station72 | semi-open;

Entry tags:

semi-open;

CHARACTERS: Bucky, Sam, Steve, and guests
WHERE: The Gardens
WHEN: Backdated to D040-idk 45ish?
SUMMARY: After another death in the nest, Bucky feels the need to run.
WARNINGS: Nightmares, talk of violence, etc.

[Death in the Nest never comes easy. Anakin's had been so violent and sudden and now Aoba's seemingly the opposite. Something planned and slow and when the pain of the loss surges through the Nest, Bucky's left shuddering in its wake. He can't stay here, that's all he knows in the moment as he surges from his quarters. His backpack is heavier than he remembers as he hefts it over his shoulder. However, he's only a dozen feet down the hall before a conversation with Sam springs to his mind. Over shared drinks, he agreed to think about not running, about camping, about seeking offered help when this urge rises.

But he can't bring himself to search for help directly. Not when all he can focus on is the pain of a purposeful death rocking through his nerves.

And yet his feet bring him to the Gardens, to dirt crunching under his boots instead of the darkness of the farthest corners of the Station. He's reminded again of Sam, of their talk of camping, and he quietly sends up a ping of his location to both his broodmate and Steve. The impression of his panic colors the leaves of the trees around him, burning incandescent over the link.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's surprisingly nice to camp out in nature like this, even if it is, in some ways, artificial. The bright greens and deep umbers of the trees surrounding their campsite don't ease the nightmares that overtake him or the the overwhelming guilt that burns away his gut, but he finds the scenery relaxing nonetheless. Another dinner of hot dogs and cooked veggies don't stimulate his lagging appetite, so he gets up to walk, so Sam and Steve can eat without casting worried glances every five seconds.

His nerves continue to sing as loud as the first day, as the pain of another lost Nestmate dwells upon them all. This was not accidental, this was not a casualty of war, this was a child who needed an escape but no one provided one. They offered clothes and a helping hand to a weapon who butchered hundreds, who helped him make decisions, who let him want things.

Guilt burrows deeper into his gut as he walks, fingers running along the silver feathers of the bracelet curled about his wrist, and suddenly he doesn't want to be alone on this walk anymore.]

[ Steve hadn't been close to Aoba, couldn't understand what would drive the guy to that point. A part of him is angry at Aoba for giving up. Leaving a gaping hole in his place. A broodmate of Angel's - that's a whole different kind of pain agitated when he thinks of her.

His skin itches, restless legs moving toward the invisible line that pulls him past their shared campsite, half-eaten food left behind. ]

Feel like running? [ Going for a run, he means, not running away again. The closer he gets to Bucky, the more he feels antsy, his friend's nerves tickling under his own skin. Instead of closing off that sliver of connection, Steve carefully holds the thread, letting his own ache vibrate in sync with it. ]

[In the back of his mind, Bucky can hear the Steve's questions, feel the filtered anger and confusion. While Steve tries to open their bond wider, Bucky attempts to close his tighter, to hide away behind the billowing snow drifts and barbed wire fences. How is he still walking and alive when a child who deserved so much more died? He remembers the confusion surrounding his escape from HYDRA, how the nightmares lay just behind his eyelids, how every bite of food felt like one bite too many when guilt stuffed his throat.

It's a lot like now, how he wants to sever the thread holding him to the rest of the others, to finally ease them of the burden of a drowning man threatening to pull them under with him.

But Steve is at his side, preventing Bucky from doing anything overt at the moment.] Yeah.

[He reminds himself to run slower as he starts a jog.]

[ The ice permeates, but in Steve's mind it transforms into a memories of mid-autumn, when the chill of coming winter first began to set in the apartment. He always liked the crisp air, just before the real cold forced everyone to bundle up in heavy layers and boiler heat dried out the air in the tenement.

Steve focuses on those memories, times when he was alone (keeps his mind clear of the clean-cut version of his friend), for no other specific reason than that they're what's come to mind first. When he catches Bucky running a bit slower than normal he extends his gait, starting to pull ahead at a slightly more taxing pace.

Cocks an eyebrow. ]

That's all you got, gramps? [ Bucky doesn't have to hold back for his sake, jogging or otherwise. ]

[For all that he tries to shield from Steve, Bucky still finds himself lost in thoughts of the past, stuck in the inky dark of pleading cries and useless tears of mercy. They all end the same, but he watches them all the same. Since Aoba's death, they rise at the smallest prompting. Handling a knife reminds him of Australia, of a woman with cobalt blue eyes wide and blank with a knife in her chest.

