station72 | semi-open;

Entry tags:

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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.]

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[ Sam's focus on their connection is almost instantaneous, the moment he feels Bucky consciously thinking of him. It might not be open quite as wide as it'd been on Waypoint, but he never did really repair his shields with Bucky, and he's honestly not even sure he could.

Bucky sending his location would be more than enough to get Sam moving - if Bucky wants him, he'll always be there - but the panic means it's quicker than he might have otherwise. The panic brings an instinctive response across their mental link: the sensation of slow, steady breathing and the feeling of fingers laced together. ]

( I'll be right there. )

[ He can feel the shape of Steve's connection, too, so he sends it to both of them. It's not the first time the three of them have come together like this, and with the symbiote's enhancements to his speed, it's not long before he's at the Gardens. ]

[Since coming out to the gardens, Bucky hasn't slept much. Despite knowing the benefits of sleeping, despite the safety of his companions, he can't bring himself to shut his eyes, to face the slabs of amber glass in his mind. But even a modified weapon falls to exhaustion same as any other person. By the third 'night' as the lights dim, Bucky struggles to keep his eyes open. His bed roll is too comfortable to ignore and the weight of his sleepless nights too heavy.

He drifts off before he's aware of closing his eyes and he finds himself staring down a winding forest road, motorcycle humming underneath him. He knows this road, he's been briefed on his extraction target: serum in the trunk of Howard Stark's car. No witnesses.

No witnesses hums in his ears as he drives, as he swings a metal fist through glass and squealing metal shrieks through the silence. He knows what happens next; no matter how many times he sees it in his mind, their fates never change. His flesh and blood fingers close around Howard Stark's lapels.

Sergeant Barnes? Howard Stark asks, soon silenced by a curled metal fist that breaks bones, shatters eye sockets, and reduces his target to a pulp. Behind him a voice sobs and the Weapon-- Bucky-- eases one witness back into the driver's seat. The other, he curls his knuckles around, silences cries of agonies with fingers that crush. Howard and Maria. 1991.

Howard's eyes stare into nothing as Maria's go blank.

And Bucky wakes up, jacknifes from his bedroll to spill out of the tent, nerves shrieking as he moves.

He killed them. He killed them like he killed hundreds of others, like he tried to kill Sam on the Waypoint, like he tried to kill Steve in the glass belly of a gunship. The urge to run again digs under his skin, slices through logic and emotion alike to the amber core surrounded by swirling snow.

He shouldn't be here. A child was dead. Howard and Maria were dead, but a deadly weapon continued to walk and breathe.]

[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.]

[The Gardens aren't large enough that he could ever hope to truly isolate himself from the rest of the Nest. The voices that clamor in his head seem quieter, but none have come across the trio camped out in a grove of trees. Not until now, that is. Bucky glances up at the sound of crunching soil, his nerves worn and strung tight but still very much alive and well.

They have company.]

[ Sam's own sleep has been... hit or miss. There's been moments that could almost be fun, sure, sharing stories around the campfire and getting away from the drama that comes with living with the rest of the Nest. But Sam carries his own guilt, and Bucky's restlessness hums under his skin. It's hard to settle when he knows Bucky can't bring himself to close his eyes - but he doesn't want to push. He gets the feeling it was hard enough for Bucky to ask for this, to take refuge with the two of them instead of running off on his own.

So he offers support the best way he can, quiet and wordless, braids Bucky's hair, and outloud he sasses the hell out of him. When Bucky drifts off to sleep, so does he.

And when Bucky dreams - so does Sam.

He'd read the files they'd gotten on the Winter Soldier while they were looking for him, and he's seen some of what's in Bucky's head, but those weren't memories disguised as a nightmare. Those weren't first person, and he didn't feel every moment amplified by the absolute blankness of mind, the focus on nothing but the mission.

Sam jolts awake as Bucky does. He reaches automatically to grab for his challenge coin, fingers curled hard around the metal as he counts his breathing. 'My name is Sam Wilson. It's 2017. I'm on a space station in the middle of god knows where. Steve and Bucky are here.

I am not the Winter Soldier.'

That last one is a little different from his usual recitation of facts to ground himself after a nightmare, but right about now, he needs it. After a few moments, when the foreign nightmare fades and he comes back to himself, Sam pushes himself up to follow Bucky out.

