the fruit is rusting on the vine;

[freightcars]

WHO: (Who is making the post)
WHERE: the greenhouse
WHEN: July 16
OPEN TO: Frank Castle
WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering) violence, ptsd, horror

---

The earthquake caused some minor structural damage; most of it was repairable, and most of the village seems to be keen on pitching in to patch up the buildings. Clint is by far the most useful person here for it, he's drawn up easy plans that Bucky's learning to follow through their casual carpentry apprenticeship sessions. The inn is obviously the most important undertaking, followed by the few other communal buildings they use regularly.

Personal homes come at lower priority, and it's in the checking of them that Bucky realizes one place they haven't thought to pop in on. The greenhouse is imperative, he's told, to the food stores and rations for winter. It's not much of a trek, though it's just southwest of the second village. He heads there with a pack of tools strapped to his back just in case, a hatched, a hammer, the basics.

What he arrives to see is sudden and surprising rampant overgrowth. Blue and purple flowers snake their way along almost the entirety of the western wall, a creeping and beautiful vine that spreads up and starts to wrap around the roof of the place. It's not exactly the structural damage he was expecting, but if it stays unchecked it will crack at the seams of the greenhouse and break the foundation, crack the glass, eventually overtake and ruin the whole damn thing.

With a sigh, he sets forth, rummaging around in his hatchet. It takes a second look for him to realize he's not alone. There's a figure there before him, a hatchet discarded at it's feet, facing toward the flowers. Vines creep up around him, a slow and living twist like tentacles winding their way around his wrists and working their way up his arms.

Strangely enough, he seems to just be taking it.

A beat later, he realizes who it is he's looking at, and he bites out an incredulous, concerned sounding, "Frank?"

Because barking out the word 'hotdog' right now just didn't really seem appropriate.

Comments

[oorah]

Biding his time until the second his arm is free, Frank swings around with all his power and manages to tear through the weakened bonds on his right wrist. He grabs for Bucky's shoulder, trying to pull him out of the vines but they clamp down. God, that's just unnatural.

"It looks like... clematis?" The fuck. Frank turns from where he's locked in place to grab the hatchet he'd dropped earlier, reaching Bucky's free arm and meeting his eyes. Then he's carefully sheering the plants away from his wrist so he can break free enough to hopefully free Frank's legs so he could return the favor. Holy shit.

[freightcars]

"Whatever the fuck that means," he grunts in turn, jerking his arm back the second Frank frees it. He's not exactly a plants guy, the extent of his nature skills end with herding goats and killing tomato plants. Generally speaking, the tomato plants don't try to kill him back.

It takes a shit ton of maneuvering to whack Frank's legs free without accidentally getting his hands rebound, a sort of awkward crouch with his hand braced behind the direction he needs to be chopping for support. The second he gets them out he's barking a quick, "Back up- back up-"

Because his legs are still tangled and if they keep getting themselves caught trying to peel each other out they're gonna be here all damn day.

[oorah]

He inclines his head as if to concede the point. Indeed, whatever the fuck that means.

"They're usually annoying, not homicidal," Frank clarifies, creeping back at Bucky's behest before shooting him a look from the mirroring crouch he slips into to avoid the vines. Then he's chopping between the other man's feet to target the most concentrated area so hopefully the other man can just step out of the trap.

[freightcars]

Would you look at that, it works. It only takes two highly trained murderers to best the crap that little old ladies grow on their entertainment centers. Someone alert Hydra, he's really doin' it, he's really makin' it out here.

Legs free, arms free, disgruntled and plucking leftover severed vines from his metal arm, he stands and shoots Frank a look.

"You just standing there hoping to peacefully protest them?" When he first showed up, he means. He knows it isn't the case, it's a roundabout way of asking what the fuck Frank was seeing in the vines.

[oorah]

Frank wrinkles his nose, trying to suss out what Bucky means. "No, I was-- I think I was asleep." Why was he sleeping in the greenhouse? He can't remember why he came in here to begin with now. "You wanna get the fuck out of here?" Because he does. Please?

[freightcars]

Hard to say why he might have been there, maybe for the same reason as Bucky - checking the structural integrity of the thing after the earthquakes. Maybe he'd been there to try and keep the vines from breaking apart all the town's hard work by busting through glass and bending support beams. Maybe he'd just been popping in to grab some weed, who the hell knows?

All he can think is he'd like to get a couple miles between him and that right now, and maybe tell people later on about the threat to their building. Maybe they can just do a controlled fire, burn them off or something. Either way, it's a job too big for two men and one hatchet.

"Yeah," He agrees darkly, shooting the vines a pissy look. "I need a damn drink."

[oorah]

He snorts, if only because it's so familiar. Frank nods in agreement as they head out before he remembers... there's no booze in this abandoned shithole.

"You know, in Reims a case of whiskey would just show up every month at my door. That's about the least this fucking place could do."

[freightcars]

It's true that this place was nearly as dry as a Christian county on a Sunday, but Bucky's got the hookup on some of the worst god damn vodka anyone's ever had. Honestly, though, the comment had mostly been rhetorical, about the sentiment rather than with any actual intention to follow through.

He huffs in agreement, chartering a course through fields and toward the worn path back into town. "No kidding."

A quiet beat passes, and his curiosity gets the better of him. Lips twitching into an expressionless line, he flicks his eyes back to Frank and has the audacity to ask, "Who's Maria?"

[oorah]

Had he said her name? He must have for Bucky to ask that way. Frank turns to face forward and mutters a simple answer. "She was my wife."

[freightcars]

A prickling sort of silence settles over them then, the sound of a man lodging his foot into his mouth while he vibrates understanding and remorse. He gets the air in Frank's tone, gets the use of the word was, and gets why he'd stand there staring into the vines if he was seeing her.

And so he nods silently, pushes no further, and leads them into town.

[oorah]

He knows it's hard to misinterpret, so he doesn't say anything else, idly pocketing his hands as he walks alongside the other man. "Thanks," he says after a while. For saving him.