sixthiterationlogs | mild A:IW spoilers in option a.

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mild A:IW spoilers in option a.

WHO: Bucky Barnes
WHERE: spawn fountain, inn, butcher shop
WHEN: 05/27 & 05/28
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: A:IW spoilers in the first section, adult language and potentially traumatic themes referenced.

a. arrival;

It's a jarring transition, a sudden awakening from nothing to drowning in a microscopic instant. It's only through the sheer control he's got over his own body that he doesn't gasp or inhale, his eyes bug out and his limbs flail, kicking upward with the fury of a strong survival instinct. He'd been dust only a moment ago, he thinks. Phantom limb sensations in the wrong arm as they spread like ashes in the breeze, and then darkness. The weight of his arm is like an anchor, pulling him down, aligning with gravity, and it feels heavier than usual despite the fact that water is meant to make people feel weightless.

After a desperate eternity he breaches, heavy metal arm flinging over the coarse edge of the fountain and gripping. Then he gasps, lips parted, hair sopping, floating and breathing and nothing else at first. The water around him stills before he begins phase two, hauling himself over the ledge and onto dry land.

It's an ungraceful roll, his back against the raised edge and a grunt when he falls off of it and onto the pavers below. His hair falls like seaweed around his head, collecting grit and dust from the ground beneath him. His heavy arm lays askew to his left, but he doesn't seem to care. His chest rises and falls, and if he were to be attacked right now he'd be the most vulnerable, easiest target on the planet. He doesn't care about that either, he just breathes, trying to process what feels like two minutes and a lifetime all at once.

b. the inn - later that day;

Several hours and a fair bit of scouting after his arrival, his mind sets a few goals he needs to accomplish for basic survival. secure shelter; gather rations are the orders from a deeply mechanical, deeply russian voice that he now recognizes as fragment of himself from a darker time. It's right this time, so he doesn't alienate it and instead pairs it with a more normal human alternative. He heads for the inn, hoping like hell he can convince them to put him up and feed him for the night. Luckily, it seems like there's a sort of lackadaisical economy here, a sort of socialist provide what you can, we barter, nothing costs money Wakandan style that suits his current predicament.

He settles at a table in the farmost corner, eyes sharp and alert, hair falling on either side of is face like it'll keep him from being recognized by anyone too familiar with the FBI's current wanted posters. Crappy disguise, but wherever this place is, it seems out of touch. It's a gamble, he thinks, and everything about his posture states he's expecting to have to bolt any second. He even startles uncomfortably when someone comes around to take his order. Not exactly the most inviting visage.

c. soap up - the butcher's, day 2;

On the second day, when the ceiling doesn't cave in around him and no federal agents burst in to have him put down like a dog, he starts to settle down. The utilities are worlds away from Wakanda or even his time in Chechnya, but they ring in a nostalgic feeling from Brooklyn a long time ago. Sadly, they're lacking in things like shampoo and basic necessities, so he packs his bag, dons his scrubs, and heads out in search of a rumor he'd heard about soap being stored at the butcher's.

The bell tinkles behind him as he enters, lips parted, curious. It's bizarre, this whole place is, and he's doing his best to take in every piece of it. There's a part of him, too, that feels bad for taking and not giving, but the only thing he has to barter with are the clothes on his back that aren't even his. As such, he does his best to slink silently toward the soap stock in an effort not to be observed taking something he can't afford to replace.

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She'd have pulled back if not for the squeeze of her hand, a tacit bit of permission that makes her feel better for taking such a chance. This Barnes isn't the one that had taken care of her after her injury or picked peaches with her, but she's beginning to understand the man, even if she thinks she'll never truly know him.

"If he is, then he's going to find a way to fix it," she vows. "I would have done the same in his place and he's at least twice as stubborn as me," she jokes, her eyes glimmering with mischief, because on a good day, she's neck and neck with him in that department.

For now, though, they have to deal with what they've been dealt. She can see on his face that perhaps she's pushed too far. "Do you want a tour?" she offers. "I can show you a few of the main areas, where I am, where some of the others from your time have settled."

She's right, if Steve survived the culling then surely he'll fix it, or at least find Thanos and put an end to him to avenge those who have been lost by his hand. He's not sure if he should feel comforted by that last part or not, truth be told it may be better for Steve's own personal well-being to let sleeping dogs lie, lest he wind up spread like ashes into the wind himself. It's a train of thought he doesn't want to pursue right now, and she gets a reluctant sort of half-smile when she changes the subject.

He appreciates the consideration and the sentiment. It works, as a matter of fact, if only because she mentions from his time. His brow furrows. "Others as in from our world?"

