bracchium | c o n t a c t

[ The flurry of mental activity in the early morning had started Steve awake, it was far later than usual when he finally dragged himself out of bed. Jessica's empty presence aches more and more each day, another missing limb. Ares puts the number of Hosts in a coma at three. How long before they ended up back in the Nesting Deck chambers? The thought of their bodies hooked up to tubes, sleeping for God knows how long makes his skin crawl.

But it's not the only distraction on his mind.

A day isn't long enough for Bucky's arrival to settle in his mind. His memory holds parts of their conversation with sharp clarity, erratic sensory input and spoken words haphazardly pieced together. He'd reject all of it if he could, but no version of him can hear that story and accuse Bucky of being a liar. No version of him could hear and see all that, and feel anything but horror and grief.

(he's eighteen again, walking home from his mother's funeral)

It's later in the day when he finally notices Bucky's absence. Doesn't worry him at first - he'd seemed, of all things, interested in the mission. Steve had been trying to do the same thing, walking the nicer districts this time and getting one of those tech tours. But hours pass and there's still no sign of him at the Bearings, his room looking like it was left in a hurry.

A train brings him to the same platform he'd exited with Lexa a few days ago, following a faint trail. For better or worse Steve's understanding of his mental abilities have increased slightly ever since the day he decided to wander through the roots of his Brood. At a distance it's not easy to hold, but he can follow the link as he walks through the streets of Subspace. Keeps his head down - might've been a good idea to bring someone else with him. A trio of young men size him up as he passes a boarded up building. ]

Edited 2016-05-30 04:48 (UTC)

[Throughout the day, Bucky moves from place to place until his mind finally starts to quiet. His memories of where he is come in bits, puzzle pieces dumped into his head. The first thing he does is buy a journal. Back in Bucharest, he’d kept notes on his memories as they came in; he couldn’t stand to lose them, not again. It’s much the same here on Concordia. His notes are meticulous and include as much detail as he can recall, but he returns to them to augment them throughout the day.

He’s not in Russia, he’s not hunting a target, he’s not waiting on evac. His name is Bucky and he’s come to Concordia on a recon mission. Steve’s here. Steve’s small again. Steve knows. Steve told him to imagine walls to keep people out and they were supposed to practice today. Except today is almost over and it’s taken him too long to get his head set on his shoulders again.

In the back of his mind, a beacon glows, like a radar, and moves closer, reaching out for something or someone. It’s reminiscent of the man from earlier in the day, but much more pure and bright; this isn’t a touch that frightens him, instead it harkens him to follow.

The Nest, he figures, someone sent to bring him in. They can’t have their operatives running off in the middle of the night in the middle of a mission, after all. It makes sense, but Bucky’s not about to go hurrying back into a room full of minds he can’t shut out.

Sucking in a breath, he tucks his new journal into his pack and shoulders it. His left sleeve has more or less been cut off underneath the jacket for ease of maneuverability. As he exits his temporary hovel, the beacon in his head doubles in strength, no longer a beckoning but a command. He follows it to a group of three men speaking in hushed tones before they pick up on the scent of easy prey. They step out from under the concrete lintel to tail their target. ]

[ They aren't quiet, a trio of heavy steps smacking against the concrete some meters behind him. The streets are lit with tall lamps and buzzing neon signs, hardly a car passes by as he quickens his steps a bit, ducking into a twenty-four hour convenience store.

He makes it to the door, a soft chime announcing his entrance. The cashier barely flicks his gaze away from the cracked holo-screen fixed into the wall behind the counter. Steve's hands shove into his pockets and he loiters near the back, eyeing the cases of carbonated drinks and beer, waiting out his pursuers.

As much as some people like to insist on the contrary, Steve actually doesn't enjoy getting beat up and/or mugged - the mess on Avera has instilled some caution in him. ]

[Bucky watches from the distance as a small silhouette tucks into a convenience store and the three punks pause in their pursuit to group up around the corner. They talk animatedly as Bucky makes up his mind to dispatch them before their prey walks into an ambush. He passes the convenience store door before stopping beside the trio.

The first of the gang glances up at Bucky's approach.] 'ey, what're you lookin' at?

[Rather than reply, he slings his pack from his shoulder to pull out a pen.]

Oi! You listenin'?

[ His quick exit was enough to distract him from the tension building nearby - ]

( ? )

[ The thread between them buzzes with a wordless question. Steve's still inside the shop but he's staring out the tall windows in the front, starting to make his way back to the door. The cashier gives him a scrutinizing once-over. ]

[A host. That's who went into the store, that was the beacon he'd followed. The buzzing connection distracts him from his task and when one of the trio steps closer to him, he acts on instinct. The pen in his right hand is thrust into the hollow of the throat of the one standing closest to him, not quite strong enough to pierce the trachea. A scream of pain fills the thoroughfare and Bucky straightens as the first stumbles back, hands clamouring about his neck.

Bucky follows up with a kick square to his chest and then the other two are on him in a heartbeat.]

[ The shout rings in his ears as he opens the door, the cashier now leaning over with counter with vague curiosity - before settling back in his seat. Not worth it. Fingerless gloves slip out of Steve's pockets, he nearly drops them in a hurried attempt to get them over his hands. ]

Hey!

[ The scuffle's already under way as he turns the corner. The first attacker is still choking, eyes watering and his hand pressed against the wall. Steve ignores him, barreling toward the pair that are ganging up on Bucky. His fighting technique still isn't up to par, but he's a bit stronger than he looks - and his gloves have built in tasers. One of Bucky's assailants turns to the sound of someone approaching. ]

[The buzzing in Bucky's brain intensifies at the shout behind him. Dammit. He'd wanted this fight to be done before the other host came out of the store. He'll have to juggle the two assailants to keep them off the newcomer. One of them turns in battle and Bucky pushes his brief advantage to grab the guy by the back of the neck and slam him down onto the street face-first.

He means to stop the other with his left arm, but as he raises it, he finds the empty sleeve hanging off his arm instead.]

[ Steve's forced to skid to an abrupt stop as the man hits the pavement. His thumb press down on his wrist (one, two, three) just in time to not-quite-block a blow to the left side of his head, knuckles pounding into the cartilage of his ear. His skull rings with bright points of light, neck twisting painfully, but his hand makes contact with an arm and the man drops to the pavement with a dull thud. ]

[Bucky stares up at his empty sleeve for a moment too long and then the other host is moving to block the hit meant for him. A crackle of electricity lights the assailant up and Bucky's climbing back to his feet to put down the last one. The guy's hands are still trying to wrap around the pen in his throat when Bucky reaches for him. His fingers curl about the other's neck as he brings up his knee. When both limbs come into contact, a similar crack of electricity sparks and drops the third to the ground.

Bucky's head is filled with a sudden emptiness, a vacuum sucking the last five minutes out of his head.]

[ His equilibrium is taking its time resetting, vision blurred and ear buzzing painfully. He staggers a bit, trying to settle his eyes on the downed men to determine whether or not they're breathing.

There's a bystander on the other side of the street watching. ]

Edited 2016-05-31 00:07 (UTC)

[Without Bucky in the driver's seat, his mind relies on the programming built by HYDRA. It asses the situation, the three downed enemies, one ally, and the rubberneck across the street. No witnesses. He plucks the pen from the throat of the guy in front of him and throws it like a knife before reaching over to try and heft Steve up to his feet. Back to the safehouse. Go, go, go.]

[ While an impressive throw for something that lacks any weight, the pen doesn't make its mark and the pedestrian decides to book it. Steve's wrenched back onto his feet to the sound of the guy who got his face smashed into the pavement groaning. It's hard to feel sorry for him - though there's definite relief flooding through Steve.

He grabs hold of Bucky's arm, unaware of the shift in him. ]

C'mon -

Edited 2016-05-31 00:40 (UTC)

[The groan from one of the assailants catches Bucky's attention. With Steve upright, Bucky steps forward to finish the job. Static buzzes in his head, undercut by calculations of force and easy locations to apply such force to kill. When Steve comes into contact with his arm, it's only amplified with distant shrieks of pain from memories he hasn't touched in years.]

[ The noise cuts through him, his teeth clacking together. The hand on Bucky's arm tightens, yanking him away from the man on the ground moaning about his broken nose. ]

Leave him alone, he's done. [ His head hasn't stopped spinning, but he's picked a direction and he's attempting to drag them both in it, away from the scene. ]

[Steve's words are just enough of a command to embed themselves into the programming. He does as ordered and steps back to escort Steve back to the safehouse. Every step is mechanical and practiced, his feet guiding themselves across pavement and grating alike. Up one street, down another, double-back to hide their route, and then they're at a shoddy hole in the wall with a door almost too small for Bucky to fit through.]

[ As much as he tries to pay attention to where Bucky's leading them, most of the walk is a blur of vaguely familiar streets set a horrendous soundtrack of buzzing and throbbing in his head. His gives the door a dubious look before entering. ]

What is this?

[Bucky doesn't reply as he follows Steve in and closes the door behind them. Beside the door is a chair he props underneath the handle. Inside isn't much bigger than the door, with just enough room for a cot, a small table with a couple notes written on it, and some free-dried meals. He squats down to pull a tiny medical kit from under the cot before stepping back in a silent invitation to sit.]

[ He stands near the doorway for a moment, ignoring the offer to sit down. His gaze sweeps across the tiny room (more cramped than he's ever lived in) before settling on the table, then back to Bucky. ]

Planning on staying here a while? [ He grimaces, moving toward the cot to sit. ]

[Bucky watches Steve take in the state of his 'safehouse,' but doesn't react. It's safe and that's all he needs. From the medical kit, he produces a cold compress that he activates by breaking the solution inside over his knee.

He doesn't answer and instead offers the compress in silence.]

[ He sucks in a breath, scanning his friend's face and ignoring the compress held out to him. ]

Bucky. [ Say something. ]

[That, at least, seems to start bringing Bucky back into his head. He blinks slowly at Steve, processing what he's seeing in pieces.]

My name is Bucky. [He furrows his brows as more pieces click into place.]

[ He holds Bucky's gaze, unease settling over him. ]

You sure you don't need that? [ Nodding at the compress, the humor in his tone is forced. A beat, then, carefully he ventures: ] You remember how we got here?

[It's slow coming back, but Bucky continues to hold the compress out for Steve. Climbing out from under the blizzard of static in his head is easier with Steve's presence, once more like a beacon.

He swallows again, blinking at Steve.] No.

[Last he remembered, he was leaving, but he didn't know why or the source of the blossoming bruise on the side of Steve's head.] I know you.

[ That slow, creeping horror from yesterday is returning, settling in the pit of his stomach.

It's another few seconds before he's finally able to take the compress, pressing the cold plastic against his face with a wince. ] You remember the Station? The trip to the city?

[ He's hoping the answers to both of those are going to be yes. ]

[That's right. The Station. They were here on a mission. This was Steve sitting in front of him and they talked yesterday. Steve knows.]

We were supposed to practice. [And then he's finally wrapping his head around the empty space in his head. Blank spaces only mean one thing and his furrowed brows deepen as he takes in Steve's appearance.

Oh god. His voice drops as morbid need to know takes over.] What'd I do?

[ Relief sweeps over him again, tension let out with a breath - only to return to his expression at the question. His mouth clamps shut, eyebrow knitting together. Every conversation is whiplash. ]

Nothing - [ He starts slowly, letting the compress lower from his face. ] - you were brawling with three guys on the corner. We tased them, I think you... hit one in the throat with a pen, broke another guy's nose on the pavement. [ pause ] Probably deserved it.

[ If they were the same three tailing him, they weren't up to any good. A trip to the hospital for them means no one else'll be bothered by them tonight. But there's uncertainty in his voice, recalling the end of the fight when it seemed as though Bucky wasn't done with them. His mouth twists down at one side. ] You really don't remember?

Edited 2016-05-31 20:52 (UTC)

[Brawling with three guys doesn't sound familiar at all to Bucky and his heart creeps up into his throat. He doesn't remember hearing codewords to trigger the hole in his memory. Steve's summary and reaction doesn't improve his memory either and instead a sense of utter defeat settles heavy on his shoulders.

He's dangerous. He always will be, even without an arm. There's no escaping HYDRA, not really, and now he's here with how many breakable people, with Steve looking so small and vulnerable. He drops his gaze to the floor as guilt seeps under his skin.]

No.

[ He stares down at the compress in his hands, tension running through his shoulders. ]

Could be a bad reaction, something going on with the symbiote. [ Hosts have been falling into comas left and right ever since the first day on the Station, and the Prince hadn't offered any real specifics as to what caused it. Might be that the symbiote is interacting to whatever else HYDRA put in Bucky's system.

That's enough to make him antsy. He glances over at the closed door, his frown deepening. ] We oughta head back to the hotel.

[Dammit. He should've known. He shouldn't have come to the Nest and endanger all of the other hosts. The mention of the hotel receives a slow shake of Bucky's head in response. If nothing else, this experience has reinforced that he shouldn't be around people. Until he can get HYDRA out of him, he needs to stay away.]

Can't. It's best for everyone if I stay out here.

It's not. [ Not best for the rest of them, and not best for Bucky. He's pretty adamant about that, letting his gaze settle on him again. ] We'll figure it out.

[ Whatever's going on. ]

Steve. [Bucky shakes his head again and curls in on himself a little. He can't go back. Not when he can't trust his own head.]

[ Another glance at the door. This is usually the part where he'd keep arguing.

Harder to do now. ]

You got a spare cot? [ As though there's space for one. ]

[ There's not nearly enough room for another cot, but Bucky wouldn't be mad about sleeping on the floor. What he's more worried about, though, is Steve electing to stay in a very small shack with a killing machine with nightmares. He glances up at Steve, brows furrowed, but silent.]

[ By now he's seen enough to, at the very least, understand that there's some risk involved in staying with Bucky in close quarters like this while his head's not on straight - but it's a distant concern, still not enough to make Steve believe leaving him here alone with those thoughts is the better option.

He turns his head, meeting Bucky's gaze long enough to offer a faint, lopsided smile and stands to set the compress down on the table, briefly scanning the notes there as he shucks off his light coat and balls it up into something like a pillow for himself. ]

What're these? [ Nodding at the papers. ]

Edited 2016-05-31 23:05 (UTC)

[Bucky stares in silence a little longer before following Steve's gaze to the notes on the table. Oh. Those. He picks up the closest bunch of them and fans them out across the table. On the papers are names and extremely sketchy faces, accompanied by descriptors. In the corners are a few series of numbers but scribbled scribbled out enough times that he gave up on trying to give them a concrete timeframe.

Bianca. Blonde. Blue eyes. 5'6". Ukraine. 1970s?

People he killed. People he should never forget.

Art was never his thing, but it's the least he can do.

With a sigh, he carefully sits on the floor beside the table and leans his back against the wall. He's almost knee-to-knee with Steve from how narrow the dwelling is.]

Targets.

[ He sucks in a breath, the impulse to sort through the notes suddenly gone. ]

All of them?

[Bucky nods, once more looking away. Seventy years of kills builds up very quickly. Steve's own sheet is a few underneath Bianca's, right after Nicholas Fury.

He could say he doesn't do that anymore, but he's already got evidence to the contrary that he can't ignore. ]

[ He leaves them where they are, taken aback by the number of them rather than specific faces. After a moment he steps back, bumping into the cot and sitting down, rubbing he heels of his palms into his eyes again. He's noticing again that his head never stopped throbbing. ]

[~~Awkward.~~ Bucky sits still and silent for a beat or two before he collects the compress from the table and offers it to Steve again. He can't tell if the weight Steve's wearing is due to grief or pain. Guilt boils through him again. He can't make this right, he shouldn't be allowed to either. Almost every single face on the papers didn't get the chance to do much more than beg or scream, yet here he is with a Steve so small he can't hardly hold himself up.]

You should go back.

[ He stares at the compress. Right. ]

You should come back with me. [ Brick wall. He's not going otherwise, no amount of arguing is going to change that. But he does accept the compress again, pressing it against his face. ] We'll talk about it tomorrow.

[Bucky swallows down the brief surge of frustration, but silently admits that Steve hasn't changed from what he remembers. Tomorrow. We'll practice tomorrow. Tomorrow means sleeping and sleeping means nightmares.

Maybe he can fake it.

With another sigh, he slides off his jacket and stuffs it in his pack to use as a pillow.]

[ The frustration rolls past Steve. Tomorrow. More time to think too much - more time to let this stop feeling like he's about to wake up. It's difficult for him to fall asleep on the thin cot, first lying on his back, then his stomach (he'd argue that he should take the floor, but he's picking his battles for now).

The sounds of the city outside are a comfort, the lack of it on the Station had been so noticeable at first. Eventually, he drifts off. ]

[Ever since he emerged from cryo for good two years ago, Bucky's not been much for sleeping. Even in the first few days on his own, nightmares haunted him. He certainly didn't deserve restful sleep after all he's done and the same holds true now as he stares up at the wall, listening to Steve tossing and turning on the cot. With half a mind to run again, Bucky pushes his eyes open when they start to droop, but soon he can't fend off sleep anymore than his friend.

They begin the same as always: with a rising curtain of glass. Steam billows out onto the floor and cuts between moments of clarity. He falls, always falling, and then he's seated in the chair. Electricity sparks around him and his head goes fuzzy with agony. His fists clench but they can't pull at the manacles closed tight about his wrists. Everything he remembers is disappearing again, slipping down into the vortex. Russian fills the Siberian air and then his mind is crystal clear.

'Good morning, soldier.'

'Ready to comply,' rumbles from his own mouth in reply.

'I have a mission for you. Confirmed kill in ten hours. Steve Rogers, Captain America.'

He stands on the catwalk overlooking the glass belly of the hellicarrier, target across from him. The pistol slides out from his holster first, short raps accompanying each shot until the gun is knocked out of his hand by a shield. A knife follows but that, too, is rebuffed by the shield. Without options, his fury pushes through him as he tackles his target over the metal railing separating them from a ten foot drop onto support columns. They brawl closer and closer to the edge and he knocks his target down. He presses his limited advantage and finds himself crashing against the glass below.

He's found his pistol and he's shooting at the shield again, then the knife makes a return appearance, this time biting into his target's shoulder until he knocks the latter away. He dives for a tiny chip on the glass but is picked up by the throat.

'Drop it' a familiar voice fills his ears as his fingers clench tighter around silicon and aluminum.

His fleshy arm snaps and white hot fire burns through him. Bones break and his throat creaks at the pressure applied to his neck. Stay awake stay awake stay----

He's up again and pulls the trigger at his target, who stops and stumbles and his mission isn't complete yet. Not until... not until...

Steel rains from above, trapping him, but his target returns to his side, does his best to lift the column trapping him to the glass. Blood oozes from his target's wounds, but he strains all the same.

As soon as he's free, he attacks his target again. Fire dances around them, sparks fly, and he's launching assault after assault.

'You've known me your whole life.'

Metal demolishes bones, breaks blood vessels, cleaves tissue.

'Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.'

Another hit, broken eye socket, and his target stumbles back to pull off the blue helmet adorned with an A. Blonde hair is matted and his face swollen.

'I'm not going to fight you.'

It's not his choice, really. Bucky charges and fist after fist rains down upon the face so familiar and yet so distant.

'Then finish it. Cause I'm with you to the end of the line.'

Fire takes both of them.

Bucky awakes with a soft sound of distress, but his knees are scraping the floor, boots catch on one leg of the cot and jostles the occupant. He sees Steve's face, thinner, less swollen, less broken and bruised and purple and oh god oh god oh god.

He has to get out of here, he has to run.]

[ He's seen this glass before, seen this face. Not in the mirror, unless it's the one from the carnival, a caricature made real. One of the eyes staring back at him is swollen shut on one side, but that's his own voice speaking - that's his fist snapping against flesh and bone with sickening force -

The entire floor seems to shake as something scrapes against the floor next to his bed - not his bed, next to the cot. The hole in the wall Bucky brought him to. His shirt is soaked in sweat, heart pounding with the impulse to run as he sits up, tossing his legs over the side of the cot, but it's like a sound coming from another room, paper thin walls separating them. ]

Buck - ? [ His throat is dry, heart still thumping in his chest. ]

[Bucky is up and moving before he means to, heart in his throat, chest heaving as the nightmare remains in the forefront of his mind. He can see Steve moving, so small and so breakable and it's all Bucky can do to stay in the hovel long enough to stare down the one he pounded into a pulp minutes ago.

He has to go. There's no second guessing it.

He doesn't respond to Steve's question and instead pulls the chair blocking the handle and turns the knob to leave, to move, to run. His right arm is numb, but that doesn't matter.]

Edited 2016-06-04 01:29 (UTC)

[ It's hard to see in the dark of the room, eyes not quite focused with the clarity that comes with being properly awake, but his own panic finally stutters to life when he hears Bucky clamoring for the exit. ]

Stop, Buck - [ He's on his feet too, the room's small enough that he doesn't have to go far, nearly tripping over the jacket on the floor. ] - it's okay, stop.

[ The second stop reaches through the link with a clumsy, desperate sort of force, something caught between a plea and a command. ]

[His only usable arm continues to hang limp at his side from the dream, from the reality he once faced, but when faced with Steve, with a fully awake Steve who sends something through the link, he wrenches the door open. The command settles somewhere between his instinct and his programming, though, and stops him mid-step. Ready to comply rings in his ears and he can't help the shudder of helplessness that ripples down his spine.]

[ The reaction has him recoiling, severing the connection with a sharp twist in his gut, the same words echoing just beyond his ears. ]

I'm sorry. [ He hovers just behind Bucky, unmoving. ]

[Bucky stills for long enough to acknowledge the apology, though he doesn't understand it. If anything, he should be the one muttering apologies. Instead, he's panicking, wrenching open the door and striding out into the street though he's less than half awake. Distance would make this easier.]

[ Panic hits him in a wave again. At first it seems like he means to just let Bucky go, guilt cementing his feet to the floor.

A few seconds later though and Steve's following him right out into the street, the memory of the fight back overriding Bucky's need for space. A lack of training means his feet hit the pavement with heavy steps as he trails behind, but his voice is hushed. ]

Where're you going? [ He doesn't think Bucky has an answer, hoping that might give him some pause again. ]

[Steve's right to second guess Bucky. The moment he's out in the street, he doesn't know where he is or where he plans to go, other than away from Steve. He'll hurt him, he'l break him if he's allowed to stay so close to him. The fresh nightmare in his head collides with his own memories in a typhoon of guilt and regret.
Steve didn't deserve the trouble coming to him.

He stops a few paces from the door, mind still buzzing with sensory overload and the excess adrenaline running through his veins,

He doesn't answer, but it's as much a reply as words would be: he doesn't know.]

[ Steve circles around on his right before pausing, waiting a minute. His skin hums, half charged by that secondhand fight or flight instinct. Eyes close for a few seconds as he lets it roll off of him. ]

That really what my face looks like? [ His attempt at humor is weighed down again, but it's just about the only words he can muster right now that won't be another commanding plea for Bucky to come back inside. Better for both of them that he takes a moment, the past two days are finally catching up to him. The friend he's known almost all his life has a stack of papers covered with names and faces of people he's killed, coming from a future where Steve let it all happen.

They could match guilt for guilt if he weren't locking it down. ]

[Bucky's gaze fixes on Steve as soon as he comes into his peripheral vision. The tangled mess of yellows and reds color the side of the other's face and Bucky sucks in a breath. He did that. He's dangerous. He needs to go, get away from people he can break.

His feet remain rooted where they stand a few paces into the street from the door, exposed and raw like twitching muscle under a microscope.]

[ He keeps holding Bucky's gaze. ]

I still need to show you how to block people. [ It probably won't help if he's unconscious and trapped in a nightmare, but it's better than nothing.

And maybe more of a reason for Bucky not to bolt right this second. ]

[It takes a moment, but eventually Bucky nods, though with obvious reluctance. Blocking people would at the least keep Steve away from things he shouldn't see, nightmares included. Feeling starts to return to his right arm as his brain refocuses on being awake and aware.

The remnants of the nightmare, however, cling tight to the back of his head. He needs to get a hold on himself if he wants to keep from hurting Steve again, but he doesn't know how to do that.

He takes a glance at the silent street around them before turning back toward the hole in the wall.]

( You around? )

[ just a glancing brush of his mind, careful not to delve too deeply. ]

[Bucky doesn't respond with a 'verbal' response, but instead pushes his presence to meet the brush against his mind. He's here, he's listening.]

( Where are you staying? In subspace? )

(In the Bearings.)

[But he's been cooping himself in his room until all of his memories come back in full. The open, bleeding burns from Sam Anders are now finally starting to close up, providing Bucky a foundation to rebuild on.]

( Do you mind company? )

[ Just showing up to bother him without asking is probably a bad move. Bellamy recognizes that. ]

[Asking is a step ahead in Bucky's book. He's still too used to people simply being in his space without a thought, physical or mental.]

( If you keep it down. ) [With the whole thinking thing, that is.]

( I can try. )

[ He still knocks before he enters, leaving the door ajar behind him. ]

Busy?

[ Though he's already in the room. The point where he could have avoided interrupting has come and gone. ]

[Effort is half the battle these days. Bucky glances up at Bellamy, a sense of familiarity beyond the mental link falling into place like a comfortable blanket.]

Not really. [No offering help directly but not refusing it either.]

[ Bellamy doesn't press. Their bond settles, humming in the background as Bellamy crosses the room to lean against the wall. Casually. He's casual. Check him out. ]

You aren't much of a talker.

[ Understatement of the year. ]

Do you read?

[So casual. Just about as casual as the soldier trying to mirror the open body language.]

Used to be. [A talker, that is. He thinks. At least more than he is now.] Reading not so much before. More now.

[That's how he's heard about the end of the war, about the multitude of conflicts that followed and seventy years of world history he missed.]

[ Left for Bucky on his cushion bed is a plain, lined notebook, small enough to fit in a large pocket.

The first page has a sketch of Bucky, drawn at a profile as he is now. Written next to it is James Buchanan Barnes.

The second page is a sketch of Sam Wilson, labeled with his name the same way.

