station72 | mental link, day...36? sure.

[ There's a faint smile at the recognition in Bucky's eyes, growing just a bit stronger when he feels Bucky's touch on the back of his hand. There we go - it's not like this is over, and he's not gonna get overconfident, but as long as there's a trace of Bucky in there, they can work with that.

When he feels the panic start to drift across their mental link, Sam copies the movement, running his own thumb over the back of Bucky's hand. He breathes, slow and easy, doing his best not to let himself get caught up in it. Take in the panic, put out warmth, this is starting to become routine for him. ]

I'm here, Bucky, we got this. We've brought you back before, we can do it again.

[ He tugs a little on the mental link, more of a reminder that it's there than anything else, opening his mind up to Bucky's. It was a lifeline before, the two of them pulling Bucky back before he could slip under, and he's more than ready to use it as an anchor again. ]

[Bits of Bucky crawl into place, slip into the gaps in the programming as he stares. Like a string tugged in the back of his head, the link provides the pull to draw up the scaffolding Bucky's brain has grown used to rebuilding again and again. Every time it gets torn down, more and more pieces of him are lost in the dust and the programming fills those holes like weeds.]

Who's Bucky--- [His rising intonation stops halfway through as his head processes. His name is Bucky. This guy... Sam. Sam and his wings and---

He jerks his hand free of Sam's, though solely for the purpose of digging the challenge coin out of his pocket.

Wings. Sam.

His eyes slowly widen as his breathing shallows and he takes in the room around him, the smashed chair, the flaking pieces of ceiling...

No.No. Panic is replaced in an instant by a crushing weight. Not again.]

[ It's a struggle to resist the urge to spill over more into Bucky's head, flood him with warmth and support him while he rebuilds. There's a mental feeling like cobwebs sticking, and he wants so damn bad to reach in and try to help clear them out, put more of Bucky into the places where the programming tries to take hold.

But he doesn't. One, he's not sure it'd even help, and two - he hasn't asked if Bucky'd be okay with that level of support, and he's pretty sure it goes a little bit beyond radiating warmth and calm or letting himself be an anchor that they can use to pull Bucky back.

His brows furrow when Bucky pulls his hand away, but there's a swell of encouragement when he realizes what Bucky's going for. At least until he sees Bucky taking in their surroundings.

Sam purposefully deepens his own breathing, focusing on breathing with his diaphragm as he counts, in and out. ]

You're okay, Bucky, you didn't hurt anyone. We had a scuffle, but it's not like that's anything new, all right, and you only broke your own shit so I'm calling it a win. You're fine, we're both fine, just breathe with me?

[A scuffle isn't a win in Bucky's book. He clenches his jaw as he surveys the damage once more. Something happened but he doesn't know what. He has no reason to doubt Sam, to suspect him of sugar-coating, but he... he can't stay here. Every step he takes is nothing more than an air pocket in the quicksand that will inevitably swallow him. Because it is inevitable: falling, hurting others.

All of his mental walls slam up and he staggers to his feet.

It's not fine. None of this is fine. None of this is fine.

He searches his own memories for the truth, buzzing through the talk with small Sam, large Sam coming into his room, pieces of the fight and then a hole. Another fucking hole.

Bucky swallows and clenches his jaw tighter. He needs a walk. He needs to be away from people he can hurt.]

[ One step forward, two steps back.

Sam doesn't pry when Bucky's walls slam back up, despite his disappointment - this has got to happen on Bucky's time table, Sam knows that.

And yet he can't stop himself from pushing up when Bucky stands, wings snapping shut. He doesn't get in between Bucky and the door, but he's definitely eying him. ]

You gonna run again?

[Bucky staggers over to his desk, challenge coin still in hand. He deliberately turns his back to Sam in a silentget out combined with so what if I do run. He can feel Sam somewhere behind him, partially due to the brood link and his training. Dust from the ceiling has coated the sketchbook and several piles of papers--- faces of his victims--- and he goes about wiping them off as best he can with the edge of his hand, though he itches to run. ]

[ He doesn't need to be in Bucky's head to get that unspoken message, and he lets out a small snort. ]

Yeah, cause running's worked real great here so far.

[ He rolls out his shoulders, stretching out just a little, before he lets out a long breath. ]

Talk to me, Bucky. Please. There's a shit ton of stuff I wanna say after that but it'd work better if I knew what was going on, and you'd know I'd never pry into your head if I can help it.

[Part of Bucky recognizes the futility of running, how back home two years of peace still ended in dozens of deaths. Nothing he can ever do will shake HYDRA's hold on him. He continues wiping the dust away from the faces on the loose papers, the faces he should never ever forget.

He pauses, shoulders stiffening when Sam speaks those final few words. It's true, Bucky knows, that Sam won't pry if he can help it, but this is different. Sam seems to think some destruction of property is okay--- no one got hurt--- but what if one of their other broodmates came instead of Sam? What if Bucky killed them?