Because Sam was from earth as well, but not theirs, and he feels it's worth the distinction.

"Yes," she agrees with a nod. "There were more before," she confesses, "but it seems that apart from a select few unlucky of us, myself included, some people have managed to find a way out of wherever we are." That, or their captors have been taking them and putting them elsewhere, which is also a possibility.

"Clint is still here," she says, given that she'd seen him in her daily rounds. "Some others from New York in the future that appear to know me. There's a boy named Peter, a woman named Claire and one named Karen who seem to know each other." There used to be so many more, but she's trying not to think about that for very long.

"Do you want to walk a bit?" she offers. "Or is it best to distill the information here, first?"

It's a little contradictory, he thinks, that everyone's been pressing the no escape point and yet evidently he's been here twice, other people have come and gone. It's possible, then, it's just that no one's sure how. Something he'll have to think about, analyze, because if there's any way to get back to Steve...

Most of the names he doesn't recognize. Clint, however, is familiar; the man was an ally Leipzig and ended up getting arrested for his troubles. Last he heard, Steve broke him out of prison, so at least he wasn't incarcerated for Bucky's sake. He's going to have to give the man a proper 'thank you' soon, and so he nods finally at the offer. Wordlessly pushes himself away from the table to stand.

Lead the way, Peg.

She gives a nod, finally withdrawing her hand and standing, not entirely sure where she ought to start, seeing as they're in a brave new world, but she thinks that maybe she ought to begin with the main areas. "Are you hungry? We can swing by some of the fruit trees if you are, find something before we set off."

"I won't take you to the far reaches just yet," she adds, over her shoulder as she opens the main door, "but there's quite a bit of land out there to explore and discover."

By the time all is said and done, Bucky Barnes is going to owe Peggy more than a sizable debt of gratitude. Whether she intended to or not, she's made herself a quick and loyal friend. In part it's due to the history, of course, but largely it's furthered by her kindness and her optimism in their mutual friend.

He shakes his head, pushes the hair back out of his face with a metal hand. "I'm fine. The man who runs this place- Benedict- he brought me something earlier."

Another quick friend, though he's got less of a standing in Bucky's heart right now. No, mostly he's just curious, ready to adapt, ready to learn, and he slips out the main door right behind her. Settles at a place to her left, hands stuffed into scrub pockets, shoulders hunched a bit to compensate for their height difference. "How big is this place?"

At the mention of Benedict, Peggy smiles warmly. "Did he talk to you about his bees?" she asks, seeing as she knows that there's quite a bit of pride therein. "I'm glad to hear that you're being well-fed," she adds, because the last time Barnes had been here, she'd made it very clear that her cooking skills were non-existent, so she's happy she isn't responsible for making him anything.

"Large enough that we could be gone for weeks discovering everything," she says. "That I have gone days out there searching and exploring. We were somewhere else, recently, just like this, but it had a canyon. Then, one day, we woke up here, as though untouched." She reaches back and lightly touches her hair, which is longer than she's let it become in recent history and while she'd cut it up to her shoulders, it's still a sign and a reminder. "It was like we were in stasis of some sort," she says. "Woken up to be put through the fountain again."

It's not long before she stops them, gesturing to the house before her. "This is where I've been staying with a woman named Stella, ever since the first version of you vanished and I found rooming alone quite lonely."

Judging by the look of surprise and confusion that ghosts across his features, Benedict had indeed not mentioned anything about bees. It's something he'll file away in the back of his mind to ask about later, in the meantime he lets the subject slip by in favor of learning more about their area and what it used to be. A canyon, a total topographical shift. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised; if the entities that brought them here were capable of interdimensional kidnapping they sure as hell should be capable of changing land masses or drugging and moving an entire population.

An unhappy furrow settles into his brow. It rings too closely to the things in his recent past that he's been running from; memory tampering, a sleeping stasis, mental and physical experimentation. From the fire to the frying pan, it seems.

It takes a second for the implication of their prior domesticity to set in, and maybe it's the old-fashioned roots that still take place in his mind, but for a second truly startles him. Lips part, and after a beat he summons up words, "We were- were we...?"

Together? It's not that he isn't wholly aware that people of the opposite sex coexist completely platonically or something, it's just the first question that pops into his head and he can't help but ask it. He regrets it as soon as he starts, so he doesn't finish the sentence.

Her eyes widen instantly and she realises that without context, that might have come across rather improperly. "Friends," she says bluntly, perhaps a little too quickly, but she wants to head off Barnes before this gets inappropriate (not that it hadn't crossed her mind, on lonely nights when he'd been staying at hers, watching over her, but that doesn't matter).

