Bucky Barnes | зима солдат (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sixthiterationlogs2016-11-20 08:11 pm
zymasoldat) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-11-20 08:11 pm
bucky barnes and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad seventy years
WHO: Bucky Barnes
WHERE: Fountain / Around
WHEN: Late afternoon, November 20
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Nothing yet. Will update as necessary.
STATUS: Open
It's far from the first time that Bucky suddenly comes to in a state of complete disorientation, no idea where he is, what he's been doing, or what year it is. Even after freeing himself from HYDRA and piecing those small, confusing fragments of memories together until they eventually told a semi-coherent story, it still happens. All it takes is a nightmare, or a too-vivid dream that may be a memory or may be a fabrication, and he'll find himself waking up without his bearings. When it happens, he has to fight back that spike of panic in his chest, stay calm, and focus on the little things that help ground him. The familiarity of his bed (when he had one). The time on his watch. The day's date. The entries in his notebooks-- the newer entries, that is. The daily documentation of each day that's passed since he started journaling. Affirmations from himself that he's Bucky Barnes, and he's still alive, and he's making new memories, not just chasing after his past.
All of those little strategies are pretty useless right now, considering he's underwater and doesn't have time to try to think about how he got here or where here even is. He feels a push for the surface, and he goes with it, starts to swim, even though he can tell from the get-go that something's not right with the way he's moving. He's uncoordinated, using his legs more to compensate, because-- he soon realizes-- his left arm is gone.
That's not news, exactly. He lost his arm in 1945. But it was replaced before he was put in cryo for the first time, and he's had the cybernetic prosthesis ever since. It felt so natural to use, it was as if it'd always been a part of him.
But it's gone now. He's got nothing below the shoulder, and he doesn't know how it happened, but he can't stop or panic or dwell on it, so he doesn't. Soon enough, his head's above water, and he's grabbing onto the edge of a fountain, pulling himself out so that he can sit on the ground and cough up any water that he inhaled when he first woke up.
Now he can think, take in his surroundings and any clues. Bucky pushes his hair back and looks down at himself. He's wearing a backpack or something, and scrubs-- dark blue, almost black, since they're completely soaked-- which means... Hospital?
(Or a lab.)
He shrugs the backpack off, trying to piece together his memories leading up to this, but all he can remember is heroes fighting heroes, teammates and friends in an all-out brawl against one another because of him. But that was in an airport, and he had two arms at the time. Maybe he was captured by Stark's team and brought back to justice. Maybe he was placed in an institution. It'd explain his outfit.
Or maybe somebody else found him and said the words and took his mind from him again. There's a painful twist in his stomach at the thought, and he tries to shift his focus, instead, on the contents of the backpack. The insignia on it is nothing he recognizes, and all it contains is clothes. He huffs out a sigh and zips it back up. Putting it over his shoulder again, Bucky stands.
There's no way he's going to sit around and wait. He needs to figure out where he is and what's going on. First step: explore his surroundings.
WHERE: Fountain / Around
WHEN: Late afternoon, November 20
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Nothing yet. Will update as necessary.
STATUS: Open
It's far from the first time that Bucky suddenly comes to in a state of complete disorientation, no idea where he is, what he's been doing, or what year it is. Even after freeing himself from HYDRA and piecing those small, confusing fragments of memories together until they eventually told a semi-coherent story, it still happens. All it takes is a nightmare, or a too-vivid dream that may be a memory or may be a fabrication, and he'll find himself waking up without his bearings. When it happens, he has to fight back that spike of panic in his chest, stay calm, and focus on the little things that help ground him. The familiarity of his bed (when he had one). The time on his watch. The day's date. The entries in his notebooks-- the newer entries, that is. The daily documentation of each day that's passed since he started journaling. Affirmations from himself that he's Bucky Barnes, and he's still alive, and he's making new memories, not just chasing after his past.
All of those little strategies are pretty useless right now, considering he's underwater and doesn't have time to try to think about how he got here or where here even is. He feels a push for the surface, and he goes with it, starts to swim, even though he can tell from the get-go that something's not right with the way he's moving. He's uncoordinated, using his legs more to compensate, because-- he soon realizes-- his left arm is gone.
That's not news, exactly. He lost his arm in 1945. But it was replaced before he was put in cryo for the first time, and he's had the cybernetic prosthesis ever since. It felt so natural to use, it was as if it'd always been a part of him.