The third page is more cartoon than realistic portrait: a Popeye-esque figure next to a shorter, noodle-armed version, both posing like they're in body building competition. Steve, 2016 and Steve, 1943 (and now).

The rest of the notebook is blank, a pen stuck inside of it. ]

[An hour or so later, Bucky comes across his little gift from Steve. As soon as he realizes what it is, he's reaching out across the threads tangling them together, plucking Steve's like a doorbell. ]

( This for me? )

[ His attention shifts to their line, warming. ]

( Yep. ) [ He would've given it in person, but he gets a bit weird about people looking at his art when it's of them. ] ( I was picking up supplies, thought you might get use out of it. )

[ All the notebooks back at the Station are used.

A lot of them filled with interesting art. ]

[Bucky warms from his toes up and it's entirely unexpected. For once, it feels like maybe there's not so much space and time between them. His own primitive sketches were of his marks, faces he saw in nightmares, but this was much better by far.

James Buchanan Barnes. Sam Wilson. Steve.

He had something like this in Bucharest, a notebook. In the front cover was a dog-eared picture of Steve, but there were more spread through the pages of his looseleaf memories.]

( Reminds me of a book I read. )

[It takes a moment to flush the proper memory out, but once he has it, his mental images of the characters begin to play.]

( A kid has some kind of memory loss that resets every day. His neighbor is a writer who wants to do an article about him, I think. He makes a kind of scrapbook and helps the kid take notes on his life so he can remember when he wakes up the next day. )

[ Reaching out to his friend's mind is usually like treading through a minefield. But this time he has to pause because Bucky's reaction's got him smiling, letting out a soft huff to himself - manifests as a light pulse of air that drifts along the thread. ]

( How's it end? )

Edited 2016-09-13 09:19 (UTC)

[The minefield is still present, always, beneath it all, but the claymores are easier to avoid some days. On others, the dust covering them is so fine, he can't help but stumble into one after the other. Today, he's lucky it's the former. Bits of the story play out unimpeded at first, the writer--- a blonde-haired fellow, thin and twiggy bearing a strong resemblence to another certain blonde--- and the amnesiac--- dark-haired, blank-eyed, and unintentionally causing pain every time he opens his mouth--- talk on a hillside. Illuminated by fireflies, they consider the immortality of a memory, or the writer's memory, at least. Then they sit side by side in a sterile waiting room, the blonde hunched over and wheezing.

But after that? The scenes skip and buzz and distort, interrupted by scattered blinks of gore and screams. No, those weren't part of the story. Like a tape rewound and played at random intervals, the images make no inherent sense.

He used to know. He remembers he cried at the end.

A man in a bloodied suit begged on his knees for his life.]

[ His mind goes quiet and still, it's as if he's sitting in the theater watching a show, only the screen goes deeper, the images vaguely familiar and taking more time to form. He gives another light huff, surprised by the resemblance when it becomes apparent, and then less surprised, his humor wry but warm.

His lungs tickle as the man wheezes - then a hard jerk pulls at his chest, the scene falling apart around him, a record scratching against the needle. ]

( Buck - ) [ The link shudders, but he doesn't try to reach across. His body - his presence grows larger on Steve's side of their thread, anchoring. There's blood on his knuckles and dripping down his nose, but it's asphalt heated from the humid summer heat where his hands touch, it's a rusted fire escape in his grip, it's the tall, dry grass of the rectangular field the neighbors try to grow tomatoes in scratching his ankles.

He anchors with his own memories. ]

[Bucky tries to skip past it on his own once or twice, to force the mark--- Tobias, Germany, 1957--- away from the focus of the story. Steve's foundation bolster's his efforts, slots the pieces back together. Instead of the writer and the amnesiac, it's him and Steve sitting among the fireflies, grass brushing against his legs. The mental tape pauses on that moment, drawing it out and stretching it until Bucky can no longer hear the screams, until the picture stabilizes.

There. There.

They return to the sterile walls, to Steve and Bucky sitting there and past that glimpse into a warm apartment on a summer day in Brooklyn, drenched from head to toe with sweat as he climbs into the back of a freezer truck. A younger Bucky, a smoother, more suave person, more confident, more mellow.

A memory, immortalized by Steve.]

[ He swallows, eyes closing.

The details continue to sharpen as Bucky summons each image, and for a moment it's like they're painting on a shared canvas. The colors in the memories brighten, the scent of salt in the air, sweat and the sun baked into their skin. There's dozens of similar scenes he could pull from, but he keeps the focus specific, following Bucky's lead. ]

( Now all I want is another hot dog. )

Edited (missing words) 2016-09-15 08:15 (UTC)

[It's all so real, for a heartbeat or two, like he never went to war--- like Steve, like half of Brooklyn, like he never killed dozens of people that he can only remember in bits and pieces--- but it's only temporary. Like the blink of an eye, though, it's here and all-encompassing and then gone.

But he does still want that hot dog.] ( You ever cook one on a camp stove? )

[ The images vanish, leaving a familiar warmth in their wake and threaded with wry humor that slips into his words. ]

( You're asking the guy that'd boil scrambled eggs and toast if he could. )

[ He gets his hot dogs one of two ways: from the pot or from the vendor. ] ( You know - they don't have the real deal here, but I bet we could find something close enough. )

[ Heresy, if they were anywhere else but an alien planet. ]

[A warm breath of humor dances along his side of the link. Never change Steve. Still, a brief flash of Sam Alexander trying a "taco" only to recoil in disgust flits along the edges of his consciousness.

He doesn't want to deprive Steve of a simple joy like hot dogs, but he also doesn't want him to end up poisoned.]

( I'll find one. )

[ Poor kid - but Steve nudges back like a soft bump to the shoulder. ]

( Gotta be a street fair somewhere. )

[ He going with you. ]

[Bucky's not entirely sure it'd be safe for them to be out among crowds, but he's done the pleasantly distant facade before in Bucharest. He just has to blend in. He can do that.]

( Lucky I got more than training money this time. )

[He's in.]

[ They can play to win a hundred stuffed bears with the money on their credit cards. ]

( I'll hold the elevator for you. ) [ Tossing his shoes and jacket on by the doors, he'll still have the ghost of a grin on his face whenever Bucky turns up. The distance between them and his concern for Bucky's fractured mind isn't gone in one step forward, but for now they aren't the weight on his shoulders that they were only a little while ago. ]

[Bucky's a little slower to grab his things, but he's still at the elevator within a handful of minutes. His left sleeve is pinned up again, but this time it doesn't seem to bother him so much. He isn't quite so unbalanced this time around.

With a quirk of his lips, he spots Steve and heads over. Time to go get this little punk a hot dog.]

[ Their first day back on the station, Sam gives Bucky some space. He can tell that Bucky's avoiding him, and it's not exactly telling him to get the hell out, but given how much it'd taken for Bucky to tell him that the first time, Sam kind of figures that it's close. And he made a promise to respect it.

It's only now, away from the mission, that Sam's starting to realize just how many promises they've made each other. It's another one that eventually sends Sam hunting for Bucky, though at least he does it physically, rather than pushing at Bucky's mind. He doubts that Bucky is staying in communal bunks of the life support area - granted, neither is Sam, but he doesn't need to be there to not see him to guess that. Just like he doesn't need the symbiote connection to assume that Bucky's hidden himself in some dark hidey-hole somewhere far away, but it definitely helps when it comes to actually pinpointing it down.

Still, he does most of his hunting the old fashioned way, doing his best to keep his shields up and stay out of Bucky's head, at least for right now. It's a relief when he finally manages to track Bucky down. ]

Least it didn't take me two years this time.

[Bucky had felt Sam coming from a long way off, tried to dodge him, but there were only so many dark hidey holes on the Station. Although Bucky's certainly improved his shielding, he doesn't exactly keep a low profile in terms of sheer noise his head makes on a daily basis. However, the inevitability of the situation doesn't preclude him from hoping. Having another mind so close to his so soon after getting a taste of quiet leaves him wanting to pull away again.]

Good job. [He feels a small measure of guilt for clearly running away, but sarcasm can only be so diluted.

His shields remain up, though less to keep Sam out as to attempt to retain a sense of privacy.]

[ For his part, Sam keeps his shields on lock down as well, trying not to let anything slip out. He'd gotten lax about keeping them up around Bucky, with how much they’d been in each other’s heads towards the end of their time in Concordia, keeping Bucky grounded. It'd only been when Bucky started avoiding him that he'd realized how used to it he's already become.

So keeping himself back is only part out of a desire to give Bucky privacy and not overwhelm him. The rest of it is his own issues about having someone in his head, about missing their presence when it's not there, and it unsettles him.

Still, that doesn't stop him from grinning a little. ]

There's the snarky jackass I've been missing. You're gonna hurt my feelings here, man, you know you don't gotta literally run away from me any more, right?

I know. [And somewhere in the back of his mind, Bucky does know that he doesn't have to literally run away, but after HYDRA, it was the only thing he could do. Coming back from Concordia in pieces left instincts and a desire for control. Running might not get him far, but he feels a hell of a lot better for trying.

Another part of him knows, too, that he's being a poor broodmate, that up and disappearing is a good way to call all the Nest down on him. Not supporting the others, too, makes him selfish.]

Didn't do it because of you. [He did it to be away from all of them, from all the noise and confusion that followed the mission.]

[ Sam raises an eyebrow at that. It's hard not to take it personally, not to feel like Bucky'd been avoiding him specifically - except no, Sam knows that Bucky gets overwhelmed, wants to be left alone, has a tendency to run. Maybe it is a little selfish leaving them all behind, but honestly, Sam kind of figures after everything, Bucky being a little selfish is a good thing. He deserves it, and anything else, that's on Sam, not Bucky.

Besides, he has a feeling he's the only one who might've specifically been looking for Bucky, him and Steve, but there's almost a comfort in that. It's been that way for a real long time.

He deflates a little, shrugging one shoulder. ]

Yeah. I know. Is it harder here, than back on Concordia?

[So Bucky may have had the feeling that only two people on the ship were looking for him, but he ran into others without meaning to. Shiro, his amputee bud, and Shepard, a relative unknown. Bucky pastes their faces onto the outside of his walls, like a notice. Neither seem too bad at first glance.]

Everyone was there at once. [He replies, his uneasiness still relatively well buckled behind his walls.]

[ Sam tips his head in acknowledgement of the faces Bucky shows him. He knows them both. Or at least, he knows Shiro - Shiro is one of his people - he's only just getting a handle on Shepard. He kind of suspects that if he continues associating with her, he'll be only just getting a handle on her until the end, but that's not relevant at the moment. ]

It's a lot. I'm not trying to add to it, you know, I just-

[ He doesn't know what he just. He manages to keep a lid down on the confusing swirl of emotions, left over from unresolved shit during the Accords and what happened after on top of everything in Concordia and the fact that he's not sure Bucky's in any kind of emotional state to sort any of this out. Hell, he's not sure he's in an emotional state to try, not with the symbiote involved.

Sam clears his throat, switching gears. ]

How did it go with Shiro and Shepard?

[Bucky knows Sam doesn't mean to make his life more difficult. His walls lower just enough to allow that understanding to pass over the link, before sealing them tight again. Uncertainty churns in his gut below the surface. He can't keep Sam shut out like this, but he doesn't want him tangled up in his head either. Everything from Concordia is too fresh and, as always, there's more people to keep out, straining his tentative control over the programming. Keeping it all at bay is a twenty-four-hour task.

At the question, Bucky again opens his walls to give his impressions. With Shiro, things went downhill quickly after their feedback loop triggered negative memories in them both. Nothing they talk about seems to be safe. Shepard said she likes Bucky, for better or for worse. She seems to think of him like a wild animal on a chain just short enough to keep from biting her head off.]

[ He wants to try to help, wants to say that Sam can be there for him, take some of the burden of keeping the programing at bay. It'd worked, the two of them fighting it off, except - well, except it'd been a whole lot of Sam in Bucky's head, and he knows that's uncomfortable for both of them.

Should be uncomfortable. Should be, and it is, when he ignores the hum of the symbiote in his veins, the way he feels a little more at ease, a little more right when he and Bucky are that close. It's a little harder when he knows it's not just the symbiote, and that he’s always grasped on to whatever works when dealing with trauma, always done better with a partner and a team, and the closeness is a little addictive.

He keeps all of that from bleeding over onto Bucky, though, doing his best to acknowledge verbally even what Bucky shares with him mentally, and keep himself out of Bucky's head. ]

Pidge hates her, same as she hated Mara Jade. Shepard's gonna be a fun one, we'll have to see. Shiro... I felt it from him, too, the first time you two talked. You both did a really good job handling it. He's, uh. You got a lot in common. [ There's silence for a brief moment, and then, while he's got it clear enough in his head, he adds quietly, ] Look, I know it takes a lot of trust for you to let me in at all, so I wanted to thank you for that.

[Bucky's sure what comfort he finds in Sam is largely due to the symbiote pulling at them. Or because of Steve. Or the desire to keep the Winter Soldier at bay. Even though he knows that Sam enjoys helping, that they do better together than apart, and not just because the symbiote allows the relative free sharing of things like emotions and thoughts. Sam's a natural counselor, he remembers thinking before, a helping hand at the back before help is requested.

And Bucky likes Sam, maybe a bit more than he should, than he deserves.

That's the cusp of it all, really: what Bucky doesn't deserve.

He nods along with Sam's words, but he remains distant as best he can, never quite fully engaging in the conversation until those last few words. An immense sense of gratitude builds behind his walls, leaking through the holes. It's like before, that intense emotion that makes him more and more uncomfortable the longer he feels it.] You don't need to.

[Say thank you, he means and that slips through his walls. If anyone should be saying thank you, it's him, and yet the words stick to the roof of his mouth.]

[ It's easy to blame stuff on the symbiote. It's not like a huge part of it isn't due to the symbiote, especially the closeness they've developed so quickly. It's overwhelming even for Sam, he knows it's gotta be worse for Bucky. Except if Sam's being honest with himself, well. He likes Bucky, and he knows he would have even without the symbiote.

He's probably known since the fight against the spider kid but look, he doesn't want to be that honest with himself.

One day - probably soon - they're going to have a real talk about what Bucky deserves, more than just Sam telling him that he's worth it during the adrenaline crash after a fight. That is one of the few things that Sam knows with absolute certainty isn't part of the symbiote. He didn't have the damn thing when he spent two years looking for him to try to help him, when he stopped in part because he was pretty sure Bucky didn't want to be found, or when he went up against the Accords. Which, all right, wasn't really for Bucky, but it definitely contributed to his decision.

Because Sam's got a feeling that the gratitude he's feeling even through Bucky's walls and Bucky telling him he doesn't need to has a hell of a lot to do with what Bucky doesn't feel like he deserves. But Sam won't comment on it now, because his goal is to try not to add overwhelming Bucky more. ]

I know. But I want to. I appreciate you being around, all right? Don't worry, man, gimme a sec and I'll be back to calling you Snowflake and putting feathers in your hair.

[Bucky looks away as Sam continues and that uncomfortable quantity of gratitude grows further. He's still not used to compliments, not sure if he'll ever be or if he should be. He leans toward the latter, but that doesn't make any of this better. The pleasant buzz that fills his veins when Sam is near doesn't help either. He doesn't deserve to feel any of this.]

Thought it was Fla-Vor-Ice. [He bites his lip as the edges quirk, not at all arguing against more feathers in his hair. They help ground him and provide evidence that he's not back with HYDRA. Some days are better than others.]

[ Yeah, well. The only way to get used to it is to just continue to be around it, and it's not like Sam's really been afraid of making Bucky uncomfortable. If that means taking it slow and peppering it with sarcastic comments and a liberal amount of both of them being maybe a little bit of a dick to keep it from being too overwhelming, hell, Sam would've done that anyway. But he's still not going anywhere.

Especially not when he sees Bucky fighting off that smile, and he can't help but smirk back at him. ]

I gotta mix it up a little, wouldn't want you to get bored over here. [ Honestly, Sam's not sure if Bucky didn't respond to the feathers thing because of what he picked up from Bucky back when he first woke up with them or because it's one of those things that Bucky just doesn't feel like needs to be acknowledged, but he doesn't hesitate to call it out. ] I'm gonna take your silence to mean that you admit you looked about sixty percent better with them in and just don't know how to ask me to do it again. I still got some with me, man, you wanna look good you just say the word.

[Sixty percent? Sixty? Bucky's smirk widens as he cocks his head to the side. First, Shepard called him a hobo, now Sam's saying feathers make him sixty percent better looking. He still doesn't care much about how he looks, but he did shower once for an outing with Steve. That could become a habit at some point. Some very far off point.]

They... [He likes them. He likes when they scratch across his face.] ...help.

[That's the most you're getting, Sam.]

[ Yeah, well, that's what you get for being the crankiest hobo, Bucky. Sam's not complaining about that smirk widening, though - he's already accepted that he likes the glimpses he gets of Bucky's sense of humor, likes getting him to be sarcastic and make him smile, so there's no need to think about it further.

And fortunately, that's more than enough for Sam. Anything that Bucky will actually admit helps is good with Sam. ]

How about a couple of options, huh? You can come with me to the hangar, 'cause I've got the feathers in one of the ships there. Or - I can go get them myself, you can take thirty seconds to wash your hair, and I'll meet you in a dark hidey hole of your choosing.

[Thirty seconds Bucky can do. Thirty seconds is usually thirty seconds too many in a small chamber that could lock on him in a moment. For Steve, he pulled off a minute, enough to look presentable. For Sam, he can try about the same. Presentable is all that's necessary, nothing more than that.]

I'll wash the hair. [Not his hair, but the hair. It's an old habit that still hasn't quite gone away.]

[ Hell yeah, that's a start. Sam's smile goes soft and pleased, but he doesn't comment on it, and keeps his response as snarky as ever. ]

Might even bump you up to sixty-five percent better, then. All right, you're on - where should I meet you?

[ Where do you want me to meet you, he means, but he knows Bucky's difficulty with wanting anything in general, let alone expressing it. He's hoping that changing up the phrasing will do a better job of easing him into it. ]

[Oh now it's sixty-five percent. Bucky can't even begin to stop the grin. It's so strangely funny how drastically different he must look with washed hair that he can improve by sixty-five percent. Maybe he's easier to talk to when he looks a little less like he just got out of a fight with a dog for the last bits of food in a trash can.]

Here. [It's much easier for him to suggest a location when it doesn't feel like he's asking for something he wants. Report back here at this location once the mission is complete. He's done it before and it doesn't interrupt the steady humming of programming. Instead, it slides into a neat slot like other missions.]

Keep smiling at me like that and it might even get to seventy.

[ Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd vaguely planned on not drawing attention to when Bucky smiled, not wanting to snap him out of it or risk having to admit that he liked making it happen or whatever, but, well. He says it before he even thinks about it, tone teasing and smile playful, and he sure as hell isn't gonna take it back.

Instead, he nods his agreement and flashes a thumbs up before he heads off to the hangar. It's not too long before he's back, bag of collected feathers in hand. ]

[The warmth bubbling behind Bucky's blocked-off end of the connection grows confused, and Bucky's mouth makes a similar quirk, but he doesn't argue. He's not sure what he could argue, but there's no sense in it now. Once Sam leaves, Bucky makes his way to his temporary quarters and takes almost sixty seconds on the dot to wash his hair. So, by the time Sam returns, Bucky is already there, hair wet and dampening his shirt. He glances up and sends the mental equivalent of how do you want to do this?]

[ Sam pauses for a moment, looking around the little segment of hallway, before shrugging and casually dropping down to sit on the floor. His back is against the wall, protected on one side by a jutting formation and with a full view of anyone who might come around the corner on the other.

It's tactical, the place he'd pick if he had to defend their little dark hidey hole - both almost out of habit and because he wants Bucky to be as at ease as possible. He gestures for Bucky to come sit in front of him, something almost like a question drifting across the mental link, this okay? ]

[Bucky watches Sam, not with the same wariness he might have when they first met or even when they arrived on the Station together. There's trust built between them, which includes whatever might be involved with putting feathers in his hair. At the gesture, he furrows his brow but moves to sit in front of Sam. He's not a small guy, not since he got out of HYDRA and learned he could eat whatever he wanted, and he's not sure how to sit casually on the floor, which leaves him guessing on how best to fold his legs into himself. Sitting with his missing arm on the inside, he tilts his head toward Sam to give him access to the hair.]

[ It doesn’t go without notice, the level of trust that means Bucky is okay with putting his back to him. Back in that clown car, Sam had been the one to put Bucky at his back, trusting that he wasn't gonna stick a knife through it. And he did, even back then, though a lot of it had been out of necessity. It's nothing like now, as he watches Bucky sit down in front of him.

Sam ain't exactly all that small himself, even if he could maybe feel it a little next to Bucky, and maybe it should feel awkward, two fully grown men sitting together on the floor. But Sam makes himself comfortable like he's done this before - he hasn't, not really, though he's definitely sat on the floor with a number of his vets. He tucks one leg in against him, sends the other sprawling out so he can settle easy behind Bucky, almost up against his back but not quite touching. ]

You need to adjust to get comfortable, go on ahead.

[ If this is too much, tell me, flows through the connection along with that, as he combs his fingers gently through Bucky's hair. ]

[As Bucky listens to Sam rearranging himself behind him, he tries not to bring up his guard. While his mind is still mostly blocked off, the proximity alone makes the walls more permeable. It's strange, sitting on the floor like a pair of kids. His head fills with scratchy memories, pictures of smaller him and Steve hanging out on couch cushions late in the night when fireflies drift lazily through the window. He's not sure he would let Steve touch him like this, not when there's so much Bucky desperately wants to keep away from him.

He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until the first brush of Sam's fingers through his hair. Behind the walls, the first of many memories of being touched, but in a less affectionate way, blasts to the forefront. Pierce swings at him when the weapon doesn't answer and a clap of skin on skin resonates through the room. He answers next time. Then someone's pulling him by his hair, someone with blurry features but speaks in sharp Russian. Orders him to be silent. Or was it an order to speak? Both produce a memory of their own, deep under the ground in Siberia.

Bucky flinches, but he does everything in his power to control the muscles twitching to hit something, anything.]

's fine. [He's not so sure he's fine, but he wants this, wants the feathers.]

[ It's impossible not to notice the way Bucky flinches, to pick up on what bits do filter through their brood link, but whatever ache it causes in Sam, he lets it go. Stays calm, steady, breathes slow and deep.

He doesn't say you can trust me or I won't hurt you because those are empty promises to someone who's only known the opposite for so long, and Bucky is the only one who should decide either of those things. Bucky wouldn't be sitting like this if he wasn't willing to believe them a little, but it's on Sam to show it - to prove it - not just to say it.

His fingers keep running through Bucky's hair, scratching gently over his scalp before he starts separating strands out for the first braid. ]

You don't gotta be fine, man. Whatever you're feeling, it's okay to feel it. Won't stop unless you tell me to.

[Despite Sam's advice, Bucky continues to try and lock away the memories that continue to rise at the continued contact. Lieutenants who didn't like the way he looked at them slamming him by his head down onto the cold concrete of a cell. Or the time when he had to be held down in the chair, he can only remember once, when he screamed until his voice gave out. And then there was nothing left. No fight, no Bucky, only the weapon.

Bucky relaxes, more from the sensation remaining from the memory than comfort. He can be pliant, he can be soft. He's done it before. He needs to try now.

The feathers will help, he reminds himself, even as that relaxing feeling causes its own round of panic. Sam won't hurt him. Sam's had plenty of chances to kill him or turn him into the weapon and not done so. Sam won't hit him, Sam won't force him into the chair.]

[ Relaxing, that's good. Soft and pliant - not as much, and Sam'd be unnerved if he knew all of what was behind Bucky being able to keep calm under his touch.

But he remembers the way Bucky'd soaked up the phantom sensation of fingers in his hair when it was just over their mental link, and Sam's determined to make this a positive experience. To treat Bucky like he's normal. So he talks as he braids, unhurried and unafraid. ]

I did this for my first girlfriend, long time ago. Her dad was useless with braids, she told me, but I think she just liked sassing the hell out of me while I learned how to do it.

[ He reaches for the first feather when he’s halfway through the braid, tucking it among one strand of hair and braiding it in as he keeps going. ]

Now I do this kind of thing for my nieces. You're not a weapon, Bucky. You can be anything you want, do anything you want. [ He ties off the braid, and combs his fingers through Bucky's hair again before sectioning off the next one. ] Even if it's just right now, like this.

[At first, Bucky remains calm under the gentle ministrations. The little tugs at his scalp don't hurt. In fact, they're much the opposite: a strange sort of comforting and nice. He listens to Sam talk and appreciates the information; he's still getting to know him, after all. Trust has already been forged in the crucible of Concordia, but it's nice to hear about who Sam is as a person.

However, as soon as Sam broaches new territory, Bucky tenses.

He's never been called anything but a weapon, outside of his name. He's heard the whispers in Berlin, how people talk about him when they think he can't hear them, or in the pits of Siberia, when they know he can hear but don't care. He doesn't get to make choices, yet here he is, having his hair braided by Sam, something he never would have thought possible.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't want this: the braids, freedom, and companions. But he also knows he shouldn't. He doesn't deserve it, any of it.]

No. I don't.

[ He doesn't falter when Bucky tenses, hands calm and steady as he keeps braiding. Sam didn't expect to be able to say something like that with no reaction, for all that he'd said it like it was nothing, like just a continuation of talking about things he knew to be true.

For a long moment, he doesn't say anything back. He just tucks another feather into Bucky's hair, braiding slowly around it.

It's easier to say what he's thinking about when he's not looking at Bucky, when he's focused on his braiding. He doesn't regret his conversation with Steve before they took down the hellicarriers, nor would he do anything different if he had to do it again - and coming from someone who made Sam promise to take him out if he tried to hurt someone again, he doesn't think Bucky will hold it against him. But it's still not something he'd thought he'd ever talk to Bucky about. ]

I told Steve once that you might not be the kind you save, that you might be the kind we stop. Didn't wanna hear it, but I thought he needed to, needed to own up to the possibility. And you already know the promise I made you.