Beside him, Steve speaks and Bucky blinks before realizing that Steve's pulling ahead. Frowning, he picks up his pace to match Steve but not faster. He's not here to outpace anyone, no other soldiers to defeat or prove himself to.]

[ Steve's unconscious mind is most affected by the flashes of violence in Bucky's memory. During the day he can banish them, or take them in and transfigure them into something less threatening, like now. During the night his mind is vulnerable, though he can't always remember the faces.

Horrible as they are, he'll take those nightmares over the ones where he wakes up to find Sam curled over a body -

The gardens are humid, which means he's already sweating again. He matches pace with Bucky now, caught between trying to come up with something to say and coming up empty. After a minute he opts to keep the silence, the only sound that comes from him are even breaths, nothing like the rasping sound he used to make when they were kids. Even months later Steve still experiences a kind of high when he's exercising like this, the sensation bubbling in his bloodstream all the way to his head - and through the link. ]

Edited 2017-06-27 01:55 (UTC)

[Bucky blinks when he realizes Steve is keeping pace. Sure, Bucky still isn't going full-speed, but something feels off. Digging through the layers in his head doesn't reveal anything immediately, leaving him confused as they continue to run, dirt crunching under their feet. How *is* Steve keeping up with him? The high spreads through the link, though Bucky tries to shake it free.

Something's wrong.

He ran like this. Steve ran like this, up over curved metal as Bucky raised a pistol in both hands and emptied three rounds into red, white, and blue. Or down on the glass, when he thrust his knife into Steve's shoulder.

No, no he got out. He doesn't do that anymore. He doesn't---

Bucky stumbles, long limbs stretching out as he falls and catching one of Steve's heels on accident.]

[ He doesn't realize what's happening until it's too late - he trips over his own foot trying to avoid kicking Bucky's tumbling form, lands hard.

He grimaces, pulling himself up. Pain blossoms in his left knee and he pinches his end of the connection shut before too much of it can pass through. ]

Hey - you okay? [ Concern beats flickers across his already tight expression as he looks Bucky over. He'd caught a flash of something just before Bucky tripped on him, but the cause for the sudden shift isn't immediately apparent to him. His gaze moves around the gardens, as though there's an answer for the trigger to be found there. ]

[Bucky's barely made contact with the ground before he's trying to scramble back away from Steve. There's a burst of pain from Steve's end of the connection and Bucky's nerves nearly burst for the fear that he'd done serious damage to his friend. He's on his feet a heartbeat before Steve and they've stood like this before, metal grating between them, a pistol in Bucky's hand. He remembers twisting, shooting, blood spraying from Steve's side.

The two images almost overlay: a taller, broader Steve curled over his side juxtaposed to a smaller version with a brow similarly furrowed.

Maybe inviting Steve was a mistake. He's so small and Bucky's far too dangerous.]

[ Through the pinhole of their link he sense Bucky's fear, tastes blood in his mouth and the ringing of gunshots in his ears. It's happening to someone else, that familiar face in Bucky's memories (the sleeping man in the belly of the Station). His wince isn't from the dull pain in his knee, already subsiding now. ]

I'm fine, Buck. [ He tries to keep his voice soft, pushes back the blow to his pride. ] Look -

[ He lifts his shirt, exposing his fish-pale stomach. No bullet holes, no scars. He lifts his pant leg - his knee's red from the fall but no worse for wear. You don't have to worry about me. He's not six feet tall, but he's not weak. And despite what's in Bucky's memories, he's never raised a weapon to Steve since they've been here. ]

[Bucky catches glimpses of another Steve, one with eyes shut in sleep, but the image doesn't linger in the face of the fear bursting through his seams. Steve lifts his shirt and instead of blood-stained red, white, and blue, there are visible ribs and pale skin. Bucky furrows his brow, chest heaving as he stares in confusion. He knows he shot Steve, his memories are clear, still bright in the front of his mind, the recoil vibrating up both his arms.

Except when he looks down to his hands, one is missing, severed well above the elbow.

Shifting his gaze back up to Steve, he examines the pallid expanse of skin again. No bullet holes, hardly any scars.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

semi-open;

conversations {steve} (warning: mentions of suicide in this thread)

sorry for the delay! (suicide stuff here too)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

lmk if this isn't ok!

works for me!

fabo!

no subject

no subject