station72 | semi-open;

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.]

Threaded | Flat

[ 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.]

cap trio

nightmares {sam}

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

open {guests}