worthallthis | The Last Voyages: IC Inbox

That one takes Steve a second, but - well, there aren't so many girls with purple hair, at least, so, "Entrapta? I think that's the one. She does like robots a lot," Steve admits. "I think she knows what she's doing, but she can be a little overzealous. Don't let her talk you into something you don't want. You can tell people no."

At least, people that aren't Steve, because Bucky seems okay with that one. But either way, between Bucky's demeanor and the arm and the it's fine, Steve can kind of get that the idea of repairs is not going over well, and... he can understand, even if he doesn't like it.

A few seconds later, he realizes he's back to doing that thing where he's staring at Bucky like a wounded puppy again; he manages to stop, taking a slow breath and asking, "You been finding everything you do need okay?"

He waves that off with, "She didn't touch me," and the strongly implied meaning that she isn't going to touch him, though the conversation had actually be interesting, and he kind of wants to see all her robots. But on the whole, so far, nobody has actually been... giving any actual orders, so his ability to say "no" hasn't really been tested much-- and anyone who's come close to touching him has been quickly shied away from.

He eyes Steve sidelong again at the question. And the break from the staring. He supposed is anyone's going to stare at him, it's probably better to be this guy than everyone who's been doing it for as long as he can remember, but he'd still rather not be stared at period, Jesus. As for the question, there isn't much he needs, and people have either been surprisingly (suspiciously) helpful with the few things he does (like food) or surprisingly not helpful (like things to fucking do). He'd really kind of like some orders, just to keep from having to spend so much time doing absolutely nothing. And Steve made it pretty clear he's not going to be giving any of those.

But there is something he needs to know more about. "What do you know about cats. There's a blonde woman who. Wants to give me one."

Steve definitely relaxes at hearing that Entrapta didn't seem to do anything Bucky didn't want; he doesn't want to treat Bucky as unable to advocate for himself, he just wants to make sure that Bucky feels comfortable enough to do it.

The question about cats actually throws him a little, enough that he starts to say, "I mean, you already ha-"

But then he catches himself. Bucky doesn't have a cat, Steve just has a cat that used to belong to Bucky. (Or, as Bucky would've said, didn't actually belong to anyone.) He refocuses on the question Bucky did ask, and answers that: "I know some. They usually seem pretty happy to be left alone. You have to make sure they have food and water and a litter box, maybe a soft place to sleep. But they don't seem to mind small spaces too much and they don't need to be walked or anything."

And then, "Do you want a cat?"

His eyes narrow at the slip. For a beat he considers ignoring it, but, only a beat. "I already what, Rogers." He can guess. He can fucking guess that this "other him" had a goddamn cat, and somehow... left it behind here? That was kind of fucked up of "other him". You don't do that to something that loves you.

What. The fuck does he know about love, Christ. His brain is a dumpster fire, sometimes. All the time.

But he still wants to hear Steve say it.

For a second, Steve just wants to keep his damned mouth shut. He's sure Bucky knows what he means.

But he doesn't keep his mouth shut. Of course he doesn't. "You had a cat. I mean - when you were here before. His name is Thomas Paine. I still have him, but - you don't have to take him back. Whether or not you get any other cats. I'll make sure he's taken care of. But you can have him if you want."

Steve tries to smile. "He always put up with you better than he put up with me, but I think he's doing okay with me and Lark."

"You" had, he says again. "You" had a cat. Because there's apparently a version of him that did in fact have something that loved him, that he actually knew what to do with, that he didn't smash or shoot or--

It's hard to believe, honestly. And at it being said so frankly, just like he'd fucking asked for, there's that urge to hit something again. It comes a lot, lately. (It's always come a lot.) Perfect example of why it couldn't be possible that this "other him" was remotely like him. "Other him" probably didn't have the urge to punch people, walls, whatever was in range every time he got a little upset.

Making his hands into fists, he turns further away from Steve, shoulders hunched up in frustration. "I'm not. Him. It probably wouldn't be safe with me." It probably wouldn't even like him.

Edited (typo) 2020-08-11 19:52 (UTC)

Well, shit. That was obviously the wrong thing to say. "Sorry," Steve apologizes, "Sorry, no. You're right. I mean - that you're not him. I shouldn't have put it that way." It's why he'd tried to stop speaking in the first place, for all the good that had obviously done.

But, "Not that a cat probably wouldn't be safe with you. I think it would. I mean, you've gone a whole five minutes without punching me in the nose, so - that's like going five years without hurting a cat."

It's a terrible joke, possibly made more terrible by the fact that Steve can see the way Bucky's tensed, even turned away as he is. "I'm sorry," he says again, running a hand through his hair. "I really don't think a cat would be unsafe with you. But the point is that you feel safe."

Don't feel too bad, Steve. He did ask, after all, and he knew he wasn't going to like the answer.

He's not sure he likes any of those answers, either. "How'm I supposed to know what safe even feels like," he bites off. Feeling ill, remembering again what hit-Steve looks like and hating every line of the mental image, he glares at the floor and adds, "And I said I wasn't gonna hit you." There may not be a lot of decisions he's great at making, but once he makes them, he's not going back on them.

