When it gets inside; [open]

[bracchium]

CHARACTERS: Bucky and whoever
WHERE: The Bearings
WHEN: Day :012-:014
SUMMARY: Bucky is back at the Bearings after a bit of an absence.
WARNINGS: Probably mentions of death, gore, violence, etc.



{ A :011 late/:012 early } [closed to Steve Rogers]

[Bucky's back! Almost immediately upon setting foot back in the Bearings, he makes a beeline for one of the rooms farthest from the common room. He's come in lugging a backpack over one shoulder, with a metal arm half-sticking out the top, and looks a little like a sewer rat dragged through a gutter or two. His brain sounds much the same. As soon as he's cleared the threshold of his room, he snaps the door closed and locks it less than a heartbeat later.

An hour allows him to take a quick shower and calm his head enough to attempt sleeping. However, the bed is entirely too soft after so many days curled up on the floor (and eventually a mat). He can't close his eyes for longer than a handful of heartbeats.

One by one, he's stealing the cushions from one of the couches in the common room in multiple trips a few minutes apart.]

-

{ B :012 - :014 } [open to all!]

[The first couple days, Bucky makes himself scarce. Though he doesn't ever leave the Bearings, he's not exactly a stable fixture in the common room. Occasionally, he collects some food to eat from kitchen or ventures out to grab a book. When he does make a prolonged appearance, he's settled at one of the tables, alternately writing in a small notebook weighted down by a coaster and tracing the textures on said coaster. From time to time, he doesn't do either and simply stares off into the distance, brows furrowed, only to furiously scratch more words into the page when he comes back to himself.

On the rare occasion, a heavy steel arm will sit beside him at the table.

His head hums slowly, not nearly as active and loud as his initial arrival, not so cluttered. Static simmers at the edges of his senses, threatening to boil over, but Bucky is at least trying not to broadcast everything everywhere.]

Comments

[bracchium]

[Bucky glances up at the sound of Steve's voice filling the silence. He stops for a moment, cushion in hand before nodding.]

Bed's too soft. [He can't get comfortable and the cushions remind him of Brooklyn and the Steve he sees before him. A Steve that's never seen war and hopefully never would, never seen a Bucky that leaves a wake of death behind him.

Being in the Bearings has lifted his spirits- the sense of belonging settled in deeper this time- so he speaks a little more.] Didn't we used to do this as kids?

[decommission]

[ There's a smile, one side of his mouth quirking upward and his head tilting just a bit. A bed that's too soft is almost an oxymoron for him (he doesn't know what it's like to sleep on rocks and dirt frosted with dust, curled up in trenches dug decades earlier). ]

Yeah, we did. [ All their conversations have been short and stilted before this, and Bucky's memories come out of him in questions for Steve to confirm, that yeah, he remembers that too. His tone is warm enough each time that the wistful edge threaded beneath it could easily be missed.

He steps toward the couch, lifting up the last cushion for him. Lets out a soft huff through his nose, an eyebrow raised. ] You sure you're gonna fit on these?

[bracchium]

[Sometimes, his memories are little more than streaks on the glass. Others are clear as day, though distant as if watched from someone else's perspective. He's never too sure if they happened to him or not or someone else, this Bucky that Steve knows and Bucky himself isn't too familiar with.

Steve standing beside him, helping him, resonates in every inch of his mind, drawing up hundreds of moments when they stood exactly like this.]

I'm taking all of them, aren't I? [The corner of his mouth quirks and his voice is an octave higher than his usual timbre.]

[decommission]

[ A flicker of surprise, eyebrows knitting together again - that's how stark the difference in Bucky's demeanor comes across to him. He owes Sam. Owes him a lot. After a split second his expression settles, another soft, lopsided smile as he starts walking toward the room Bucky's claimed.

Slyly: ]

Like I said - [ It's ribbing, close to that easy banter he's missed so keenly. Once close to the doorway he stops, switching gears. ] Those walls helping any?

[ The mental ones, the quick lesson Steve had given him on them back in Subspace: visualizing specific images and using them to block out what doesn't belong. Steve had done his best to wall in his own thoughts while they were trapped in close quarters, gun shy of making any kind of mental overtures after the fight in the street. Even at its most quiet, there's a slight hum to the floor, the press of minds clustered together, each capable of bleeding. ]

[bracchium]

[Bucky watches Steve, as his brows knit and then unknit, how ridges form and then smooth. When the smile returns with the additional ribbing, his own brightens a few watts and his breath shuffles in a sound that might be a distant relative to a chuckle. Side by side, they approach the door and inside there's already a couple cushions laid out on the floor beside the bed.]