[ The one he meant when he said it, the one he still means, and he doesn't have any qualms about letting that sincerity out through their connection. It's not separate from the muted affection that's tangled up in it - both are rooted firmly by the bone-deep determination that Bucky can make his own choices. ]

Point is, it ain't sentiment when I say this shit. That you're your own person. [ His fingers stroke soothingly through Bucky's hair. ] But I'll shut up about it, if you want me to.

[Bucky's jaw tightens, another instinct he can't force down. He doesn't doubt the intention behind Sam's words or the degree of sentiment. Yet, he can't bring himself to believe they could be used to refer to him. They must refer to someone else, someone different. In another world, in another lifetime, maybe they could apply to him--- the him that didn't become a weapon--- but the him that's here and now? No. He doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve to be anything more than a now-dull blade. There's no hope to become anything else, even if he were allowed to want something like that.

Telling Sam to shut up would force him to swim upstream against the programming in a similar way.

Instead, he looks down to the floor: obedient, silent.]

[ Bucky's silence is echoed back at him, though Sam stays relaxed, doing his best to make it companionable. His touch lingers as he braids, as much about just touching in a way that might bring some kind of comfort as it is about making sure the braids and the feathers will hold. ]

Okay. We're good, back to making you pretty.

[ And he's going to leave it at that, or at least he means to. He still wants to help, of course. He wants to let warmth spill over to help combat the programming, not to overtake it, just to support, to help Bucky pull out more of who he is, whoever that's gonna be - he wants more smiles, more sass, even more anger and irritation. He wants more of the Bucky who said you couldn't have done that earlier and get out Wilson and even next time is the last time, who jumped in front of the spider kid and brought him a coin and likes feathers in his hair.

He wants, and that's the problem. He wants, not Bucky. He can't say any of that. Except apparently he doesn't have to, because it slips out through their connection despite the fact that his shields are up as strong as they usually are. It's a wordless impression, but it's as clear as if he'd actually organized his thoughts enough to put them to words.

Well shit. That's... new. ]

[It's hard to miss the burden of the silence hanging at the end of Sam's words and even harder to ignore the firm impression of another mind on his own. The gates are down and Bucky quietly observes Sam's mental drawings of a Bucky that smiles and sasses and emotes a hell of a lot better than the mess sitting in front of him. Someone more like the peeks he's seen in Steve's memories: a charismatic, well-oiled man.

Bucky's jaw clenches tighter, though not in a clear sense of anger. Sam wants more from him and Bucky's sure Steve does too, but... there's nothing well-oiled about him. He's missing an arm, doesn't look anything like anything remotely charming, and on his best days, he's more vocal, but not a chatterbox.

And yet, Sam's desires mesh well with the programming. The Soldier was built to be a machine with replaceable parts. If he couldn't measure up to certain standards, he would be retired. After all, he helped train those who would eventually take his place.

Compliant, flexible, patient. Those were qualities that kept him in the service of HYDRA for seventy years and would serve him well here.]

[ This connection between them - there's been a lot of times that Sam hated it, some when he was grateful for it, and moments when he didn't know what he'd do without it. But he's done fighting it. It's a reality, one he can't change, and all he can do is accept it and move forward the best he can.

Even when it pulls shit like this, when stuff he'd never meant to say slips out and he can feel Bucky's reaction, the clenched jaw and uncertainty, the programming creeping back up. He runs his fingers through Bucky's hair again, just enough to make the feathers sway and brush against his ears, as he lets himself focus more on their connection, putting more of himself into it so it's just a little bit stronger. ]

Hey now, don't pull that on me. I never met the guy you were back then. I don't give a shit about him, he ain't you. That's never gonna be who you are again. [ Harsh, maybe, for all that Sam's matter-of-fact tone is still gentle, but it's true. And Sam's never pulled his punches when it comes to Bucky; the guy deserves better than platitudes and unrealistic optimism. ] You aren't the Soldier, either, not anymore. All I want is to be here while you figure out who you are, not who you're not. Only thing I want from you is to not give up.

[ And also for him to stop killing people and probably not try to murder Sam himself again, but he's pretty sure they already covered that with Sam's promise to take him out if he hurt anyone again. ]

Edited 2017-03-07 00:35 (UTC)

[Bucky bristles from the increased pressure on the link from Sam. The feathers brush against his ears and scratch against his stubble, a physical reminder of the departure from HYDRA. That's what they were here for, crouched down in the corner with feathers and braids: because Bucky wanted more reminders that he had escaped. And Sam was helping him, despite being thrown by his face too many times.

At least he isn't lying to either of them. Steve carries too many hopes for Bucky to stomach while Sam isn't afraid to lay out harsh truths. Bucky will never be the smooth-talking charmer from Steve's memories, not even with all the effort in the world.

It still sounds oh too simple. He's not Bucky from Steve's memories, he's not the Soldier, then what is he, really? In the meantime while he figures out things, people around him are at risk.]

You couldn't give a happier pep talk, Wilson? [A little growl.]

[ Sam eases up a little, not pulling back so much as settling down, sinking into their connection as it is. They're both already in each other's heads more than Sam'd thought they'd ever be, and Sam'll let that be for the moment.

His point has been made, he's pretty sure. He's not gonna lie to either of them.

He's unable to keep down the snort of laughter, even as he rolls his eyes. That's who Bucky is to him right now: the little shit that asks him questions like that, who wants affection and companionship at the same time as he has no idea what to do with it and doesn't think he deserves it, who struggles with himself and the things he's done and where to go from here - who's a stubborn ass about doing it alone.

It's no wonder that Sam's found himself liking the guy. ]

I am a fucking delight, Barnes, can't you feel the rays of sunshine?

[It's a way of giving Sam what he wants while fighting back against the programming humming heavy in the back of his mind. Sam's snort of laughter is welcome in the oppressive atmosphere and Bucky sucks in a breath before releasing it with a heavy exhale. He'd rather do this figuring out who he is alone, without the risk to those around him, but when it comes to confidants, there are much worse choices than Sam Wilson.

Sam Wilson who tries to get him to want things, who doggedly reminds him he's allowed to want things even when it grates against the bone-deep programming that never ceases. For every problem Bucky brings to Sam's doorstep, Sam finds a solution, makes realistic promises, and only asks for the same effort from Bucky.]

You're the one braiding my hair. [Can you feel his fucking rays of sunshine? Because clearly Bucky is all about the sunshine.]

[ He breathes in and out not quite in sync with Bucky, feeling some of the heaviness bleed back out again. Sam's getting used to this, just about, the back and forth between them where the tension can ramp up when they hit each other's buttons, when Sam pushes Bucky a little too much or Bucky pulls back a little too hard - but then they even out, things settle down and are almost easy between them.

Bucky is honestly better at doing this with him than some other people Sam's known, and he doesn't bother to hide that feeling.

At this point, well. Sam figures he's pretty much at risk whether Bucky does his figuring out alone or with support - he's figured that for almost three years, and he's had plenty of time to reconsider and back out. Hasn't yet, and he's got no plans to change that. He doesn't want Bucky to do this alone when they could work together. ]

I'm making you Bucky with the good hair, that's what I'm doing. [ He finishes off another braid with one of the last of his feathers, tucking it behind Bucky's ear. ] Bursts of sunshine, the pair of us, that's why we gotta do this back here.

[Bucky with the good hair. He can deal with that, he thinks. He jumps a little at the touch to his ear, but re-focuses on his breathing. The process of braiding is calming in and of itself, the gentle tugs another source of sensations to ground himself. With the curtain of hair finally drawn back, he can see more of the world. It reminds him of Bucharest and one reason why he wore caps. Braids will be much easier to manage when it comes to hygiene, too.

He can't be who he used to be, maybe, but he could be the Bucky with the good hair.

Compared to where he started, it's a step in the right direction.]

Otherwise we might blind someone.

[ Honestly, sitting like this and running his fingers through Bucky’s hair, focusing on the strands slipping through his hands and the press of the feathers, on getting the braids just right - it’s grounding for Sam, too. He feels comfortable with Bucky when they’re like this, and though he’s trusted him to some degree for a while, he’s not sure when that happened. The brood bond between them hums at the back of his mind, quiet and content.

Sam tries not to notice how it feels like belonging, like something like home - but honestly, even without the connection, the comfort would be the same.

He laughs at Bucky’s comment, quiet but delighted all the same. ]

Damn right. Gonna have to start calling you sunshine now, huh?

[Bucky lets out a chuckle, bright and unbridled in his surprise. He's had many nicknames in his collection of pasted together memories, but nothing quite like this. Sunshine. That may have better suited him in the past, but now that he's Bucky with the good hair, he can be Sunshine, too.]

Sunshine?

Sunshine.

[ His tone is a cross between teasing and pleased, and his smile is the same. Sam's bounced around between ice related nicknames for Bucky, yeah, but he likes this one. He thinks he might keep it. ]

If I pretend like it's taking me a long time to do these last couple of braids, will you sit with me a while? I'm getting too old to get up off the floor quickly.

[ Look, Sam's comfortable like this, all right. ]

[Bucky won't admit it out loud, but he likes having his hair braided, likes being touched. It makes him feel more human and less like the Soldier. He's more than happy to blame the continued touch on Sam,though. That part helps him cope with getting something he wants. So, he settles in a touch more, relaxing under the gentle ministrations.]

Think I can manage.

( ? )

[ A gentle poke. Like Sam, he's been giving Bucky his space. The question isn't urgent, but it carries an unspoken, faint sense of concern. ]

[Bucky's walls go up at the mental nudge--- instinct drawing his hackles back--- but when he recognizes the touch he offers a nudge in return as a silent hello.]

[ Waypoint's a big place, but Sam's patient - and this time he doesn't have to physically find him, just has to get close enough that he's within range of their connection.

He'd given Bucky his space, turned his attention on the mission, gone out drinking with Misato and Damon, tried to get his mind off their fight and his thoughts sorted. And honestly, he's not sure he's been completely successful, but he's had enough of the empty ache where Bucky's connection should be and the feeling that he let Bucky down. Eventually, he goes looking for him, until he can once again brush his mind against Bucky's. ]

( They miss you. ) [ It's accompanied by the impression of the little alien birds they'd been looking after. ] ( Buchanan won't stop pecking me. )

[For a while, Bucky hoped he'd finally burned the connection stringing him and Sam together- not out of any malice but a deep desire to somehow spare the rest of the Nest from the Soldier. Days of trying to braid his own hair and nights of attempting to find any sign of feathery friends bring nothing but more guilt for having taken comfort in such things in the past. More of his memories return in time, of the Station and Concordia, each colored with regret. Eventually, Bucky stopped moving from place to place, stopped going into crowds for anything--- every time he brushes against someone, he worries the symbiote will do something and bring the Soldier to life.

His freeze-dried food, carefully rationed, will only last for another day unless he thins the portions further. He's familiar enough with hunger to know that it stops hurting eventually.

When another mind brushes against his, Bucky recoils. Sam's mind is still distant and it's like talking through a tin can for the buffer between them. ]

( Should've named him Steve. )

[ Even with the distance, even though he gets the feeling that Bucky sure as hell isn't taking care of himself, it's still something of a relief to have Bucky's presence back in his mind. He moves as he talks, not necessarily trying to find Bucky, just trying to get closer so their connection isn't so distant. ]

( Steve ain't the only stubborn jackass I know. )

[Bucky gets a thorough dose of that well-being and belonging that comes with re-connecting to the Nest and it's enough to get him on his feet. He doesn't have time to pack up the remainder of his food, so he leaves it as he shoulders his pack and questions whether the risk of innocent bystanders is worth putting more distance between him and the Nest. He can hear the crowd bustling on the street outside, the constant noise of the Waypoint.

He takes the risk and the stairs to avoid the elevator.]

( You guys competing? )

( Always. But right now you're the one giving us both a run for our money. )

[ Buchanan pecks the hand of a nearby alien who gets too close, and Sam shushes him as he keeps moving, circling around to try to keep himself in range. ]

( You punishing yourself isn't gonna change what happened, sunshine, and it doesn't make anyone any safer. It just hurts us both. )

[Bucky doesn't see how he's the one being stubborn when he can feel Sam getting closer. His heart clamors into his throat as he pounds down the stairs and thrusts himself out into the crowd. Walking one way strengthens the connection, so he turns on his heel to go the other, but there's so many beings it's almost like being caught in the ocean. It takes moving diagonal to get moving in the correct direction, stretching their connection thin.]

( I'm not. )

[Punishing himself, that is. Or at least in his mind he's not. Keeping away makes sense to him and agrees enough with the programming to keep it at a tolerable level.]

( Sure could've fooled me. )

[ Sam slows down, tucking himself awkwardly against the wall of a pawn shop he was pretty sure wasn't here yesterday. ]

( I'm not trying to come after you, all right, I just wanna talk. )

[A touch of anger bubbles out from Sam's words. Even if he were punishing himself, he deserves every part of it for what he's inflicted on others during his lifetime. He doesn't stop when Sam says he's not coming after him, pushing himself deeper into the crowd.]

( Already are. )

[ There it is. The talk about what Bucky deserves again, but Sam knows now isn't the time to go into that. Right now he'll consider himself lucky if he can just convince Bucky to stop running long enough to talk with him. ]

( What exactly is this supposed to do, huh, who's this supposed to make safer? You running doesn't make the Soldier any less likely to come out. )

( Everyone. The Nest. You. Steve. ) [Bucky's mind turns to the remains of their brood, to the empty holes of little Sam and Giorno, to the young minds of Katie and Parker. They wouldn't stand a chance against the Soldier and Bucky doesn't want to run that chance.

So he keeps moving, following the sensation of their line ebbing. It flickers in and out as he walks.]

[ Sam curses under his breath and starts moving again, just trying to stay in range. His mind goes there with Bucky's, then flinches away. He tries not to think about it too much, tries to ignore the way it makes him feel less whole - the way it makes him feel dangerously close to his bad days after he lost Riley. ]

( We've managed to keep everyone in the Nest safe so far, and that was with us flying blind. Now we know what's causing it, and we know how to fight it. We can get better at it. )

[Bucky can feel the connection wax and his heart surges into his throat. He has to do this, he has to lose Sam somehow. The warmth of belonging comes with nausea, with the feeling of being boxed in.]

( No. ) [He thinks this might be the first time he's said no to anyone and the programming digs into his skull as a result. Off balance, he stumbles into a passerby as he struggles with a sudden vertigo.]

[ Oh, now that's not fair. Sam knows how hard it is for Bucky to disagree even indirectly, let alone actually telling him no, and that's something he's been trying to get Bucky to do since they first met. There's no other option for him than to stop. ]

( Thank you for telling me no. )

[ He struggles with himself for a long moment, and doesn't bother to hide the way it hurts that Bucky doesn't trust him, that he isn't willing to at least stop and listen. But he doesn't move, doesn't keep going after Bucky. He keeps talking, though, he'll keep talking as long as he can. ]

( I don't want you to protect me from yourself. I want you to let me be there. We can protect the Nest from you, and if it's stuff like a couple of nights ago that you're worried about, running isn't going to stop that. Just think about that, please. )

[HYDRA doesn't need to exist to continue to hurt Bucky in new ways. He gets a flash of Siberia, something he hasn't remembered before. When he woke up with a metal arm, tried to fight, and found a needle plunged into his guts. Another time they pulled him from the ice, when he- no, the old Bucky- told them no and earned more needles in him. Before the chair, before they could wipe him, they tried conditioning him in other ways.

Bucky knocks over a couple people on his way to anywhere he can clear his head, but all he can feel are those needles under his skin, the chemical burn in his veins.

He tries to remember why he said it, why he said no, as heat sears through him, suffocating. His resolve is quickly crumbling in the face of the flashback or whatever it is. He needs something cold, ice water, anything.

His words are suddenly gone, his resistance melted, and he only offers the mental equivalent of a disgruntled sigh.]

[ Sam sucks in a breath at that flash of memory, but refuses to let himself get stuck in it, letting it drift away as he exhales. Fire burns under his skin, and it's - Sam's usual specialty is warmth but it doesn't feel like that's gonna help here.

He tries anyway, reaching out like fingers lacing through Bucky's, like the press of a hand to his forehead - like he can sooth away the burn if he just tries. ]

( You're okay, sunshine, you're okay. Stay here with me, you got your coin? )

[ Whatever the answer, Sam has his, and he pulls it out to run his thumb over the etched in wings. His other hand tangles in Buchanan's soft, feathery fur, and he focuses on both of them, on the way Buchanan nips lightly at his hand. Keeps his mind on those sensations, and passes them across the mental link. ]

[The connection is still so distant that Bucky worries for a moment that he might have to deal with this all on his own- whatever this is. Slowing down doesn't seem to quench the heat so he strives instead for a bathroom, but the bond is flickering and he can't bring himself to break it. Instead, he turns back, trying to find the convenience store he passed a couple blocks ago. Ice. They should sell ice. He just needs something to cool him down.

Coin? That's right. It's in his knapsack, but he can't stop to open it with so many people around him, washing him closer to Sam.

He can't seem to focus, but the sensation of feathers under his fingers anchors him.]

( Backpack. )

( It's okay, I got you. )

[ Sam starts moving forward again, chasing the feel of their bond growing stronger. After this, if Bucky even so much as hints that he wants Sam gone, he'll go - at least for another day or two - but right now he can feel Bucky moving closer, too. And Sam would never leave Bucky alone to deal with anything like this, whether it's a flashback or a side effect of the programming.

Buchanan seems to realize that something's up, and he keeps still, butting his head against Sam's arm where Sam's holding him as Sam keeps petting him, keeps sending the sensations through their link.

He keeps their connection wide open as he feels it grow stronger, an open invitation for Bucky to slide into Sam's mind if he wants - at the same time as he lets himself flow more into Bucky's head, hands in his hair and feathers against his skin as he tries to give Bucky something to keep himself grounded in. ]

[Bucky finds a store- he thinks, he's not sure, nothing seems sure right now- and makes a beeline for a bright neon sign reading cool as ice. It's some kind of walk-in cooler for liquor, but that doesn't stop Bucky from marching right in. He picks up the nearest bottle and presses it to his neck even as the refrigeration kicks on, spraying the room with some kind of liquid. He doesn't care. The cold glass against his neck is a godsend as his body continues to burn like a wildfire.

He can feel Sam growing closer, their connection widening and fanning out. His fingers curl tighter around the bottle, desperate for relief.]

( Sam. ) [This time, he's bidding his broodmate closer, though he can't express it directly.]

[ I'm here, I'm coming.

He doesn't exactly say it, but by now he's close enough that he doesn't have to. Sam can feel the relief from the cold, feel that it's not enough, that Bucky's still burning, and he picks up his pace, weaving in and out of the crowd quick as he can.

It's not long before he zeros in on the store, and it's pretty damn easy to tell where Bucky'd gone.

Sam ducks inside the cooler and makes a beeline for Bucky, ignoring the bite of the refrigeration unit and pausing only to make sure he zips his jacket closed around Buchanan. Then he reaches out, physically and mentally, his mind curling around Bucky's at the same time as he goes to press a hand against Bucky's forehead. Trying to figure out if this is a current physical reaction or a remembered one. ]

[The reaction is largely a remembered one, but so powerfully ingrained in him that it feels as real as the hand pressed to his forehead. Frost has already begun to gather on his skin, freezing the sweat as well as his eyelashes. He continues to clutch the bottle to his neck, though it doesn't seem to bring his body temperature down. He remembers seeing the other Soldiers go through this too, though in a different way, when their bodies were rejecting the serum, overloading their minds.

He blinks up at Sam, gaze glassy in pain. He should've known the consequences of saying no.]

[ Bucky’s pain is obvious, and it pulls at his symbiote ability - but there's nothing to heal, not really. Not that way, though Sam's not gonna let it stop him from trying to sooth the pain another way.

Sam pushes his hand into Bucky's hair, stroking through it as he lets himself settle into their brood bond. He pours himself into Bucky's mind like he can find the source of the pain and drive it away, wings stretching wide to pull Bucky into their shelter at the same time as he pulls Bucky into his arms. ]

( Come here, sunshine, come here. We won't let them hurt you any more; you can say no as many damn times as you want. Focus on right now, all right, on you and me. ) [ He fumbles in his pocket, presses his own coin into the palm of Bucky's hand. ]

[Bucky's heartbeat flutters in his veins as he struggles against the fire coursing through him. He knows Sam would take away the physical ailment if there were one, but as complicated as his conditioning is, of course it isn't that easy. His mind is cloudy and distant, absorbed entirely with the pain even as Sam reaches for him. Mental wings stretch out to shelter him, but everything is too hot before they curl around him. In his mind, the programming is surprisingly quiet, but iridescent red with the heat it's putting off.

His clammy fingers close around the coin as he continues to sweat bullets in the refrigeration unit.]

[ The pain cuts across Sam's mind, and he lets his symbiote ability go anyway, feels it webbing out across their connection and through Bucky's symbiote, searching for anything it can heal. Whether or not it finds anything, it's a struggle to hold it back with this much pain, and he wants to focus all he's got on Bucky.

He breathes, focuses on the way his stomach rises and falls with every breath, and tangles his fingers in Bucky's hair again. ]

( Breathe, Bucky. They can't take you, you're safe here. Just focus with me. )

[ The programming burns in Bucky's mind, and Sam can see it even as he tries to shield him from it - and it's not exactly a conscious decision when his wings melt, holding only the vaguest shape of feathers as they rush over it, as the warm breeze that usually accompanies Sam's mental link chills to try to combat it. ]

[His fingers dig into the coin, trying to re-route his mind, but the programming is burning hot like a brand. The usual chill of his mind is instead molten hot, the snow and ice now knee-deep brine bordering on boiling water. He tries to breathe, but his tongue sits thick and heavy in his mouth. He's not supposed to be able to say no and this is why.

The conditioning makes him want to be frozen, the disobedient Soldier gets locked up.]

[ When Sam first got here, he - well, he probably wouldn't even have gone this far in Bucky's mind, but here would probably be where he stopped. He'd have probably just hunkered down here and tried to provide what support he could while they rode it out, ask Bucky questions about it later.

But now he focuses on their brood bond and pulls. The programming runs deep, and by himself Sam could never hope to fight it for Bucky - but their symbiotes are a part of them, with a vested interest in making sure they survive, making sure their bond is strong. It's instinct, more than anything else, when his calls to Bucky's. When he weaves it tight around both of them, and opens his mind up completely to try to pull Bucky in. To give him an escape, to get around it indirectly instead of fighting it head on.

Come here. ]

[Bucky doesn't expect the pull on his mind. He blinks up at Sam in confusion before shutting his eyes to focus on the back path created the last time they dove this deep into each other. It springs up out of the deluge and he follows it away from the rapidly-boiling brine. The symbiote is pretty happy to facilitate as well and Bucky shifts to step out of his mind. It's a good idea, to wait out the programming's burn instead of fighting it head-on. He's coming.]

[ There's a wordless murmur of encouragement as he feels Bucky slipping back along their brood bond, and Sam falls back with him, wings out to cover them. It's something he learned as a pararescueman first, battling the demons of his mind and others second - there's always another route, when trying to overtake it head on fails.

His shields lower completely, letting Bucky sink in as deep as he wants to, back into the vibrancy of Sam's mind. It hasn't changed, since the last time they did this, except now there's a quiet, faint sense of familiarity about having Bucky there. ]

( Hey, sunshine. You with me? )

[The once frigid tundra of Bucky's mind has begun to boil over just in time for Sam to cover them. Sinking into the bond and venturing deeper into Sam's mind allows the heat to grow distant, like a warm oven. Sam's mind is, as always, stunning, a wash of brilliant hues and Bucky can't help but bask for a moment before settling further. He can feel the warmth of his body ocer the bond, still burning away, but at this distance, it's far less suffocating and inescapable.

Bucky keeps to himself in his own way in Sam's mind, if such a thing is possible, not wanting to enjoy the comfort too much.]

( Yeah. )

[ That's one for Team Bucky, as far as Sam's concerned. Maybe they can't face the programming head on, not yet, but there's ways around it, ways they can still fight it. But he can feel the way Bucky still tries to hold back, to keep himself from being comforted too much, and Sam doesn't hesitate before reaching out to give it to him anyway, to hold him close mentally as well as physically.

Maybe it isn't fair to try to make Bucky listen to this now, but Bucky's in his head. Bucky needs to hear this, Sam needs to say it, and even if he's already planning on saying it again and again until it sticks - there's no better time for Bucky to be able to feel Sam's conviction, to get a sense of just how true it is. ]

( What happened to you isn't okay, Bucky. You didn't deserve any of it, no matter what terrible things you've done when you were under someone else's heel, and you don't deserve this. You made your opinion known, man, you set a boundary and that's something you should be proud of, not punished for. ) [ He rests his forehead against Bucky's, at the same time as there's a mental sensation like feathers brushing over his cheeks. ]

( You were a prisoner of war, a weapon, but you're still a person. You can't tell me you haven't suffered, so damn much, and I ain't stupid enough to believe you don't got more to go through. I wish you wouldn't add to it. )

[Bucky shudders in Sam's embrace, whether from the feverish burn coursing through his body or the weight of Sam's words, he's not sure but at this proximity, both mental and physical, there's nowhere left to run. His heart continues to thrum in his throat at a lightning pace, perhaps a little faster now. He disagrees, as he always does, but he's also deeply hesitant to do so directly, not while he can still feel the effects of his last effort. So, he lets Sam embrace him, mentally and physically, even as the usual questions rise. How does anyone know he's Bucky to begin with? How does anyone know he's worth all this trouble? He can't deserve this, not after everything, after Berlin, after the robbery.

He isn't hurting himself now, by running, by rationing his food and hiding like a rat. ]

( I know, Bucky. I know. I've been inside your mind, man, I've seen who you were and who you are and I'm starting to see who you're gonna be. You're worth every minute of it and more. )

[ If anyone knows the answers to those questions, Sam's pretty sure at this point he can safely say it's him. He'd never planned on going that deep inside Bucky's head, or having him this much in his own, but he can't say he regrets it.

