or swallowed up?"
Because it's Bucky, Steve actually takes a second to contemplate that. "Swallowed," he declares with finality.
"Seriously?" Bucky stares like Steve's turned into a Martian himself. "Getting squooshed, that's the quick end, get it over with fast. You really want to get captured by one of those things, turned into, what, a fucking pet? Let 'em teach you how to hunt other humans?" He shudders, wearing a look of genuine disgust.
"No, , I'd just let 'em think that's what I was doing," Steve says, warming to the idea as he says it. "Then I'd play along, learn what I could and tear them apart from the inside out. Like the bacteria did."
"Right, little guy wins the day." Bucky leans back onto the sidewalk to avoid a passing car, shooting an envious glance at the expensive-looking engine before he leads them across the road. A puff of smoke catches Steve's face and bites his lip, eyes watering as he refuses to break stride.
"How could I forget?" Bucky drawls. "You gonna start using the alien heat-rays like that crazy soldier wanted, use it to take over the world?"
"No, you idiot." Not that the idea of world domination isn't a little bit tempting, what with all the morons who seem in charge all over, but he's not telling Bucky that. "I'd," he swallows, throat tingling from that stupid smoke, "I'd use it to protect people. Keep the Martians back, make sure they couldn't come back even if they got resistance to the bacteria or whatever."
"Yeah, that's you, Stevie." Bucky nods slowly as they round the corner, their building looming out of the evening shadows. "Keepin' us all safe. Well, I know who I'm gonna follow if it turns out that the aliens were just making Mr. Welles say all that and the invasion's coming tomorrow."
"You..." Steve leans against the wall beside that door, taking a slow breath, then another. Bucky doesn't comment, just traces his fingers over the doorknob until Steve can finally say: "You jerk, you knew damn well what was going on the whole time. Got H.G. Wells' book out of the library ages ago and read it cover to cover. You tensed against me when they mentioned Mars, got that funny look on your face, and I knew."
Bucky swings the door open, shooting Steve a Jack O'Lantern's sly grin. "Got no idea what you're talking about, Stevie," he announces, and swaggers inside.
Asshole, Steve thinks fondly as he follows Bucky inside, unable to keep back a grin. They head up the stairs together, nice and slow, and Steve doesn't think about aliens for the rest of the night.