[ waking up shouldn't feel like getting hit by a mack truck, probably. at least steve doesn't think it used to feel that way. he can remember once feeling normal when he woke up, he's pretty sure.
before he opens his eyes, steve tries to orient himself. last he remembers, he was falling into the potomac—that's where the mack truck feeling came from, then, not that he's been hit by one now, but he was several hours ago. or at least he was hit by the equivalent of a mack truck—bucky, who's alive and a brainwashed hydra assassin and trying to kill steve. okay, that's the past few days of his life more or less summed up, he's got everything, no memories seem fuzzy or distorted, no concussion to worry about. now to turn his attention outward.
the bedsheets aren't familiar, not in smell or feel, so he's not in his own bed. he is on a bed, so he didn't get fished out of the river into fury's quinjet. there's no beeping of various machines and gizmos, so he's not in a hospital. whatever he's wearing is softer than his uniform, and it's the only thing he's wearing. there's a weight across his waist like there's an arm slung over it. he smells gunmetal and explosives and—
steve's eyes fly open at the same time as he rolls over on the bed, coming face to face with ]
Bucky?
[ he hasn't noticed their strange surroundings, and doesn't care to. it's hard to give a shit about where he is and why when he has his dead best friend laying next to him, alive and breathing. steve reaches for bucky's face, stupidly, unthinkingly, entirely unprepared for this to end in more violence. ]
warmth seeping through his metal arm, the echoes of physical sensation travelling up the frayed sensors on his servos coming alive from the input. faint, not burning, not internal; he's not been left out to thaw, then. he's not on a dialysis machine, cycling his own blood through his veins as they run drugs through his body, pulling out the remnants of the cryofreeze solution from his body. has he been wiped? they were careful with him this time, then; he can't feel any soreness, any pain. did they let him sleep? he can't feel the iv needles; is he supposed to maintain himself? it's not often, but sometimes he gets to. a reward for being good. was he good?
he must've been. he's warm.
warmth.
he moves, and the warmth moves with him. now that is well and truly new, and it cuts through the haze of the dream. he's hurtling head-first towards consciousness, his heart rate ratcheting high up. he wants this dream to last. he doesn't want to wake up yet.
warm— and alive, speaking to him. a face, familiar. blond. blue eyes. he knows this face. he knows this man.
my mission.
his reflexes have him moving before his recognition settles into his fogged mind, his metal arm already locking itself into offensive as he lunges, topples them over, the brace of his arm pressing down full force against where the man's throat would be. he doesn't notice his nakedness; he's completed missions with less dignity than this.
if this ends, maybe the wipes will end too. he can go back to his dream. he— ]
[ oh, right, that whole fighting to the death thing.
bucky lunges on top of him, barreling the full force of his weight into steve and slamming his metal hand around steve's throat, and steve just lets it happen. it wouldn't have been impossible to avoid the choke—there was a moment between bucky's eyes opening and the blur of motion he became, a moment where steve absolutely could have listened to his gut and rolled out of the way. even now, he could escape the pin, put some distance between them, get his bearings and put up a real fight. if he did, though, they'd be right back where they were on the helicarrier, fighting for no reason. screw that.
steve lays still under bucky, arms at his sides, as calm as he can manage. his heart is going a mile a minute; he wonders if bucky can feel his pulse through the metal hand. it's hard to talk, but steve's gotta make the attempt anyway. ]
Yeah, Buck, it's me. You don't have to do this, pal, you can let go. We're alone, you're safe. I'm not gonna fight you.
[ targets often try to talk through the chokehold. it's like the static from a comms piece; the spittle getting on his tac gear, the pitched-up voice, the gasping and keening and the struggling until life drains out in shivering waves underneath his grip.
they always fight. even when there's no hope, even if it's just a soft grip to his wrist. they fight him, because they want to live, and that's a powerful motivation. ]
Something's wrong with you, [ he says, and it surprises him that he says it, because he doesn't talk. he isn't supposed to talk; weapons don't get to have an opinion. the surprise causes him to slacken, just enough that his full weight slides aside, and he punches his fist next to the man's head to brace his weight so he doesn't fall. it tears through the sheets; he feels the springs edge up against the foam, ecstatic at their imminent freedom. ]
steve laughs. or, he tries to, anyway, bucky's hand is still clamped pretty tight around his throat. ]
You know, that's not the first time you've asked me that.
