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thisavrou_log2016-05-02 10:16 am
dislocked) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-05-02 10:16 am
Entry tags:
the truth remains lethal, a lie made by man.
Who: Bucky Barnes and YOU
When: Throughout all of May.
Where: Pretty much just in front of Steve's cryotube.
What: Steve goes into cryofreeze, Bucky chills in front of it like a particularly scruffy guard dog.
Warnings: Well, aside from the standard PTSD, trauma, brainwashing, and all the horrors that come with experimented on, nothing much. Will update as necessary.
[ Good things are transient, like soap bubbles that shimmer and catch the rays of the sun before they disappear, taking their beauty (and, perhaps, a measure of hope) along with it.
This is a lesson children don't learn; this is a lesson Bucky Barnes understands better than most. He doesn't need hope or happiness to stay alive, in fact, the latter seems obscene in the wake of all that he has done, the pain and tragedy he has wrought upon far too many people for too long. But when Steve Rogers is taken from him, this small, small shimmer of hope, this little bubble that he refuses to allow himself to touch until it's gone, the loss of it still hurts.
He realizes something's wrong when there are no texts, no updates from Steve, who sends them to him without hoping for a response (or maybe he did each time he sent it, but it's children and bubbles all over again). Radio silence for twelve hours, the longest Steve has ever gone, and when Bucky finds him, Steve is asleep, frozen over in the cryotube in an obscene echo of his own history under the Atlantic and Bucky's.
The world (his world) bleeds out the last vestige of something that resembles warmth; things had not been perfect between them -- there are tensions, distance, with Bucky often vacillating between distance and drawing close, the shining moments of reprieve when nothing else matters but the present, the birthday celebrated in an empty cafeteria with a small cake, candle, and Steve's quiet determination, the way they seem drawn into each other's orbit time and time again. The look on Steve's face when Bucky turns up for the mission to the prison colony, when they sit together after the terrible illusions, the scream throttled in his chest like all the others that had come before it.
Bucky lies, when he pretends he doesn't remember. He remembers everything.
Steve is youthful in repose, but Bucky knows the look on his face -- it's the same look that made him jump in after him as the helicarrier burned and rained down debris all around them. It's the same look that made him grip him tight and haul him to the surface (Rogers doesn't die today), the clarity of that powerful purpose blindsiding the Winter Soldier because he had been created to sanction and exterminate, not protect and preserve.
It's the look that makes him punch the cryotube again and again, metal slamming into unyielding glass in his overwhelming desire to rescue him from his prison (not today, he doesn't die today either, and sleeping is a lot like dying). He tries all ways and means to break him out, but that was hours ago; and when panic loses its iron grip on Bucky's throat, he retrieves Steve's shield, a fresh set of clothes (because Steve will need them when he wakes, please let him wake), his own rifle, and he settles down before his tube, keeping vigil, silently keeping him company and guarding him from anyone who'd try to exploit this moment to their advantage. After all, there still are unknown elements in this ship, and Bucky would rather not take chances.
His knees are drawn up to his chest, Steve's shield propped by his side (with the rifle on the opposite side) like there's nothing more precious to Bucky Barnes in the world than this, than the man who sleeps behind him and refuses to open his eyes no matter how Bucky tries.
He waits, and thinks of bubbles on a sunny day.
Wake up. ]
When: Throughout all of May.
Where: Pretty much just in front of Steve's cryotube.
What: Steve goes into cryofreeze, Bucky chills in front of it like a particularly scruffy guard dog.
Warnings: Well, aside from the standard PTSD, trauma, brainwashing, and all the horrors that come with experimented on, nothing much. Will update as necessary.
[ Good things are transient, like soap bubbles that shimmer and catch the rays of the sun before they disappear, taking their beauty (and, perhaps, a measure of hope) along with it.
This is a lesson children don't learn; this is a lesson Bucky Barnes understands better than most. He doesn't need hope or happiness to stay alive, in fact, the latter seems obscene in the wake of all that he has done, the pain and tragedy he has wrought upon far too many people for too long. But when Steve Rogers is taken from him, this small, small shimmer of hope, this little bubble that he refuses to allow himself to touch until it's gone, the loss of it still hurts.
He realizes something's wrong when there are no texts, no updates from Steve, who sends them to him without hoping for a response (or maybe he did each time he sent it, but it's children and bubbles all over again). Radio silence for twelve hours, the longest Steve has ever gone, and when Bucky finds him, Steve is asleep, frozen over in the cryotube in an obscene echo of his own history under the Atlantic and Bucky's.