He doesn't even need their connection to be able to figure out what's going through Bucky's head right now, but he can pick up on it anyway. ]

They always like that?

[Behind him, Bucky can hear Sam's mantra, but there's no comfort to be found in it now. He is not Sam Wilson and he is the Winter Soldier. He is the one who dimmed the lights in Howard and Maria's eyes in 1991. Except he can still see them, still see the halo of dim light over the smoking hood of the car. Dirt crunches under his boots and he wonders if he ever got away, if he's walking on that road again with death. He doesn't do that anymore, his brain scrambles to provide, but here he is in the woods, along a back road, walking toward the car again.

But then the feathers at the ends of his braids scratch against his cheek and Bucky blinks. The smoking hood fades into the darkened shadows of the gardens, the cries of Maria Stark quiet and go silent.

He's on the Station. Steve and Bucky--- no, Steve and Sam are here. Steve, so small and fragile, and Sam, so willing to take knocks for a weapon parading around as a man.

He can't stay here. His instincts scream in his veins to runrunrun, but Sam's voice echoes in the otherwise silent gardens. That's why they were out here, because he needed to try, because he wanted to try.

The better question is 'when aren't they like that' but Bucky's too busy catching his breath to answer. It doesn't matter. He deserves the nightmares, deserves the faces that stare out from amber glass, deserves the crushing guilt and panic that fight for control in the wake of death.]

[ One of the dangers of being too much in each other's heads, shared nightmares. It's not the first time it's happened with Sam, but it was probably the most intense - and Sam's not sure if that's because of their brood bond or just because he and Bucky have been completely inside each other's heads.

It doesn't matter, really, because Sam'd be out here the same even if he'd just heard Bucky waking up from his nightmare.

Bucky'd wanted to try. He is trying, and hell but Sam's grateful for that. He doesn't really know how to tell Bucky that he doesn't think he can do this without him, not with what he can feel pouring off Bucky in waves. Of course, he figures some part of Bucky might know that, seeing as Sam can't exactly hide it from him - but they don't gotta talk about it, at least, when Bucky's caught up in guilt and fear and panic.

He knows how well it goes talking with Bucky about what he deserves even on good days, let alone after a nightmare like that with everything else going on. So he stays quiet there, for the moment, and instead holds out his hand, fingers splayed in invitation.

Breathe with me, he offers, a silent impression across their bond.

Then maybe they can talk about that willing to take knocks for a weapon shit. ]

[Bucky knows the moment Sam has extended his hand; with the brood link blown so wide open it's sometimes difficult to remember he only has the one arm. Yet, Bucky doesn't immediately accept the offered comfort. He deserves this and worse, deserves his stomach trying to eat its way up his throat, deserves the live wire planted beneath his skin, searing his nerves. What he most definitely doesn't deserve is to be comforted. He caused those deaths. He killed Howard and Maria Stark, nearly killed Steve and Sam.

And now someone else was dead while the weapon lived.]

( Yeah. You did. ) [ It's a simple, easy acknowledgement, no qualifiers. It was Hydra behind every one of the people who died over the years, but it was Bucky's hands that killed them. He's the one who gets to live with the memories. Telling Bucky that it's not his fault, no matter how true it is - it doesn't change that. ] ( It ain't the same - but I know what it's like to feel guilty being alive when others are dead. )

[ He stares down at his hand between them for a long moment, then looks back up to watch Bucky. ]

( Will you look at me? )

[ Being outside the brood leaves Steve a step behind Sam and Bucky when the message flares in his mind, Bucky's panic setting his chest alight and shooting down his arm, the mark of his pencil suddenly changing course as though he'd just hit a bump. ]

( On my way. ) [ His response comes with the sensation of a third hand reaching for theirs, the last leg of a tripod.

He tucks pencil and pad under his arm before moving down the halls to meet them. ]

Edited 2017-06-13 07:58 (UTC)

[Bucky dives deeper into the gardens before he can really stop himself, even as Sam and Steve both send confirmation that they're on their way. He does his best to ignore the sensation of being cornered--- the reminder of Bucharest heats up his throat--- and to instead accept the mental impressions Sam and Steve send back his way.

But someone's dead and the situation calls too closely to the end of a mission to be ignored. Runrunrun sings under his skin as he continues to move.]