He can't say he wouldn’t do it again, that he isn't going to do it again. ]

( You are a person. You deserve to be treated like one. And you don't have to do this alone, not when we're so much stronger together. )

[Sam says it--- thinks it--- with such surety that there's honestly little room to doubt. He does still doubt, still question, but that's an innate part of who he is, same as his desire to not kill others. The Soldier has already taken so many and Steve seems to believe it's possible to live without killing, still does despite being a foot or so shorter and a good hundred pounds lighter.

There's a lot of people who think differently than Sam, but somehow Sam is still the arbiter in his fate here on the Station, the barrier separating the Soldier from the innocent minds tangled up in theirs.

He wishes he could do this all alone, no matter how foolish that hope is.]

[ Sam doesn't have any doubts, not about this. But he knows Bucky does - that he probably always will, to some degree or another. It's part of what makes him him, really. If living without killing is what Bucky wants... well, Sam's never seemed to manage it, but he's willing to try to figure something out for Bucky.

But that's a conversation for later, for when they're not sitting in a giant refrigeration unit. ]

( I'm your friend, sunshine, this isn't a one-way street. I know you'd be there if I needed you; you've had my back before. ) [ More than Bucky knows, really. Sam's used the coin Bucky gave him more than once, and it helps in part because it was a gesture from a friend. From Bucky. ] ( Do you really wanna do this alone, or is it just because you don't feel like you deserve the support and you don't wanna hurt anyone by being around them? )

[ He's not sure if Bucky can actually answer that, at least not in words - even if they're mental ones - but their connection is strong enough that Sam figures he can get an answer somehow, anyway. ]

[Bucky doesn't quite understand Sam's confidence in him, how he knows Bucky would have his back. Of course, Bucky would be there for Sam in heartbeat, regardless of any sense of obligation. He'd do whatever it takes, really, to keep Sam safe, which brings the second question into effect.

While his answer is due more to the latter- that he doesn't deserve the support and he doesn't want to hurt anyone- he does have some quiet desire for the former. He used to work on his own and lived by himself in Bucharest for two years, so being surrounded by people is a constant assault on his senses, mental links aside.]

[ It's... not something Sam can put into words, really. An instinct, maybe, helped by little pieces he can point to like the way they fought together physically or the way they've grounded each other mentally and emotionally, and fueled by the connection between them. ]

( I'll try to be better, about picking up on when you really do need space and giving it to you. )

[ He knows that it's hard for Bucky to actually ask for it, and Sam... he can do that, he can figure out how to make it so Bucky can get that time alone without feeling like he needs to run all the time. Somehow. The rest of that, well. They're back into what Bucky deserves and whether or not Sam should feel safe around him. This isn't the place to go into it. ]

( Come on, all right, let's get somewhere safer than the middle of a store to wait this out. )

[Once again, Bucky feels that he doesn't deserve the extra effort on Sam's part. In HYDRA, he was given space merely because of convenience and after because Bucky didn't want to be found while he sorted through the remains of his head. On the Station, Concordia, and now the Waypoint, he feels selfish for wanting the distance, while also believing it the best course after another episode of the Soldier, such as now.

When Sam mentions leaving the refrigeration unit, Bucky instinctively digs in his mental heels. He doesn't want to go back to the sweltering heat of his own mind or leave the chill of the refrigeration when the programming continues to burn away. A moment later, though, he realizes how selfish that instinct is and he starts to withdraw, first mentally.]

[ Sam's gonna give it to him, anyway. It's the opposite, as far as Sam's concerned - it's not selfish for Bucky to want that kind of space, after everything he's been through, and that's why Sam'll do it. Not because he thinks it's for the best after what'd happened.

When he feels Bucky start to withdraw mentally, Sam's kneejerk reaction is to reach out to stop him, the mental impression of fingers laced together and a tug to pull him back. ]

( Stay here? There's a hotel room close by, we can get to it together. )

[ Or if they can't - then Sam'll wait it out here. He won't send Bucky back to his own mind when the programming is still intent on causing him pain. On making him suffer for anything, let alone for having an opinion and saying no, which are things that Bucky sure as hell should do.

He doesn't hide any of that from Bucky, as he moves to try to stand and pull Bucky up with him, at the same time as he tries to keep Bucky more in Sam's mind than his own. Sam'd... mostly managed it, when he'd stayed in Bucky's head while fighting the Soldier, but if they can't do both, Sam knows which one he'll pick. ]

[When he's pulled back, Bucky is filled with a rush of gratitude. He didn't want to go back. Not now, not until the programming starts cooling down again. A hotel room will certainly allow them more privacy than a walk-in liquor cooler. From the distance, feeling his body move and shift pulls at his mind with a gravity of a sinking ship. While it's not impossible to stay rooted with Sam, it does grow more difficult. His feet are under him and Bucky slides more into his mind, despite his efforts to remain in Sam.

He remembers this sensation: his feet and hands held in boiling water. Of course, this sort of conditioning didn't happen as often as others, considering the difficulty of heating water in a pit in Siberia, but the few times it did stick in his mind. Phantom pain sears up his left arm, where fingers should be but no longer exist. ]

[ Sam hesitates when he feels Bucky slip back, when he gets the bleed over from the rush of pain. He stops moving, one arm wrapped tight around Bucky's waist, and he opens their connection wider to beckon Bucky back in.

They could push through it, probably, withstand the pain for long enough to get somewhere they're not likely to be interrupted or kicked out of. But it's not worth it to Sam. Bucky's been through more than enough pain in his life, and if there's something Sam can do to stop it, he'll do it every time. ]

( You okay if I carry you there? )

( 's fine. )

[His words slip through the link clumsily, without the confidence and surety to reinforce them. He does his best to anchor himself in Sam, to stay rooted in the cool breezes and cobalt waters, but every step he takes focuses him more on his body and the press of the hot irons in his mind. More pain follows the first wave, remembered bursts of heat that burn through his body, through limbs that don't exist anymore. He can deal with it, he thinks. It's not like he hasn't done so before.]

( Like hell it's fine. I've carried heavier than you, man, I got this. I don't care if you've handled it before, you don't gotta handle it now. )

[ Despite his words, though, Sam is hesitant to manhandle Bucky around like that without his permission. He settles for focusing on their connection, grabbing hold of his bond with Bucky and pulling as hard as he can. Everywhere Bucky tries to anchor himself down, Sam reinforces it, pulling him deeper and curling his wings protectively around him. ]

[Bucky doesn't argue, can't argue at this point with the programming burning white under his skin. This is another one of those times where he's used to doing things alone so he expects to do so again. He's already trying to put one foot in front of the other while Sam's rooting him deeper into his mind. Bucky's doing all he can, digging in deep, but at this point the easiest thing for him is to simply move and deal with it for however long until they find the hotel. Or, Sam, really, because Bucky is already starting to check out from the combination of the overheating and being spread between two minds.

Opening his eyes is a task all on its own, frost sticking his eyelashes together, and that alone is nearly enough to send him reeling. How many times did he wake up like this?]

[ Without thinking about it, Sam stops in front of Bucky and reaches out, thumb sweeping gently under Bucky's eyes and across his eyelashes to try to melt some of the frost. ]

( You're not alone, sunshine. Come on, I got you. Stay in here with me. )

[ Sam's just going to. Drape Bucky's arm over his shoulder, crouch down a little and try to haul him up into essentially a piggy back ride. ]

[When Sam moves in front of him, Bucky expects to be hit. He's not entirely sure why, until thumbs are brushing over the frost on his eyelashes. Once he's hoisted onto Sam's back, Bucky's beyond resisting. Sam feels cool in comparison and the invitation to rejoin Sam in his mind is met with enthusiasm. He crosses through the link again, with noted ease now that he doesn't have to focus on walking and mental efforts. Almost immediately, the sensation of being practically boiled alive grows more distant.

He's not light, especially not in the two years since HYDRA. Not having to live off rations and nutrient paste, unless self-imposed, has put a lot more meat on his bones.]

[ Sam's pretty damn sure why, but that's not a place he really wants to go. Gotta focus on the here and now, and now he's got Bucky on his back and settled in his mind. He'll take it.

Even if Bucky's ass is heavy. He's carried Steve before, sure, lots of times - but gravity's different in the air, and the one time Sam had to actually fight it and carry Steve, it wasn't for very long. Sam's pretty sure he can attribute the fact that he can manage it okay to the symbiote's physical enhancements rather than his rescue training.

He takes a moment to make sure his grip is secure - thanks to his symbiote ability, he's had a little better luck keeping the cold off, but his teeth are still chattering and he can barely feel his fingers - and then he sets off. He's gotta skirt the edges of the crowds as best as he can instead of shouldering his way through, and he's real damn grateful the hotel room is close by.

It's not too long before he's shifting to scan the lock open and kick the door in. He nudges it shut behind him and makes a beeline for the couch, planning on setting Bucky down on it. ]

[Bucky doesn't make any effort to object, isn't in the right headspace to refuse as he's hoisted onto Sam's back. It's easier to keep rooted in Sam's mind with the contact, as well as not needing to focus on walking. People jostle him from time to time, jostle Sam more like, but it's still less jolting than when he tried to walk on his own. Once more, the heat ravaging his body is distant like the sunset, something he doesn't have to surrender himself to.

Soon enough, though, Sam is moving him on purpose, shifting him and then his back is down against something soft. However, Bucky lurches up to keep physical contact with his broodmate, tangling his fingers in Sam's.]

[ There's a tight curl of affection when Bucky grabs his hand, mixed in with a little protectiveness and something like gratitude. He doesn't wanna lose physical contact with Bucky right now, either. Sam squeezes Bucky's hand, easing himself down so he can sit on the floor and lean up against the couch. His arm's propped up on the cushion so he can keep hold of Bucky's hand, and he pillows his head on his shoulder as he reaches out with his other hand to stroke through Bucky's hair. ]

( I'm not going anywhere, sunshine. Stay here as long as you want, all right, try to get some rest if you can? )

[Bucky's hair is still half-frozen to his face, damp from both sweat and the refrigeration. Releasing a sigh when Sam doesn't dislodge his fingers, he relaxes against the cushions and deeper into their link. For now, he doesn't have to think. Exhaustion, thirst, and hunger roll over him but none are more important than keeping the connection with Sam; everything else can wait. After all, he's got just the one hand and it's very much occuppied right now.

With a hum, Bucky acknowledges Sam, quietly content to sit like this for a while.]

[ In the past, Sam's always brushed against Bucky's mind when he wanted to contact him, making his presence known like a mental knock before trying to say anything. Now - well, now he still kind of does, except for the fact that he still hasn't managed to pull his shields back together around Bucky. Or really figure out how to stay completely out of Bucky's head, or get Bucky out of his own, but honestly, he hasn't put too much effort in.

Still, he tries anyway, reaching out like a brush of feathers before his presence in Bucky's mind strengthens. ]

( I still owe you a drink, you know. )

[Since Sam brought him to the hotel, Bucky's not really gone too far. It's physically difficult to put much distance between himself and Sam after practically living in his broodmate's head for a couple days, waiting out the programming's burn. So, he's not entirely sure Sam's left in the first place when he feels Sam more present in his mind. The proposition is met with a moment of hesitation before a quiet thought of they know what's causing the Soldier to come out here on the Station. It isn't random like he thought before or even inherently connected to violence.

Bars aren't exactly the best place to avoid violence, though.]

( Somewhere not crowded? )

[ Maybe it should weird him out, that he feels better now that Bucky's not too far out of range, that the connection between them is stronger than ever, but it doesn't. He's always felt better when Bucky wasn't running, or at least wished he wouldn't, even before all this shit with the symbiote. And that their connection is stronger, well. Sam's already made the choice to strengthen it more than once, and he doesn't regret it.

He waits, letting Bucky think it out - honestly, he'd get it if Bucky didn't want to, and it's not like he's gonna be upset - but he's still obviously pleased when Bucky agrees. ]

( Hotel bar? Never seemed to be all that many people in there when I passed by. ) [ Probably because most of the people on Waypoint seem to want busy, cheap, and exciting - where exciting usually means violent - and the hotel bar is none of the above, but that works out well for them. ] ( I'll meet you there? )

[Hotel bar sounds fine enough to Bucky. He always feels out of place in such a fancy establishment so he at least washes his hair and runs a brush through it before slicking it back from his face. In the past, he's never really cared much about his image, but since meeting Misato and Damon, both well-to-do and full of polished edges, he's been wanting to clean up a little better.

Over the link, he sends a mote of affirmation. Hotel bar it is.

The doorman at the hotel gives his pinned sleeve a raised eyebrow but otherwise allows him to pass. Good thing he looks a touch more presentable than the last time he was here. He leans through the doorway to the bar, looking for any sign of Sam.]

[ Honestly, Sam feels out of place in something like this, too, even after a couple of years of knowing Tony Stark. It echoes across their mental link, but there's a hint of determination, too - far as Sam's concerned, there's no one that can tell him that either of them don't belong here.

He's just grabbed a seat at the bar, towards the back - emergency exit close by, and back to the wall - and he's watching the door with his fingers curled around something that passes for a glass of white wine on this planet. Sam leans over with a wave when he spots Bucky peeking in the door. ]

( Look at you, Bucky with the good hair. )

[ He's teasing, of course, but there's a note of appreciation under it. It's good to see Bucky taking a little bit of pride in himself, just enough to clean up a bit. ]

[As always, Sam picks the spot in the room where Bucky will be the most comfortable. There's an exit close and a wall to his six. Bucky offers half a grin at the mention of his hair and he runs a hand through it. It does feel nice when it's clean and he feels less rundown with a good shower. Who'da thought?

Bucky makes his way over to Sam and pulls out the chair next to him.]

( What're you drinking? ) [He thinks that's how this goes; he doesn't really have much experience with bars or socializing for fun.]

[ Sam'd blame Bucky's influence, but truth is he'd have picked this spot anyway. Even without Bucky in his head, he knows that kind of hypervigilance, and he's chosen too many eating spots for himself and other vets.

His smile grows a little when he catches Bucky running his fingers through his hair, and he leans over to bump his knuckles affectionately against Bucky's good shoulder in greeting when he sits next to him. ]

( White wine, but I'm not sure I can pronounce the name the guy said it was. Definitely not made from grapes like the kind back home, but it ain't bad. ) [ He pushes the glass towards Bucky. ] ( Wanna try? )

[Bucky's grin widens at the bump to his good shoulder. He likes that the bond between them has grown stronger, despite his reservations about being around people in general. Eyeing the glass, he shrugs his good shoulder. He might as well give it a try; that's why they're here, after all.

He scoops up the glass, thick fingers wrapped around the stem like a goblet, and takes a sip. Very sweet. And a tinge of something sharper behind it. He's not entirely sure if he likes either taste.]

( Does it all taste like this? )

[ So does Sam. He's long past accepting that he likes Bucky and that the two of them are friends, and it's not just because of the symbiote that he's glad for Bucky's company.

He watches for Bucky's reaction to the wine, humming thoughtfully at the question. ]

( Nah, it seems like there's just as much variety here as back home. Maybe even more. ) [ Sam'd tried a lot of it when he was out with Misato and Damon the other night, but not all of it. Even if either of them knew what Bucky liked, he's not sure he could recommend a drink like he could back home. ] ( How about I order us one of everything until we figure out what you like best? )

( One of everything? ) [Bucky can't hide his surprise, even if the symbiote didn't link their minds. One of everything sounds excessive, especially for a first time. He doesn't know his tolerance or if he even has one. All he knows is he apparently doesn't like white wine. That's a start. He'd be alright drinking something he didn't love, but he's pretty sure Sam would take issue with that because Sam's a pain in the ass like that.]

[ There's a soft chuckle at that surprise. ] ( Well we're gonna share 'em. ) [ Because, you know, half of one of everything is so much more reasonable.

And damn right he'd take issue with Bucky drinking something he didn't love, because Sam's a good guy like that. ]

( We should probably stay away from straight hard alcohol though. And no wine. So maybe just one of all of their cocktails. )

[Right okay. Half of one of everything. For a soldier who hasn't drank in at least seventy years and pararescueman half his size in terms of bulk.

Bucky isn't really sure what to say, considering Sam's already made his mind up and Bucky did want to try some different things and socialize.]

( Do they got a menu? )

[ Wow Sam would object to that lack of faith in his alcohol tolerance. Just because some of them aren't beefed up super soldiers, geez.

But Bucky doesn't have to say anything for Sam to sense his skepticism, and he nudges his shoulder against Bucky's as he passes him one of the bar menus. ]

( We'll stop when you wanna stop, man. I was gonna say I'll drink anything you don't want - but yeah, all right, I know I ain't twenty anymore. ) [ And he isn't planning on using his symbiote ability to keep himself sober like he had at the party he'd gone to as part of the mission in Concordia, when he'd drank probably more than one of everything they had. ] ( Maybe we can send what we don't like to back to the room, make Damon and Misato wonder who's sending them drinks. )

[Now that brings a smile back to Bucky's face. Imagining the surprise their poor nestmates' faces when drink after drink is sent upstairs. Yeah, that will work, that will definitely work. He looks down the menu and mentally crosses off anything with purée in the ingredients list. That takes a whole section named smoothies off the menu.

He can't remember if he likes any of this, so he starts at the top under their list of classic cocktails.]

( Altin Nova? What's that back on earth? )

[ There they go, that's more like it. There's a hint of something playfully conspiratory to his mind as he grins back, pleased. Enjoying the little moments, man, and right now that means trying a dozen or so drinks and sending the extras up to a couple of friends just to see their reaction.

He leans over Bucky's shoulder a little to skim the menu, brows furrowing as he reads the description of the drink before he taps one of the alien words. ]

( Well I know that one is basically just tonic water or some kind of flavored club soda, it's in a lot of drinks. I'm gonna guess the alcohol is something like gin. ) [ He shifts down a little, tapping another drink on the list. ] ( I think I might go for that one first, it looks like it's got bourbon and this weird fruit that tastes like an orangey apple. )

( Is it good? ) [As if it matters. He doesn't have any point of comparison on his own and starting from the top of the menu seems like the best idea to him. Following Sam's finger, he reads over the ingredients to that cocktail. Doesn't sound too bad.]

( How does an orange taste like an apple? )

( I liked it okay. Good a place to start as any. ) [ Bucky's got the right idea, really, might as well start at the top and work down.

He holds up a hand, and when one of the bartender's antennae-like eyes swivels towards him, waves him over so he can point out what they want. ]

( You got me, sunshine. But when I was a kid, and right after I left the military, I used to mix juices together when there wasn't enough left for a whole cup of one on its own. Tastes like when I'd mix apple and orange. )

[Bucky tries to recall any memories of his childhood, of life before childhood, but can only find blurry images of Steve and a slick-haired version of himself that smiles easily. Little things like what he ate and drank are mostly lost to the cold. With the exception of hot dogs, of course. It's one of the reasons why he indulges in them so much; they're one of the few links to who he used to be. Or he might have been. He's still never too sure.

When the bartender turns their way, he looks down at the menu and points in a silent one of these.]

( What was it like when you were a kid? ) [Since he doesn't have much of a frame of reference.]

[ Sam should probably stop giving him so much of a hard time about the hot dogs, especially because he's been craving them himself lately. He just - well, he can't resist, really.

He shoots the bartender a smile and points out what he wants as well, but starts answering Bucky's question even before the bartender moves away to make their drinks. One of the good things about communicating with the mental link, really, no need to worry about their conversation being overheard. ]

( The eighties, they... ) [ Already flashes of New York in the 80s, and the world in general, flip through his mind has he tries to figure out how to explain it - music, the neighborhoods of Harlem, TV shows, mostly - and he stops with a quirk of a smile. ] ( You want me to show you? Unless you mean what was it like for me, personally. )

[Bucky catches those glimpses of bright colors and loud music and tries to compare them to his own recollections of the eighties. Seven targets. Milia. 1981. Arkady and Yasha. 1983. Friedrich. 1983. Olga. 1985. Helene, James, Natya. 1987. Screaming. Friedrich had reached into his pocket and when he died, begging for his life, a crumpled photograph remained in his stiff fingers.

He'd welcome the distraction of Sam's memories over his own.]

( Either. Both. )

[ Without thinking about it, Sam reaches out to gently lace his fingers through Bucky's, palms pressed together.

He doesn't say anything, but he opens up his mind a little, remembering the shape of the world as he knew it when he was a child. More of the same music - though he can't help it when some of his favorites slip in, snippets of Marvin Gaye and Earth, Wind & Fire even though the eighties weren't quite their decade - fashion and hairstyles, the kind of toys that everyone wanted, the TV shows that were popular, cartoons that Sam liked. Walkmen and VCRS and space shuttles, even some of Ronald Reagan, the AIDs epidemic and the end of the Cold War, though those are tempered a little by Sam's adult mind, seeing as he didn't really understand them as a kid. The voice of a man who died ten years before Sam was born but who framed his childhood anyway, the echo of I have a dream. ]

( I got an older brother and an older sister. The neighborhood we grew up in - it wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worst, either. We got some trouble, but a lot of good people, too. My Nana taught me how to cook, she made the best damn berry crumble there was. We used to throw the extra oats out on the window sill and watch the birds come to get them. )

[Bucky's stomach has barely begun to turn when he feels a warm hand threaded through his own, drawing him back to the present. He echoes the grip and focuses on the images and sensations pouring over the link. It's strange to see the source of the vibrant jewel tones that make up the foundation of Sam's mind, stranger still to see them in this sort-of firsthand way. He shuts his eyes to allow them to wash into his mind and quiet the simmering acid of guilt.

He doesn't remember any of that, but he's glad that Sam does.]

( That where you got your thing with birds? )

[ Honestly, Sam doesn't know if he'll ever get much of his memories back from before HYDRA, but maybe one day he can remember this. Maybe they can make enough new memories that five years from now when he looks back over his life, between them and what he does get back he'll be able to have some good.

Right now, at least Sam can help to keep him grounded, and can give him something to distract him. He gives a low chuckle at that question. ]

( Yeah. I learned all the different kinds that came real quick, and when I got old enough I started volunteering at a wildlife rehabilitation place. Lot of other kids I knew did stupid shit and got themselves into trouble, but I went there. ) [ There's a pause, then, ] ( All right, I did some pretty stupid shit, too, but not like that. )

[There's a quiet part of Bucky that still doubts that he deserves good memories to sit beside the amber glass in his mind, but for now he won't argue. It's nice to hear about Sam, about his life outside of the military. As he listens, the bartender returns with their drinks and sets them on the table with two clinks, but Bucky doesn't look up or move his hand.]

( Like what? )

[ For now, Sam won't argue, either, won't insist on it. It... feels good, sitting here with Bucky like this, sharing some of the things about himself that he hasn't really talked about in a while. He doesn't reach for their drinks - he could, since he's got a free hand, but he doesn't want to let go of Bucky's hand right now and he doesn't want to just drink in front of him, either.

There's something that could almost be sheepish about his smile, if it weren't for the more playful gleam in his eyes. ]

( When I was seven I jumped off the roof of the house because I wanted to see if I could fly. Damn near broke my arm, but it only made me want to do it for real. ) [ Then he makes a little face at himself. ] ( Took a few more risks than I should've to try to impress girls, got into more than a few fights with people who didn't know how to shut the hell up, but I didn't like the way people looked at me after those. )

[Bucky furrows his eyebrows at the mention of jumping off a roof. As Sam continues, though, he can definitely see how Sam and Steve became friends. Same stubborn willpower and same inability to back out of a fight.

I had him on the ropes briefly dances through his mind, blurred and faded and shadowed by the whistle of wind through his ears, but still there.

His grip on Sam's hand tightens for a moment before releasing. Yeah, they're here. They're sitting, not falling. Just talking.]

( Sounds familiar. )

[ Sam's grip tightens back, and he lets his thumb stroke over Bucky's knuckles before he lets go. Then he reaches for his drink, laughing softly. ]

( Sounds to me like you got a type. I never did learn how to give up. )

[Bucky bites his lip, but this time to try and hide a grin. Yeah, maybe he does have a type. First Steve, now Sam. People who are passionate and stand up for themselves and others, who help him even when he can't give that much help back.

With his hand now free, though he's not sure that's what he wanted, he curls his fingers around his glass and takes a ginger sip of his drink.]

( Tastes like pine trees. ) [He smacks his lips a couple times, trying to figure out the aftertaste.] ( Don't they do something with pine trees in the winter? )

[ Warmth curls around them with a brush of feathers as Sam shoots Bucky a pleased look. Yeah, he can tell what Bucky's trying to hide, and it's always good to see him smile. Or almost smile. ]

( That's the gin. ) [ He pushes his own drink towards Bucky in a silent offer to him to try a sip, if he wants. And then Sam's expression lights up a little, for all that he makes an attempt at hiding it. There's no mistaking the quiet delight that makes its way across their link. ]

( Christmas trees. Yeah, they decorate 'em with ornaments n' lights n' garland. Put presents underneath them. )

[Bucky has clearly failed in his task of concealing his smile so he stops bothering to do so as he reaches to try Sam's drink. Very bright and sweet, like his broodmate. As he does so, he digs into his memories for a sign of line trees and Christmas. A foggy simhouette of a familiar blonde opening brown paper packages rises to the surface, but Bucky can't seem to recall anything specific, or decorating a tree. However, he does hope that Steve had the chance to enjoy such a thing back home, regardless of Bucky's fractured memory. Seems the kind of thing the kid would enjoy.

He also hopes that Steve was able to do so with Sam after the fall of HYDRA, so he could have someone during the holiday. ]

( You guys do that back home? ) [Bucky goes back to his own drink, trying it for a second time.]

[ There they go. Sam shoots him a smile back, content, as he waits for Bucky's reaction to the drink.

