#assetforced

They were so hungry. Eddie promised that they could eat the bad guys once in awhile. And he held up on that bargain. At first it was one or two people a month. And then a few more. Now, they were up to two meals a week. Eddie felt the same hunger for something living that Venom did. No matter how much they stuffed their face, it didn’t take away the ravenous feeling until they devoured something alive. 

Their image was splattered all over the news at first, everyone trying to figure out what they were. But then the hyped died down and they were safer to come further out of the shadows. They never touched anyone big and stuck with common criminals. Robbers were off limits, but rapists were their most common meal.

Saliva dripped from between their fangs, tongue curling as they tasted the air. Blood had been spilled nearby, the scent drawing them closer as they avoided the street lights. Food. So hungry.

“What are the Norns, or the universe, or whatever higher power chose us for this life, attempting to communicate by making strong, golden-haired, blue eyed hot-heads for us to watch over?” Loki remarked from some more sequestered corner, his shoulder jammed against the wall. He did not look sullen as much as he appeared enigmatically irritated.

“I object.”

“I can’t decide if that’s a real spider up there, or if it’s part of the decorations?” 

"You do, huh," was all he could say, the glare he'd tried to give Bucky turning into something completely different. It was hard to be mad at him. Not when his feelings were so much deeper.

The hands were still on his shoulder and instead of the tense way he'd been holding his body, he actually started to relax. Not many people he trusted to relax around but Bucky was one of those few. How could he not? They'd been through hell together, they'd been through war multiple times, and somehow came out on top. There were also feelings involved and standing like they were it was difficult to resist the urge to just lean back. He hadn't thought things would be the way they were. Not after everything. But feeling the hands move down his back and wrap around his waist, Steve couldn't help but smile wider than he had been before. This was how things should be, this was how he wanted them to be and for a moment he closed his eyes to enjoy having his best friend at his back. Of course, his hands were slowly starting to warm up but he could still feel part of the chill. "Maybe," came his reply, dragging out the word to tease him. A part of him thought about turning around, but he enjoyed having Bucky at his back. Though, if he did turn around he could actually show Bucky what he thought about the idea of warming his hands up. "I'm sure we can find plenty of ways. But that means we actually have to move."

While Shuri wanted nothing more than for her newest patient to adjust to things on his own terms, she knew that she needed to monitor his progress. She’d never attempted anything like that before, and while she was certain that H.Y.D.R.A.’s hold on his brain was over, that didn’t mean that they were finished. So many of the neurological triggers were connected to core memories - what made James James - and she was determined to make sure that he didn’t come out of the procedure as a completely clean slate, void of both the bad and the good. 

She wasn’t exactly sure how to approach him, though - while she had been inside his brain and seen much more than anybody would ever see, she still wasn’t completely familiar with him. He had been unconscious during most of the time that they spent together, whether it be in the cryo chamber or on the operating table. 

Walking over to the hut that she had persuaded her people to give him (while she loved guests in her lab, she didn’t think that allowing him to live there while she worked into the late hours of the night was a good idea), she stopped outside of the archway and knocked on the stone wall. “I hope I am not waking you,” she said, even though it was almost the afternoon. “-may I come in?”

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Steve is beginning to sound -- and feel -- like a very broken, and unmistakably annoyed record. The blonde folds skinny arms across his equally thin chest, chin tipped up to glare defiantly into his father’s less-than-impressed face, and all but stamps his foot like a petulant child. Another day, another argument regarding whether or not a security detail is truly necessary for Steve to travel ‘safely’ to and from university. Steve is inclined to say ‘no’; his parents, however, tend to disagree with this assessment.

He looks imploringly to his mother for assistance, knowing within his heart that she will turn a blind eye to the situation (as she always does), but still clinging to that small sliver of hope that today will be the day she finally takes his side. As the woman pointedly averts her gaze to a spot on the wall just beside of her son’s face, Steve is struck by just how truly conflicting it is, to be both right and wrong at the same time.

“Alright, fine.” The words are spat with as much venomous contempt as the twenty-four year old can muster. Given their most recent conversation, he has plenty to spare. “Well? Bring ‘em out. I want to see the latest muscle head you managed to scam into taking this job with that bottomless bank account of yours.”