Hell, what if Bucky killed Sam, one of the few people who worked to understand him?

That's not okay.

And neither is Bucky, the weapon, the soldier. He can paint up grand illusions of choice, but each of them comes crashing down in the face of the inevitable. He can't choose to not be a ticking time bomb.

Running is the only option.

He lets out a long exhale through his nose as he looks down at the faces staring up at him from the dusty papers. He didn't give them a choice; he killed them no matter their begging and pleading, no matter how many children waited at home.]

[ Sam waits, for a long moment, watching Bucky in silence. He could leave right now, he knows, and probably no one would blame him - but he can't. Even if Bucky just wants him to get the hell out of here, it's not in Sam to just leave him alone like this, caught up in whatever negative thought spiral that Sam knows has gotta be going down right now. ]

All right, guess it's just gonna be me talking then, that's fine. I'm choosing to believe that's you agreeing with me that running ain't gonna help and being a sullen dick about it, so I’ll just graciously move on.

Look, I'm not gonna lie to you and tell you that this is never gonna happen again, because it probably will. Recovery, learning how to be a person again, it's hard and there’s gonna be times where you wonder what the hell the point even is if you're just gonna keep backsliding, but it's not about being perfect. It's about learning to manage your triggers so the next time it's a little better, one step at a time.

It's about finding what works for you. And right now, what works seems to be grounding you here, and the two of us working together to keep you anchored or pull you back - or knocking you upside the head. Now, I sure as hell’d rather go with the first option, but, uh. [ And here he pauses briefly, running a hand over his jaw. ] I didn't want to reach for you to try to help, because I hadn't asked. So this is me asking.

Edited 2016-12-20 21:11 (UTC)

[Bucky listens as he continues to dust off the sketches. Olivia, 1962. Manuel, 1963 The inevitability of it all, the sense that nothing he does will ever stop it weighs heavier on him than ever. In Bucharest, he could tell himself he would never be a weapon again. For two years, he believed that lie when he laid down at night, or when he woke up from a nightmare in the dark. He wished for it with every ounce of his being and still... in Berlin it happened. Here in Concordia, it keeps happening and none of it seems to follow the same triggers. No trigger words, no chair, no HYDRA, and still he's a threat to every last person he can feel through the Nest.

Sam can wax on and on about recovery and getting better, but in Bucky's mind, there can't be a next time. Or if there is a next time, it will be the last time; he won't let HYDRA continue to threaten those around him.

He takes a few moments to organize his words in his head before he straightens and turns to look Sam dead in the eye.]

Next time is the last time. [His words are heavy, but he doesn't break his gaze, pleading despite his clenched jaw.] Do whatever it takes.

[ There's a heavy air of tension as Sam meets his gaze, jaw set and shoulders straight, but it's only a few moments before he jerks his head in a nod. ]

Okay. Whatever it takes, they're not gonna make you hurt anyone you don't want to.

[ I'll kill you myself if I have to, he doesn't say, but he lets the sentiment drift through the mental link, and he means it. Despite his tendency towards sentimentality, Sam is practical, always has been. He’s always been willing to make the hard calls, do whatever needed to be done.

As hard as he’d fought for Bucky, as hard as he’d still fight for him, there’s no question that Sam would have killed Bucky to stop him if he needed to - if he could have, frankly Sam considers it pretty damn awesome that he just survived, but that's beside the point - and he still will, especially now that he has the symbiote ability. Maybe it's not kind, and it's definitely not what Steve’d want to hear, Sam knows that, but Sam isn't always kind, and this isn't about Steve.

This is about Bucky making a decision about what he wants for his future, and what he doesn't want, and Sam'll back him up. ]

But you gotta promise me two things. One - you work with me, we practice grounding and recognizing your triggers and all that. Two - you feel that static coming on again, feel like it's starting to pull you under and you can't get out yourself, you call me, so I can get to you before it gets ugly.

[Bucky's brows furrow for a moment before his posture relaxes an inch or so. It's... comforting, actually, knowing that Sam will disarm the bomb when the time comes. The sincerity coils off of Sam in waves and Bucky doesn't need to ask if the other is serious about this.

He knows what Steve would say, how the poor guy would insist there's gotta be another way, but hope can only take a man so far. Steve's never served, never even really seen the full destructive power of the Winter Soldier. Sam has. Sam knows.

I don't want to hurt anyone. buzzes through the link as his shoulders relax another notch further.

Slowly, Bucky pulls down his walls, figures it's the least he can do in response to the duty he's just thrust upon Sam. ]

Promise. [And he meets Sam's sincerity with his own. He means it. He's gonna work, but damn it if he doesn't want to, if he doesn't want to just throw in the towel and run until there's no one around left to hurt.]