He's about to ask which one Bucky likes better - but he's sidetracked entirely by that question. ]

( Hell yeah. ) [ There's a flash of when Sam was a kid, small hands carefully threading popcorn and cranberries on a string and wrapping it around a brightly lit tree, snow falling outside of their window; when he was older, hanging stars cut from MRE packages and empty tin cans on a pine tree growing from rocky soil; at the Avengers' compound, putting up expensive, high quality twinkle lights, Steve and Wanda's voices murmuring in the background. ] ( I'd have gotten us to do it here, if I knew when it was back on the Station. )

[Bucky wouldn't need to hesitate in stating his preference for his broodmate over some sugary drink he's not sure he enjoys. But, he's busy absorbing the flashes of memories from the link with a smile. Despite the obvious difference in their memories, Bucky can still feel the wash of the glow of the lights.]

( Why not? )

[ He rests a hand on Bucky's leg absently, fingers curling into fabric of his pants as he considers that question. As he watches the light of Bucky's smile reflecting those from his own memories. ]

( You know what, why not? Belated Christmas is better than no Christmas, no reason we can't have one in April or whatever month it is now. ) [ Or whatever month it'll be when they get back. ]

[Bucky jumps at first from the contact, but the brood link hums and he calms a moment later. In fact, it becomes comforting as he sips on his drink. Combined with the memories still clinging to the corners of his mind, it tastes almost like Christmas, he thinks. His grin widens at Sam.]

( Really? ) [He can hardly believe it.]

[ Sam is slowly realizing there's a lot he'd do to get Bucky to smile like this. Or, more actually - a lot he'd do to give Bucky more reasons to smile like this. Even if Sam wasn't a little bit of a nerd over Christmas, he'd do it.

But he is, and his own expression is bright as he grins back, already planning. ]

( Yeah, man, let's do it. We can pick up some stuff here and when the mission's over - there's gotta be a tree in that big garden, we can decorate all over. )

[ He hadn't missed Bucky's first reaction to his touch, though, or the way it'd called Sam's own attention to it. They've been in contact... kind of a lot, lately, mostly when trying to ground each other. But there's no purpose for this, not really, and he doesn't want to ask Bucky is this okay or do you want me to not, because, well. Wants are difficult, and so is actually saying no to something like that.

But it only takes a moment to figure out a phrasing that even if Bucky can't answer - Sam hopes he can, but even if he can't, Sam'll at least be able to pick up on the feelings there. ]

( Are you uncomfortable? I can stop. )

[Even if Bucky wanted to close off his mind to Sam, it's hard to ignore the flashes of plans, bright lights and green trees that Bucky's not sure he's ever seen in his life. Except he has, in the pieces from his shattered mind there are hints of pine alongside the familiar silhouette of Steve. The question distracts him, though, brings him into the present and how he still isn't quite comfortable with physical touch, despite how close he and Sam have been since the programming's attempt to burn him out.

It's not that he's outright uncomfortable, but more that he still doesn't know what to expect. Part of him continues to wait for Sam to hit him or stick him with a needle; however, the symbiote hums with approval at the fingers curled into the fabric of his pants and Bucky himself likes having Sam this close, likes that Sam doesn't dance around him or pull back.

He wishes he could ignore the former and focus on the latter.]

( 's fine. )

[ Sam can't help but listen in to Bucky's feelings as he considers the question. It wouldn't have felt right, back when they first got here, but now... now it feels damn near natural, being close enough to feel what Bucky's feeling.

That's all the symbiote, sure, but this? Sitting here having a couple of drinks, wanting to lean in so their shoulders are brushing or keep his hand on Bucky's knee? He's pretty sure that's mostly them. Especially when he picks up on why Bucky is hesitant about it. No, Sam never has been one to dance around him, or do anything other than stubbornly continue to treat him as person.

It just makes Sam want to do it more, until one day all Bucky expects from it is affection. He hums a quiet agreement, shooting Bucky a smile before he downs a significant portion of his drink and shifts to bump his shoulder against Bucky's. ]

( Now I just gotta figure out what I'm gonna get you. )

[As Sam listens to Bucky, Bucky listens back to what Sam wants. He knows it isn't Sam imposing his wants on Bucky, not like Pierce, but he can't help but wish they were already to that point. Still, the programming doesn't allow him to move quickly on something like this, doesn't let him get too comfortable. At the end of the day, no matter how much Sam works with him, he's still a weapon waiting to be re-activated.

He takes a sip of his own drink and quirks his lips when Sam brushes against his shoulders.]

( Get me? ) [He didn't realize there were gifts associated with Christmas; there's nothing in his memory that says gift-giving and he's not sure he was ever given anything before Concordia and Sam's coin. Now he has two: Steve's sketchbook and Sam's coin.]

[ At the end of this day, maybe, but Sam's holding out hope for another day where Bucky sees himself as more than a weapon. When he chooses what he wants to do with his life, his skills, when he lets himself feel. A hope that might be unrealized, there is a part of Sam that acknowledges he has to be prepared for that, but everything in him is determined to see this through. No matter what. ]

( Part of Christmas, yeah. Maybe we'll make dinner, exchange presents after. )

[ There's a pause as he almost lets the rest of that go, turning his attention towards the menu to pick out their second round - but he can't. ]

( We'll get there, sunshine. I know it's slow going and I know it's frustrating as hell, but we can do it together. )

[ Sam's not going anywhere, and though he doesn't say it, he feels it. As long as Sam's breathing, Bucky will always have him. ]

[Bucky bites his lip at the mention of his frustration and picks at edges of the menu. Frustration doesn't really cover it. So much of who he is is tied up in war, in HYDRA, in what he's done, in being a weapon, a broken man. And yet Sam is here with him, trying to help him become more of Bucky with the good hair when he could be anywhere else with anyone else. Visiting the hotel reminded him of that, that there are innumerable people who care for Sam and value him and his time, and Bucky's here struggling to have a drink without bringing down the mood.

And yet Sam's sincerity is unmistakable.

Bucky wasn't uncomfortable before, but now he certainly is. When emotions rise, they're too much like a sweater tight against his skin, itching and inescapable.]

[ All right, fair enough, frustration was far too mild of a term to cover Bucky's struggle in figuring out who he was and who he's not and who he's gonna be. There's a hum of acknowledgement across their connection, and close on its heels is the feeling that if Sam wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else, he would be. The first is intentional, the second not so much, but Sam is used to that with Bucky.

Sam's had countless opportunities to walk away, and he's not here out of pity or a sense of responsibility. He's here because he wants to be. Because he likes making Bucky smile.

He tugs on one of Bucky's braids with his free hand, like he can alleviate the quiet heaviness if he stays playful. ]

( You saying you don't value my time? ) [ Their connection is already open, but now Sam draws attention to it, just a little - just enough that if the emotions are too much for Bucky, there's somewhere for him to bleed them off to. ] ( Looks to me like we need another round. )

[No, he doesn't mean that he doesn't value Sam's time. That comes fast enough, shame and frustration on its heels. Once again, he's reminded of the slicked back hair in Steve's memories and how he pales in comparison. Words will likely never be easy again. Even with something as simple as mental words, emoting thoughts alongside feelings, he can't seem to keep everything in order.

The tug to his braid is entirely unexpected and Bucky blinks at Sam in surprise. What the hell you punk---

He reaches over to finish the rest of Sam's drink in revenge. Jerk. Take that.]

( You do now. )

[ Understanding flows back - it's okay, it's fine, Sam was just teasing - and it shifts into disagreement when he picks up that Bucky thinks he doesn't hold up to the echo of himself. That Bucky is a ghost, no one Sam's ever known, and as far as Sam's concerned, he pales in comparison to the man sitting beside him.

To the one who, despite everything, came out tonight to get drinks with him and wondered why they didn't just have a Christmas whenever the hell they felt like it.

The one who just chugged the rest of Sam's drink, what the hell.

Sam laughs harder than he has in a while, his hand on Bucky's knee the only thing keeping him from sliding out off the bar stool as he shoots Bucky a displeased look that would probably have more success if he wasn't still chuckling. ]

( You're such a jackass. ) [ He waves over the bartender anyway, though. ] ( Completely out of proportion, man. )

( You pulled my hair. ) [After all, he's supposed to be Bucky with the good hair, but Sam's laughter is an excellent distraction from the weight of his worries and the burn of the alcohol is strangely soothing in a way he never thought before. He goes back to his own drink, sipping the Altin Nova as if he didn't just down Sam's.

The bartender comes over, antennae pivoting as it moves. Bucky doesn't have a second drink picked out yet.]

( Maybe I was just trying to remember if it felt as nice as it looked. ) [ But it's worked to bring them both back around, and Sam honestly doesn't mind the little dip into seriousness. It's not just Bucky - that always tends to happen, with Sam.

He asks the bartender questions about the menu, about the kind of alcohol they serve there, both to get a better idea of what's close to something that might be served on Earth and to give Bucky time to consider the options. He focuses on things similar to what they've already got, fruity and sweet or crisp and minty.

Finally he settles on something on the menu called a Wet Major. ]

[Well that's... not what Bucky expected either. He stares for a moment before directing his gaze down to his menu, not quite sure what to make of this new burst of warmth in his chest. For now, he chalks it up to still being clumsy with social interaction but there's a pleasant buzz under his skin, decidedly different from the programming's chilling hum. He can sense when Sam's settled on something with as wide open as their link is and goes for something that seems to have similar ingredients as his previous choice: Sagittarius.]

[ It's not the first time that something Sam's done made warmth spark from Bucky's side of the connection - not the first time Bucky's sparked warmth from Sam, either, only Sam usually knows what to do with it. It's different, the buzz Bucky's feeling, but it's not bad, so he doesn't draw attention to it. ...he is gonna remember it for later, though.

Sam knocks back his empty glass, like he's gonna get just a few drops left from the melted ice, as he waits for the bartender to bring their second drinks. ]

( You're a hot dog and mojitos kind of guy, huh? We gotta go on a grocery shopping run before we're done here, stock up the Station's kitchen with hot dogs. I can't remember the last time I made one that wasn't microwaved. )

[Bucky finishes up his own drink with a grin on his face. Unlike Sam, he still has most of his left. The mention of hot dogs makes Bucky's stomach growl. He seems to always be hungry now that he's not restricting his food. Also what the hell is a microwave?]

( Best is over a campfire. Next is boiling 'em. ) [From the hot dog conisseur himself.]

[ Yeah, wonder why that is. Jerk. There's nothing but contented affection coming from Sam at the moment, although his mind does immediately pull up a mental image of a microwave. ]

( Bet we could get a fire going on the Station. )

[ He hunts around for the food menu, pushing it towards Bucky. Bucky's not the only one who feels like he's always hungry, these days. ]

[Oh that thing. He remembers seeing one on Concordia. Doesn't feel right putting food in a box like that.When the food menu is shoved his way, he tries to keep his initial refusal under wraps. That part is still instinct after all this time. Most of the ingredients are foreign, like the drinks, so he's not really sure what he might like outside of his staple. So a hot dog it is.]

( Think they'll let us? )

[ It probably wasn't right, really, the hot dogs didn't taste all that great. But Sam didn't care back then. He does now, of course, and not just because Shiro seems to destroy any microwave he touches trying to cook.

He doesn't say anything about the faint hint of refusal. It's not like he expects Bucky to just get over it, and he'd rather not draw attention to it. Not when Bucky's trying, when he's already come such a long way.

Sam grins as their second round of drinks comes, shooting Bucky a sly look. ]

( I don't think I'll ask. We can do it anyway. )

[Bucky's not even tried to operate a microwave, so Shiro's got that much on him. The thought of sitting by a bonfire in a place as sterile as the Station, though, sounds awfully damn nice. A chance to get away from the rest of the Hosts in life support after they arrive back on the Station is an even better idea. Returning to the Station has never been easy, with all those minds buzzing so close together after time spread out.

When their drinks clink down on the table between them, Bucky's has a little umbrella in it, which sparks an idea.]

( You ever go camping before? )

[ Not for long. Sam's gonna teach Bucky how to cook when they're back on the Station, he's already decided. He'll trade it for lessons in the probably way to heat up hot dogs. ]

( Couple of times when I was a kid, some when I got back from overseas and couldn't deal with another night of a bed that was too soft and a room that was claustrophobic. ) [ Which is the kind of thing he only admits to people he trusts, to soldiers who know what it's like, but Bucky's both. He doesn't hesitate.

He pulls his drink towards him, a wordless hum across their mental link that's both question and encouragement to go on. ]

[That Bucky can completely understand. For the first several days of the Concordia mission, he slept on the floor instead of a bed. He's still not the biggest fan of beds, though his time on the Waypoint has been slowly changing that. He plucks the umbrella from his glass and fiddles with it as he sips on his drink.]

( Don't remember doing it before... ) [Before HYDRA, he doesn't need to say.] ( Did it after. For the first few months. )

[ Sam lifts his glass up in a silent gesture that's somewhere between acknowledgement and toast. Yeah, he gets that. He's said it a hundred or more times before, working at the VA, but they all got the same problems, to one degree or another.

It'd always helped knowing that he wasn't alone. ]

( I still think about it sometimes, when things get to be too much. You think it might help if you tried it when it gets overwhelming? ) [ He pauses, just for a moment. ] ( You think you might mind some company if you do? )

[Bucky nods in return, twirling the umbrella in his fingers, gaze distant as he gathers his memories after HYDRA, after pulling Steve from the river. He remembers feeling alone and that itch to run that still pulls at his feet while on the Station. For the longest time, all he had was his freedom.]

( Hadn't thought about it. ) [Both the camping and having company. Usually, he finds he must be alone, for the danger he poses to others.]

[ Bucky's not a danger to Sam, not like that. To others, maybe, but they know what causes it now and they know how to stop it, and Sam's not afraid for himself around Bucky. Never has been, maybe because he also won't hesitate to do what he has to in order to keep himself alive. For obvious reasons, in the past, but now also because he won't be the one to put something like that on Bucky's conscience.

It does't really matter, anyway, seeing as he believes in them both more than enough to think it'd come to that.

He understands the need for freedom, though, and he hums thoughtfully. ]

( Will you think about it now? )

[The question really shouldn't catch Bucky off guard. After all this time--- after all this talk of not going it alone--- but Bucky finds himself surprised. Surprised and suddenly pinned in place. Isolation is a part of who he is, part of the programming etched deep in his bones and everything that came after. With limited exceptions, he worked alone for seventy years. Being around people is overwhelming, even more so now with the symbiote.

He can't promise he won't listen to his instinct to run.

What he can promise, though, is that he'll try. Maybe after the fact--- after running when he realizes he's done it--- but he will try. That much he owes Sam. If Sam wants it, Bucky will give it a shot, even if Bucky thinks it's a bad idea. Flashes of the strobing lights in Berlin streak across his mind, his fingers curled about Sam's jaw. And again in DC, kicking Sam out into open air with only one wing. He's not safe.]

[ He doesn't protest the flashes of memories he gets. Bucky’s not safe when he's like that, he isn't going to deny that. But snippets of his own memories drift across, the small feeling of satisfaction when he told Bucky he wouldn't move his seat up, seeing him in the rear view mirror with a smirk that matched the one on Sam's face, Bucky’s hand warm in his with the challenge coin between them, the rush of frustrated adrenaline of their arguments in the Station, Bucky’s hair sliding through his fingers, his smile at watching the little birds hopping around, the determination in Bucky's mind when they fight the programming.

The feeling of security sleeping next to him. He bumps Bucky’s knee slightly with his own. ]

( That's only a piece of who you are. Me? I'm here for the whole package. Even the parts you ain't opened yet. ) [ Sam takes a gulp of his drink. ] ( I won’t ask you to do more than try. I'll try, too, to give you space when you need it and to apologize when I make mistakes. )

[Bucky shuts his eyes for a moment as Sam's memories play across his vision, but blinks them open again at the nudge to his knee. Setting the umbrella down on the table between them, he breathes out slowly as he worries at the edge of his lip again. For all that 'the whole package' talk, Bucky still can't help but wonder again if he's worth all this effort.

He looks down at his drink, running his fingers over the embossed ripples in the glass. Once again, he finds himself at odds with Sam's confidence that Bucky has more good parts of him tucked away somewhere in the dark.]

( Didn't think you made mistakes. )

[ It's not something Sam expects they'll see eye to eye on for a while. But Sam's not going anywhere, long as he has any say about it, and he'll keep trying. That's all he's asked of Bucky, and that's what he'll give in return.

Until maybe one day Bucky believes him when Sam says he's worth the effort, maybe he'll actually be comfortable with having someone who cares.

But he doesn't push the issue now, picking up on what Bucky chose to comment on with ease. ]

( Course it's rare, but yeah. Yeah I do. ) [ He loses the cocky smile, going a little rueful. ] ( I mostly got my shit together, you know, but I worked on it for a long time. I still got days when all I see is everything I should've done different. )

[Bucky nods along with Sam's response; he knows what it's like to wonder if things could be different. Maybe if he'd fought harder, smarter, faster he could have prevented dozens of unnecessary deaths, each connected to a web of people affected. Even now, death follows him around. But now it's under control, he tells himself.

He takes a swig of his drink before shifting a few inches closer to Sam so their knees touch. The contact brings a comforting hum to his senses and for now he lets that feeling grow.]

[ Sam's quiet for a moment, enjoying the easy companionship. It's not exactly the best topic, but... it's reality. It's why Sam's always felt the most comfortable in the company of other soldiers, of other people who get it.

And then Bucky actually initiates contact, and the smile that lights up Sam's face is... probably a little bit silly, really. The ease shifts, warms, echoes across their connection, and Sam knocks back a long drink before he looks back over at Bucky. ]

( Which one do you like the best so far? )

[For a moment, Bucky wonders if Sam will break the contact; Bucky's never been allowed to do such a thing in the past. But here and now in the bar, it feels right and the smile on Sam's face says it's okay, too. Once again, Bucky finds himself staring, unable to pull himself out of the gravity of Sam's glow.

Tapping the side of his glass, Bucky answers,] ( This one. )

[It's bright and refreshing without overloading on sweetness or the burn.]

[ He's allowed to now. It's gonna be slow going, Sam knows, even though as far as he's concerned Bucky's more than welcome to any kind of contact he wants - but it's a start, and right now, it's more than enough.

Right now Sam keeps the contact, and reaches up absently to tuck a stray strand of Bucky's hair behind his ear. ]

( Maybe next time we'll go somewhere with a beach, knock back a couple of these with our toes in the sand and watch the sunset. ) [ He sounds almost wistful, even as he catches the bartender's eyes and gestures them over. ] ( I'll settle for a pitcher and a couple of hot dogs right now. )

[When Sam begins to raise his hand from the table toward him, Bucky fights down his initial instinct to flinch. He trusts that Sam won't hurt him, not now after everything. Once Sam's fingers brush against his face, the spike of nervousness fades into the contentment resonating along their brood link. There, see? Sam wouldn't hurt him.

The thought of a beach helps to distract from the momentary panic. He remembers he went once with Steve and rode in the back of a freezer truck on the way back, but he can't remember the sensation of sand between his toes or the smell of the ocean.]

( It comes in a pitcher? )

[ He feels that spike of nervousness, faintly, and it's only after he's brushed Bucky's hair away that he connects it. Shit, of course sudden movements towards Bucky's face would make him nervous, would make him expect something else. He doesn't pull away, doesn't ask about it - at least not at the moment, not before he can figure out how.

It's nice, though, imagining them on a beach. Sam can't remember the last time he went to one for fun. He opens his mouth to reply to that question, very nearly shooting off the first response he thinks of, before he catches himself and shakes his head. ]

( If this was a date, here's where I'd tell you something dumb like "it does when you're with me" and try to impress you, or at least make you laugh. ) [ He shoots Bucky a little grin, quick and playful and just a little bit flirty before it settles into something softer. ] ( I still wanna make you laugh, but since this is you and me - why don't I tell you something real? )

[Bucky furrows his eyebrows at Sam in confusion before a grin begins to crack the corners of his mouth. He remembers going on a double date with Steve. When was it? Before HYDRA, but he remembers a crisp uniform. During the war? The girls wanted to go dancing, but Steve didn't. Bucky can't recall why. Just a salute and a hug and then another gap in his memory. Most of his memories of Steve come like this, in chunks and pieces without context. One day, he'll get them all in a row.

He hopes.

For now, he'll let himself chuckle at Sam's response. Yeah, if they were on a date, Bucky would probably be the one declining to dance these days.]

( Yeah? )

[ Sam grins back at him, shaking his head at himself. Shiro'd told him that he was out of practice at the whole dating thing when they talked about it - but truth is, so is Sam. It's been a long time since he's been on a date where he'd had to try to be on his best charming, flirty behavior. Not as long as Bucky, of course, but - that's not what they're here for.

He takes a long pull from his drink, considering his words. ]

( I always loved barbecues, you know? When I was a kid I'd be underfoot causing havoc, when I got older I'd be the first one there with my own sauce. After I got out of the military - this buddy of mine was throwing a fourth of July thing, and she's an army friend so I figure it'll be okay. No fireworks, and she'll get it if the crowds start being too much. And it's... I'm okay, you know, long as I stand far enough away what's on the grill doesn't smell like charred flesh, and long as I can hang out in the bathroom whenever pretending I'm fine starts getting to me, it's okay. But then her sister, she comes up to make sure I'm okay, and the second I smell her lilac perfume? I spend the next half hour or so throwing up. No damn idea why, but it happened every time I smelled lilac after that.

A few years later, I just started going to the VA, and I see this soldier I knew. He comes over and he's reminiscing, but all I can hear is gunfire and all I can see the way he looked the last time I saw him, more dead than alive. But I'm managing - until his wife comes over, and she's wearing lilac perfume. He tells me he used to carry a vial of it with him and it broke, that smelling it everywhere is the only thing that got him through. Turns out it stuck with us both, just in real different ways.

Point is, sometimes just because we don't remember something doesn't mean it doesn't affect us. We both got triggers we might not know about, and if we stumble on some of yours, we can figure it out. I can ask before I touch you, or telegraph it more obviously. Point is, I spent a while not caring that I wasn't part of the world, and a while pretending like I was, but this? This is real, and that means a lot to me. I hope you know that. ) [ He pauses for a moment, making another face at himself. ] ( Point is I didn't mean to take so long to get to the point. )

[At first, Bucky thinks this story is going to be a funny one, that they'll laugh and go back to drinking, but as Sam continues, he realizes the tone is not what he expected. He gives Sam his full and undivided attention as he listens, breathing slow and even. To him, it makes sense that Sam has triggers, as a civilian who became a soldier and pararescue. Sam saw death on the battlefield, same as Bucky, but in a completely different way. He makes a mental note to never get anything lilac-scented as he nods. Bucky likes talking with Sam about things like this, learning about how he and Sam are similar in how they've come back from their wars. When he first arrived on the Station, he thought he and Sam were in no way alike, but now, he's starting to realize just how similar they are.

He remembers the soup Sam made him, how it reminded him of nutrient slurries in HYDRA, how his appetite went from a growling stomach to numbness in a matter of seconds. And any time someone reaches for his face, how his nerves shriek.

Asking before touching could help calm the instinct to brace himself, especially around his face. He wasn't ever allowed to request such a thing before and since HYDRA the only people who have touched him are those here on the Station and Steve. Even in the quinnjet, with something as simple as a grip of the shoulder had set him bracing for the worst.]

( There's a lot I don't remember. ) [Even beyond triggers, there's still wide swathes of empty space in his mind. He doesn't know everything that might set him off.]

[ He likes talking with Bucky about these kind of things, too. He likes talking with Bucky, period - even when they're fighting - but this is the kind of stuff that not everyone gets. Which is a good thing, as far as Sam's concerned, he wouldn't want most people to understand it. But it does make it a little less lonely, when someone else knows something of what you're going through. ]

( I know. There's a lot that's gonna be coming back up, and some that might never come back. And I know what you're dealing with is a hell of a lot more than anything I have - but I still know, a little. And I'm not going anywhere, no matter what comes up. ) [ He holds his hand up, fingers spread out - a silent offer to take his hand, if Bucky wants. ] ( I'll ask before I touch you, until we figure out what's okay. )

[Bucky sucks in a breath at the thought of those spaces in his head, at how much might come out of the dark when they least expect it, what danger might lurk just out of sight, what HYDRA might have hidden. The thought of going back to sleep rises alongside the fear, of closing his eyes until he can trust his own mind. It would be easier than asking Sam to wear kid gloves around him, but his broodmate has already leapt headfirst into that idea.

Biting his lip, he closes the distance between their hands and threads their fingers together. Their brood bond hums in approval despite Bucky's unease. He doesn't want this to change, their back and forth, their conversations and arguments.]

[ It sounds like an awful idea, honestly. Selfish, maybe - definitely - but Sam doesn't know what he'd do without Bucky here. He'd much rather them figure this out together, keep going as they have.

Sam huffs out a chuckle as he squeezes Bucky's hand, thumb stroking over the back of his knuckles. ]

( It's not gonna change. Trust me, sunshine, there's nothing in the world that'll ever stop me from putting feathers in your hair and hiding glitter in your clothes whenever I feel like. Someone's gotta be here to sass the hell out of your dumb ass and argue about shit with you. ) [ He shrugs one shoulder. ] ( It's just about learning preferences. You like hot dogs and mojitos and you hate soup and don't like your face touched without warning. I like steak and wine and I hate lilac and can't sleep without someone I trust there. )

[At Sam's response, a touch of quiet relief eases the bite of the worry building under his skin. He doesn't know what he would do without Sam here either, how he would deal with the noise and the, well, everything. Not to mention the times Sam has put himself between the Soldier and innocents or how they're able to sit in a bar right now without the threat of the Soldier randomly springing forth.

The last few words of Sam's reply catch on something, though, and Bucky furrows his brow again. In the pet shop, Sam didn't seem to have many issues sleeping in the studio while Bucky was there. On the Station, Sam had mentioned a hanger he'd set up shop in with Clint, but in the pet shop it was just him and Bucky.]

[ Relief echoes back across their connection, warm and light. Sam likes this thing they've got going, where they can bicker and argue and tease each other but also sit here like this, talking about things that matter. It's not just because Bucky's so much in his head that it feels empty without him that Sam wants him around.

