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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
It brings back all too much, the heartbreak she felt when she lost him the first time, the guilt and regret when she learned he spent nearly seventy years just like this, all because she failed to rescue him from that ice.
Her heart ached every time she went to see him in the Medbay, every time she stood there, helpless to save him once again.
But that didn't stop her from going, every chance she got, every free moment she had between her ship duties, she was there, waiting. Because if one thing was for sure, she wasn't going to lose him. Not again.
When she arrived that day, she wasn't surprised to see Barnes there. He was there just as much as her, if not more. She came prepared for just that, too. With her was a bag of food -- not much, just some sandwiches, flasks of tea, and other snacks she had grabbed from the dining hall. Something just told her Bucky wasn't taking care of himself like he should. Maybe she couldn't do anything to help Steve, but she'd be damned if she didn't keep an eye on his best friend in his absence.]
Any changes?
no subject
[ Bucky had barely left Steve's side save for the very brief breaks -- but always only when someone's around to hold the fort for him, so to speak. Today is just like the others, with the soldier camped out before Steve, marking down another twenty-four hour cycle.
He's not surprised that Peggy's here again, and it's good to have company now and then, serving as a distraction from his brooding. The quiet, he thinks, does no one any good; it just makes it easier for the ghosts to be heard. It's a shared helplessness, and he understands how Peggy feels looking at him enclosed in the tank -- nothing tastes quite as bitter as failure. Nothing else sits in the heart as heavily.
He takes in the bag of food in her hand and leans back, a ghost of a smile tugging at the side of his mouth. ]
I'm assuming that's not for him.
no subject
But there's a part of her that clings to the hope that there will be a sign. Maybe he'd open his eyes, his hands would flicker-- something, showing he was coming around.
But not today.
She bites her lip, lost in thought when Bucky speaks again, asking about the bag in her hand. She offers a small, tight smile, before she holds it out for him to take.]
I thought you might be hungry.
no subject
[ She would be the first person he tells, make no mistake. He knows how she cares for him, and the loss has hit her hard, too. He watches her for a few moments, noting how she wears her emotions on her sleeve, the hope that seems to torment more than it comforts.
He takes what she offers, unwrapping the foil and shifting his rifle away. ]
You can sit, if you like.