It may be that he's missed the point of the joke. Or even that it technically was a joke.

Well, that is a question if ever there was one. Steve's quiet for a long moment, because he doesn't actually think the Winter Soldier ever felt safe, probably. And that just makes him angry, and... angry doesn't help Bucky. So he's got to not get angry, or sad, or any of it. He's got to shove it down and think of a way to answer the question, or at least try.

What he comes up with is, quietly "It... kinda feels like knowing someone else is on watch. Someone you - think is competent."

Since someone you trust is also probably pretty foreign. Thanks for nothing, HYDRA.

And as for the rest, Steve admits, with a little quiver of laughter, "I... wasn't expecting to hold you to that, if I made you mad. It's okay if you hit me. I'd rather you hit me than anyone else."

That is probably not a healthy or helpful thing to say, but he's already said it.

Got it in one. Safe is an incomprehensible term, at this point. Trust is even harder to fathom. All in all, that's not a bad descriptor, though-- he can... imagine that, almost. Like it's on the tip of his brain taunting him with the memory of the feeling. He spends several seconds focusing hard on it, as if that will help it show itself, but of course that never works, just leaves him with the beginnings of a headache.

He has no one he'd put on watch, anyway, so he supposes unhappily that it doesn't matter. "I said it. I'm sticking by it. I. Remember what you look like when I hit you." It's one of the few things he does have, still.

"Oh," is all Steve can say to that, for a moment, mostly because... well. It's kind of like one of those good-punches-to-the-gut feelings that he gets, sometimes.

He probably shouldn't be surprised. Not that Bucky will keep his word, nor that Bucky can remember that much, at least. He knows Steve's name, even if Steve won't pretend it's because he remembers anything more than his last mission briefing.

Yet.

He knows that can change.

"I healed all right, though," he adds, like that will be helpful. "I mean, plenty's happened to me since then, even. I'm good. You don't have to worry about my dumb face."

Yeah, "oh". At least feel secure in the fact that your buddy never wants to see that again, Steve. There's something important there, even if he doesn't entirely understand it himself.

(The fractured mental pictures of small, skinny Steve have been pored over obsessively, but they still don't make sense, having no context whatsoever so far. He's not even entirely sure if they're real, since he didn't get the chance to corroborate at the Smithsonian that Captain America did in fact used to look like a starving rat.)

"Yes, I can see you healed." That comes out kind of sarcastic, oops. He flexes his metal fist again with a little buzz, then asks, "How long. You said you had been here, on this ship. A long time. How long has it been since."

How long have you been here is not a complicated question at all. And yet still, Steve maybe waits a second too long to answer.

"On board the Barge? About six years. I got sent home once, without meaning to leave. And I went home for a while intentionally, after my inmate graduated. So it's 2016 at home. For me. But I've spent six years on the Barge, in addition to that."

Which probably still sounds more complicated than it should. "Time passes strangely, here. I don't even know if anybody really gets older. I guess it wouldn't surprise me, given everything else."

There's part of him that wants to ask how much of that time the "other him" was here, but the rest of him viciously squashes that part. It's like prodding at an open wound, and he knows it's a bad idea. Better to just let the body (the mind) do its thing without interference. The bleeding always stops. The potential lack of aging barely even registers. It's not like he has any real experience with aging anymore, except watching other people do it.

Time for the next big question: "How much of that were you a prisoner. An. Inmate."

Steve takes a slow breath on that one, before he has to admit, "Four years."

He's... not exactly proud of it, and not exactly ashamed of it. It's complicated all over again. But given that he would never leave Bucky here and given that he also still has zero desire to work for the Admiral, staying an inmate seems like the best option.

He also has no idea how to graduate, and he isn't sure he ever did.

"Most people aren't inmates that long," he feels the need to point out, because he doesn't think Bucky will by any means still be an inmate in four years. "Most graduate a couple of months to a year after they get assigned a permanent warden. I've had... three, but one was sent home against her will and one left voluntarily. Cal Kestis is my warden now. If you - ever needed someone to take me down or find me. Or revive me. Lark Tennant would, too."

That makes two of them who have no idea how to graduate. Or if they want to.

Some kind of benchmark for time is why he'd wanted to know, but he discovers to his annoyance that one year isn't really any easier to conceptualize than four years when you're used to counting existence as a span of days, a week at most. So he just nods, files that away, takes in the names, and... frowns. There is one thing he can conceptualize, in there, and he doesn't like it.

So he looks back in Steve's direction. "No one is fucking taking you down. The hell, Rogers."

There is something so bone-deep familiar in that reaction that despite the inappropriateness of it, Steve kind of ends up smiling.

Well. At least he can't really profess to often have appropriate reactions to things, so it's not really different than the usual.

But they have before seems like a poor argument in response, so Steve focuses on something else that's much more important: "Has anyone explained floods to you?"

Oh. He remembers that part of his conversation with... the other Steve... very clearly: metaphorical waters; you forget who you really are; you become someone else. He hasn't put together exactly why those things bother him so damn much, he is still missing too much of his own context, but they definitely bother him. A lot.

The arm whines a little, and expression slides back off into a safe blank look. "Yes. So you were. Someone else."

