station72 | You’re a stranger to me (open);

Entry tags:

You’re a stranger to me (open);

CHARACTERS: bucky barnes and you!
WHERE: bellatrix brood pods + dark corners
WHEN: once he wakes up idk which day
SUMMARY: bucky has a good nap
WARNINGS: mentions of violence, sad super soldiers etc

{bellatrix brood pods}

Bucky doesn’t remember going to sleep in a tube, but it’s not the first time this kind of thing has happened. When he opens his eyes, deja vu sours his stomach, leaving him with familiar nausea. The sense of belonging that follows immediately in its wake, though, further upsets the bile crawling up his throat. He doesn’t belong here, though he’s not immediately sure of where ‘here’ is; the Soldier is nothing but a danger to those around him.

He sinks to his knees, blinking around at his surroundings, and waits for firm hands to drag him upright before he can take his first breath. But, instead, of the hollow darkness of Siberia, the glow of the Station welcomes him in a way that grows more sickening. There are penalties for getting sick, and he swallows down the acid burning his mouth.

He waits. He waits, jaw clenched and gaze down.

——

{dark corners}

After a chance to re-orient himself with his surroundings and companions, Bucky ducks away to the relative quiet of the far corners of the Station. His head throbs with the chorus of minds connected to his own, but the hollow burn in his chest bites deeper. He had gone to sleep again and in that time, he hadn’t attacked anyone else in the Station, in direct contrast to the majority of his life, both on the Station and off. Thinking back to his arrival on the Station reminded him of something Sam had said about a ‘Sleeping Beauty act.’ Did he choose to go to sleep back on Earth? Was such a thing possible? Could he do the same here on the Station?

For now, though, he needed the space to think. No place on the Station was truly private, but the farther from his fellows, the better.

——

{wildcard???}

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ There's a flash of warmth at Bucky's response, something little and pleased, and Sam shoots him a smile even as he raises an eyebrow. ]

Matter of opinion. But you're entitled to yours.

[ Even if it's stupid; Sam's glad he has it. The rest of that, though, some of the stuff he can feel coming from Bucky... nah, Sam isn't gonna sit with that. ]

We gotta get something straight, though. I didn't go to prison for you. [ He bites out the word prison like he's angry, but the emotion over their bond is closer to shame than anything else. But he doesn't acknowledge it as he keeps going. ]

I didn't want to sign the Accords before Steve ever opened his big mouth, long before they went after you. Because the people they were putting in charge, they weren't anyone I trusted enough to take orders from. If it'd been Fury, maybe, but Ross - hell, either of them? Fuck no. And I knew, soon as we put one toe out of line, they weren't gonna see us as anything but criminals.

Edited 2017-03-16 19:56 (UTC)

[Bucky doesn't expect Sam's answer. He knew nothing of the Accords, from what he'd gathered in brief encounters, the primary issue had been regarding the death of families. First had been the man in black with claws that made his arm vibrate and scream at him. The other was the son of Howard Stark.

For a moment, he's quiet. Fury. He killed Nicolas Fury.

Another death that affected those around him.

His chest grows more hollow as he falls back into silence.]

[ For a moment, Sam's confused at that response, at the hollow guilt that feeds that silence, but then - oh. Sam almost wonders how the hell no one had told Bucky that he hadn't actually killed Fury, but no, of course not. They hadn't had time. ]

Fury's fine. He faked his death to give us an advantage.

[ One death off of Bucky's list, at least - but does it mean all that much when Sam knows damn well how long the list is? Not Sam's call, but at least he can set some things straight. He wants to reach out, to take Bucky's hand or comb his fingers through his hair - but he settles for doing it mentally, the quiet hint of sensations. ]

I didn't make the call to stay behind at the airport because I was protecting you. I did it because we were a team, and at the time you and Steve were our best options to save the world. It's not your fault, and I ain't saying that the same way I mean about what you've done in the past. All that is stuff you gotta live with, fault or not, but the fallout from the Accords, me going to the Raft? It ain't on you.

[Furrowing an eyebrow, Bucky finally turns around, albeit only halfway. One of his victim's didn't die. That made him and Steve Rogers the exceptions. Relief briefly brushes away the pain in his chest, before the guilt for feeling that respite follows hot on its heels. One less death out of the hundreds.

Once again he shies away from the mental touch and listens to Sam. He's still not entirely convinced of lack of blame on his part.]

