totallyupsized | OPEN POST

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( If there's one thing Jefferson has learned about the Kingdom of America it's that the roads - the never-ending roads - stretch on farther than anywhere he's jumped to before. Miles and miles of "asphalt" with nothing to break up the grey: no little villages, no taverns or inns, just dry earth and shrubs and dust. It makes him nauseous to think if all that emptiness in a land painfully short on magic. No wonder the every-day folk seem so very dry.

At present he's sitting cross-legged on one of the twin beds so graciously provided by the "motel". This is the fourth they've visited thus far in their quest to find someone who can help him with his hat - someone with magic enough to remind the damn thing that it isn't just a garment, it's a portal. He's still loathe to let it out of his sight. Although he no longer wears it - it draws too much attention - Jefferson has placed it nearby on the bedside table, keeping half an eye on it out of habit despite the open box of doughnuts on his lap.

The doughnuts, he's decided, are excellent for the soul, in particular the ones stuffed with jam and rolled in powdered sugar. He licks a sweet smear from the pad of his thumb as his eyes follow Steve across the room. )

Where are we now, Captain?

( Something he's taken to calling him for the sake of being irritating. "Captain America" - a ridiculous title for a man who has no vessel of his own. )

Your maps ... only Wonderland matches them for nonsense.

( His mouth twists into a curve of disdain, still a little sugary around the fullest part. )

I do so hate Wonderland. ( He takes a bite of the doughnut. ) Dreadful place - can't get a decent cup of tea to save your life.

[ It's stunning to note such a keen likeness, Steve thinks, the features of that face, are near identical, and yet the usage of them cannot be any more different. Those bright, mad eyes are not Bucky's, nor is his love for donuts.

But Steve helps him anyway, can't think of why not, because there's something about his face and his voice that keeps him captive, compelled to help even if he doesn't know him. They travel for miles and miles; and tonight they end up in Dodgeville.

Jefferson might be a madman for all his knows, talking about Wonderland, about magic and hats; but there's something about him that's startlingly honest, and that's what he responds to when they settle in for the evening.

He's looking over the maps, notes how close it is to The House On the Rock before he looks up at that -- unfortunately for Jefferson, Steve refuses to rise to the bait; he'd told him over and over again that one didn't need to own a vessel to be a captain, but he watches his lips curve, with a touch of sugar and sweetness that he could very well imagine are Bucky's lips, if he'd thought of it hard enough.

He doesn't.

Steve goes over to inspect the electric kettle, filling it up with water before setting it to boil, looking through the complimentary tea and coffee packets on the counter. ]

So you've been drinking crappy tea all along?

( Jefferson raises an eyebrow. )

I should think not. I'm not from Wonderland, if that's what you're thinking.

( It seems as though Steve hasn't quite managed to wrap his head around the jumping part of his tale yet. )

The Enchanted Forest - my home - is a realm of its own. ( He makes a vague, distracted gesture with a little flourish of his hand. ) Wonderland is merely another place I've jumped to on business.

( And he doesn't need to divulge what kind of business, so he leaves it at that. Sorry to ruin the fairytale. Placing the half-eaten doughnut back in the box, Jefferson dusts off his fingers (then sucks them clean for good measure) before leaning back on his hands. Sorry Steve, but he's not going to relinquish the box any time soon. Call it a sweet tooth.

Cocking his head, he watches Steve with those glittering eyes half-lidded as the captain boils the kettle and fiddles with the packet. The whole process had been quite worrying at first - how he managed to heat water so quickly without magic is still beyond him - but he's getting used to the rattle and rumble of the kettle at work. )

Do you believe me yet, Captain?

( He smiles broadly, perhaps even a little playfully, showing just a hint of teeth. )

I mean, you must believe me a little, or I dare say you wouldn't have agreed to help me. Yet you still have that look about you ...

I believe you.

[ Yes, he's gotta get that right. Wonderland, Enchanted Forest -- it all sounds like something a person creates while they're on drugs, but something tells him that Jefferson is entirely serious about it, as he is with his hat. There had been an undeniable earnestness he'd seen, and it only took a few seconds for Steve to deem him trustworthy; at least, to a certain extent. To him, the matter was simple: he needed help, and Steve would help him. After all, he'd seen stranger things happen.

Steve doesn't pry when Jefferson doesn't let on, knowing that there are some things that people just want to keep to themselves. He respects the boundaries even if he's momentarily distracted by the way he cleans his fingers off -- how can a person bear such a striking resemblance to Bucky and yet be so entirely different? Spending time traveling with Jefferson had been an experience, and underneath the flippancy and madness is a sadness that he can understand. He's lost something precious to him, this man who doesn't belong in this world, and Steve knows what that's like.