"Kind of? Sometimes. Not always." Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. It's hard to explain in simple terms, but worth trying: "Sometimes it's me, and I'm just acting differently - in a way I wouldn't. And sometimes it's not me, but a different version of me. Sometimes, it's probably hard to tell."

It's clear he doesn't like when this happens, but whether or not he likes it, he knows it's going to happen. "So, it's hard to... I mean, there's a saying. Never say never. I think that kind of applies?"

Great. So there is, in fact, a scenario where he might have to hit that face again. Fucking wonderful. "Right," he says, sounding tired. That also means the reverse could happen: Steve (or someone) needing to take him down. Not like that's a stretch to imagine, honestly. He can imagine lots of scenarios where he'd have to be taken down. ... he gets the feeling he may have imagined these scenarios at length, in the past, with great longing. Damn.

He doesn't even bother saying that aloud. Steve can probably guess. "Twice a month, he said. Is that right?"

Steve's mouth twists; he can definitely imagine that if he's trying to explain that someone might need to take him down, Bucky might be thinking the same thing.

He nods; "Yeah. Well - usually just once, but sometimes twice. And sometimes there are breaches. Those are - " Worse? Better? He honestly isn't sure, and ends up settling on, "different. You're definitely not you, then. You're someone else completely." Even though it feels like you've been that person your whole life.

But now they're finally at the point where Steve feels like he's got information he just can't keep withholding from Bucky. Even if this might go badly. So he pauses, regroups, glances up, trying to catch Bucky's eyes. "I know your trigger words. I wish I didn't, but I do." And he can't forget them. He's got a stupid eidetic memory, and he's tried asking people to erase them, and there's always some reason they can't. "No one else does. But - I do. I wanted you to know. Because I will never use them against you. I will never tell anyone else. As long as I'm me. I swear."

Eye contact is hard, sorry man. He's still half turned away, and it was never exactly encouraged at HYDRA to look your handlers in the eye. (Also tended to lead to him trying to attack said handlers, which was another reason to learn not to do it, given the punishments for that sort of thing.) The best Steve is going to get there is looking at his eyes, which are kind of focused sidelong on Steve's shoulder.

For a moment there's a frown of confusion. The American never had the Book. (What book.) The Americans never used the Words. (What words.) But the stupid goddamn target-- Steve-- Captain America-- knows the Words. Trigger words. He has. Trigger.

He loses pretty much everything else Steve says at the sudden overwhelming taste of rubber on his tongue, the on-fire after-twitches of a wipe, the confinement of restraints on both arms, emptiness and fear choking him-- a word, the feeling of something slotting into place painfully in his brain. He can't hear it. He can't tell what it is, he can't tell what it's doing, but it hurts and it's changing him and there's screaming somewhere deep inside and--

His brain recognizes it. He has trigger words. He has.

The frown turns into full-on terror and he crumples against the bookshelf he'd just lopped the corner off of with a hoarse scream, both hands at his head. So not restrained, now, but the feeling is still there, it's always going to be there, they're always going to be there--

He's completely forgotten Steve's standing there trying to talk.

Edited (all that and I forgot to change the icon) 2020-08-13 21:40 (UTC)

Steve should know better. He really should.

He should, but it doesn't matter. The second he sees the terror on Bucky's fact, the way he goes sideways into the bookshelf and the sound he makes, clutching his head -

It's ingrained. It's instinct. He doesn't even think before he's over on the other side of the room, crossing the distance between them practically in a single leap, arms reaching out with the intention of wrapping around Bucky, holding him, steadying him. "Shit - shit, Buck I didn't mean - whatever I - I'm sorry."

Whatever he said, it was wrong, and while he should maybe take a step back instead... he can't. He can't.

There's someone lunging at him, too fast too large too close too close tooclosetooclose.

He doesn't see who it is, doesn't hear the apologies, doesn't stop to think, he just lashes out with the metal arm, panting with fear and reaction to the flashback as much as the present. He's not in a brutally utilitarian cabin on a prison ship, he's in a bunker somewhere in Siberia, and the handler isn't there, didn't finish the sequence, just left him half-primed and hurting and terrified. And someone lunged at him.

Unless Steve is very quick on his feet, he's getting launched backwards into the wall by the door, from a metal forearm slammed into his ribs.

Steve might be normally quick on his feet, might even be willing to dodge something like that in a real fight. But he's not exactly paying attention to anything but Bucky's distress and the way it's knotting his own insides up, so when the arm swings out, it connects.

Even as he makes solid contact with the wall, Steve can't really say he's surprised. But he also isn't exactly discouraged, pushing away from the wall even as his head rings a little, taking a few steps forward again. That's... gonna bruise, but it's the farthest thing from his mind right now.

But maybe he's learned a little, because he doesn't reach out for Bucky again, but he also doesn't keep his distance, still closing what's left of it, step by step, hands up but not out (yet). "Bucky," he says. "Bucky, can you hear me?"

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cw: flashback + panic attack, sorry Steve

Steve is probably just going to make it worse lbr (up to you if any actual contact happens)

you earned this, Steve

no argument there