[ he lifts his hand, slowly, trying his best not to spook bucky into restarting the fight, reaching to wrap a loose hand around bucky's wrist—not to push him away or wrench his hand off steve's throat, but just to touch him. ]
We can talk about it if you let me go. I can explain more. I want to. Let me?
[ he searches the man's face for some sign of— something, he's not sure yet, but whatever it is he finds must be enough because he decides to relent. the weight he's been bearing down on the man's throat eases, and he rolls away from easily, but the lack of contact is brief. he's shoving the man facedown, running a rough grip through the man's hair, then along the length of his body.
yes, it's a pat down. yes, he is aware that the man is naked. no, he doesn't trust what his eyes can see.
he yanks the sheets then, taking the man with it; there isn't much space to move around, so it effectively dumps the man to the floor. mattress is flipped up too; nothing under the bed, nothing on the frame, and the room is a tight squeeze but everything seems open.
he rips the top sheet into smaller parts, dumps the rest into a corner behind him, then twists a length into a makeshift choke band in his hands. he elbows the mattress to fall back in place, and it lands with a comical fwhump! sound.
[ there's no time to appreciate the sudden influx of air to his lungs, or to think maybe bucky's decided to really trust him, because as soon as steve's even considered smiling bucky's flipped him over. confusion quickly gives way to understanding, though, and steve doesn't resist the patdown—somewhat of a mistake, given his easy acceptance of bucky pushing him around means he's entirely unprepared to be dumped unceremoniously on the floor when bucky tugs up the sheets. at least he didn't hit the corner of the nightstand, just tumbled awkwardly into the wall.
steve rights himself easily enough, sitting up against the nighstand while bucky cases the room. it's a good opportunity to really take in his appearance, now that steve doesn't have to worry about getting choked out if he says the wrong thing—bucky looks fine, in a word, and at least better than steve left him. not favoring the arm steve dislocated, no gsws that need immediate attention. it'd be a relief if it weren't more than a little weird.
if bucky got the serum, he should heal fast, but not this fast. not even steve heals this fast, and realizing that only brings attention to the complete lack of pain steve himself is feeling. he was shot three times. bucky broke his nose, at least, beating his face in with that metal fist, and probably his orbital bones too. he fell hundreds of feet into a river. super soldier or not, he shouldn't be upright and conscious right now. he should probably be dead. he'd expected to die.
why is he alive? ]
I'll talk about whatever you want, Buck, [ steve says, earnest and sincere, but now he's had the thought it's hard to shake it, and he can't relax until he gets more intel. ] Can I ask you a question, first? Do you know where we are? Or how we got here?
[ he twists the makeshift choke band out of reflex and not any intention of being threatening, though it may seem that way if the man - captain america, steve rogers, enemy - were less trained.
the questions have a point, however, and he takes a quick look around the room, a second glance that's less cursory and more exploratory. it's not the usual maintenance rooms, or holding cells, or anything that he's used to. and he's gotten used to quite a lot; he's had many handlers over the years, authority passing from one hydra branch to another. the headquarters never stay the same for more than a decade.
this is new. but by his reckoning, it's not strange.
he doesn't remember getting retrieved, either, but if his mission is here—is this a test? is he supposed to finish his mission, now that it's been pointedly made so much easier? the target is right in front of him. does he go back into the ice after this?
he frowns in earnest now, and his grip tightens even further. ]
You've been captured. [ you, not we. he's just relieved he's not drugged up and brain-fried. ] Now talk.
[ that's not a threat, but it could become one if steve doesn't make good on his offer to talk. that's fine, he should establish trust between them before he tries to get bucky to hare off on a recon mission with him anyway. ]
Alright. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Friends call you Bucky. You were born in 1917 in Brooklyn, New York. Your parents were Winifred and Robert Barnes, and you had three siblings. We met when we were kids, and we've been best friends ever since.
[ present tense is a liiittle presumptuous, given the givens, but nobody ever said steve isn't optimistic. ]
We fought Hydra together, seventy years ago. They captured you, and they've been using you to do their dirty work while I—
[ here steve stumbles, unsure what to say, how to describe exactly why he couldn't save his best friend from a fate worse than death. he's explained it before, plenty of times, but this time he feels... guilty. he could have done more. ]
I was out of commission. I would never have let this happen if I'd known, Buck. I'd have died first.