"We were friends, supporting each other through Steve's loss. The first time," she amends, thinking of that large, lonely house. "And then you went as well, and I've been living with Stella ever since. She's lovely," Peggy praises. "I think you'll like her."

Don't react so quickly, Peggy, you almost act like he's not a valid romantic candidate. Like somehow mental instability and the potential to accidentally snap your partner's neck if someone goes into weird details about trains isn't an admirable quality in a significant other. Not to be insulting in turn, but there's something of a relief that spreads across his features at friends; he made a pass in the past but now? It would add an unnavigable layer of complexity to a situation that's already difficult to decipher.

He grants her with an understanding nod, evidently not offended by her swift correction.

"Guess if I can trust anything it's your taste in people," Is his neutral answer, and he settles his eyes on the house before them. "It's nice. Do you just- do you buy houses here or do you just... move in?"

"Most of the time," she agrees, feeling a bit proud and smug about that, but with few exceptions, Peggy's barometre of trust in people does tend to turn out for the best, so she thinks that Barnes should listen to her opinion when it comes to these sorts of things.

"Well, I've had three since I've been here and no one's chased me down for rent," she deadpans. "The first flooded, the second was too big for myself alone, and now I'm in the third." She nods for Barnes to keep walking with her, intending to go by the stream next.

"So long as no one else is living in it, I think you'll be fine to claim whatever you like as yours."

Wakanda had a similar policy; you contribute to the community and the community contributes to you. The outskirts, at last, the villages where the elders lived and those who wanted space and peace farmed. He never made any formal arrangements or claims on the hut they'd given him, so it's something of an amusing relief that the same practices are being followed for nice homes.

He considers briefly moving into one, but realizes he's never owned his own before. In Brooklyn he'd had apartment after apartment, on the run he'd done the same, he's never had experience doing home upkeep before. Couldn't fix a busted pipe, didn't think the concept of pulling weeds or sweeping sounded all that great. More than that, much like Peggy, he can't really fathom living in a big house alone- strange for him, he knows, being as he's spent so much time warily eyeing strangers.

One can be alone without truly being alone, and Bucky Barnes has mastered that. He falls back into step behind her, expression contemplative. He murmurs, "Maybe I'll take a raincheck on that. One day."

She watches him thoughtfully, wondering if 'one day' is a firm concept, or whether it's a dream. For her, a home is something she likes the idea of, but back in Los Angeles, home had meant Mr. Jarvis and Ana's delicious meals and Howard's frustrating presence. Here, it means Stella's support and the knowledge they have neighbours who will support them, but it hardly means she knows what to do.

"We're going to the stream," she says, to break the silence and switch topics. "There are a decent amount of fish, so if you're not inclined to hunt or are worried about the populations, this is a good place," she says. "And it's a normal stop, considering I'm about to take you to healing springs, next," she says wryly.

If she hadn't used them so many times, she might not believe in them, but seeing as they did quite a good job with her torso injury, she's rather indebted.

Fishing is definitely not on the sad list that constitutes Bucky's contributable skills. He's never been the type to wander off into the countryside and hunt things, and afterward there had been little time for a recreational fishing trip. He understands the concept, could probably figure out how to put a worm on a hook, but 10/10 likelihood he'd end up with a hook tangled in his hair and zero fish to show for it.

His eyebrow does arch, however, at the mention of healing springs. He thinks instantly of the subtle ache in his shoulder, a symptom of his reduced metabolism and healing though he doesn't realize that yet. The weight of an enormous prosthetic arm constantly tugging down on an amputated shoulder doesn't make for comfortable muscles. "Do they actually do that, or is it like Facebook."

You know, a misleading name that is neither a book nor particularly devoted to faces. That might be one reference he gets that she doesn't, come to think of it.

Edited 2018-06-05 18:39 (UTC)

"What's a Facebook?" she asks bluntly, giving Barnes a confused look. While she might have been in a strange place with people from the future here, she's hardly in the habit of talking about technology with people. It's hardly like they have anything here.

As she walks past the stream, she doesn't think there's much to describe. There are fish and occasionally, she's out there with a line to gut them, having been taught in the early days. "Some sort of face searching technology?"

"No," she says, seeing as the way he says it lends to incredulity. "It's something else. What is it?"

He probably should have considered that question before asking it, and now he's tasked with explaining it. He lets out a long and tired exhale, the most contemplative sigh a human can manage, and finally admits with something of a defeated attitude, "I don't know."

He thinks it does have face searching technology, because he's heard it tagged me in your selfie, that's so creepy, but between all the phrases he doesn't understand the context of (selfie, farmville, poke?) he's sure it adds up to something... bigger. "It's this social... thing, on the internet."

