station72 | day 49ish am; {open after initial waking}

Entry tags:

day 49ish am; {open after initial waking}

{sam + steeb}
[One moment silence echoes from the wound where Bucky’s mind should be. In the next, an explosion of frigid static unfurls from the emptiness and cascades through his links. In his room, he stumbles from his bed onto the cushions laid out beside it. The feathers braided into his hair swing about his ears and into his vision, releasing a surge of confusion alongside the static. Voices fill his head, like they’re standing inches away from him but when he raises his head from where he’s crouched on the floor, there are only two faces watching him.]

{everyone/anyone}
[The swell of static doesn't stop, but it does at least ebb quieter and quieter as the initial burst calms to a low hum. Occasional flares still rise to the surface throughout the coming days, however.]

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[ It's routine for them, he realizes. Reaching for a more solid grip on Bucky's link might tip the tenuous balance. He sits steady, allowing the contact from Sam and his gaze following Bucky's hand to the coin he produces, only lifting again to meet his eyes, offering a faint smile. ]

Yeah, man, you got this. Keep going, huh? Until you feel like you're back with us.

[ Sam keeps up his end, a steady support through their connection and mentally counting as he breathes. This thing between him and Bucky, it's... well, it's starting to become a thing, and whatever this is between the three of them is still tentative as hell, but it's starting to become something Sam can count on. Sam's not all that willing to look at that any closer right now.

Bucky is doing worlds better than the first time the Winter Soldier crashed into Sam's life, and Sam'd even say he's doing better than the first time that he and Bucky actually met properly - but then, it's not like Sam's got anything to compare it to. ]

[The rest of the process comes easier still, almost like a mantra spilling from his lips.] The desk has four legs. Steve's sketchbook is sitting on it.

[Two things he can see, needs two more. He turns to them and soaks up their appearances. That's right. Steve and Sam. They're in Concordia. There's no HYDRA here, none other than him.] Steve's small. Sam's big.

Watch who you're calling small, pal. [ His smile widens a bit, goes lopsided again. Faint humor and relief starts to radiate from him. ]

I think he's calling me fat. [ There's a low chuckle, and Sam nudges Steve's shoulder, sharing his lopsided smile before he turns it on Bucky. ]

Such a flatterer, and right after we told you how good your hair looks.

[~~whatever you questionably-cgi'd egg~~

Bucky snorts lightly, the edges of his lips quirking. He reaches up to touch the feathers again, not filtering the sensation of the feathers bending and ruffling under his fingers.]

You say that like it looks bad most of the time. [He honestly does not care in the slightest about his hair. Bigger fish to fry. He can always just pull it up under a hat if need be.]

[ He shakes his head at Sam, eyeing Bucky. Teasing: ]

Can you believe this guy? Fishing for more compliments...

Maybe he's feeling a little under appreciated. [ He makes a 'tch' sound with his tongue against his teeth in response to that headshake. ]

Don't worry, man, we'll start calling you Bucky with the good hair.

[Bucky looks up at them with a smirk, edged with disbelief.]

You punks.[His words are surrounded by a chuckle that sneaks out of him.

For now, he'll leave the feathers in. It's not like he cares all that much. However, the feathers do make more apparent how long his hair has gotten; he can hardly see them through his newest accessories.]

[ A light snort, chin ducking down as he grins at his knees. The balance he'd been working to hold, the calm, both come easier now, like settling into the old sofa back at his apartment after being out all day.

His stomach makes a low gurgling sound, reminding him that it's not the end of the day but the morning. Another puff from his nose and a slight wince. ]

[ There's a low level feeling of contentment humming across Sam's side of the mental link. This, the three of them joking around and getting to see both Steve and Bucky smile, it reminds him why he'd taken that deal and what he's here fighting for. He'd learned a long time ago to hold on to little moments like this, to treasure them while he can.

Doesn't stop him from shooting Steve a little grin at that stomach gurgle. ]

Anyone up for breakfast, if I whip something up? Something other than hot dogs, I gotta broaden your horizons here.

[Bucky catches that gurgling stomach and glances over at Steve. Unable to filter, both he and Sam will get a hefty mental dose of c'mon man, really? A cadre of memories spring to the forefront of his mind, one in particular, though sticks.