[ it makes sense. things slot into place in ways that finally make sense, even with the gaps and holes in his memory. it makes sense.
when he lets himself think about things for too long, he gets ideas. ideas are dangerous, but he's had a few that stuck through despite the wipes.
one: he had to have come from somewhere. he was someone, before, because nothing can be made from nothing. he's seen the attempts at replicating him; they too came from somewhere. so he must have been from somewhere, now changed to be better. faster. stronger. more useful. who he was doesn't matter in the face of what he is now. this confirms it.
two: the mission isn't assassination, but disarmament. the weapon of the enemy is best when destroyed or seized; this man is too aware, too in control, too much work to break down if his behaviors are anything to go by. (how did they manage? does he get wiped too? do they put him in ice?) if hydra cannot control him, then hydra must destroy him. just like you detonate a bomb you can't disable.
three: he was decommissioned for a time. faulty. maybe it's the attitude; he's gotten punished for it before himself, what did this man do to earn it? is this why he needs to be retired? he knows they need parts of shield left intact; was he damaging the enemy in ways that hurt hydra too?
he winces. this is too much. he has—had—has?—a name. he has parents. they may have come from the same place before— before.
that's enough information for now. whatever mistake this asset had done that's giving it ideas about him, he'll leave that alone for later. hesitantly, then more firmly, he offers his hand to the man.
to steve rogers. he is james barnes, and this man is steve rogers. (why is he called bucky?) ]
[ it was too much to hope that bucky would follow all that, it'd magically cure his amnesia, and they could go back to violently tag-teaming hydra until it was wiped from the earth. steve didn't expect that, really, not even in his wildest hopes. it'd be enough just to convince bucky he was—is—a person, that he could trust steve, that he'd never have to fight again if he didn't want to. worst case scenario bucky would think he was lying, but keep him alive for intel.
this is not even close to that. this is much worse. ]
It's not like that. I work—worked, I worked for SHIELD on purpose. I wanted to.
[ he thought he was helping, naive as that now sounds. steve takes bucky's hand and lets himself be pulled up. ]
I wasn't decommissioned. I was frozen, I had to put the Red Skull's plane down in the middle of the Arctic. The serum kept my cells from dying.
[ the important thing is they're not actively trying to kill each other right now. working theory being correct or not, it's practical to conserve their resources - or find some, considering their situation.
completing the mission is important, but staying in peak condition is just as valuable too. steve rogers may be confused, and his story doesn't make sense based on what he knows, but it'll do for now.
he stares at their still-joined hands, tilts his head a bit at it. he doesn't hate the contact. it feels almost familiar. ]
SHIELD is HYDRA. [ it comes out like a question. ] Many parts of it is. It— You were in the way.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
golden peacock tdm arrival
before he opens his eyes, steve tries to orient himself. last he remembers, he was falling into the potomac—that's where the mack truck feeling came from, then, not that he's been hit by one now, but he was several hours ago. or at least he was hit by the equivalent of a mack truck—bucky, who's alive and a brainwashed hydra assassin and trying to kill steve. okay, that's the past few days of his life more or less summed up, he's got everything, no memories seem fuzzy or distorted, no concussion to worry about. now to turn his attention outward.
the bedsheets aren't familiar, not in smell or feel, so he's not in his own bed. he is on a bed, so he didn't get fished out of the river into fury's quinjet. there's no beeping of various machines and gizmos, so he's not in a hospital. whatever he's wearing is softer than his uniform, and it's the only thing he's wearing. there's a weight across his waist like there's an arm slung over it. he smells gunmetal and explosives and—
steve's eyes fly open at the same time as he rolls over on the bed, coming face to face with ]
Bucky?
[ he hasn't noticed their strange surroundings, and doesn't care to. it's hard to give a shit about where he is and why when he has his dead best friend laying next to him, alive and breathing. steve reaches for bucky's face, stupidly, unthinkingly, entirely unprepared for this to end in more violence. ]
im gonna abbreviate this to goldcock, won't i
warmth seeping through his metal arm, the echoes of physical sensation travelling up the frayed sensors on his servos coming alive from the input. faint, not burning, not internal; he's not been left out to thaw, then. he's not on a dialysis machine, cycling his own blood through his veins as they run drugs through his body, pulling out the remnants of the cryofreeze solution from his body. has he been wiped? they were careful with him this time, then; he can't feel any soreness, any pain. did they let him sleep? he can't feel the iv needles; is he supposed to maintain himself? it's not often, but sometimes he gets to. a reward for being good. was he good?
