bracchium | c o n t a c t

[ 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.

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.

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