“You, But Smaller” ~ Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

The Brooklyn apartment had never felt this quiet. A Tuesday afternoon, late enough that the sun was bleeding gold through the kitchen blinds, casting long stripes across the worn wooden floor. The kind of afternoon that was supposed to be ordinary.

Steve Rogers

whirling around What was that?

The device was small. About the size of a fist, wrapped in dark, scorched casing, salvaged from the last HYDRA cleanup three weeks ago. Supposedly inactive. Tagged for Dr. Cho, waiting on the stack of things they kept meaning to hand over.

Bucky Barnes

muttering I told you we should’ve put that thing in the hallway.

Steve Rogers

You said it looked like a paperweight.

Bucky Barnes

I was trying to be optimistic.

The device pulsed again. Slower this time—like a heartbeat winding down. A soft, rhythmic glow bleeding through the cracks in its casing.

Bucky Barnes

Steve.

Steve Rogers

I see it.

Steve moved before the thought finished. His hand reaching out, not toward the tech—