But it's gone now. He's got nothing below the shoulder, and he doesn't know how it happened, but he can't stop or panic or dwell on it, so he doesn't. Soon enough, his head's above water, and he's grabbing onto the edge of a fountain, pulling himself out so that he can sit on the ground and cough up any water that he inhaled when he first woke up.
Now he can think, take in his surroundings and any clues. Bucky pushes his hair back and looks down at himself. He's wearing a backpack or something, and scrubs-- dark blue, almost black, since they're completely soaked-- which means... Hospital?
(Or a lab.)
He shrugs the backpack off, trying to piece together his memories leading up to this, but all he can remember is heroes fighting heroes, teammates and friends in an all-out brawl against one another because of him. But that was in an airport, and he had two arms at the time. Maybe he was captured by Stark's team and brought back to justice. Maybe he was placed in an institution. It'd explain his outfit.
Or maybe somebody else found him and said the words and took his mind from him again. There's a painful twist in his stomach at the thought, and he tries to shift his focus, instead, on the contents of the backpack. The insignia on it is nothing he recognizes, and all it contains is clothes. He huffs out a sigh and zips it back up. Putting it over his shoulder again, Bucky stands.
There's no way he's going to sit around and wait. He needs to figure out where he is and what's going on. First step: explore his surroundings.
no subject
She swallows back that selfish fear and the demanding voice clamouring inside her mind for answers to settle on the fact that he looks half-frozen. "Oh, for god's sake, don't just stand there and stare at me, let's get you inside before you're an icicle," she says, noting that he's still wearing the same colour scrubs as before.
And yet, this is most certainly not the same man, she knows that much.
no subject
As it is, he simply nods his head at her suggestion, even if a part of him is still convinced this is a hallucination or a trick or something. Regardless, shelter's definitely necessary, considering the chilly weather. Though he's used to rough conditions and currently unaware that his supersoldier enhancements have been diminished in his arrival, it's still dangerous to stand around out here soaked from head to toe.
Bucky looks around, a shiver running through his body. "Where?" Fixing his eyes on Peggy again, he adds, "Where are we?"
no subject
"I don't know where this place is, why we're here..." She shakes her head as she abandons her coat and give it to him when they're in sight of the inn. She shivers, but can endure it for a few moments. "Here," she says, tucking it on over his shoulders. "We're going there, to the inn."
no subject
Though her answer isn't satisfactory in the slightest, he follows Peggy's lead, pausing only when she puts her coat over his shoulders. Bucky furrows his brow, frowning a little. "You don't have to. I can take the cold." But they're close enough to their destination that he doesn't waste time protesting too much. It's better for the both of them if they get inside soon, and besides, he knows well enough how determined Agent Carter could be. It's no wonder she and Steve got along so well. So he keeps moving with her, grateful for the warmth of the coat against his damp skin and wet clothes. "How long have you been here?"
no subject
"Long enough to know the routine of this place," she says darkly. "And long enough to know that you're just one of many who arrived here in the manner you did, with the same bag on your back as the rest of us," she says, gesturing to the stairs. "There are rooms there, but I don't know how dry any of your clothes will be. You can borrow my jacket for a little if you want to warm up by the fire, snug as it may be."
no subject
Though the warmth is welcome, the inn doesn't put him at ease. He still has too little to go on to make much sense of this, but now that he's in from the cold, he can focus on trying to piece things together. He glances at Peggy, considering.
"They're dry enough," he says, starting for the stairs. When he'd checked his inventory, he found that the backpack had managed to keep its contents from getting soaked, though some water might have seeped in all the same. Still, even if they're a little wet, they're better than what he's got on him now.
First thing's first, once they get to a room: he needs to get out of these wet scrubs. He sets the backpack on the floor, then offers Peggy's coat back to her so that he can start yanking his shirt off. He doesn't bother with any modest apologies for undressing in front of her; he's too wrapped up in thought.
So here's what he knows: He woke up underwater, missing his arm and an unknown stretch of time. He's in a strange village, one that's either historic and secluded, or just has the appearance of seeming historic and secluded. He's with Peggy Carter, recently deceased in 2016, and yet looking the same as she had in 1945. Had she been frozen? Cloned? Or is this all a product of HYDRA tampering with his brain? What if the past two years of freedom were a giant mind game? What if the last seventy years were all in his head?
It's not like he can trust his own mind, after all.