he must've been. he's warm.
warmth.
he moves, and the warmth moves with him. now that is well and truly new, and it cuts through the haze of the dream. he's hurtling head-first towards consciousness, his heart rate ratcheting high up. he wants this dream to last. he doesn't want to wake up yet.
warm— and alive, speaking to him. a face, familiar. blond. blue eyes. he knows this face. he knows this man.
my mission.
his reflexes have him moving before his recognition settles into his fogged mind, his metal arm already locking itself into offensive as he lunges, topples them over, the brace of his arm pressing down full force against where the man's throat would be. he doesn't notice his nakedness; he's completed missions with less dignity than this.
if this ends, maybe the wipes will end too. he can go back to his dream. he— ]
You.
i wish you wouldn't
bucky lunges on top of him, barreling the full force of his weight into steve and slamming his metal hand around steve's throat, and steve just lets it happen. it wouldn't have been impossible to avoid the choke—there was a moment between bucky's eyes opening and the blur of motion he became, a moment where steve absolutely could have listened to his gut and rolled out of the way. even now, he could escape the pin, put some distance between them, get his bearings and put up a real fight. if he did, though, they'd be right back where they were on the helicarrier, fighting for no reason. screw that.
steve lays still under bucky, arms at his sides, as calm as he can manage. his heart is going a mile a minute; he wonders if bucky can feel his pulse through the metal hand. it's hard to talk, but steve's gotta make the attempt anyway. ]
Yeah, Buck, it's me. You don't have to do this, pal, you can let go. We're alone, you're safe. I'm not gonna fight you.
✨ ⚜️ 🦚 🍆 ✨
they always fight. even when there's no hope, even if it's just a soft grip to his wrist. they fight him, because they want to live, and that's a powerful motivation. ]
Something's wrong with you, [ he says, and it surprises him that he says it, because he doesn't talk. he isn't supposed to talk; weapons don't get to have an opinion. the surprise causes him to slacken, just enough that his full weight slides aside, and he punches his fist next to the man's head to brace his weight so he doesn't fall. it tears through the sheets; he feels the springs edge up against the foam, ecstatic at their imminent freedom. ]
What's wrong with you?
no subject
steve laughs. or, he tries to, anyway, bucky's hand is still clamped pretty tight around his throat. ]
You know, that's not the first time you've asked me that.
[ he lifts his hand, slowly, trying his best not to spook bucky into restarting the fight, reaching to wrap a loose hand around bucky's wrist—not to push him away or wrench his hand off steve's throat, but just to touch him. ]
We can talk about it if you let me go. I can explain more. I want to. Let me?
no subject
yes, it's a pat down. yes, he is aware that the man is naked. no, he doesn't trust what his eyes can see.
he yanks the sheets then, taking the man with it; there isn't much space to move around, so it effectively dumps the man to the floor. mattress is flipped up too; nothing under the bed, nothing on the frame, and the room is a tight squeeze but everything seems open.
he rips the top sheet into smaller parts, dumps the rest into a corner behind him, then twists a length into a makeshift choke band in his hands. he elbows the mattress to fall back in place, and it lands with a comical fwhump! sound.
should he sit? hm. better not. ]
You can talk.
no subject
steve rights himself easily enough, sitting up against the nighstand while bucky cases the room. it's a good opportunity to really take in his appearance, now that steve doesn't have to worry about getting choked out if he says the wrong thing—bucky looks fine, in a word, and at least better than steve left him. not favoring the arm steve dislocated, no gsws that need immediate attention. it'd be a relief if it weren't more than a little weird.
if bucky got the serum, he should heal fast, but not this fast. not even steve heals this fast, and realizing that only brings attention to the complete lack of pain steve himself is feeling. he was shot three times. bucky broke his nose, at least, beating his face in with that metal fist, and probably his orbital bones too. he fell hundreds of feet into a river. super soldier or not, he shouldn't be upright and conscious right now. he should probably be dead. he'd expected to die.
why is he alive? ]
I'll talk about whatever you want, Buck, [ steve says, earnest and sincere, but now he's had the thought it's hard to shake it, and he can't relax until he gets more intel. ] Can I ask you a question, first? Do you know where we are? Or how we got here?