[Part of what Bucky really likes about Sam is his lack of false platitudes. Telling Bucky it isn't his fault that dozens, hundreds are dead won't resurrect them, won't ease the grief of families affected. Sam isn't afraid to address the truth and lay it in the open and doesn't hide behind half-truths to save feelings.

Perhaps he knows better than ever what Bucky is, who Bucky is, and what he's done. For a moment, Bucky wonders if he turns, if Sam will see him for the broken weapon he is and leave.

Bucky's heart chokes his throat as it thrums painfully in his veins and he turns with a measure of reluctance. Sam's hand is still stretched between them, offering comfort and companionship. Two things he doesn't deserve. The feathers in his braids scrape against his cheeks and he's reminded of a third thing he doesn't deserve. The list builds from there.]

[ The echo of Bucky's instinct to move hums in Sam's veins, for a moment almost overtaking him. But he can feel the sensation of Steve's hand in his, grounding him back to himself. He remembers Bucharest from the other side, remembers trying to chase Bucky down in Waypoint, and that second one makes him slow his own pace.

He stops in a part of the Garden that's reasonably well hidden, leaning against the strange bark of an alien tree. It'd worked better last time they were on the Station letting Bucky name a rendezvous spot. ]

( You're okay, sunshine. Where should we meet? )

[ There's a time and place for telling Bucky that it's not his fault, Sam believes that. But only focusing on that, adding it in every time they talk about this - it's too easy. It'd be nice, if it could erase all of this.

But it won't. Sam learned that first hand, that sometimes it's just gotta be acknowledged.

He waits, chest tight despite his slow and steady breathing, until Bucky turns to look at him. There's a part of him that wants to take Bucky's hand, to try to ground him here, but he settles for having Bucky's attention. For being able to meet his eyes. ]

( You are not a weapon anymore. You're a person, and part of being a person means having to deal with the shit you've done in the past. Because you can't change what you did, no matter how terrible it was - and I ain't gonna try to lie to you there. But you can change this. The road you got ahead of you is gonna be hard as hell, but it's not gonna be one you ever gotta go down alone. )

[ 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. ]

[Bucky stares over at Sam, unable to hide behind his hair for the braids holding it back. However, he drops his gaze to the dirt when Sam's reply first comes. He's never stopped being the weapon. Not after Berlin, not even after the Waypoint and the hope that followed them back to the Station. There's no stopping the Soldier when he emerges, no defense against his powers misfiring--- not really--- or the words.

He deserves to be alone for the rest of his days. He deserves the fear and anxiety taking over, running his heart through his ears.]

[ Sam shakes his head when Bucky looks away, when he can feel Bucky's anxiety creeping back up, and for a moment, he switches to speaking out loud. This time he adjusts it, just a little. ]

You are not only a weapon anymore.

[ His words are quiet, and his tone could almost have been neutral if it won't for the echo of determination underlying them. Sam can be there for Bucky as much as possible, he can show him how to ride through panic attacks and bring himself back flashbacks, can fight with him when the Soldier surges up again - but when it comes to nightmares and guilt and all that deeper emotional shit, that's all gonna have to be Bucky right now.

There's nothing that either of them can do with that until Bucky starts seeing himself as a person more than he does as a weapon. Eventually - eventually maybe Bucky won't see himself as a weapon at all, but Sam's got a feeling that's a long time coming. ]

( You want me to give you an itemized list of reasons why, I got no problem sitting your ass down and arguing it. )

[Bucky glances at Sam, brows furrowed at his spoken words. He doesn't understand what the difference is between that and his previous response. Why say it again? Instead, his anger ignites alongside the panic, blooms into life with the fuel of his nightmares. Maria's face rises to the forefront of his mind and then her son's when he found out.]

Stop it! [He shouts aloud, voice heavy as he tries to catch his breath. But he can't. He can't breathe. His heart is about to burst out of his chest. A hundred different faces join Maria's, all silenced by his hands, the weapon's.]

[ That's another thing that he'll have to explain, then, to try to make it clear that Sam doesn't expect Bucky to be perfect, that he gets that it ain't gonna be like flipping a switch and now he's completely a person - because Sam's not gonna stop.

