c o n t a c t

[bracchium]

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.

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

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[decommission]

[ 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. ]

[bracchium]

[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.]

[decommission]

[ 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?

[bracchium]

[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.]

[decommission]

[ 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. ]

[bracchium]

[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.]

[decommission]

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

Bucky. [ Say something. ]

[bracchium]

[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.]

[decommission]

[ 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?

[bracchium]

[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.

[decommission]

[ 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. ]

[bracchium]

[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?

[decommission]

[ 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?

[bracchium]

[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.

[decommission]

[ 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.

[bracchium]

[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.

[decommission]

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. ]

[bracchium]

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.]

[decommission]

[ 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. ]

[bracchium]

[ 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.]

[decommission]

[ 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. ]

[bracchium]

[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.

[decommission]

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

All of them?

[bracchium]

[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. ]

[decommission]

[ 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. ]