![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
i made a wish under the bloodshot sky (closed)
CHARACTERS: Sam and Bucky; closed
WHERE: The Red Coast
WHEN: DAY 040 night
SUMMARY: The programming tells Bucky to poison himself, so he does.
WARNINGS: self-poisoning (non-SI), blood, violence, drowning
In the depths of his isolated place in the barracks, Bucky can hear the mental flurry of activity during the fire, but knows he can’t help. Instead, he allows himself to fall deeper into his despair, into the depths of his guilt. His only memory from the incident- Sam’s neck bursting open, bright red blood spraying with each pump of his heart- offers little relief from the weight clinging to his soul. After that, his next memory arrives in the form of the new host, Rogue, with wide eyes and a red throat.
But the programming doesn’t care about either of those. No, it focuses on the mission, on the task of reviving another downed soldier. That failure rises above the others, tearing into Bucky at his foundation. Worthless, useless failure. Bucky steals out of his hiding place from time to time to forage for plants that no animal or native touched during their travels. As it turns out, that leaves a moss that collects on the rocks near the shore. He gathers a good handful before retiring to his isolated place.
It takes a long hour to fight the programming, only to fail in his misery and guilt and find himself devouring the handful of moss in one go. His body screams as he swallows down the mush. There’s no choice in the matter. He failed. The Soldier failed.
He sits in the corner of his barricaded room as the poison burns through his chest and stretches out to his limbs. Pain is nothing new to Bucky, but still brings up bad memories of HYDRA. There are reasons he doesn’t like eating foreign flora and fauna and this is the primary one; he’s been poisoned too many times to ever feel comfortable.
After several minutes of that burning pain, his vision begins to blur, leaving trails and halos when he turns his head so he closes his eyes to prevent the inevitable dizziness.
When he opens his eyes, he’s no longer in the barracks. Instead, his nose fills with the scent of steel, rust, and gunpowder. A heavy chill weighs down his clothes, damp and stuck to his skin as he steps deeper into the familiar depths. Under his feet, snow crunches and behind him branches twist and tangle into thick brambles that arc up into the frozen sky.
Before him, the jade door slides open and the stench of rust multiplies by a hundredfold. He knows this smell, recognizes it now. He should have since he arrived.
Death. He can taste it on his lips as he descends further, opening the gate to the elevator that brings more dread with it. In a blink, Bucky finds himself back where he thought he escaped, deep in the frozen earth. But he isn’t alone. Pierce stands there, steel blue eyes like a hawk. Bucky’s shoulders straighten, his heart quickens, and his stomach churns. That’s right. He never escaped, he never got out.
Handlers stand at his right and left, barrels pressed to his shoulders, and so he moves forward. There’s no chair that he can see and instead a tank sits low to the ground. He remembers this test.
Get in, echoes Pierce’s voice, but his lips don’t move.
He doesn’t have a chance to comply because the guns at his back shove him and he all but falls forward into the water. Before he can take a breath, the lid slams shut over him, bolted down with a whine and Bucky can’t get enough momentum to crack the glass.
When he looks down for another way out, though, something curls around his ankle. Fingers. Maria Stark. And then Howard. And a dozen others and the water looks more like wine.
WHERE: The Red Coast
WHEN: DAY 040 night
SUMMARY: The programming tells Bucky to poison himself, so he does.
WARNINGS: self-poisoning (non-SI), blood, violence, drowning
In the depths of his isolated place in the barracks, Bucky can hear the mental flurry of activity during the fire, but knows he can’t help. Instead, he allows himself to fall deeper into his despair, into the depths of his guilt. His only memory from the incident- Sam’s neck bursting open, bright red blood spraying with each pump of his heart- offers little relief from the weight clinging to his soul. After that, his next memory arrives in the form of the new host, Rogue, with wide eyes and a red throat.
But the programming doesn’t care about either of those. No, it focuses on the mission, on the task of reviving another downed soldier. That failure rises above the others, tearing into Bucky at his foundation. Worthless, useless failure. Bucky steals out of his hiding place from time to time to forage for plants that no animal or native touched during their travels. As it turns out, that leaves a moss that collects on the rocks near the shore. He gathers a good handful before retiring to his isolated place.
It takes a long hour to fight the programming, only to fail in his misery and guilt and find himself devouring the handful of moss in one go. His body screams as he swallows down the mush. There’s no choice in the matter. He failed. The Soldier failed.
He sits in the corner of his barricaded room as the poison burns through his chest and stretches out to his limbs. Pain is nothing new to Bucky, but still brings up bad memories of HYDRA. There are reasons he doesn’t like eating foreign flora and fauna and this is the primary one; he’s been poisoned too many times to ever feel comfortable.
After several minutes of that burning pain, his vision begins to blur, leaving trails and halos when he turns his head so he closes his eyes to prevent the inevitable dizziness.
When he opens his eyes, he’s no longer in the barracks. Instead, his nose fills with the scent of steel, rust, and gunpowder. A heavy chill weighs down his clothes, damp and stuck to his skin as he steps deeper into the familiar depths. Under his feet, snow crunches and behind him branches twist and tangle into thick brambles that arc up into the frozen sky.
Before him, the jade door slides open and the stench of rust multiplies by a hundredfold. He knows this smell, recognizes it now. He should have since he arrived.
Death. He can taste it on his lips as he descends further, opening the gate to the elevator that brings more dread with it. In a blink, Bucky finds himself back where he thought he escaped, deep in the frozen earth. But he isn’t alone. Pierce stands there, steel blue eyes like a hawk. Bucky’s shoulders straighten, his heart quickens, and his stomach churns. That’s right. He never escaped, he never got out.
Handlers stand at his right and left, barrels pressed to his shoulders, and so he moves forward. There’s no chair that he can see and instead a tank sits low to the ground. He remembers this test.
Get in, echoes Pierce’s voice, but his lips don’t move.
He doesn’t have a chance to comply because the guns at his back shove him and he all but falls forward into the water. Before he can take a breath, the lid slams shut over him, bolted down with a whine and Bucky can’t get enough momentum to crack the glass.
When he looks down for another way out, though, something curls around his ankle. Fingers. Maria Stark. And then Howard. And a dozen others and the water looks more like wine.