He set us up. That guy. [From Berlin. In Siberia. Played the tape of the Starks' death. He meant for Steve and Bucky to escape, for Howard Stark's son to be there. If he hadn't gotten free at the airport, Steve wouldn't have left the shield behind, wouldn't have fought with a friend to save his parents' killer. ]

[ Halfway is something - and so is that relief, however brief. The guilt returns, sure, but hell of course it does. Bucky's got a lot to feel guilty for, and Sam knows damn well that this isn't ever going to be a situation where he suddenly stops. But baby steps, one moment at a time, that's something they can do. ]

I know. He played all of us. [ His jaw jets, briefly, and there's a rough swallow before he pulls a breath in and lets it out. ] I told Stark where you and Steve were. No one in the Raft was gonna get it out of me, but Stark - he said he was wrong, that he believed us. He promised to go as a friend, but his promise didn't mean shit.

[ Stark wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for Sam, and even though for the most part he knows that there was no way he could know what Zemo was really planning, even though he thought he was sending them back up, there's still just the tiniest part that feels guilty. ]

I killed his parents.

[Bucky says it out loud, despite not needing to do so. He could have thought it, but instead he chooses to bring the words to life and does so rather abruptly, as if trying to interrupt any ill feelings toward Howard Stark's son.]

That guy had the tape from the security camera.

[The one where Howard Stark recognized him. He doesn't pass any blame on his son or Sam, for telling him their location. ]

[ Sam knows - or at least, he'd suspected. He'd seen the same file Steve had, spent two years hunting for Bucky and burning through cold leads on Hydra bases. But it doesn't say that, because it feels important that Bucky said it outloud.

It always feels important whenever Bucky actually says something. ]

He was emotional. [ And he was emotional when he shot Sam in the chest after Rhodes went down, even though Sam was a fucking pararescueman and he could have done something, anything - Sam cuts himself off there.

He was overcome with anger and grief, Sam gets that. The thing is - people like Stark and him, people who choose to outfit themselves with tech that makes them really powerful and potentially destructive, they don't get to be that kind of emotional. Sam's not gonna necessarily blame Stark for his reaction either time, but he sure as hell is gonna blame him for continuing to put on the Iron Man suit when that's what grief and anger does to him. ]

I'm just saying there's a lot of blame to go around for the way everything went down. Don't hog it all for yourself.

[Bucky disagrees entirely. He ran most of the fight, tried to disable what he could of Stark's weaponry and interfere when Stark went for Steve, but he wouldn't say he's angry with the end result. His left arm reminded him of HYDRA and when he went in public, he kept a glove over the metal fingers, long before the news began to broadcast him as the infamous assassin, the Winter Soldier.

They seem to talk circles around each other, coming to the same fruitless end. Part of that, Bucky feels partially responsible. He's not the easiest to talk to about anything, much less the matter of guilt.]

So what now?

[ They disagree on some things - mostly around Bucky and guilt versus blame versus responsibility - but Sam doesn't mind it. Sure, it can get frustrating, but it's a good kind of frustrating. Hell, he even likes bickering with him. Mostly he just likes when Bucky gets comfortable enough that he can disagree, that they can talk in circles with each other.

He likes talking with Bucky, even when Bucky doesn't necessarily do a lot of spoken talking, and he lets that feeling flow across the mental link. ]

Now we keep going. It happened, you know? I don't like the way it went down but I can't change it. I deal, and I move forward. Focus on now. [ And right now he's really tired of holding this containing of soup, so he sets it down on the table. ] Now maybe we can eat some soup and talk about where to go from here.

[Bucky exhales heavily through his nostrils, turning back toward the table when Sam makes his way around it and sets the container of soup down. There's a couple other chairs in this section of the Station and he'd rather not be the only one sitting for whatever this conversation is about to be. If it's a talk about not running, he can't make any promises. He doesn't like being around people, even less since returning to the Station where everything is so loud.

He climbs to his feet to shove his chair over to Sam before briefly venturing into the hallway to grab another and carrying it in. Settling it beside the table, he sits back down and watches Sam expectantly.]

[ Sam flashes a small smile and a murmured thanks, man when Bucky shoves his chair at him, and he makes himself comfortable and opens the container of soup while he waits for Bucky to come back.

He hands Bucky one of the spoons at that expectant look, pushing the soup just a little bit more towards him. ]

Two things, I guess. One - I've been figuring out how to help people shore up their mental shields, keep everything in and everyone else out, and I thought maybe that could help. Two - look, like I said, I wanna do this together. And I think you and me can come up with a plan for it.

[Frowning at the soup won't help anyone, but Bucky does it anyway. He accepts the spoon and worries at the bend, making no obvious move toward the soup.]

I'm not safe.

[His reply is more directed toward the second half of Sam's statement. Bucky would love to learn how to better shore up his defenses, if just for some more privacy. No one needs to deal with the mess that is his head. The time and process to do that, would require too much patience and time around a very dangerous subject.]

[ Wow Barnes, don't frown at his soup. It's a delicious soup, and Sam nudges it a little closer to Bucky, just because he can.