Sometimes. [He's not entirely comfortable admitting it out loud and the brief glow in his face dims. Deep breath. Steve isn't looking for a weakness to exploit. The walls he builds up can't stand against a demanding presence that wants in, but they seem to keep out most polite people.] You hearing anything?

[The screaming, the static, he means. Everything he walks around with on a regular basis.]

[decommission]

[ He's aching for a familiar sound, soft as it is, for the presence of his friend that's been lacking in a way that turns close proximity turn into distance. The moment's there and gone in the time it takes Steve to open his mouth again and Bucky to answer. A shake of his head as he bends down to place the cushion next to the rest. ]

Not much. [ Close quarters make for quick lessons, and it's gotten surprisingly easy to keep his mind untangled from Bucky's. Like tuning a radio - if the sounds coming from it could be cold and sharp and cast in copper. Helps that if he ever had to wonder what his friend's mind would be like, these aren't the words he'd have used to describe it. Not before. ]

Glad you came back. [ Here, to the Bearings. ]

[bracchium]

[With a small nod of approval, Bucky follows Steve into his room and places his cushion likewise beside the others. His desk is already a mess with the sketches he brought back from Subspace, the pages weighed down by the steel arm sitting in the middle of them. His bed doesn't look much better and the cushions littering the floor don't add any glamour to the setting.

But his head is quieter, the tension in the air dramatically thinner than the closet he called a foxhole in Subspace. While he's not glad to be among so many people again, he doesn't miss being so tightly wound up.

For another beat or two, he watches Steve in silence, at the weight tugging at his shoulders; Steve's words and posture contradict each other and not in a way that resonates with his memories.

Curiosity gets the best of him.]

Why?

[So much effort was put into bringing him back here and now that he is, he's not sure it's worth it- to Steve at least.]

[decommission]

[ He lets out a breath through his nose, straightening on his feet. His gaze fixes on the cushions. ]

We're all supposed to be looking out for each other. [ A beat, then: ] Things went sideways on our first mission. Someone got killed. [ Guilt, for once not directed toward Bucky or their strained situation. ] The way we're all connected, you know - it hurts to suddenly lose someone like that, [ like losing a limb, he almost says, shaking his head instead ] - it hurts like hell for the people they're connected to, even if they've only just met. You saw it, folks get anxious when they don't know where you're turning in at night.

[ Both Sams had turned up at their run down door. Ilde, even Ren - they'd all come looking for Steve at some point with concern on their minds. He'd made it clear to each of them he couldn't come back alone, and they'd been forced to leave him be until now. ]

[bracchium]

[Bucky listens as he kneels down to line up the couch cushions and sits on them, never uite turning his back completely to Steve. At the mention of a death, his hand stills where it had previously been tugging his backpack toward his new bed. The concept of being so deeply interconnected unnerves him, but explains the sense of belonging that threatened to devour him whole. Steve doesn't have to mention losing a limb for Bucky to think it. He looks down to the empty air where his left hand should be, then past to the glimmer of the prosthetic he'd purchased a few days ago.

He's lost his arm twice now and his memories countless times, so he knows a thing or two about loss. Steve's description aligns with his experience and he thinks back to his brief discussion with Kylo Ren, about accepting his role in the Nest.

Perhaps he's depriving the others of a stable limb by running and hiding, robbing Steve of a support, too.

It's too much to think about and it sets his head buzzing again. Do your part soldier. Do your part and we'll do ours. Mission report.

He lays back on the cushions and exhaustion weighs heavier than ever. He hasn't slept in a couple days and, Winter Soldier or not, a man needs to sleep.]

Now they know.

[decommission]

[ Now they know. Heavy words, made even heavier by the weight of exhaustion that comes with them. Bucky lies down on his makeshift bed and all Steve can do is stand there dumbly for a minute. It's bee a hell of a week, processing in shifts and pieces just to get to this point. After being cramped up together for that long he ought to just leave the conversation at that, let Bucky try to get some sleep and go do the same for himself.

His mouth twists, head tilting to one side as his gaze hits the floor in front of him. Agitated with himself. ]

Mind if I take the bed?

[ His voice is low, measured, the sound of someone who's making himself ask when he knows he probably should just leave it. They're not ten years old and sleeping on the fire escape, they were living on the street for a week because one of them has been through hell and living with those demons in his head. More company isn't going to help that.

It's hard to ask, because he knows this is for himself. ]

[bracchium]

Go ahead.

[Bucky settles himself further on the cushions and shuts his eyes. He doesn't mind the company right about now, especially not Steve's. After several days cooped up with him, Bucky's become more acquainted with the other's stubbornness. Even if Bucky wanted him gone, he doubted Steve would leave.

Sleep. He needed sleep and every breath required more effort than the last.

Before he falls asleep in proper, though, he climbs back up to his feet to push a chair underneath the doorknob.]