[ Sam starts to relax as well, rolling his shoulders out again as he breathes. It's almost a relief, getting this out in the open. They both know the kind of things that the Winter Soldier's done, how dangerous he can be, and pretending otherwise had never been Sam’s intention.

Maybe it should feel strange, when friendship means 'I'll stop you if you need to be stopped,' but that's been Sam’s kind of friendship since he came back from the war. Knowing that the other person had your back, no matter what, even if others might not exactly understand it. It's a relief to know that he and Bucky are on the same page.

Although Sam suspects he might be a little more determined to see it as a last resort than Bucky is, a little more willing to put himself in between the Winter Soldier and someone else if it comes down to it, but that's all right.

There's an edge of protectiveness in the warmth that spills from Sam’s side of the mental link, equal parts I'd protect them from you and I'll protect you from anything, even yourself. ]

You're worth all of this, to me. Have been since I first started looking for you. I know it's hard to believe that, hard to belive in yourself, but it's okay. I'll believe enough for both of us, for now. And I got your back, no matter what.

[The protectiveness spreading through the link is familiar and Bucky lets it through the open doors of his mind, though it feels suddenly too warm, too much. That's familiar, too, like after Sam gave him his challenge coin. It's so so deeply uncomfortable to feel good; he'd be fine with neutral affect 24/7. The following sentiment augments the heat prickling at his eyes.

Part of him hates all these feelings and emotions, so much color when he's used to black and white. The rest of him snatches up every last piece of happiness, like a child, as if it might disappear in a moment.

Bucky twists his mouth to the side and nods.]

[ Sam's quiet for a moment, just focused on breathing and letting this new facet of their relationship settle into place. It's easier than maybe it should be, but for Sam, this is already something that's been at the back of his mind. Maybe it'll hit him later, when it sinks it that it's no longer just something that might be a possibility, it's a promise - or hell, if Steve ever finds out.

But for now, it's good, they're good, and Sam can feel himself relaxing after the adrenaline of the fight. He can feel that uncertainty that Bucky's feeling, too, though he doesn't pull back on the warmth just yet. ]

You've been stuck alone with what's going on in your head for way too damn long, far as I'm concerned, and that's gonna change, all right? I'm not going anywhere. But I remember there were times when I just wanted everyone to get the hell out of my face, so if you start feeling like you need some space, just let me know.

[Bucky breathes in and out at a steady pace, trying to not allow too much of his distress from leaking into the link. They have enough of a negative feedback loop without adding more. Everything about this oath, this promise is different and wrong and everything the weapon could never ask for, could never hope for, could never keep.

And Sam keeps building up more. Bucky never really got to say no or tell someone to get out of his space before.] Am I allowed to say 'now?'

[Because he would really, really like to.]

[ That kind of question isn't surprising, really, not when Sam's seen some of the programming in Bucky's head first hand. Doesn't make it any less of a punch in the gut when it comes, though. He keeps his thoughts behind his shields, but seriously, fuck Hydra and anyone who ever looked at this boy and thought to make him into a weapon. ]

You're allowed to say anything, that includes telling me no or to kiss your ass or whatever the hell else you feel like. You can do anything you want with me, man, all you gotta do is ask. [ He lets his shields go just enough for his sincerity to bleed through, and then he sinks back below his layer of clouds. ]

You know I got no problem telling you how it is, I like it when you do the same with me. How about I back the hell off for now, and you give me a shout if you need something?

[You're allowed to say anything. Anything. Yes or no or kiss my ass or get out. Bucky's gaze snaps up to Sam, despite the programming still screeching in his ear to keep his gaze down, because eye contact implies equality and a weapon is not equal. A weapon does not get a say in how its handled. And yet, he's now allowed to say anything. He doesn't know if that's an ongoing permission or a one-time opportunity--- he hates that he has to figure the timing out, that his head doesn't seem to know what it wants--- but the sincerity bleeding through the link soaks into Bucky's skin. Sam means it. Sam means every word about letting him say what he wants.

Might as well use it now.] Get out, Wilson.

[Last names are very military and another name is difficult for Bucky to keep track of, but hell if it doesn't feel fantastic.] And thanks.

[ He meets Bucky's gaze, calm and steady, no different than he would with anyone else. This has got to be hard as hell for Bucky, Sam can't even begin to know how much - well, he could, but he doesn't want to pry into Bucky's head to feel it anymore than Bucky wants him there - so the best he can do is keep treating Bucky like normal. Keep giving him space to be normal, to make decisions and sass off and have as much agency as he can.

Sam smiles, somewhere between pleased and proud and edging just a little bit into a cocky smirk as he gives a half-assed salute with his middle finger. ] Kiss my ass, Barnes.

[ There's a trickle of something softer across the mental link, though, something like anytime, as he turns on his heel to leave. ]

mental link, day...36? sure.

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