He quirks a little smile when he picks up on where Bucky's thoughts are going, shooting him a look. ]

( I'm pretty sure the conclusion from that is obvious, man. )

[The conclusion might be easy to see for Sam, but Bucky takes his time in arriving. Sam trusts him. Somehow, despite their difference in strength and size and past, despite everything. He remembers how tangled up they were the morning after the robbery, Sam curled into him. Or how he woke up in the hotel, fingers threaded tight together.

Sam trusts him.

He blinks at Sam, unbelieving. Of course, he trusts Sam but, to have that trust reciprocated seems impossible to him.]

[ Sam waits, absently drinking some more while he feels more than watches Bucky process that. ]

( You want me to tell you why? )

[ It's half teasing, but mostly, he means it. They've got a... complicated history, and he doubts it's easy for Bucky to see himself as someone worth trusting. ]

[Bucky honestly has no idea why Sam would trust him, not even the start of an idea. They've been through a lot since arriving on the Station, but nothing about his behavior seems to stand out as particularly trustworthy and he can't imagine Sam trusting him back home either.

So, Bucky nods, still unsure of what Sam might say.]

( It's not just since we came here, you know, I wouldn't have had you sit behind me if I wasn't willing to try trusting you at least a little. )

[ And he didn't get a knife in the back, which might be low standards as far as trusting someone goes, but that was about where he was at with Bucky then. ]

( You had my back when we were fighting the spider guy, and you didn't have to. You let me in since we've been here, and you didn't have to do that either. When I gave you the coin - you brought me a new one, man, you know how many people would've picked up that I used it a lot and maybe still needed one? I know the lengths you're willing to go to keep me safe; just because I don't like them and I don't agree with them doesn't mean I haven't noticed and appreciated the thought behind it. Yeah, the Soldier's a part of you even though it's not who you are anymore, but we know what makes it come out, and we know how to stop it. You and me, we're stronger together. And it's- )

[ He cuts off, running a hand over his jaw and focusing briefly on their joined hands. ]

( Instinct. I know you'd never hurt me if you could help it. Your reflexes are good, your senses are awesome. After the Raft, I - well, I don't feel like I gotta stay awake to listen to footsteps when I'm with you. )

[As a fellow soldier, Bucky knows how much trust it takes to turn your back to someone, to leave your six open for attack. And Sam had done that a handful of hours after Bucky threw him across a room by his face. He remembers that car, how his knees pressed into Sam's seat, how he felt so out of place when they arrived at the airport so he kept the car between himself and the others. And yet Sam trusted him, somehow, then and the fight after--- a fight that got Sam sent to prison.

Bucky doesn't like thinking about that last part.

When Sam focuses on their hands, Bucky follows and grounds himself in the coarse palms pressed against his own. They do make a pretty decent team, not only back then but here on the Station as well. If Bucky had his choice, he'd pick Sam for his team any day, even when they're fighting. The last thing he wants is to hurt Sam, so Sam isn't wrong about that point.

Trusting himself to not hurt Sam is a different story, despite their new knowledge into the source of the Soldier's multiple appearances on the Station.

Bucky nods, heart in his throat. It's a lot to unpack, including his own feelings. Sam trusts him enough to sleep soundly at night, knowing that Bucky would wake him if he heard anything. That's a whole hell of a lot.]

[ Honestly, Sam doesn't like thinking about it, either. There's not very many people here that even know - pretty much just Bucky and Clint, although Steve's gotten flashes of it. It was Sam's call, and he'd make the same one again under the circumstances. But that doesn't mean what happened in the Raft doesn't get to him sometimes, that he doesn't hate what it means that he ended up in prison.

They've already had the argument about how none of that is Bucky's fault, though, even if Sam's not sure it actually stuck in there. He'll bring it up again later, maybe, but not right now.

He's dropped enough of his problems on Bucky for one night. Hell, he's dropped enough period, he knows all of that is gonna be a lot to unpack.

Sam loosens his grip a little, shifting his hand back just enough that though their fingers are still laced together, he can run his thumb over Bucky's palm, tracing the lines in his skin. ]

( So yeah, I trust you. And I trust that you're gonna appreciate the pitcher of mojitos I ordered for you. )

[Bucky dwells on the weight of Sam's trust in him, perhaps a bit too much. He doesn't consider himself worthy, even if there is a practical element to trust a super soldier with excellent hearing. But when Sam shifts their hands, Bucky snaps back to the present. He blinks for a moment before a smile begins to take over his face again. A whole pitcher.]

( Yeah, I do, )

[No sooner has he thought it than the bartender makes its way over, pitcher and glasses in tow. It's quite a generous pitcher, too, much larger than Bucky anticipated. All for them.]

[ Trust can be a scary thing, really, especially for someone who doesn't think they deserve anything good. Maybe he should have waited a little before making his trust in Bucky clear - but he doesn't like hiding things from Bucky, and it's not like Bucky wouldn't have figured it out anyway, with how much they're in each other's heads.

He backs off it for now, giving Bucky's hand a small squeeze at that smile. Then he lets go so he can pour them both a glass from the pitcher, even though he's not quite done with his yet. He shoots a teasing grin at Bucky. ]

( Better grab one now, before you drink it all like my last cocktail. )

[When Sam lets go, Bucky makes sure to keep his knee in contact with his broodmates, allowing the symbiote to continue to hum in the back of his mind. Bucky himself chuckles at Sam's response, a grin taking up a more solid place on his lips. Yeah you better watch out or he'll steal the whole pitcher for himself.]

( So how do I challenge you? ) [He digs into his pocket for the challenge coin before he starts into his drink. ]

[ The continued contact sets Sam at ease almost as much as the the alcohol, and he leans in a little until their shoulders and arms brush together. Honestly, he wouldn't mind if Bucky drank the whole pitcher himself, but it's so much more fun to tease him about it.

Sam chuckles as he pulls out the coin Bucky'd given him, twisting it between his fingers while he holds it up. ]

( Flash it like this, but you gotta catch me when I'm without it. Which is pretty much just in the shower and when I'm in bed, so you might be outta luck for a while, sunshine. If you challenge me while I've got it, you're the one that owes me a drink. )

[Bucky hadn't expected Sam to keep his replacement challenge coin, in all honesty. Sure, he values Sam's coin extremely highly, but for some reason he didn't think it would be the same for Sam. Part of him actually thought that Sam would throw the coin away. To see it again and to hear that Sam carries it with him is strangely touching.

Just as his throat begins to clam up he brushes off the emotions prickling his eyes.]

( How about I don't steal your drink. )

[ Sam can't help swallowing roughly against the echo of emotion he can feel welling up in his throat, and he turns the coin over in his fingers again. He values Bucky's coin just as much - but he doesn't have to say anything for that to be clear. And they've had probably more than enough of this kind of emotional stuff for the day, so Sam lets it go when Bucky brushes it off.

For now. ]

( You sure as hell better not when you got a whole pitcher for yourself. I mean, assuming you can handle it all. )

[ Because what better way to steer the topic away from how much they mean to each other than by teasing the hell out of him for no reason? ]

[Bucky smirks at Sam's response, quietly grateful that Sam allows him to side-step the emotions prickling at his eyes. Jibbing and teasing is something he can handle, especially in comparison to listening too hard to the thrumming of his heart. The pitcher in question arrives with two glasses and Bucky finishes his current drink before pouring a new glass.

The pleasant humming in in his veins returns as he sips on his new beverage.]

( You saying I can't? )

[ As good as it is to feel Bucky feeling things, there's such a thing as too much, and Sam gets that. Besides, this thing between them - it's not really tentative anymore, not by a longshot, but Sam still doesn't know what to call it. He could use a break from the heavier emotions.

He hums thoughtfully as he pretends to consider that, then shoots Bucky a little smirk, eyes warm and playful. ]

( Kinda sounds like I am, doesn't it? )

[Sam's smirk sends another wave of pleasant buzzing through Bucky's veins and he doesn't know what to call it. With the alcohol humming alongside, he decides to go with the feeling instead of tucking it away.]

( Sounds like a challenge. )

[ Good, that's what they should call it. And there ain't enough good in their lives, far as Sam's concerned, so he's more than happy to go along with it as well. ]

( I look like the kind of guy who'd go and make a challenge like that? ) [ Yes, Sam. Yes you do. ] ( What're you gonna do with it? )

[Why yes you do Sam. Bucky looks Sam in the eye for a long moment before draining a full glass of mojito. ~~God bless those super-soldier lungs~~. When he finishes, though, a hiccup slips out of his lips and half a chuckle follows. Okay, not the best idea around.]

[ Nah, Sam's pretty sure this was the best damn idea that's been had in a while. There's a quiet burst of laughter when Bucky drains his drink, pleased and affectionate, and he grins wide at what sounds almost like a chuckle. ]

( Look at you, sunshine, how you feeling? )

[A giggle follows the chuckle and another hiccup rocks Bucky's shoulders, knocking his bad one against Sam. He's not sure he's ever had hiccups and they kind of hurt? But he doesn't really mind. Altogether, he feels pretty damn good.]

( Warm. ) [For a guy who spent decades frozen in Siberia, being warm is a hell of a lot.]

[ Now, see, this is just unfair. There's no way to find Bucky Barnes giggling and hiccuping and bumping his shoulder against Sam's and feeling warm anything but real damn endearing. Though since Sam was the one who challenged him into getting this way, it's probably justified. ]

( Warm's a good look on you. ) [ Warm's a pretty good feel on him, too, seeing as Sam's getting some of that through bleedover, and he takes a long swallow of his own drink. ] ( If it was up to me you'd feel warm all the time. )

[Bucky hiccups despite Sam's answer and another burst of warmth behind his breastbone. It isn't the searing heat of the programming trying to burn him out, but a curious spark that Bucky doesn't shy away from this time. He thinks it might be affection. No, it's definitely affection of some kind, bright and good under his skin.]

( Yeah? )

[ Bucky's hiccup inspires a slight giggle of Sam's own, and he covers it up by taking another sip. Warmth blooms beneath his ribcage, and he knows it ain't just an echo of Bucky's. By now the feel of his affection for Bucky is starting to become a familiar one. Getting something that's decidedly affection back is a little newer, but damn it's good. ]

( Hell yeah. Not sure which one you're asking about, but that's my answer for both. You're sunshine, only seems fair. ) [ There's the tiniest pause, then Sam grins again. ] ( See, and now I'm about one drink away from singing that. )

[With a smirk and another hiccup, Bucky shakes his head. He never thought in a hundred years would he find a friend in Sam. Especially a friend so dear to him. The fact that they can sit here and positively glow at each other is crazy to him.]

( There's a song about it? ) [Which is also code for please embarrass yourself because I have no idea what to do with all these emotions.]

[ It's crazy to Sam, too. But then, most of his life has been crazy since he decided to strap on a pair of metal wings. At least this is good crazy.

Even if Bucky is trying to get him to embarrass himself. He laughs - and then shrugs, and goes for it, voice low and smooth. ]

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are gray.

[ He cuts off, downing the rest of his drink. ]

( There you go, man, now you know all it takes to get me singing is a pitcher of drinks. )

[That's not fair. Bucky expected Sam to be toneless but here he is singing a melody that actually sounds distantly familiar to him. For a moment after Sam finishes, Bucky simply stares, before a hiccup interrupts that, which leads into a fit of giggling.]

( You're the one who bought the pitcher, man. )

[ Nah, come on, don't stare at him like that. Sam's definitely not one prone to be self-conscious, but he might reconsider if Bucky keeps staring at him - and then Bucky hiccups, and Sam laughs.

And if he buries away the image of Bucky giggling and the sound of his laughter, etched in his mind, well. That's just because it's good to see him happy. ]

( Damn right I did. ) [ It's cheerful and pleased, and about a second later he realizes he basically just backed himself into a corner of admitting this is his own damn fault. He bumps Bucky's knee with his, light and playful. ] ( Yeah, yeah, all right smart guy. You're lucky I appreciate you doing this with me. )

[Bucky's grin widens at the bump to his knee. Between the alcohol, the glow in their bond, and the giggling, his senses feel so fuzzy, but for the first time in his life he doesn't mind.]

( Real lucky. )

[ Sam's pretty sure his cheeks are gonna hurt tomorrow from how much he's been smiling, but he doesn't care.

He's the lucky one right about now, only that's a little too sentimental to say, even for him. ]

( This is what I do, you know. Grab as many moments like this, hold onto them for the next time that I can't find a reason. It reminds me what I fight for, it helps me keep a balance, it... ) [ Keeps him sane, but that's heavier than he wants to go right now. ] ( Thank you, sunshine, I mean it. )

[Bucky's, too. He didn't even know he could laugh this hard, or laugh at all, really. Or deserve to laugh, but here they are. Sam's reply sobers him a touch, but his grin has yet to die down.]

( Yeah. ) [He's grateful too and the alcohol curbs his inhibitions enough to say it.] ( Didn't think I'd get this back. )

[Friendship, he means. Real, true friendship. He can only remember pieces of Steve and that hasn't translated well to their relationship. Maybe it's the brood link connecting them, but he and Sam have connected on a level Bucky never thought possible.]

[ He knows he's felt it before, but - damn it's so good to see Bucky laughing like this. It's good for both of them, really, and Sam's... really fucking glad to be able to share this with him, only he cuts that line of thinking off before he gets to something way too sappy like to be the one to make him laugh. ]

( You're stuck with it now. ) [ Both the friendship and Sam. It's not anywhere near the same, but there was a time when Sam didn't think he'd have anything like this back, either, and he sure as hell isn't going to give up what he's got with Bucky for anything. ] ( You want a couple more, or should we see if we can figure out how to get up to the room without tripping over each other? )

[Bucky's glad to be stuck with Sam, one way or another. This connection, even if facilitated by the Symbiote attached to his brain, is something so real and true, Bucky can't help but be quietly happy with where he is right now. The suggestion of walking sends another fit of giggling rolling through him.]

( Send the rest to Misato? ) [Because right now the thought of trying to walk straight is more amusing than it should be.]

[He's never forgotten the coin. It's come in handy a few times. Especially in the dark, when he wakes up and his brain won't settle down. But he's never forgotten where it needs to go. Who needs it more than he does.]

[At some point, during the station's "day" cycle, he'll "knock".]

[A quiet request to talk to Bucky. If he's not busy.]

[Bucky's been keeping mostly to the gardens when possible and when he hears that mental knock, he offers the image of a willow grove with purple bark. He also moves, lights up his side of the mental connection like a torch in the dark as he strides away from the campsite; Bucky would rather not bother Steve or Sam if they're sleeping, since rest is so difficult to find these days.]

[It's a nice mental image. Good imagery. He's a little impressed. And follows along -- to follow the offered picture. Willow trees. Alien willow trees. Who'd have thought.]

[The coin is in his hand as he approaches, on the lookout for Bucky. Careful to keep his own mental projection as neutral as possible, if only because of all the new minds around here.]

I've got something that belongs to you. [It comes out a little wry as he approaches. He remembers their last conversation clear enough -- how the other had reacted to too much gratitude.]

[Bucky's not too far from the border of the grove, leaning against another purple willow on the perimeter. When he hears footsteps, he straightens, but the sight of Shiro sets him to relative ease.

While he doesn't verbally answer, he does at least raise his eyebrows and offer a light hum. He's too tired to form proper words right now.]

[No offense at the silence. After all, part of him doesn't mind the quiet. Instead, he just steps forward, offering up the coin in the palm of his hand. Flesh and bone fingers half-curled to keep it stable.]

Thank you, for this.

You were right -- it helped a lot. [And it's high time he brought it back.]

[When Shiro produces he coin--- when Bucky's gaze falls on his most sacred of possessions--- a rush of emotion fills his side of the link. For all of the mentions of trust in Shiro, he held onto doubts that Sam's coin would return to him. Yet here it is, in one piece and here and offered freely.

Bucky nods stiffly, carefully reaching out, as if afraid Shiro would snatch it away at the last moment.]

[He holds his hand steady, waiting. Like trying to offer something to a frightened animal.]

I thought you should have it back, before we went on mission.

[His hand won't move until Bucky takes the coin back. Projecting nothing but a steady gratitude.]

[Only once his fingers close around the coin does relief fully root itself in him. Shiro's gratitude mixes with his own and cascades into something much larger. He struggles to form words, but manages to get one out,] Thanks.

[Bucky lifts the coin away. He pulls his hand back, and can't hide the smile. It feels real, for once. Not strained or forced.]

It was always yours. I'm just glad you trusted me enough to let me use it.

[His weight shifts, back a bit. If Bucky needs space, he'll let him be. The important thing here is the coin is back where it belongs.]

[That earns a quirk of Bucky's lips, though tentative. There's a little too much emotion digging into his chest to fuel the smile with much more than a dim light. Running his fingers along the ridges, though, provides an instant calm that he missed in the past few days.]

'll keep that in mind. [Both that Shiro reaffirms Bucky's ownership over such a precious possession and that Bucky can trust Shiro to return it.]

[The short, almost-smile is something like a reward, honestly. All he'd done was the "right thing", in his mind. But it's good to see it had a positive effect.]

[It always is.]

Hey, glad to make a good impression. [Something light, something easy. For both of them.] It really meant a lot. Being able to use it.

[A light chuckle slips past Bucky's lips at Shiro's reply. He's glad they can move to something lighter, easier to swallow down.]

Next mission, I'll keep an eye out for coins. [It's an offer, really. The mental image of the coin he gave Sam on Concordia to replace the one he'd given Bucky burning quietly behind his words. Everyone needs something to call theirs, especially in the foreign environment of the Station.]

Maybe we can start a collection. Just in case.

[Offer accepted, in other words. And one given in return -- he'll look out for some too. That way, if either of them manage to make good on the search, Bucky won't have to worry about his coin missing.]

[Just in case.]

Yeah. A collection. [Bucky smiles wider and his eyes brighten for a moment.] Maybe one for the whole Nest. Like dogtags.

Hah. Welcome to the Station, here's your complimentary coping mechanism.

[He grins, though. Amused and sincere.] I like it.

[Bucky chuckles again. He'd meant it as a means of identification, like a military patch, but he likes Shiro's idea better. Giving new hosts something to help ground themselves outside of the mental, to drown out the noise upon arrival.] That works.

[That kind of laugh suits him, he thinks. Briefly, the thought there and gone in a moment. Laughing suits him. And it brings his own grin out a little more.]

Then it's a deal. You and me on coin duty.

[Bucky continues to grin for a moment longer before looking back down at the coin in his hand. Time to go get packed.]

Yeah.

[He'll nod, and take a step back.]

I'll see you soon, right? Mission upcoming and all?

[ Sam barely has to reach out to find Bucky's mind these days - it's more like a refocusing, pulling his attention back to the connection that's always open. It's probably likely that Bucky felt a little bit of the way talking to Cathaway got Sam unsettled, even though he'd tried to keep it in check, but he'd followed it up with something like reassurance, I'm fine.

Now it's more purposeful, an impression of you got a minute and I got something important. ]

[Bucky can't isolate himself, not really, after that briefing. It's smart to warn the hosts of the stakes to their mission, that those who fall behind get left behind, but the suddenness of the briefing has him off guard. It's too much like HYDRA to ignore, when he would be pulled into consciousness, wiped, and then briefed without a choice in the matter.

When Sam presses against his mind, Bucky's packing, though not entirely with purpose.

He's here if you want him.]

[ There's not actually very many times that Sam doesn't want Bucky, but he's pretty sure he probably shouldn't admit something like that unless they get drunk again.

Especially not now, after the way people'd argued about just blowing up the planet and bitched back and forth despite being told of the stakes of the mission - although admittedly, not all of it. No that, that Cathaway popped up in Sam's room when he was going to pack to tell him.

Because she wasn't creepy enough as it was.

He hums a confirmation across their link, making his way towards Bucky - and something in him eases a little when he sees him, when he moves to stand close enough to touch. Like he's recentering himself after that conversation with her, maybe. ]

( Cathaway found me after, wanted to give me a few more pieces of advice about the mission. )

[The part of Sam that feels more comfortable when around his broodmate sings in Bucky's blood. Be closer, provide comfort, be a good broodmate. Sure, Bucky was likely to do that on his own with Sam, but the symbiote encourages the way Bucky reaches out for Sam to lace their fingers together, to seal their link like a dovetail joint. I'm here. hums over the link at the same time that the programming quiets and dims into the background.]

( Yeah? ) [ By which he means, continue if you want.]

[ The song echoes in the back of Sam's mind, and the press of his palm against Bucky's sends a pulse of warmth down his arm. It's not just the broodbond - his non-relationship with Parker is proof of that - but it definitely makes things... better-closer-more intense-. Sam stopped minding a long time ago, but only because it's Bucky.

His connection widens a little, bringing up part of his conversation with Cathaway - not pushing it, just leaving it there on an offer, if Bucky wants.

If not, he'll relay it himself. ]

[Everything feels more complete when their fingers link and palms press against each other. The conversation that follows is almost like experiencing it first hand. Uneasiness, not his, spikes through his veins at the sudden appearance of Cathaway and the dread of impending doom grows the longer the conversation. When he blinks, he's back in life support with Sam.

His immediate impression is not one of fear or anxiety, but a quiet, sad acknowledgment. The stakes of his missions with HYDRA were much the same; one soldier was not worth the loss of an entire organization.]

[ There's a resigned echo of Bucky's sad acknowledgement. A lot of the time, it wasn't so different when Sam served. Too many times soldiers were considered expendable to one degree or another.

Sam's spent his whole life trying to be the exception. First in pararescue, then at the VA, then with the Avengers - that others may live, no man left behind, fighting enemy combatants that wanted to take their lives and the demons and ghosts that lived in their minds and their own government that forgot about them so easily. He ain't gonna change that now.

His thumb brushes over the back of Bucky's knuckles, and he finds he's leaned in closer, trying to occupy more of Bucky's personal space. ]

No mission is ever gonna be worth losing you.

[The echo that follows his response is both expected and not. For all that Sam is a soldier--- for the battles and the death he's seen--- he's continued to hold onto hope for Bucky. That at the end of all this, Bucky was becoming a person and not the weapon he was crafted to be. The more time he spends with Sam, the more he realizes how he differs from anyone else he's ever met. Despite shooting him or throwing him by his face, Sam continues to stick by his side to help him fight against the programming that forms his foundation.

Sam leaning closer isn't surprising, but the words that accompany the action are. Just as Bucky finds himself mirroring Sam, until they're toe-to-toe and breathing the same air, Sam responds and Bucky balks.]

What?

[ Sam doesn't know how to live without hope. Or, well - he does, because he did, and he's never going back to that. Sometimes balancing weariness and practicality with hope and idealism gets hard as hell, but most days he manages to reconcile it okay.

He does almost regret saying it with the way it makes Bucky balk - but only because he likes getting to be this close to him, and he doesn't want to make him pull away. ]

You're not expendable, sunshine, not to me. I don't wanna do this - any of it - without you.

[Bucky knows he's important to Sam and vice versa. They've said as much to each other multiple times, more often when curled around and in each other's heads so deep Bucky can hardly tell them apart. Bucky would throw his life into the fire for Sam at the blink of an eye and trusts that Sam has his back in ways that others can't, more than one soldier to another.

Somehow, this is on a whole different level.]

This is bigger than us.

[It sounds wrong in his mouth, but right in his mind. The programming purrs, sends a rewarding rush of cold through his head that digs in under Sam's presence.]

[ This is on another level. Sam's helped on missions in the past where he could, usually got a little more caught up than he intended, but he still has a hard time following orders from those he doesn't completely trust. It'd been more about keeping his friends safe than about mission perimeters.

Sam opens their connection wider, pulling them closer together as he spills out warmth to try to chase away that chill. ]

There's a lot of stuff that's bigger than us. I've put my life and the lives of others on the line for what's right more times than I can count, and I'd do it again. [ More than on the line, really - it's not like he hasn't done whatever he needed to for the greater good before - but this is different. ] This ain't like that. It's always gonna be you, all right? Whatever the mission - you're always gonna be my priority.

[ The people Sam loves here - Bucky and Clint and Steve and Shiro, Damon and Misato and Shepard and Kavinsky, Katie and Nyx and Bellamy - they're the ones he's sworn to protect, and they'll always come first. Sam'll go along with any mission right up until it involves leaving them in danger. ]

[That chill settles deep in the cracks in Bucky's foundation, in the wounds still healing after the most recent fight against the programming. On Concordia and more on the Waypoint, Bucky had been content to stay away from the action if possible, as any time he got close, the Soldier emerged. They don't have that option this time around; the stakes are higher than ever and mistakes could cost lives.

--- shape the century--- echoes in the back of his mind. Sitting across from Pierce, bile in his mouth as he wanted, as he was selfish in the face of something more important than himself. He knew the man on the bridge, but he needed to do one more thing.

He shakes his head to clear his head of the memory as Sam's impressions of a wide circle of friends press into the vacated space. By comparison, Bucky only really counts Sam and Steve. Shiro is a tentative, as well as Shepard and MIsato, but nowhere near trusting his life to them. Or Sam's life to them, really.

In Steve's memories, the well-oiled version of himself with a clean-shaven chin hangs off the arms of dozens of people, all smiles and bright eyes. But here, Bucky is nothing like that or like Sam's quiet leadership that builds from the roots. What Cathaway says is true: Sam is the best choice for a leader, with the most passion and the sheer talent to build relationships. It makes sense to advise him further of the dangers this mission presents not only to those relationships but the Nest as a whole.

Sam can't afford to think of a broken toy soldier with stakes like that and Bucky can't distract him.]

I'll be fine.

[ They don't really have that option, as reluctant as Sam is about that. It's not that he thinks that they can avoid anyone getting hurt - someone always gets hurt - but whatever he can do to minimize it, he will.

Snippets of Bucky's memory bleed through, of Pierce, and Sam lets go of the surge of anger almost as soon as it comes up. His rage on Bucky's behalf won't help at the moment.

He can't help the way his mind turns to Clint, half an offer and half another impression, somewhere between you should let him talk to you more and they'd understand each other. There's a hint of a crackle of blue and an indistinct whisper that edges that impression, but Sam pulls his thoughts elsewhere before anything else comes across. As free as he is with his own thoughts and memories, that one isn't his to share.