[ that's two questions, rogers. ]
no subject
[ he twists the makeshift choke band out of reflex and not any intention of being threatening, though it may seem that way if the man - captain america, steve rogers, enemy - were less trained.
the questions have a point, however, and he takes a quick look around the room, a second glance that's less cursory and more exploratory. it's not the usual maintenance rooms, or holding cells, or anything that he's used to. and he's gotten used to quite a lot; he's had many handlers over the years, authority passing from one hydra branch to another. the headquarters never stay the same for more than a decade.
this is new. but by his reckoning, it's not strange.
he doesn't remember getting retrieved, either, but if his mission is here—is this a test? is he supposed to finish his mission, now that it's been pointedly made so much easier? the target is right in front of him. does he go back into the ice after this?
he frowns in earnest now, and his grip tightens even further. ]
You've been captured. [ you, not we. he's just relieved he's not drugged up and brain-fried. ] Now talk.
no subject
Alright. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Friends call you Bucky. You were born in 1917 in Brooklyn, New York. Your parents were Winifred and Robert Barnes, and you had three siblings. We met when we were kids, and we've been best friends ever since.
[ present tense is a liiittle presumptuous, given the givens, but nobody ever said steve isn't optimistic. ]
We fought Hydra together, seventy years ago. They captured you, and they've been using you to do their dirty work while I—
[ here steve stumbles, unsure what to say, how to describe exactly why he couldn't save his best friend from a fate worse than death. he's explained it before, plenty of times, but this time he feels... guilty. he could have done more. ]
I was out of commission. I would never have let this happen if I'd known, Buck. I'd have died first.
no subject
[ it makes sense. things slot into place in ways that finally make sense, even with the gaps and holes in his memory. it makes sense.
when he lets himself think about things for too long, he gets ideas. ideas are dangerous, but he's had a few that stuck through despite the wipes.
one: he had to have come from somewhere. he was someone, before, because nothing can be made from nothing. he's seen the attempts at replicating him; they too came from somewhere. so he must have been from somewhere, now changed to be better. faster. stronger. more useful. who he was doesn't matter in the face of what he is now. this confirms it.
two: the mission isn't assassination, but disarmament. the weapon of the enemy is best when destroyed or seized; this man is too aware, too in control, too much work to break down if his behaviors are anything to go by. (how did they manage? does he get wiped too? do they put him in ice?) if hydra cannot control him, then hydra must destroy him. just like you detonate a bomb you can't disable.
three: he was decommissioned for a time. faulty. maybe it's the attitude; he's gotten punished for it before himself, what did this man do to earn it? is this why he needs to be retired? he knows they need parts of shield left intact; was he damaging the enemy in ways that hurt hydra too?
he winces. this is too much. he has—had—has?—a name. he has parents. they may have come from the same place before— before.
that's enough information for now. whatever mistake this asset had done that's giving it ideas about him, he'll leave that alone for later. hesitantly, then more firmly, he offers his hand to the man.
to steve rogers. he is james barnes, and this man is steve rogers. (why is he called bucky?) ]
Why were you decommissioned?
no subject
[ it was too much to hope that bucky would follow all that, it'd magically cure his amnesia, and they could go back to violently tag-teaming hydra until it was wiped from the earth. steve didn't expect that, really, not even in his wildest hopes. it'd be enough just to convince bucky he was—is—a person, that he could trust steve, that he'd never have to fight again if he didn't want to. worst case scenario bucky would think he was lying, but keep him alive for intel.
this is not even close to that. this is much worse. ]
It's not like that. I work—worked, I worked for SHIELD on purpose. I wanted to.
[ he thought he was helping, naive as that now sounds. steve takes bucky's hand and lets himself be pulled up. ]
I wasn't decommissioned. I was frozen, I had to put the Red Skull's plane down in the middle of the Arctic. The serum kept my cells from dying.
[ it all sounds ridiculous, laid out like that.
steve hasn't let go of bucky's hand. ]
no subject
completing the mission is important, but staying in peak condition is just as valuable too. steve rogers may be confused, and his story doesn't make sense based on what he knows, but it'll do for now.
he stares at their still-joined hands, tilts his head a bit at it. he doesn't hate the contact. it feels almost familiar. ]
SHIELD is HYDRA. [ it comes out like a question. ] Many parts of it is. It— You were in the way.
Who's in charge now?