Walking through Brooklyn with the fall chill nipping at his ears, Bucky's fingers curl around his last ten cents. He's not sure if Steve thinks that Bucky just can't here Steve's stomach growling or if he's pretending he's not hungry. Rolling his eyes, Bucky stops and shifts to stare Steve down

and the memories come out his mouth, complete with a heavy accent.] When's the last time you ate?

[ He slips into the shared memory, disoriented by the switch in perspective. Buck - his memory-self starts to protest in a low warning tone, but he pulls himself back to the room in the Bearings.]

There's too much food here that'll go bad if I start skipping meals. [ Then an eyebrow raised at Sam. ] Now that you mention it...

[ A hot dog for breakfast doesn't sound bad, even if it's only the Concordian equivalent. ]

[ Oh. That memory is surprising, stark in the fact that it isn't his. It's not the first time he's slipped into a memory of another Host, either from them sharing or accidentally - hell, not even the first time it'd happened with Bucky - but it feels different when it's the two of them. There's a moment where he thinks it could be awkward, if he let it, where he could almost feel out of place or that he was intruding.

But then Bucky speaks and Steve looks over at him with an eyebrow raised, and it's gone. Sam's childhood had been a few neighborhoods over and about 70 years later, but that accent is home for him all the same, and he lets out a theatrical groan at Steve's comment. ]

What am I gonna do with the two of you, huh, how am I supposed to impress either of you if you never let me make anything but hot dogs? What d'ya say we compromise and go with sausage along with whatever breakfast food you feel like.

[Bucky continues to give Steve a wary glance. Growling stomachs seem to contradict the sentiment, but he's honestly not an expert. The mention of hot dogs refocuses Bucky's attention on Sam. That's right. Sam made him hot dogs once and he and Steve have eaten enough hot dogs in their life time to fill a memoir.

The suggestion sounds nice, but Bucky's honestly not very hungry right now. Not even hot dogs sound appetizing. However, he knows that if he refuses openly, Steve will probably waste away to nothing.]

Hot dogs are essential nutrition in New York.

One a day keeps the doctor away.

[ With a short huff he starts to stand, which mostly consists of him sliding his back up the wall with how close they've gotten bunched up. ] But I guess we'll settle for hot dog-like.

[ There's a soft, vaguely amused snort as he shoots a look at Bucky. ] Harlem born and raised, you don't gotta tell me about the nutritional value of New York's hot dogs.

[ By which he means practically zero, except now with all this talk about them, well. He kind of wants one, too, damn it. But Concordia's equivalent isn't close enough to satisfy the desire - or maybe Sam's gotten pickier these days - so he just rolls his eyes as he copies Steve, pushing himself up. He clasps a hand briefly on Steve's shoulder, warm and affectionate, before he starts moving towards the door. ] Lord save me from 1940s boys, I gotta broaden both your horizons.

[Harlem? Well there's another reason to make fun of Sam, on top of being Air Force. Bucky watches Steve for another beat longer before climbing to his feet with the measured caution of a man unsure of his strength. His legs hold him well enough, but the feathers swing into his vision even as he reaches up to tuck them behind his ear.]

No tacos. [He remembers watching little Sam trying to eat what he called a 'taco' with revulsion.]

Harlem? [ A look at Bucky like did you know about that as he playfully shrugs Sam's hand away with a surprised huff, heading out into the hallway. ]

Tacos?

[ ?? ]

[ Watch yourself, Barnes, those might be fighting words. But when he catches sight of Bucky tucking the feathers behind his ears, he has to duck his head a little to hide the smile twitching at his lips. ]

Mexican food. Not a worry there, man, I'm not touching what passes for it here. [ He shoots them both a sly look, the image of a certain breakfast dish served every where from boot camp to out in the field drifting over the mental link. ] Could always go traditional with some SOS.

[Bucky returns Steve's question with the confirmation that no he honestly didn't know that Sam hailed from Harlem. The thought of eating anything, traditional or not, doesn't sound particularly appetizing.]

We ever had it? [The question is directed to Steve, since Bucky himself doesn't know if he's had SOS or not.]

Yup. [ He's pretty sure there was a year they were having it for breakfast almost every other day. A wry edge to his tone: ] I wouldn't so no to it.

[ His sense of taste has always been questionable at best. ]

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day 49ish am; {open after initial waking}

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(since bellamy is making bucky eggs in the thread below this one he won't eat in this one <3)

OKIE DOKIE

SALUTES

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