He puts a teabag in a clean cup, sets it over a saucer before he turns to look at him. He smiles faintly at that observation, the faintest touch of sadness behind his eyes. ] I'm willing to help you. You just -- remind me of someone.

Oh? And who might that be?

( Jefferson might be a little peculiar, but he isn't stupid. He recognises a man in mourning when he sees one - although whether he's grieving in a literal or metaphorical sense remains yet to be seen. That genial smile fades a little as he searches Steve's expression. )

A brother? A friend?

( He lifts an eyebrow. )

Dare I suggest a lover?

( Apparently he does dare, because unlike Steve, Jefferson is perfectly happy to pry when he knows he shouldn't. It's a personality flaw that's landed him in a fair bit of trouble more than once, but if there's one thing he's adept at it's being a judge of character. Steve, for all his size, has morals and values clearly rooted in kindness. )

I always did enjoy a good story. Tell me what happened to him.

[ Mourning? Well, an argument could be made for the truth of it -- he'd practically been mourning for over seventy years; and even when he'd awakened into the future, the pain had always been near, the sharp emptiness of loss and heartache.

Steve Rogers hasn't been anything resembling happy in a long, long time. Jefferson pries, those bright, intelligent eyes dangerously curious, and Steve clears his throat. He would plead the fifth on that, thank you very much -- even if the truth had been that he'd loved Bucky Barnes beyond anything else he'd ever known for a lifetime. ]

He died, seventy years ago. You'd have liked him. He was brave, flirted a lot, and for a long time, he was all I had. [ And even now it sometimes feels like it's happened only yesterday. On good days, it feels like four years. ] I couldn't save him. I knew him all my life, [ He tries to muster a smile, but he can't; so it comes out pained. ] and he'd wade in, pull me out of danger because I was only a scrawny little kid back then.

[ He stops. And when he needed me, I couldn't do the same. Steve turns away, back to the kettle and makes himself busy, distracts himself as he makes tea, pours the boiling water out of it into the waiting cup. ]

He looks a lot like you. [ Which would account for why when Steve wakes sometimes, the way he looks at him is different for a few moments. Softer, almost tender -- until he remembers. ] ...What about you? Have you lost someone too?

( A brave flirt - yes, Jefferson probably would have liked him a lot, but Steve is a stellar guide and help across the wild lands of America all on his own. Besides, there's something endearing about his blond-haired, blue-eyed earnestness; something that stirs feelings of fondness within him he hasn't felt for another in some time. He's about to comment on his likeness to Steve's long-lost companion when he turns the conversation back around again; )

Have I lost someone? My entire home isn't enough?

( But Jefferson is defending himself. The prospect of having left his daughter alone is too much for him to bear: he swore he'd leave portal-jumping behind, he swore it, just after he saved up enough money to find them a nicer cottage ...

All he ever wanted was to give her the life she deserved.

Perhaps for the first time since their meeting the mask finally slips a little. Jefferson is no longer spirited and teasing; thee isn't an easy quip on his tongue; and his expression aches with the loss only a parent can feel for their child. )

... My daughter.

( And it hurts to say it, because saying it makes it real. Jefferson's voice is small and soft as he turns his gaze to the window. )

Her name is Grace. She is - she's my world. I promised I'd be home in time for our tea party ...

( But he drifts off. )

I dare say it'll have gotten cold by now.

[ There always is that one person, that one you will miss the most even if you've lost everything but the clothes on your back. Steve knows it better than anyone else, the one for him the pain of loss is the hardest. He's watching the mask slip, the glittering eccentricities melting into something melancholy, an aged sadness that sits heavy in the heart. He has never lost a daughter, but he imagines that it would be akin to losing a crucial part of yourself -- he imagines the pain would be crippling.

Now he understands a little more of why Jefferson is so intent on finding magic, going home, and he finishes stirring a cube of sugar and a little milk into the tea before he brings it over to him in a mug, pulling up an ottoman to seat himself opposite him. ]

We'll find a way for you to go home to her. [ He promises steadily, handing him the mug. ] There are still places we haven't looked in.

[ He musters a faint, comforting smile, even if he's sure that the other man doesn't see it. ] I'm sure Grace wouldn't mind heating another pot of tea for you.

OPEN POST

gen.

nsfw. one day i'll give you something that's not just smut, i promise.

you can decide to take this however you want

busts in here with crossovers

shippy crossovers apparently

cant be tamed

i guess this is kinda neutral

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also a porn one because >>

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