The world (his world) bleeds out the last vestige of something that resembles warmth; things had not been perfect between them -- there are tensions, distance, with Bucky often vacillating between distance and drawing close, the shining moments of reprieve when nothing else matters but the present, the birthday celebrated in an empty cafeteria with a small cake, candle, and Steve's quiet determination, the way they seem drawn into each other's orbit time and time again. The look on Steve's face when Bucky turns up for the mission to the prison colony, when they sit together after the terrible illusions, the scream throttled in his chest like all the others that had come before it.
Bucky lies, when he pretends he doesn't remember. He remembers everything.
Steve is youthful in repose, but Bucky knows the look on his face -- it's the same look that made him jump in after him as the helicarrier burned and rained down debris all around them. It's the same look that made him grip him tight and haul him to the surface (Rogers doesn't die today), the clarity of that powerful purpose blindsiding the Winter Soldier because he had been created to sanction and exterminate, not protect and preserve.
It's the look that makes him punch the cryotube again and again, metal slamming into unyielding glass in his overwhelming desire to rescue him from his prison (not today, he doesn't die today either, and sleeping is a lot like dying). He tries all ways and means to break him out, but that was hours ago; and when panic loses its iron grip on Bucky's throat, he retrieves Steve's shield, a fresh set of clothes (because Steve will need them when he wakes, please let him wake), his own rifle, and he settles down before his tube, keeping vigil, silently keeping him company and guarding him from anyone who'd try to exploit this moment to their advantage. After all, there still are unknown elements in this ship, and Bucky would rather not take chances.
His knees are drawn up to his chest, Steve's shield propped by his side (with the rifle on the opposite side) like there's nothing more precious to Bucky Barnes in the world than this, than the man who sleeps behind him and refuses to open his eyes no matter how Bucky tries.
He waits, and thinks of bubbles on a sunny day.
Wake up. ]
no subject
So she hovers throughout the day, glad the chair-bed thing Vision found for her when Peter was here is still around. They're in better shape than he was, at least - there's no pain filtering through the psychic threads this time. So she feels less guilt about not being here all the time when there's a potential chance to save Pietro dangling in front of her. And Wanda knows they'd tell her to take it just as surely as she knows she'd wreck anyone who dared hurt them in her absence. As surely as she knows she'd only get the chance to avenge Steve if there was anything left after Bucky was done with them.
Eventually, he'll get a series of texts: pictures of food in the mess hall and a question. She doubts he's left.]
Do you want me to bring you anything?
no subject
She has more than her share of tragedies, this he knows, and he doesn't fault her in the least when she leaves for the planet below. He hears that there's a chance to go home, a tantalizing promise that Bucky finds easy to pass up on when there's no home for him, when he has to watch his back at every moment because he's a wanted man on several hit lists. Here, people are generally unconcerned, and even if he feels like he's drowning, the wonder of the universe spread out before him reminds him of all the things that lie beyond.
He doesn't ask Wanda about her motivations, and figures she would tell him when the time is right; everyone has their story, and everyone has their secrets.
When his device buzzes, he musters a small smile at the pictures of food in the mess hall and the text she sends. ]
Whatever's convenient. [ He's more than halfway sure she's not going to poison him; if she really wanted to kill him, there are far more efficient ways to do it. ] Have you eaten?
[ Despite himself, he wonders; where did she go? ]
no subject
[And ten minutes later she appears, a fuzzy blanket draped over one arm and two plates of food trailing behind her. One is much more loaded down than the other with a little but of everything and it's that one that comes to hover in front of Bucky.
Wanda sits in a nearby chair and offers a fork with a weak smile. She's trying to hold everyone together through all of this drama, but...it's starting to wear on her.]
I don't know what that blue thing is, but it smelled good.
no subject
[ Bucky's only just getting used to her magic, but he supposes there are stranger things out there than this. He takes the plate and fork that's offered with a nod, frowning at the way she looks more worn down than he remembers she had been before. ]
You okay?
[ He asks at length. He's not naturally a prying sort, but there's a line between that and concern for someone who looks like they need a listening ear, at the very least. And for all that she's wordlessly done for him, it's the least that he can do. ]
no subject
She looks at him, considering. Bucky certainly has problems of his own...but he's also not some delicate flower she needs to shield from everything.]
I saw Novi Grad again. I didn't know that was possible.
no subject
This way, he picks less at the wounds that's left behind. ]
Was it real?
no subject
[The Ingress brings people from different times, so maybe it isn't so impossible, and Wanda is pretty sure she'd know if it was some sort of illusion. She wouldn't be able to sense the people like she normally can, right?
But it still feels wrong.]
no subject
[ The mind can't tell the difference -- and he, and definitely she, would know better than anyone else. He pauses. ] You okay?
no subject
I don't know. [It's been...easier, knowing Pietro could show up any day and not having to live with the reality of her situation. This was a completely unexpected cold dose of reality.] But I will be.
And you?