But he's not a complete jackass. As much as he likes seeing Bucky show any kind of emotion, even anger - maybe especially anger, because Sam kind of thinks that of all the emotions, anger about what was happening to him and joy in anything at all were probably two of the ones stamped out the most relentlessly - he's not gonna sit there and do nothing about all that panic.

He focuses on his own breathing, steady and slow, counting in time with each inhale and exhale, and there's a wordless encouragement across their connection to breathe with him. Part of him wants to fall back, switch to just focusing on grounding to keep Bucky here and out of his nightmare, it's just - he can't resisting pushing, just a little more. He's always pushed Bucky, maybe more than he should, but here they are.

If Bucky's actually telling him to stop, he's not gonna refuse, but he'll still question it. ]

Why?

I... don't know.

[Bucky's breath continues to catch in his throat as his heart hammers in his ears. He tries to simultaneously breathe with Sam as push him away. He doesn't deserve the assurance Sam's presence promises, but the programming hums, reminds him that weapons don't get a say. Confusion joins the mix of emotion and Bucky finds that he doesn't have a solid answer for Sam, though he should. He owes Sam so much, after everything that's happened. After yanking him down onto the deck of a gunship, after wrenching one week off and kicking him out into open air, after throwing him by his face into the dark, after fighting him again and again on Concordia and the Waypoint.

Bucky doesn't deserve Sam.

He reaches up to the braids to start pulling them apart. He's nothing more than a weapon and weapons don't get braids or feathers.]

Edited 2017-06-18 14:55 (UTC)

You don't gotta have an answer.

[ Half the time Sam asks people questions, he doesn't expect them to really know - it's just something to think about. But he doesn't get the chance to say any of that, because he can feel Bucky's confusion rising, can feel him starting to get stuck in all the ways he hurt Sam over the years.

This time Sam reaches out, trying to take Bucky's hand and lace their fingers together at the same time as he widens their connection enough that he can come more purposefully across it, warmth spilling out between them. ]

( Stay with me, sunshine, okay, I got one more question for you. )

[Sam's fingers reach up and curl in his, crushing feathers in their grip and Bucky shakes his hand. No, no, don't touch him. He's too dangerous; he's a weapon. Wrenching his hand free allows one of the folded feathers to drift to the ground. That's his fault. It's all his fault. There are so many dead because of him. If Sam gets too close, he'll end up the same way and Bucky can't stomach the thought of losing his broodmate.]

No. [Shit. He knows how this ends, how directly disobeying any request will send the fire through hid veins but he doesn't want to listen.]

[ Damn it Bucky.

His continued insistence on pulling away to protect Sam - despite that Sam's pretty sure he's made it clear that it's the exact opposite of what he wants - is frustrating as hell. But at the same time, Sam finds it hard to complain about anytime Bucky challenges the programming.

Any time he asserts himself and makes a choice, especially a refusal, is good, even if it's personally irritating.

Sam pulls his hand away, but he stops even trying to keep their connection closed. He doesn't know if it's gonna be as bad this time as it was last time, but he's ready. ]

Okay, man, okay.

[If Bucky was struggling to breathe before, his efforts have doubled as the first searing pulses of the programming blaze through him. In a matter of seconds, his skin has heated up as the familiar chemical burn eats through his defenses. He won't let himself run this time, he tells bimself, though his mental voice has become increasingly muddled as the snow in his mind melts. Sam's silhouette swims in his vision, sweat dripping into his brow.

But he deserves it, he reminds himself as his limbs weaken and phantom pain snakes up his left arm. He... he...

He needs cold He needs something cold.]

[ Fuck, no, this does not get much better the second time around.

Anger surges through him - not hot, indignant fury, but something colder, something deeper, and for a moment he wishes he'd been a little more proactive about killing every damn Hydra agent he ever found. But he lets it go, because that kind of thing ain't gonna help here.

Bucky might not want to run from what's happening to him, but Sam isn't ever going to be able to let him suffer through this alone.

He focuses more on their connection, leaving everything else behind to let himself completely in Bucky's mind. Just like last time, he throws up his own defenses, trying to add them to Bucky's - trying as best as he can to flood them with cold. ]

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Page 1 of 3

semi-open;

cap trio

nightmares {sam}

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

open {guests}

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sorry for the delay! (suicide stuff here too)

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