Where people share pictures of cats and politics and talk about their day and send each other pictures of their dicks in not-so-private messages because you can just take a picture of THAT and put it under a cat picture, and they're always so stunned when it happens. Anyway: "Does it actually heal, though?"

There's all these things he's talking about that Peggy doesn't understand, the far reaches of a future that she's not even bothered to get to know, honestly, which is why she squints at Barnes for a long moment, wondering if healing springs in a tiny self-contained village or this social thing on the internet is going to be the more confusing thing for her.

"It healed me," she says, bluntly, because her self-experience had managed to vault over her doubts (which had been plentiful). "Both when I first arrived and was still healing and then after my incident in the stream." That damned drought, but also, her bloody exhaustion.

"We can try it, put it to the test," she offers.

It healed me is pretty much proof enough for him, Peggy wasn't exactly known for dishonesty and he knows of no reason why she'd flub the truth about something as innocuous as this. As such, he simply grants her a small nod of acceptance. Absently, he reaches a flesh hand up to the opposite shoulder, kneading gently at the place where metal connects to flesh.

"Couldn't hurt," he answers simply, rolling his shoulder blade. Not that he expects it to regrow his goddamn arm, but some of the stiffness and aching that set in since he arrived would be nice to relieve. "What happened at the stream?"

Peggy's eyes slide over to where Barnes is touching, not saying anything, though she files away the information neatly because she has her suspicions, but knows that there's very little to be done about them now. Besides, given that he doesn't recall any of their history, it would be terribly forward to simply offer to massage it for him.

"There was a drought," she says, keeping her tone even. "The rocks were still slippery, I hadn't been sleeping in some time, and I'm afraid that there was an incident with a rather sharp edge and my body."

Something akin to consternation passes over his features, and he levels her with a look. Doesn't say anything, because they're not quite on a level (to him, yet) wherein he can chastise her for not being careful. There is a subtle reprimand to it, but that's about all he can muster. Maybe in a few weeks, months, he'll open up enough to sass her about it.

"How bad was the wound?" He asks, trying to gauge the strength of these healing springs and what they're capable of.

"This one wasn't nearly as bad as others I've had, but bad enough to irritate," she says, trying to downplay it, seeing as Peggy would never want to imply that she can't handle her fair share of a wound. She especially wouldn't want to say it to this man, seeing as she knows what he's gone through.

Perhaps not all of it, but she knows the broad strokes. "Don't worry, you yelled at me last time for it," she adds, shaking her head. "I wasn't sleeping, it was a mistake, but that's all it was. I swear."

At least he knows his attitude about the situation transcends his memory; he may be spotty but at least he's consistent. Except for, you know, when he's a mass murdering serial killer robot. He nods in approval, and seems to let the issue rest. Whether he's happy about it or not, she's okay at least, and he lacks the levels of emotional attachment his past iterations might have had.

The spring itself isn't remarkable, at least not to him. Hot springs are a slight novelty, but there's hardly a magical aura hanging about the place. No wise shaman sits in the middle, no fairies float about it, it's just a bunch of rocks surrounding a pool. Wholly unimpressive, and he says as much with merely a look leveled at her.

Peggy doesn't have any hurts to heal apart from a lingering grief that she's been doing her best to shake, aiming to step out from the shadow of before and start fresh. It doesn't help that it's such a small community, of course, one that you can't escape from. She's distracted from her thoughts by the look Barnes is giving her.

With an eyeroll, she gestures for it. "You can't judge it by its cover," she notes with a touch of irritation. "At least dip something in and see if it helps, though I do think longer exposure improves the use."

Dip something in, huh? That look doesn't exactly fade from his face, and he ambles forward to inspect the water. Dips down into a crouch so he can get a better look, and tentatively dips his metal hand in. Lifts it up, wiggles the digits at her.

"Still metal." He announces in deadpan.

Sorry, Peggy. He's just being an asshole that thinks he's funny at this point. He's got nothing that hurts now aside from his shoulder, which he'd have to do more than dip to submerge into the spring. He's not really feeling a hot bath in front of her now, but he'll discreetly try it out tomorrow.

Can you tell she's unimpressed, Barnes? Can you? Maybe it's the hands on her hips, maybe it's the icy glare, but she has to hope that he's getting the picture.

"You're a laugh riot," she deadpans, half debating simply pressing her heel to his chest to kick him in the rest of the way and see if the healing springs can't do something about that awful sense of humour he's working with right now. Shaking her head, there's also a fondness there, because she has missed him. "I'd take you to the peach trees, but that's a bit of a hike."

It might also make her feel like she's repeating history from the last time she took Barnes out there to pick peaches for pies.

mild A:IW spoilers in option a.

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