You’re a stranger to me (open);

[bracchium]

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???}

Comments

[bracchium]

[Bucky's expression brightens at the compliment and even more so when he notices the baseballs. He hasn't so much as seen a baseball in forever. They were young the last time they played, he thinks, trying to bring up a sun-bleached memory slick with sweat in a fenced-in alley in Brooklyn. His arms slung over Steve's shoulders, laughing about something, maybe a runner slipped on some fresh puddles when he wasn't looking. He remembers being soaked to the bone in mud and grime and scaring some poor dame who happened upon the wild crew.

For a moment, Bucky's quiet, relishing the briny taste of the memory before he blinks and he's back.]

Aren't any girls watching.

[He offers a cheeky grin as he walks over to the mound of balls, a bit of a bounce to his step.]

[decommission]

[ A shared memory. Steve looks on from the edges, tastes the sweat and smells the hot asphalt from afar, the sound of laughter tickling his ears (red, at the time, the weight of an arm slung over his shoulder as he playfully shoves Bucky away).

Before he knows it the memory is already flickering away again, his clothes dry and clean, but the image of another Bucky is super-imposed on the one in front of him for a split second. His half grin widens a bit, and he lets out a huff at the comment. ]

Maybe you oughta warm up first before you go looking for a pretty audience. [ Teasing, like a jostle to the shoulder. He gives his bat another swing, backing up a few paces. ]

[bracchium]

[Bucky chuckles at Steve's response, feeling so much younger than he has in years. For a moment, the wear of seven decades on his body seems to disappear as he picks up the first ball from the mound. It's only when he shifts to adjust his grip when he remembers the lack of an arm on his left side. He pauses before continuing, propping the ball against his stomach to help adjust his grip, fingers moving along the seams.

Thinning his profile like a pro, he realizes how ridiculous he must look with just the one arm, but that doesn't stop him. Steve's seem in in worse and, luckily, there isn't anyone else here to comment.

The first pitch is terrible. As soon as the laces leave his fingertips, he knows it's going straight into the wall behind Steve, way over the poor kid's head. Yeah, he might be a touch rusty.]