Instead he focuses on what Bucky actually says, shaking his head. ]

I wouldn't be.

[ Without you, he means, you're not a distraction, you're a focus. He knows Bucky's gonna pick up on it whether he says it or not - but saying it outloud feels like a little too much right now, like maybe more than either of them can handle. Sam reaches out to tangle the fingers of his free hand in Bucky's shirt, making another point of contact as his mind brushes away the images of a ghost that Sam's seen only in Steve and Bucky's minds. ]

You know I don't want that Bucky, man, he doesn't mean a thing to me. He's not you, and I want you. Your broken pieces fit together just fine with mine, all right?

[Bucky brushes away the mental offer of Clint. He's not up to trusting anyone new right now, not with the stakes what they are. When Sam speaks again, Bucky doesn't look up to meet Sam's gaze; through the link he can feel Sam's sincerity. However, when fingers tangle in his shirt--- one of the new ones Sam gave him--- he does glance up. He's heard this before from Sam and Steve alike, but he can't help but draw comparison to the easy smiles in Steve's memories to Bucky's stiff efforts to the same.

Between them, the brood link hums strong, their shared mental space a blend of Sam's brilliant hues and Bucky's sedated blues and blacks. Together, they weave a glimmering brocade, seams nearly invisible. He knows as well as Sam just how well they fit together, but he can't help but continue to doubt his resourcefulness outside of battle.]

[ Fair enough, man, fair enough. Sam lets it go, at least maybe until after the mission - or until they have to pull off a last minute extraction plan of their own, and they need people they can trust.

Just like he lets go of the comparison that Bucky keeps drawing. No matter how many times that Sam says it, no matter how much Bucky feels that it's true - well, actions say things better than words, and ultimately it's gonna be on Bucky to believe it. Sam knows what it's like to compare everything you are to what you think of as the best version of yourself and come up empty.

This whole resourcefulness thing, though... Sam flattens his hand on Bucky's chest, thumb stroking absently. ]

Yeah? What do you think my resourcefulness outside of battle is?

You're a leader. [Bucky replies, not needing to wait to form and organize the words in his mind before saying them. Like Steve, Sam has a natural charisma that calls people to his side, but Sam also has the added benefit of being a soldier and counselor, knowing what to say and when to say it. If nothing else, his spread of influence is evidence of his resourcefulness outside of battle. He can organize people and earn the trust of even the most stubbornly untrusting individuals, with Bucky himself as proof.

Sam's gentle ministrations ease some of the burning behind his sternum, the residual guilt that never seems to quite completely disappear. Even when Sam is with him, it clings to his bones and eats away at his core.] 's why Cathaway talked to you.

[And not the one-armed supersoldier that can hardly hold a full conversation.]

[ That - is honestly not what Sam was expecting. The last time he heard that was from Ilde, only he's pretty sure she was trying to manipulate him into doing what she wanted. ]

People keep saying that. Man, the last call I made I sent most of our team to prison and got one of my friends paralyzed from the waist down. It ain't like I'm doing all that better here, I-

[ He cuts off. Sam can't save everyone, he knows that. He does. He learned it a long time ago and he's been reminded of it so many damn times over the years, and every time he does his best to come back from it, but - he can't do it alone. Sam can talk to people, he can listen to them and support them and challenge them and refuse to let anyone walk on him, but he ain't Steve. ]

I'm not a leader, sunshine, I'm just trying to do my best. Being friends with you, doing - whatever this is between us, it - I don't know, it makes things easier. Don't make me talk about feelings, all right, it's gonna make both of us uncomfortable. [ He'd rather just slide his hand down Bucky's chest, around his waist and up his back, keeping close. ] Who the hell knows why Cathaway does anything, anyway.

[Bucky bites his lip at Sam's response, at the reminder of the consequences of the airport, of trusting Bucky's word that there were more of him out there that needed to be stopped. More lives were changed and tainted from winter's touch. Bucky's more than happy to not talk about their feelings, content to ignore putting into words the bond between them that continues to deepen past the point of friendship and into something far more intimate. He welcomes the distraction and hunches his back enough that he can put his chin on Sam's shoulder, offering a soft grunt of acknowledgment.

As usual, the more points of contact, the quieter the programming hums. If Bucky had his way--- if he let himself be selfish--- he'd let the Nest go without him and Sam, just to get some true quiet time.

But Sam's too responsible and Bucky can't let himself want.]

[ Sam lets out a quiet exhale at Bucky biting his lip, squeezing his hand lightly. That one's his, Bucky, let him have it. He promises he won't hold onto it for too long, but it's still something he's gotta work through.

He doesn't say anything, though, content to splay his hand between Bucky's shoulderblades and close his eyes at Bucky's chin on his shoulder, leaning his head against Bucky's and nuzzling a little.

Something faint between rueful and amusement swirls at that bit about him being too responsible. ]

( You know me so well. ) [ It's more praise that recrimination. A lot of people see a part of Sam, some see more than one, but Bucky's one of a few that sees just about all of who he is. It's a relief, even if he doesn't always understand it.

He holds Bucky closer, until even their legs are pressed together, creating as many points of contact as possible to shut the programming even further out. ]

( You can want. It's just you and me, all right, this is our space. You can want anything. We'll go off by ourselves, even on the mission. I want it, too. )

[Bucky hums at Sam's initial response, his lips quirking as he snakes an arm around Sam's waist and tangles his fingers in Sam's shirt. When they're like this, he can hardly hear the programming at all, little more than a whistle on a summer breeze. He knows it won't last forever, not really, but an oasis like this is hard to resist, especially in the face of the upcoming mission.

When Sam continues, though, Bucky finds himself hesitating. Wanting leads to danger, wanting leads to erratic weapons. Weapons need to focus on the mission and Sam needs to focus on being responsible.

Knowing he doesn't need to verbalize this, Bucky instead sighs into the side of Sam's neck.]

[ Nothing lasts forever, Sam knows that. But like this - well, it's easy to believe that maybe they can do this, that maybe they can actually pull this off. This is why he fights, for moments like this when they can be happy. He'll hold onto it, and to their camping trip and their time on Waypoint in that shitty studio with all those alien baby birds.

He slides one hand up Bucky's back, enough to be able to play with the braids in his hair. ]

( I don't care about what we need to do right now. I want you, I want this. And it's okay for you to want it, too. ) [ There's a pause, and it's clear in Sam's mind that he's unsure, that he doesn't want Bucky to feel like he should want it just because Sam does. And he knows that Bucky does, he's felt him want Sam's presence before, but that doesn't mean he's gotta do it all the time. ] ( And it's okay for you not to, too. I know you can't always tell me, but I'll pick it up. )

[Bucky doesn't mind the fingers curling up over the ends of his braids. He hasn't seen fit to cut his hair since arriving on the station and it was long enough to braid before. Now, he's got some decent length on it, making it easier to maintain in the braids than before. Sam's memories mingle with his own, remind him that they have this at the end of the day, at the end of the mission.

Sam doesn't really need to ask if Bucky wants him, wants whatever their relationship has turned into, because he does, a whole heck of a lot more than he ever expected to.

Still, there are times that deserve verbalization and this is one of those times.] ( I do. )

[ It's something Sam appreciates, honestly, though he's sure as hell not gonna tell Bucky that he likes his hair long. Not more than what Bucky can probably pick up when Sam braids his hair, anyway.

Which is also something that Sam appreciates, mostly, the fact that they don't really have to talk to get things across sometimes - but he loves it when Bucky does, anyway. He's not sure he could explain why, except maybe some combination of liking Bucky's voice and it being a good sign when he's able to verbalize, but there it is. His free hand moves in absent circles, catches on the hem of Bucky's shirt, and settles, fingertips resting against skin. ]

( It's yours. )

[ All of it: the shared mental space, the physical contact, the mutual support, working together to chase away the programming, the teasing and hassling and goofing off, everything that's between them. As long as Bucky wants Sam, he's got him. ]

[ Despite being missing - and being worried about - Katie and Shiro and the others still down on the planet, Sam knows they made the right choice coming back to the Station, and he doesn't regret it at all. It's a relief not to have to be undercover, not to have to worry about being a spy and keeping people in line or any of that. To just be able to breathe, focus on himself and Bucky and those who came back with them.

And it takes a while for the poison to completely work itself out of Bucky's system, which means Sam's even more glad they're back in the relative safety of the Station. At least then they can actually - more or less - seclude themselves, and Sam can be as much up in their shared mental space as Bucky will let him.

Maybe it'd be better to try saying the words when Bucky's not at full strength, just in case, but that's not a risk Sam's willing to take. They can handle anything the programming throws at them without doing it while Bucky's still recovering as far as Sam's concerned.

But Sam doesn't want to wait too long and risk something else happening, so it's not too long before Sam brings it up. Or, well, technically the idea that they should jump on it while they're alone and relatively deep within the Station comes to mind, but seeing as he isn't bothering to try to keep any walls up, it's the same thing. ]

( Still on board? )

[Coming back to the Station was the best choice, Bucky would agree. Upon arrival, Bucky felt that same itch to run, the need to isolate, but his exhaustion kept him from doing much more than collapsing onto the nearest bunk. Between the residual vomiting and aching that runs through his whole body, he's spent most of the first couple days resting and thinking. He doesn't want to put off using the words any longer than necessary, but he's grateful for the extra time to get back on his feet.

He's still got a pounding headache when Sam's mind brushes against his and he gives the mental impression of a nod as he shifts in his bunk. He wants this and sooner rather than later. And with fewer people on the Station, there is less of a chance of him hurting someone.]

( Yeah. )

[ There's the brief sensation of gentle fingers pushing through Bucky's hair, pressed warm against his forehead as if he could soothe the headache away with just that. He doesn't want to put this off any longer, though, because Bucky's right. ]

( No one's gonna get hurt, Buck, I'll make sure of it. )

[ It's not an empty promise. Sure, about 95% of Sam is absolutely certain that they can do this without - well, without more than their usual level of destruction, which to be fair tends to ends up with one or both of them injured and their surroundings in varying states of disrepair, but with Sam's ability, he can do his best to transfer any injuries he might get to Bucky. That might not be an acceptable amount of damage to Sam, but he knows it will be to Bucky, and this isn't the time to try to work on convincing Bucky that it isn't.

But the other 5% is ready to do what he promised he would a hell of a long time ago if he has to, if this backfires and everything goes to shit. ]

( Where should we do this? )

[Sam's mental presence brings some comfort, but Bucky's nerves have already begun to sing. He drags himself from his bunk and splashes a little water on his face in an attempt to soothe the heat gathering at his collar. He feels terrible, but maybe they can use that to their advantage. Offering a small cracker to one of the twins, he says his quiet goodbyes, just in case.

In case he doesn't come back. In case Sam has to kill him.]

( Away from life support. )

[To minimize the damage to sleeping hosts, the twins, their small hoard of personal items.]

[ The feel of Bucky's nerves spikes Sam's own, an echo humming underneath his veins, but he pulls in a breath and lets it out, relaxing. They can do this.

There's a hum of agreement, though Sam lingers with both of the twins, letting them nip and paw at him playfully as he scratches through feathers and the downy fur on their backs. ]

Look after the others until we get back, okay?

[ Even if he's ready for it, he's not gonna let himself think about just in case.

Instead he reaches out, looking to take Bucky's hand and lace their fingers together before they start heading away from life support - though he won't push it if Bucky's not up for it. ]

[Bucky pauses to look back when Sam lingers with the twins. The sensation of soft downy fur brushes against his fingers as if he had touched them himself. In the past, a small smile might have broken out across his face, but not now. Sam reaches out for his hand and Bucky accepts without hesitation.

Sam said it himself: they're in this together, for better or worse.

And Bucky doesn't have much in the way of hope, but he clings to the idea that this just might work, that they might get an advantage over the programming and make him more safe to be around.]

They're good at that.

Edited (sorry the dog decided it was time to send the tag early) 2018-04-10 00:08 (UTC)

[ For better or worse.

Sam gives Bucky's hand a soft squeeze, letting determination chase away the last of his nerves. They're both clinging to the idea of this working - but Sam's got more than enough hope for the both of them. He's got plans, once this is done, plans to get them both cleaned up and rested.

Not the most exciting, sure, but right now, it sounds like heaven. ]

Best Christmas present I ever got, sunshine, don't know how we're gonna top it next time.

[ He doesn't really know where he's going. Away, mostly, other than that he just weaves through the hallways of the Station until the hum of his link to the others in the Nest grows a little more distant.

When they stop - he can't resist leaning in to steal a quick kiss. ]

( Ready? )

[Bucky welcomes that squeeze of their linked fingers, helps to draw his focus away from his thoughts. The twins were a pretty good idea, he supposes, a last minute idea but a good one. They give him a little more life at the end of a long mission like Hyrypia, when he feels entirely drained.

As they walk, Bucky silently counts their steps. It's not that he's afraid of getting lost, but more that he knows how fast the Soldier can move, how quickly miles can disappear underneath a machine's feet. By the time they stop, he feels satisfied with the distance and even more so with the quick kiss pressed to his lips.

He doesn't want this to be the last time that happens.

With a nod, he pulls his hand free of Sam's and stands a few feet away- enough to hear Sam, but not within arm's reach.]

( Ready. )

[ Proof that Bucky can have good ideas, as far as Sam's concerned. He'll have to remember to tease him about that, when they're done with this.

There's a faint flair of reluctance when Bucky pulls away, but he doesn't protest. He'd have stepped away himself if Bucky didn't - it doesn't make sense to stay close to him, as much as he wants to do this still holding his hand.

Sam nods, inhaling and exhaling slowly and making sure he's got his connection to the rest of the Nest narrowed as much as he possibly can before he starts speaking. ]

желание. ржaвый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять.

[Bucky sucks in one last breath of free air before Sam begins because as soon as the first word leaves his broodmate’s lips, the programming clamors to life. His limbs twitch, neck popping as it jerks to the side. The words sound so wrong in Sam’s voice, but so right at the same time. The second and thir words follow and Bucky finds himself fighting a losing battle against the white-hot gears churning to life. The jade tower erupts with lava, devouring the paper-thin internal guards and Bucky with them.

By the sixth word, Bucky is nearly gone, his twitching more violent as the Soldier begins to emerge. Four more left.]

[ They feel wrong in his mouth, like acid dripping off his tongue and burning the air around him. He hates this, hates himself a little for saying them - but not as much as he would have if they hadn't been preparing for this, if he didn't believe in why they were doing this.

But that only makes it a little better when he feels the way Bucky gets swept away, and he has to pull back a little from their connection to keep himself from going after him.

To force himself to keep saying them. ]

добросердечный. возвращение на родину. Один. грузовой вагон.

[Underneath Bucky's skin, the programming burns with life, tearing through ice and snow alike. Bright orange gears rip through the earth and boil the mud into steaming muck. Within two more words, Bucky is transparent and fragile, pieces of him ripped away, but by the last, he shatters into a million different pieces, swept away into the sun that is the programming.

Now only the Soldier stands before Sam, the programming clanging and screaming free of locks Bucky keeps on it. His eyes are empty of everything except that same cold that usually runs rampant across the surface of Bucky's mind, that keeps the programming sealed away.

But now it's free and the cold migrates to the Soldier's gaze, waiting for the final call and response.]

[ His fists clench, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough that there's the faint taste of copper as he struggles not to grab hold of every last bit of Bucky he can. As he lets him go, and promises both of them that he'll bring him back.

No matter what it takes.

When the Soldier stands in front of him, Sam lets himself straighten up, forcing himself to uncurl his hands. ]

Good morning Soldier. [ He pauses, waiting for the response and gathering his own thoughts - trying to steel himself, more accurately. He wants to launch right into trying to change the programming, to give Bucky his own leash, but he promised. What happened on Hyrypia isn't going to happen again. ] There's been an update in mission parameters.

[The Soldier straightens, too, though more of standing upright instead of Bucky’s usual slouch. When the call is initiated, he responds in kind, smooth and calm as if four years didn’t sit between him and HYDRA.] Ready to comply.

[He says nothing more, nothing less, and makes no eye contact with his handler. New parameters are not unheard of, but unusual enough that the programming skips a gear where it churns away under the soldier’s skin. Be ready for anything, it clamors.]

[ Breathe, Sam reminds himself. Breathe.

It's easy not to be afraid, to hold himself confident and steady with just the slightest bit of wariness for someone as dangerous as the Soldier. It's the way he's always been, and he doesn't have to try not to be afraid of the Soldier.

It's harder not to let this affect him, to be distant and casual and emotionless.

To not be just a little bit disgusted with himself. ]

Covert. Don't draw attention to yourself [ no excessive violence ] - there's no extraction point to get to. If you lose sight of your objective, return to - [ And here he hesitates, because he can't do it, he can't call himself a handler. ] Me.

[The programming hums beneath the surface, its chaotic screeches calming as it continues to hold full control over the Soldier. The prisoner isn’t fighting back and there are no foreign entities attempting to rip its steely claws away. An ambush is expected, but so far none has come.

The handler standing a few feet away shows no fear in his posture as he speaks. No handler ever should have fear for the Soldier, only those without complete control over the weapon should ever fear its destructive power. The first order is easy to digest, one gear slotting out and another shifting into its place. Covert mission. Do not bring attention to himself is priority one. The second comes less easily, but a termination protocol was an inevitability. No extraction means termination. Return to handler for failure conditions and punishment. If unable to, terminate.

All weapons have a shelf life and the Soldier has his.]

[ So far so good. The first bit seems to go okay, and Sam - Sam waits. The programming's used to him attacking, and it chafes at him not to fight, but he knows he has to play it smart.

He stays in Bucky's mind, buried deep where the tendrils of their brood bond have taken root, hiding in the foundation. Quiet, nonthreatening, because he has to focus.

It's when he feels that reluctant inevitably, when the programming hums with termination that everything screeches to a halt. That Sam can't hold back his emotion, can't contain the kneejerk no. ]

Termination is not an option, termination is never - [ It's not never. It's an option Sam promised he'd take himself, but only in extreme circumstances, and it's not an option he can ever let the programming write in. ]

You're essential in this mission. If you lose sight of the objective, find me so I can remind you of it. No decisions about termination can be made alone.

[That spike of emotion sets off the programming almost instantly. There is no place for emotion in HYDRA, no room for decisions based on them. To do so would betray the very essence of their being: one head chopped off becomes the spawn of three more. The Soldier is no different than a rifle, a weapon, albeit expensive, that is no more than a piece to be thrown into the fray. Not even the atomic bombs were considered essential; redundancies were built into every weapon built, every one of them replaceable. For a handler- no, an imposter- to posit otherwise is downright heresy.

The gears refuse the orders, spit out the pieces it already digested, and sets to burning the earth. Already the foundation of Bucky’s mind is cracking, but the programming digs deeper, claws sharpened to fine edges and white hot as it attempts to dig for the alien presence.

On the surface, the Soldier’s posture shifts back before he launches into an assault, pushing forward into Sam in an effort to knock him off his feet.]

[ Shit.

He shouldn't have pushed, shouldn't have - the programming was already on guard, ready for something, it wasn't quite the blank slate that Sam'd been both dreading and expecting. Something was missing, he just -

Doesn't have time to figure out what at the moment. He at least had a plan for what to do to protect them mentally. All right, to protect Bucky mentally, but same thing as far as Sam's concerned. He throws up shields around the places in Bucky's mind that feel like home, the parts of Bucky that are his and the parts of Sam that belong to Bucky - as though he could separate them out like that, as though they weren't all mixed together and twisted deep - but it doesn't matter when he can protect them. At the same time, he draws attention to himself, rearing up like he's gonna fight to give the programming something to attack.

It means he leaves himself more open than he should for a physical attack, and he doesn't manage to dodge when the Soldier lunges at him. He shifts as he's knocked to the ground, trying to get away more than trying to land so he doesn't hurt anything.

He scrambles up to try to get into a position more defensible, but it takes longer than he'd like with the way his knee protests. ]

[This imposter knows the words, the programming processes as it digs in deep. Soon enough Sam shows and the claws go straight for Sam, attempting to uproot him, to drag him free of the blistering earth. Acid drips from them, leaving scalding pits where it touches Bucky’s foundation.

On Sam’s cue, Bucky tries to rise up as well, to gather the pieces of himself scattered to the wind, but globs of acid burn through him,
hollow him, as the Soldier attacks on the surface.

The imposter is rolling away from him but the Soldier is on him in less than a heartbeat, going straight for the jaw. Knock out or kill then extract. Extraction is everything. Get away from the imposter.]

[ The times in the past when the programming's reacted to his presence and turned on him, Sam's had to fight to stay, dig in and maintain his ground. But now - it's not a conscious decision to stay in Bucky's mind anymore, and being there isn't anything that requires effort.

The programming tries to uproot him and he can't leave, can't do anything but flare up his wings as the programming's claws rip at them, feeling the metal flex and bend and sizzle. The struggle is holding on to who he is, grabbing every piece of Bucky - of himself - of them both that he can and -

He can't remember how to separate, can't feel out what's him and what's Bucky and what's the shared space that's neither and both of them, where they connect and where they're distinct.

Sam doesn't fight back. The Soldier's hit connects with his jaw and pain flares through him, enough that it probably would have knocked him out with out the symbiote's boosts. And even though his ability activates immediately, seeking to transfer the injury, it might as well have knocked him out.

He's too caught up in the mental confusion to react physically, not when his ability is ready to take care of it. ]

[The programming screeches in anger when the alien presence doesn’t immediately separate from the weapon’s piecemeal foundation. So it changes its strategy. Instead of exacting strokes, it tears into everything, scorching every tract of earth it sees. Pieces of Bucky get caught and instantly burn into ash, even as he scrambles for the cover of Sam’s wings. There are too many pieces spread too far and with the programming’s wide reach, nothing can escape.

The Soldier follows up the first hit with a second, cracking his fist across the imposter’s jaw. He’ll break out a third if needed to knock his opponent down.]

[ The second hit knocks Sam down, and only then does he react more than with his symbiote ability - but it's only instinct, to control the way he falls so he doesn't crack his head on the floor. The same instinct screams at him to get up, and there's a twitch of movement like he might be trying to push himself up, but he can't sort out what's physical and what's mental, which fight is which.

The programming changes its tactics, scorching down everything and Sam screams. It echoes across their - Bucky's - mind, but it gives Sam something to focus on. He shifts tactics, too, stretching out across everything to try to sink into the places he belongs.

There's somewhere they slip into so they can hide, so they can wait where it can't touch them, he knows. But the pieces of Bucky that it sends scattering feel like pieces of himself, and it's just as disorienting. He fractures a little, fissures of ice frosting over his wings. ]

[In an instant, the programming re-orients to the physical, to push the Soldier to extraction. It continues to set fires, to burn through everything it can get its claws on, but putting distance between him and the imposter is priority one. The Soldier gathers himself, straightening, before turning to leave. Feet become yards and yards become rooms as the Soldier takes full strides.

The corridors blur around him as he moves, doorways warp and open when they didn't before, but he pays little attention. There's a hangar on the Station and the programming knows that, directing the Soldier to make specific turns.]

[ Sam's vision prickles and blurs; he can't tell if he's seeing the Soldier leaving or if he's feeling his broodmate's presence get more distant. Everything shifts together, pain and the staggering sense of loss - himself or Bucky or both -

But something tips, and even he's not sure if it's because the Soldier is putting distance between them or because his searching finally led him to their brood bond. Both, maybe, maybe the feeling of home called out to him more strongly when the distance started to make separation more clear.

Sam rolls into their shared link, slipping under and it's not so much that he's suddenly himself again, it's - safe, he's safe. There's room to breathe, to sort out what's here and what's not, where he is and where Bucky should be.

To feel Bucky's absence and miss it with just as much strength, but know what he needs to do to get it back.

They've been through this before. It doesn't matter how much the programming tries to burn, how hard it tries to knock them down and kick him out - they're stronger. They'll always be stronger, and Sam should have known better than to try to take it on without using their bond.

There's a surge of panic as he feels the Soldier moving even further away from him, but he pushes through it as he struggles to his feet.

He takes off, doing his best to stay out of Bucky's mind and chase the Soldier down just based on his sense of where his broodmate is - but it's hard, and he slips in and out as he tries to steady himself. ]

[The Soldier takes every turn as directed, but finds that the hallways open in different ways. When he meets a closed door, the one down the hall warps and slides open. Frowning, the Soldier has little choice but to keep moving forward, to seek all methods of extraction. A dimly-lit T intersection meets him and he moves through the left door to a dimly lit locker room. Numbers dot each metal door, but he has little time to investigate any of them.

Instead, he continues to push on, through the maze of steel to another door. Charging through the door, however, sends him sprawling. He falls upwards, onto what should have been the ceiling. However, it holds a pool, filled with water, surrounded by walkways.

The Soldier struggles to right himself, to make sense of the disorienting change in perspective. Underneath the surface, Bucky attempts to spring to life, to gather the small collection of glass to wrest control back from the programming, but with Sam so far away, his presence growing dimmer, he has no chance and he's shattered once more into the fire.]

[ Sam honestly isn't paying much attention to his surroundings, instead navigating by his sense of where Bucky is and pushing - faster, faster, beyond what should have put him out of breath and panting, but his lungs don't need as much oxygen as they used to.

Still, maybe it's his sense of the Soldier trying to make his way through a maze, but he notices, dimly, that this is a part of the Station he's never been to before.

There's a part of him that thinks come on, help us out, a part that reaches out to the Station liked he'd tried when he first learned it was alive and connected. He still can't feel whether or not the Station responds, but then, most of his focus is on Bucky anyway.

He's unwilling to push his way back into Bucky's mind and get the programming more riled up, but he pours himself into their brood bond, grabbing hold of it with everything he's got.