That's more or less the response that Sam expected, really - and at least it's not a hard refusal for the first bit. It's a risk going in there with the programming, sure, but it's a risk Sam's got every day with how connected he and Bucky are - and after helping Shepard, Damon, and Zhukov, Sam's a hell of a lot more prepared to deal with it. ]

I'm pretty sure I know how dangerous you can be better than anyone else here, man. I'm still standing. Look, I'm not saying you should go sing kumbaya with everyone in the station, but we can still have a plan that's gonna work better than you just trying to hide all the time.

[Such a subtle hint, Sam. Have some more frowning.

The thing about hurting Sam, though, is that he doesn't want to do it anymore. He meant what he said about the 'next time' being the last time. He fully expects Sam to put a bullet between his eyes if Bucky goes for the throat again.

That and Bucky can't help but hold onto shreds of hope that running will result in something, anything. He'd survived for two years on his own after the fall of HYDRA and he wants that kind of solitude here on the Station as well.]

[ Sam raises an eyebrow at him, giving just the tiniest smirk. Come on, man, eat some damn soup.

They should probably have a talk defining the perimeters of this promise, then, because as far as Sam's concerned, he only has to make good on it if Bucky goes after someone innocent. Sam doesn't consider himself on that list. ]

All right, all right, you don't have to make any kind of promise here. How about we compromise - we can build up your shields and come up with a plan and then you can think over what you wanna do?

[Bucky's stomach growls when he leans closer to catch a sniff. With the same frown, he scoops up some soup and takes a taste. As expected, it's nothing poisonous and he is hungry. He's just not been much for liquefied food since HYDRA. One spoonful is enough for him to not want anymore, but if Sam wants him to, the programming will force him to eat it.

And they're back at this illusion of choice. Bucky knows it's stupid to run, but be can't help wanting to. Running is easy and makes sense and the programming lets him. Regardless, though, he knows they'll end up back in the same spot, whether he wants to or not. Every step forward is futile.]

It doesn't matter.

[ At least this one's got more substance, with the number of vegetables Sam shoved in there, but he catches that distaste. ]

You don't have to eat it. [ He doesn't say if 'if you don't want to,' because he can already feel that, and Bucky struggles enough with want. ] I'll make something else next time.

[ It matters to Sam, but that's not the point here. He's not gonna protest that. ]

Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe nothing we do now matters. [ And he makes a face at himself as he realizes he'd been about to say that then maybe all that mattered was what they did. ] Shit, I hated the therapist that told me that, pretend I didn't say that. We can't know the future, all right, we can just plan for it and focus on right now. And right now - let's work on your shields.

[Bucky grimaces at the mention of Sam's efforts to cook for Bucky. Yet, he can't bring himself to stomach more of it. He doesn't know if he was much of a meat and potatoes guy before HYDRA, but most certainly afterwords. When he first escaped, he was little more than lean muscle and bones. Since, he's put on some weight, considering he's allowed to choose what to eat, not just nutrient slurries.

Setting his spoon down, he nods. Shields are a good start. If he could keep from bleeding onto every person he meets, if he could keep memories of his victims away from Steve, and darker thoughts from Sam, life would be easier.]

Sure.

Hey, I'm a great cook. Just gotta learn the ingredient we got to work with, and I need someone to eat my attempts.

[ Though someone clearly is, judging by the number of times that the containers of food Sam leaves in the kitchen end up empty and dirty in the sink, but still. He almost misses Concordia, where at the very least he could whip up something close to steak and onions and peppers.

But that's beside the point. He puts the top back on the container of soup, shoving it aside as he focuses more on the connection between him and Bucky, opening his end a little wider. ]

The way I've done this before is letting you in to get a look at mine, get a feel for how I build them up and keep 'em strong, and then helping you get your own strengthened up.

[Unfortunately, Bucky has become a very picky eater. Anything that looks poisonous, anything relatively unknown, and anything liquefied is pretty much off the table for him. On Concordia, that meant largely the basics that he could identify: eggs, starches, meats. Here on the Station, the pickings grow increasingly slim unless he forces himself. Shepard had granola bars of some kind, but Bucky went through those way too quickly.

The sudden focus on their connection is a touch too intimate and he tries to push up his non-existent walls. Going in deeper does not sound like a good idea right now.]

[ Hell, Sam can roll with that. If Bucky's got preferences, whatever they might be, he can keep that in mind. Honestly he might just use it as an excuse to get Bucky cooking with him, so he can see what's going in it.

He can feel Bucky's defenses go up, but he just eases back, doesn't try to push them at all. There's another reason why he lets people in his head first, and it's the same reason why he always shared first back at the VA. Ease them into things, let himself be vulnerable first. And here if nothing else, at least Bucky'll get an idea of how protect his mind.