I'm coming. He won't let the Soldier get away, won't leave Bucky alone. ]

[The Soldier scowls as he rights himself, but the dissonance of his environment are difficult to ignore. Each step seems more dizzying than the last as he makes his way to the door on the far end of the room, far up and out of direct reach of the Soldier. He'd have to climb the diving board and then utilize as much of his horizontal jump as possible to reach it. Frustrated- infuriated- the Soldier strides over to the ladder and begins to climb.

Beneath him, the pool casts waves of aqua light around the room, bright and disorienting as he takes the rungs three at a time.

Bucky reaches out for Sam the same way Sam does to him, buried in the brood link with a brush of cedar and pine as he holds on to the tendrils.]

[ Bucky. Sam breathes in the scent of trees, feeling the trickle of sun gleaming through them and sees them stretching up, their roots spiraling down and out. He pulls Bucky in where ever he can, spilling over their broodlink and into his own mind. He doesn't care, Bucky belongs there just as much as he does, and he thinks - why the hell didn't they try this in the first place, pulling Bucky into the broodlink and letting him bury himself into Sam's own mind while they said the words? Keep part of him safe.

Sam fares... a little bit better when he crashes through the door to the upside down pool, if only because he's used to gravity messing with him. He free falls down - up? - for a moment before instinct kicks in and his wings flare out.

He tailspins, disoriented and struggling to reconcile when his body says he's flying up and his eyes say down, and then says fuck it and slams his eyes shut. He can fly blind, as far as he's concerned, and he lets himself level out before he focuses back in on his sense of where the Soldier is.

Then he opens his eyes, enough to kick his thrusters into gear and pick up the chase again. ]

[Bucky roots himself in Sam’s mind wherever he can, his tiny specs of glass growing into frost-covered pines. Sam’s mind is just as much a home as his, if not more so. His leaves and needles flourish where the sun reaches them and Bucky quietly breathes a mental sigh of relief. Here, he can wait out anything. Here, with Sam, they can take shelter until the firestorm passes.

If it passes.

The Soldier steps onto the diving board as Sam comes roaring into the space, wings out and thrusters burning. No time for an attempt at a jump. Only time to pivot, to try and use the imposter’s momentum against him in an effort to steer Sam toward the water.]

[ There's an element that's something close to mine as he lets Bucky root himself deeper into his mind, wrapping around the tendrils to anchor them protectively - except it's not quite singular, something that's maybe closer to ours. A kind of possessive determination that the programming can't have them when they belong so much to each other.

It'll pass. It always does, and they'll always be stronger.

Even as the Soldier pivots and tries to use Sam's own wings against him. Of course he does, in all the times they've fought against each other Sam's wings have always given him both an edge and a weakness, and the Soldier's always known where to target.

Sam could try to stop his momentum but - it's still disorienting enough to mess with him, and instead he grabs for the Soldier, trying to get a decent enough grip to maybe take him with him, or at least throw him off balance. ]

[Just as the Soldier thinks he's pushed far enough to put the imposter out of reach, a hand snares in the fabric of his shirt and sends both of them tumbling down. Or up. The change in orientation doesn't give him much of a chance to turn midair and instead keeps his grip tight on his assailant.

Fine. He'll drown you first.

He hits the water and stays just as locked onto Sam as before, dragging him down deeper into the diving pool. For a moment, there's a bone-deep instinct to kick, to push to the top- his neck pressed to the side of a shattered glass lid, looking down into crimson water- but the Soldier fights it as he holds his breath.]

[ Apparently they're going to do this then.

Before they came here, Sam would've kicked to get away, because there's no way in hell he was gonna win a contest in who could stay under water the longest with the Soldier. But things are different now that Sam has the symbiote, now that he's worked to modify his own lungs - he wonders dimly if his symbiote ability will kick in if they start to really suffer from lack of oxygen, and which one of them it'll heal if it does.

It doesn't matter right now. Right now he pulls his wings in before they hit the pool and relaxes. He lets the Soldier drag him deeper, lets him be the one to expend energy, reminds himself not to panic don't panic you can do this. Just like the pipeline back in pararescue training. And he waits, arm wrapped around his back and one ankle hooked around the Soldier's.

At the same time he focus more firmly on their brood link, a reassurance that he's not giving up, just in case. He doesn't want Bucky to think that he's just gonna let the Soldier drown him, he's just gonna try to outlast him.

...unless they manage to get all the way to the bottom, then Sam's got plans to kick off and push them back to the surface, but that's not for right now. ]

[The Soldier doesn't expect that. He expects fear, a struggle, something to give way in his opponent, but gets none of it. So he shifts, curling his knee around Sam's leg to free his arm to go for Sam's throat. If he can get Sam to breathe, to mistakenly inhale water, then he can hold Sam down until he drowns.

Except Bucky wants none of this, doesn't want to be in the water and from the safe soil of Sam's mind, he strikes out for the programming like a shoot of a tree. But he meets the same fire of before, the brunt of his assault burned away in an instant. This isn't working and he can't let Sam drown, not like this, not now.]

[ Sam shifts, twisting his body back a little to get his neck out of reach of the Soldier's hand. He can't free himself without a fight thanks to the Soldier's leg around his, but that's all right, he can do this - it's not so different from holding onto someone in a water rescue, someone scared and struggling and he can -

Except he can sense Bucky trying to fight for him from their brood link, and there's a moment where he can't feel anything else but a fierce love.

I got this his mind murmurs, stroking soothingly over Bucky's presence. We got this, we can do it.

But he changes tactics anyway, using the momentum from twisting his upper body away from the Soldier to snap a kick out with his free leg, aiming for the Soldier's stomach. ]

[As Bucky is burned back, the edges of his mind seared and singed as he sinks back into the safe haven of Sam's mind, he wishes he could do more, that could make this an even fight, that he could drown the Soldier and programming both for good, that he could somehow seal them away. Sam doesn't have to fight for him, shouldn't have to, but here they both are and here Sam is fighting for him.

And he wishes he were stronger. He wishes he could do more, even as more of his bark is singed away. There's not much left of him but he would throw it all to the wind if it would guarantee Sam's safety.

The Soldier twists, but not fast enough in the water where every movement slows down to a fraction of the speed. He takes the hit square on and involuntarily gulps down a lungful of water. Suddenly, his fight becomes much more than outlasting. It becomes a simple effort to survive against an assailant.

He moves on instinct, pressing his hand to Sam's throat, but when two points of contact are made- when such energy and hate collides with love and the need to survive- his ability goes off. What would have been a spark before erupts into a storm of electricity that ripples through the water and spikes along the walkways of the pool.]

[ He doesn't have to, maybe, but he wants to. He'd fought for Bucky even before they were broodmates, and that hasn't changed except to make it more personal. If Bucky can throw himself back at the programming to try to protect him, despite everything the programming's done - Sam sure as hell can do the same for him. They're partners.

He's too distracted by the fight to be able to respond to much of that, but there's a jumbled of feeling of disagreement - Bucky is stronger, he's still here, there's a part of him that held on and that never would've happened when they first got here - as well as acknowledgement. He understands wanting to do more, and it strengthens his resolve to see this through.

Pain courses through Sam's body, vision going black as his mouth opens in a silent scream - and then it fades as his own ability activates, though it still leaves his nerves vibrating with the aftershocks. But it does nothing for the water he'd choked down or the lack of oxygen, and he starts trying to pull free.

They know exactly what happens when Bucky uses his ability, and it's an automatic response that has him burying himself more into their brood bond, twining around Bucky and holding tight to the pieces of him he's got, in case the reset tries to scatter them. At the same time, there's the background knowledge that now, he needs to do it now, say the words and take advantage of -

But he has to get them both to the surface and breathing before he can try again, and his hand clenches in the Soldier's shirt as he kicks, desperately trying to haul them both to the surface. ]

[As Bucky reaches out, the electricity sears through him. His presence is stripped back to his roots again and the programming goes dark. The Soldier breaks into a dozen different pieces as he becomes dead weight in the water. There's no fighting back or an attempt to drown both of them. He sucks in water with every involuntary breath as he floats toward the surface even without Sam's help. With those extra kicks, though, his head breaks the surface in a matter of seconds, eyes shut.

Bucky darts for the remains of the jade tower with what few piecemeal fragments he can gather. He doesn't want them to try again, not now. Right now, they need to keep the programming from rising to life again. He can't watch himself hurt Sam anymore.]

[ Sam starts coughing as soon as he reaches the surface, heaving the gulps of water he'd taken in out of his lungs as he fights to keep the Soldier's head above the water. He drags him to the edge of the pool, hauling them both out onto - the ceiling, and man, this disorientation isn't getting that much better - and checks to see if his broodmate is breathing, or if he's gonna need to break out the CPR again. ]

( This is the best chance we got, Buck, while it's reset like this. Best chance we're gonna get to get in there and rewrite it a little. ) [ But he doesn't stop Bucky from running towards his jade tower, because if Bucky really doesn't want to - he won't make him. ] ( I'll stay out of your head this time, all right, and so will you. We'll use the brood bond, it can't get us there. )

[There's a long moment where Bucky doesn't breathe, where he's still, but then water comes spilling from his mouth as he coughs and consciousness returns in flitting spurts. Underneath the surface, Bucky is already at the tower, burning the red book. He doesn't want to take the chance of this backfiring again, doesn't like the Soldier being in charge any longer than necessary.

That and he can't stand the water, fear pushing its way to the top as he tries to get his limbs to work. Work, dammit, work.]

[ For that same long moment, Sam doesn't breathe either - and it's only when he sucks in a ragged breath after Bucky starts coughing that he realizes that he's doing it.

He rolls Bucky over onto his side while he's spitting up water so he doesn't choke, kneeling at his side. He wants to protest - sunshine please we can do this I got you - but he doesn't have the heart to give words to it, not when he can feel Bucky's fear.

Instead he hauls Bucky into his arms, all but cradling him in his lap as he holds him close. ]

( Breathe, baby, I got you. It can't have either of us, I promise. )

[Bucky still can't seem to get his limbs to work as he's scooped from the water and turned on his side. It feels too much like a fever dream, like a hallucination. He thinks he hears Pierce's voice for a second, but then Sam is there, warm and curled around him. It can't have them.

It can't have them.

Maybe-

He can't let it-

He sucks in a breath and coughs. With Sam- With Sam, they can do this.]

[ He pushes wet clumps of hair out of Bucky's face, resting his forehead against Bucky's. If he could chase away Bucky's fears, burn Pierce's voice from his mind, he - well, he wouldn't do the second one, because he'd never take any memory from Bucky. But the first, the first he'll always try for.

We can do this.

Sam takes that as confirmation, but he doesn't let go. He keeps holding on, and while the programming still sleeps - he slips back into Bucky's mind, weaving through the roots and finding every place where he's anchored himself before, every part their brood bond has bleed into. So they can find it again without searching, if they need to, and he focuses on little hidden pockets of warmth. Bread crumbs in case they need to find their way back.

Then he withdraws back into their bond, pulling himself to hide safe in their shared space and tugging on Bucky to stay with him.

We can do this. We'll keep each other safe. ]

желание.

[Sam's here. Bucky breathes and Sam's here. Neither of them are drowning. He tries to remember the trees, the brush of pine needles beyond the remains of his mental landscape. Sam can always be found there, rustling through the woods.

Bucky exhales heavily at the first word, his eyelids fluttering open.

Behind the shattered bark, Bucky ducks into Sam's mind, little more than transparent fragments, but it's all he has and this is the only chance they'll likely get to do this right.]

[ Sam's not going anywhere. Never will, as far as he's concerned - honestly, he's not even sure anything could separate them completely at this point, but he's good with that.

He waits until Bucky's in his mind before continuing, lacing the fragments of him around his mind like he's threading their fingers together. Slotting his pieces right next to Bucky's, the easy slide of a damn near perfect fit despite any ragged edges.

I'm here. ]

ржaвый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. добросердечный.

[Bucky stares up at the ceiling, or somewhere in between, eyes glazed as his breath stutters with every word. He forgets where he is, what they're doing. His skin is damp, like he's been pulled fresh from cryo freeze, like he's just been dragged across steel, knees ripped and skull pounding.

He knows what comes next. Even after years in cryo. He knows what comes next and his heart begins to pound in his throat, choking him.

No. Not this. Not again. Please.]

[ If Sam thought he hated himself saying them before, that's got nothing on now. He thought maybe'd be more ready, but it's -

He can feel the way Bucky isn't himself, the way he goes blank to everything but cryo and the words, the way he still knows what's coming.

The way he begs for this not to happen, and god, if that doesn't make Sam want to punch himself in the face a little.

But they need this. This is what was missing the first time they tried this, and this time - this time it's gonna work, Sam knows it. ]

возвращение на родину. Один. грузовой вагон. [ He hears himself finish, calm and steady, and he forces himself to stay out of Bucky's head and keep to their brood bond. ] Good morning, Soldier.

[As the words continue, Bucky grits his teeth against the whole-body shudder that sears through him. No. Not- Not again- and then it's gone. His resistance disappears the moment the final word leaves Sam's mouth. The Soldier blinks, leaves Bucky behind- crouched in the mental link in even more pieces than before- but the programming is exposed. Instead of buried beneath snow and ice, the gears have emerged from the fragmented earth, bloody and burned away in places, but in tact enough to be visible and accessible.

The Soldier responds, this time without even the slightest affect, his voice devoid of emotion.]

Ready to comply.

[ It's hard to resist reaching out to touch the gears once they're exposed. To try to pour into the gaps between them, find every weakness and fill it up, stop some from turning and help others go faster -

But he can't mess with Bucky's head like that, not on that level. Not when neither of them really know what they're doing, and shoving himself in there might just mess things up.

He settles for pulling the pieces of Bucky left in their mental link closer, weaving himself around them and anchoring down before he leans on the mental link to try to access the programming from a distance, give it slightly adjusted orders. ]

( If this happens again, assess the situation. You have the skills to evaluate your surroundings and follow the best course of action; use them. Come find me. Quickly, quietly, no violence unless absolutely necessary. Don't hurt anyone unless they're trying to hurt you - reach out to me and we'll get you back up to speed together. )

[Bucky is little more than fragments, shredded and threadbare as Sam shelters him. The programming continues to sleep; the gears are not yet moving, but still white-hot from their last assault. At the first order, one of those bright gears slides out of place and another one- jade and slightly rusted from disuse- shifts into the gap. Assess the situation. Evaluate surroundings. Find his handler. All of those are familiar but the last few, not as much.

Extraction had been his previous priority and any barriers to be taken down by force. Well, that is, outside of targets. Setting himself to return to a handler cooperates well enough, but non-violence is a different story. One gear is a deep crimson, firmly stuck in place even as the programming attempts to remove it.]

[ I'm here.

They can focus on pulling Bucky back together later, after this is done - right now it's enough that he can feel the pieces of him there in their broodbond, enough that there's still something of him left instead of having it all scattered to the wind. He doesn't - he doesn't know what he'd do without Bucky's presence, he thinks absently, doesn't know how to exist anymore when he can't feel him there, but that doesn't matter.

This matters.

Sam breathes, focusing in on the gear that's the sticking point. He changes his phrasing, going for a smaller shift instead of a complete change, something it might accept a little easier and loosen the way. ]

( Reach out to me before you do anything else. You'll know how. ) [ It's written in them both. ]

[Bucky doesn't feel like there's enough of him to build anything, too small, too few to sew back together, but he trusts Sam more than himself and they've come back from everything so far. Huddling down behind Sam's shields feels wrong. He's a born fighter, came into the world kicking and screaming, and what is he now? A broken man, little more. Shame presses too hot against his throat, but the gears continue to work without interruption.

A mechanical groan echoes through the shared mind space as steel bends, as teeth contort and finally- finally- the gear slides free. Make no decisions on his own. Seek out his handler. Violence does not belong on the list of options. Do not fight his way out.

He- He remembers glass. He remembers the reflections of the sun and shattering glass. His target stands across from him, blood caked to his forehead, cheeks swollen. I'm not gonna fight you. And then his stomach drops out. Falling. Falling again.

No. Not falling. He can't-

-breathe. He can't breathe. He stares up into the snow, chest quaking with effort and broken ribs. His eyes roll back in his head as he looks to the side only to see blood. So much blood and oh god, his arm-

Bucky- the Soldier- both blink rapidly, his head jerking in sudden movements. He can't- he can't stop it- help him, help him. The smoke of the train is disappearing in the distance and no one is coming for him. No. Please. Help him.]

[ His heart lodges itself up in his throat as he feels Bucky's shame, and he resists the urge to physically lean in to press his forehead against Bucky's only because the programming is still laid bare. It's a struggle not to just cover it up with ice and snow, leave it there and retreat into their mental link to stand more firmly next to him. To remind him that he's not weak, that Bucky is the strongest man Sam's ever known.

That it's okay to be broken, because Sam was once, too. That there's nothing wrong with needing help, because Sam needs him, too.

He's never used his ability like this before - it's always been through his hands, a conscious, focused thing. But now his skin heats up everywhere it's in contact with Bucky, even through the layers of their soaked clothes. It chases the singed feeling in Bucky's veins, soothes it with a brush of touch and a slow exhale.

Sam threads his fingers through Bucky's, presses their joined hands to his own chest so Bucky can feel the way it rises and falls. ]

( Breathe with me. You can do this, Buck, it's okay to remember. )

[ I'm always gonna come for you, he promises without quit meaning to, pulled from him as he feels Bucky's fear, as the memory of his realization that no one is coming makes him have to work a little harder to count his own breaths. You don't ever gotta do this alone. ]

[In one moment, Bucky is fractured pieces, bits of memories and glass thrown to the wind, lost in the smoke. In the next, his chest surges as he gasps for a breath he didn't know he needed, his body alight with Sam's ability. The borders where their minds merge dissolve into nothing and the forest brushes across the frosted barbed wire, vines crawling through the gaps. Cedar and pine wind down through the ice, fracturing in long jagged edges.

Alicia, 1984, her eyes vacant and empty, smoke falling from her mouth in plumes, but that isn't right. The smoke goes with the train and the fall and oh god his arm-

Breathe. Breathe. His chest moves on its own and he remembers glancing over at Sam for the first time on the ship, fear running wild through his veins when their breaths sync. But Sam is here now, will always be here, and breathing for him and Bucky wants nothing more than for it to stop. He doesn't want to remember. He can't stop remembering.

On Concordia, his notebook filled from front to back with faces, Steve watching him with candid fear-

Back on the Station- at least it didn't take me two years-

Hair braided away from his face, his beard gently cut away, Sam in the dust beneath him, the urge to run every time they go back to the Station-

It's all looping again and again.

Stay. Stay with him. Don't leave.]

[ There's a sharp inhale as their borders dissolve, like breathing in cold air after surfacing from being underwater just this side of too long and getting reminded of how much you need it, like waking up the morning after your first night with someone you love and realizing they're still there, that you want them to still be there every morning for the rest of your life.

There's no space between them anymore, but there doesn't ever need to be. It's easy like this, easy to breathe, to let himself experience the memories that Bucky flips through and trips over without getting stuck on them. ]

( It's hard, sunshine, I know it's hard. But you can do this. ) [ You can do anything, I believe in you.

He can feel the parts of Bucky asking him to stay, telling him not to leave, and there's an answer without him even having to think it.

Always. Never.

Bucky wants, and their brood bond lights up with Sam's encouragement. He doesn't say a word, but his mind murmurs you're so good, you're doing so good god I love you so much with the sensation of a hand running through his hair, fingertrips trailing over his wrist to play with the charm on his bracelet.

It's harder to sort himself out enough to form words, coherent thoughts, to use the brood bond the way they planned, but he manages. ]

( It's okay to want. ) [ The programming is still vulnerable, humming and ready to be shifted, just a little, and Sam - he knows that Bucky's spiraling, that he's overwhelmed with all of it, but they have to do this. ] ( It's okay to say no, to me or anyone else. It's okay to say yes, to have a preference. )

[Bucky feels as if he's spread between two bodies, both laying on cold tile and curling around the one on the floor. For a moment, he can feel the fingers on his left arm where there should be none. He stretches them, reaches out, but then the sensation fades and he's left back in the cold, coated in a mixture of his own blood and snow as someone yanks him along the ice by the tattered remains of his vest.

Someone had finally come, but they speak in a language he doesn't understand. He wants to tell them he's American, that he fell- dammit he fell- that his best friend might still be trying to find them- but his mouth is frozen shut.

Before he can tell them no, before he can fight them, bone saws cut away at the remains of his arm and he screams, he screams and attempts to fight but-

It's okay to say no. It's okay to want.

He tells the spectacled men above him no but they inject him with something and his veins burn. Once again, he's screaming, swinging wildly- you are a weapon, you do not say no.]

[ Bucky's screams echo in Sam's mind, and all Sam can do is watch - that's all he can ever do when it's the ones who matter the most what good is - no. He lets the feeling go before it's fully formed, and reaches out with his free hand to tangle his fingers in Bucky's hair.

Even without the programming still active, Bucky would have learned not to say no, not to want. Over and over they proved that what Bucky wanted would never matter, and even though Sam's always known that they had a long road ahead of them to prove that it didn't have to be that way anymore - seeing it still makes him want to go back and put a bullet in every one of their heads.

But he doesn't try to push the memory away, doesn't try to pull Bucky from it. This isn't his to make go away, and no matter how angry it makes him, no matter how much it makes his heart hurt, makes him want take out every last person who ever looked at Bucky and saw a weapon to be controlled - he won't. This is Bucky's. They burned away every memory he had that was inconvenient, and despite saying the words, Sam will never, ever be like them. He stays with it, stays with Bucky, lets it unfold around them and tries to give Bucky something to anchor onto. ]

( I'm here. ) [ He forms the words in their mind, and it echoes - they're gone, they're gone and I'm here. ] ( You can say no. You can let me know what you want. )

[Bucky's screams are cut silent by a hand in his hair and he flinches away. He remembers hands like those, when one pulled on his hair and the other his jaw, forcing a piece of rubber between his lips. He remembers they got frustrated when he kept giving his name, kept giving his number. He thought that's what they wanted, but they became more angry with him, even when he stopped saying no.

That's when the first drug him from the cold, his knees loose underneath him, eyes rolling around in his head as fingers yank him up by his hair and pull open his mouth.

The chair. He can't remember it being built, or how they decided to use it, but his memory gets worse here, the fragments more powderized, more uneven. The first time... the first time they were still angry. Once, twice, three times he screamed until his voice gave out, until he had nothing left to give, but they wanted something more, something else.

They must have figured it out because that's where Bucky's foggiest memories end and only faces remain. Faces like Maria and Howard Stark. Like Nicholas Fury. Like Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson.

He doesn't tell the hand in his hair no. He knows what's coming.]

[ There's the ghost sensation of someone pulling his own hair, despite the fact that it's been a long time since it was long enough to get yanked on, but Sam shakes himself free of it. Instead, he focuses on his hand in Bucky's hair, keeping his touch gentle, fingertips scratching gently over his scalp. It' always been about changing the experience a little, taking something expected and making it new - creating a dissonance to keep Bucky here with him, open things up and let him see there's more out there.

When the memories strain, become vaguer, and the faces start surfacing - he knows, this should be the place where they're pushed away, where everything is cleared.

Not this time. There's no wipe coming, no punishment, no orders for the next mission, no more people to kill.

Just the two of them. ]

( Your memories are your own, Bucky, you can have them. ) [ He untangles his fingers from Bucky's hair to press his palm over Bucky's heart, a mirror of how he's holding Bucky's own hand to Sam's chest. The last time they did this it'd been too hard to keep themselves separate, but that -

That doesn't matter now. There's no need for them to be separate while they do this. ]

[Bucky waits to be pulled up by his hair, to be shoved into the chair. He's wet, his clothes weighed down by what he can only think to be the remnants of cryo, and his heart pounds furiously in his chest as he waits for the expected to happen.

But it doesn't.

Bucky's eyelids flutter open, pupils wild as he casts his gaze around. It takes only a matter of heartbeats to establish that they aren't in Siberia, that there is no chair waiting for him.

The fingers in his hair loosen and release and Bucky blinks. Someone is here with him, but not his usual handler. He steadies his eyes and looks at Sam long and hard. His handler. Sam. Sam Wilson. If things went South, Bucky would find him first.

He's exhausted, as if he's been on a long journey with the sun leeching his energy, and the beginnings of a headache coil beneath his temples.]

Sam?

[ He lets out a slow exhale as he feels the way that Bucky's waiting for something to happen - for the chair, for the way they erased everything - and it never comes.

The programming is still laid bare and vulnerable in Bucky's mind, and it's tempting to try to dig deeper into it, to tell it that Bucky is a person and not a weapon - but he knows how risky that is, knows how ingrained a lot of the programming is and how much it'd reject a sudden change like that. It's better to go slower.

So he smoothes a hand over the cogs of the programming, a mix of gentle and commanding. Buries it back underneath the snow, strong and confident, at the same time as he knows that their broodbond has been buried just as deep. The next time the Soldier surfaces - and Sam's not naive enough to believe that it'll never happen again - they'll be written in there so deep that it'll be easier, he has to believe that. The Solider will know him. ]

I'm here, love, I'm here.

[ The term of endearment slips from his lips before he's even able to process it, but it doesn't really matter. The feelings are already there - they've been there for a long, long time. Him saying it doesn't change anything. ]

I've got you.

[Bucky's first wild glance around the room does little to ease his disorientation. He doesn't remember how he got here or where 'here' is. Neither are a good sign. Sam re-buries the open gears in his head, but he can't recall why they were laid bare in the first place. His head tingles with what feels like the remains of a wipe and that is worst of all.

He shuts his eyes and swallows, afraid of the answer to the question he's about to ask.]

What did I do?

[Please tell him he didn't hurt someone. Please tell him he didn't hurt Sam. Bucky forces his eyes back open to get a better look at his broodmate, to check for open wounds.]

желание I know you are the answer, but I forgot the question.	печь There will always be a lie in believe.
один Whatever is static is dead.	рассвет The world is too quiet.

c o n t a c t

LATE DAY 006

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hope u like novels

oh NO

i think u mean oh yes

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after ilde's post.

sorry i am so so late

hush your face you're fine

lkjhslkfd

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day early 30-somethingish

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