Sam tugs gently at their connection, more of an invitation than anything - come here, it's okay. The cloud layer that surrounds his mind thins, welcoming Bucky in. ]

[Bucky sits back behind his defenses, waiting for something. He's not sure exactly what, but he knows it when he recognizes the tug at their connection. He sucks in a breath and tentatively stretches himself over the link. He expects it to feel colder, like his own mind, frosted over with an unshakable chill, but instead, it's a bit like stepping into warm bath water.

He's not sure what exactly to do or what to look for. For all that the link draws them together, Bucky still doesn't know that much about Sam personally to identify elements of defenses.]

[ Here, at least, Sam's on stable ground. He's done this before, and he knows how to draw attention to his defenses as he works through each layer of them. Sam focuses on the base level of his shielding, the one that's become second nature to keep up - and the rolling clouds that obscure his mind become more prominent, alternatively glinting with the pinks and golds of sunrise or streaked with the lightning of a storm. The visualization is part of what gives it strength, for Sam, and he focuses deliberately on the feeling of how he keeps it up.

Of how emotions and thoughts flicker across his mind, jumbled up and vague, and he lets them all go, visualizes them disappearing through the mist of the clouds before he can get stuck on them.

He turns his attention to active defense, to what he does when someone's trying to get into his mind and he doesn't want them there. Maybe it should be harder to do this when Bucky's already in his mind, maybe he should struggle with not kicking him out, too, but... Bucky is a welcome presence, it seems, and Sam doesn't know how much of that is him and how much is the symbiote. It's not hard at all to visualize the wings that wrap around both him and Bucky like a shield, feathers strong but flexible, meant to bend without breaking. He moves slow, guiding Bucky through the process, most of his focus on how he forms them.

And then he starts letting everything go. The wings fade, the cloud layer thins even more until there's obvious patches in it. This is the first time that Sam's done this with a broodmate, with someone who he already has as strong of a connection as he does with Bucky. When he lowers his defenses to let Bucky in, to give him an idea of how Sam's mind feels without them - it's immediately deeper than he's ever done before.

Sam's mind isn't quiet. It's alive, warm and vibrant even with its steadiness, a sense of confidence and security in knowing who he is without ever forgetting the journey that he took to get there - but there's an undercurrent of something else. An echo of what had once been chaos, something dark and empty and hollow that's always there. Never gone, but faded, learned to live with even if he sometimes struggles with complete acceptance.

And slowly his mind is obscured again, as he focuses on bringing the clouds back. ]

[At first, the swirl of color seems chaotic, but Bucky does his best to pay attention to the details. The clouds glimmer to life, outlined like a target in a mission briefing. Except, instead of blood red haloes, Sam's mind is painted with the shades of the dawn after a long night. Every swatch of rose and lavender is filled with strength, each purposeful, unlike Bucky's hastily assembled hovel of frosted brick and barbed wire. Those don't make him feel strong. Instead, they remind him of his most powerless, of long years spent locked behind amber glass.

He can't quite shake the chill that trails in his presence, but he continues to observe how Sam visualizes his disappearing in the mist of pinks.

Familiar wings sprout around Sam and Bucky doesn't fight them. They fold around him and Sam both, burying him deeper in Sam's head, further from the frozen wastelands of Siberia. He sinks deeper into Sam than he ever thought possible. Like fireworks on a warm summer night with the salt of the ocean on the air, he thinks. Like Brooklyn. Very much alive and blazing bright and Bucky can't help but think it beautiful. Moreso than that dawn after the night, than the first breath of air after a long swim.

Beneath it all, though, is that quiet darkness that Bucky is far more familiar with; however, its brine doesn't sour the vibrant play of colors. When he thinks of moving closer, of staying longer, is when the clouds gather, this time gently nudging against him.

With some measure of reluctance, he slides back to his own mind. The cold is somehow more biting now, the ongoing blizzard picking up now that he's returned. ]

[ There's a faint sense of something that might almost be protest as Bucky slips from his mind, and though the reluctance he feels might be an echo of Bucky's, he knows it's still his own. He more than doesn't mind Bucky being that far into his head - and it ain't just because he could feel Bucky's reaction to his mind.

He sends Bucky out with a lingering sense of warmth, something to take with him - the brush of feathers against his cheek, fingers through his hair and the faint press of Sam's forehead against Bucky's. ]

( You know your way in now, huh? You're always welcome. ) [ His clouds are opaque enough for it to be clear that he means it. And now would be the part where he goes into Bucky's head to help him put into place what he just saw - but that was a lot for both of them, and he still remembers Bucky's reluctance to have Sam in his head. He'll leave it there, for now. ] ( When you're working on yours, think about what makes you feel safe. )

You’re a stranger to me (open);

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