"What else can you tell me? How many others are there?" he asks, shooting Peggy a quick look before he crouches down to rummage through the backpack, laying each article of clothing out so that he can change into something more than these wet pants and briefs. His options are limited, but that's to be expected. The flannel undershirt and denim overalls will have to do.
no subject
She crosses her legs as she settles to watch him work, trying to think of what's most critical that he know. "The village is secure enough against any outside intruders or forces, but not so against natural ones. We've experienced violent windstorms, flooding, and earthquakes so far." She can only imagine what might be lying in wait that they just haven't experienced yet. "That said, there are equally confusing gifts that appear for us. Personal supplies, animals, even food," she explains. "And yet, no one has ever seen one of those boxes delivered, just as no one has ever seen anyone but those of us who arrived near the fountain. We're clearly prisoners, but why and how are the parts I've yet to determine."
There is the other part to consider, too. "And it seems that not everyone is from the same time or even world. I've met a woman from space and there's quite a few people here from the future, both the one I'm fairly sure is mine and that where they've never even heard of Captain America." Absently smoothing out her navy blue scrubs top, she thinks she ought to head off the question she expects is coming. "I'm from 1947, myself. I seem to be the only one here who is."
no subject
Filing that thought away, he picks up the long-sleeved undershirt, then glances at his metal shoulder with a frown. It seems like it'd be too much of a nuisance to try to get on right now, one-handed, so he sets it aside and simply pulls on the overalls and a pair of socks, then the coat that was in his bag.
Space. Other worlds. It's a good thing his bar for the unbelievable has raised so high these past years. Knowing what he does about the Incident (an event that happened while he was on ice, between missions for HYDRA), the idea of other worlds isn't hard to swallow.
"1947?" He stands up straight, wet clothes in hand so that he find some place to set them to dry. "So after the war." And after Steve was lost to the world, frozen under circumstances so different (and far more noble) from his own. "It's... 2016. For me."
no subject
Peggy's been told about Steve and Bucky being there, in the future, though she can hardly understand. Staring at the shirt for a moment, she tries to calm the voice in her mind telling her not to prod and press. She wants the answers and she thinks she'll understand things better if she has them. "They told me that Steve was frozen in ice and that the serum kept him alive," she says, her gaze cautious as she regards him. "But as far as I knew, you fell off of a train and you died. Yet, here you are," she says. He looks worse for the wear, of course, but that's not something she wants to lead with.
"What happened to you, James?" she asks quietly.
no subject
Decades later, he saw Howard Stark one last time. And then his old ally became another face among the countless victims of the Winter Soldier.
He glances away from Peggy, not quite able to hold eye contact with her before he shakes his head. "I'll be fine. We can sit by the fire downstairs." The coat, at least, will do until he can work out how to dress his upper body with minimal awkwardness on his own, in private.
Reluctantly, Bucky looks at Peggy again. How strange it must be for her, him being such a far cry from the Sergeant Barnes she knew. Probably something of a disappointment, he figures, and not an unfounded one. He misses the man he used to be, too. "I didn't die," he says softly, which isn't saying much at all, considering the obviousness of the statement. But it buys him a little bit of time to work up to filling in the rest of the blanks.
"When I was captured-- before, when Steve found me and the others-- HYDRA experimented on me." Zola, specifically. "Guess they were looking to make a Cap of their own." His mouth twists into a humorless smile. "And it worked." Albeit not as well as Project Rebirth.
"I survived the fall, barely. Lost my arm. Russian soldiers found me, and HYDRA continued their work." With torture, brainwashing, more experiments, removal of the rest of his arm, installation of a new and better one...
Peggy doesn't need to hear all of that, though. Even if she did... Like hell he's going to talk about it.
no subject
Zola had stolen away Erskine once before and Peggy had snuck her way in to rescue him. She could have done more than simply offer Steve a lift, she thinks, and that old guilt of not looking for Steve returns again, tenfold, and she wishes she'd known more about the situation. She should have pushed and prodded, ignored their dismissiveness that she was simply a woman and a liaison to an ended program.
"I didn't know," she says quietly, not apologizing though she desperately wants to. In the firelight, she stares at him for a very long moment, the light showing her new lines and things that she's seen on other soldiers, at the end of too many wars. She can't help but long for that night in the pub, with his carefree smile and his attempts to win her over with a line. "Though, I'm not surprised the serum worked on you. You're a good man," Peggy insists firmly.
no subject
But what Peggy says instead hits him far worse, and he can feel a knot twisting inside his stomach. Right, Erskine's serum. Amplifies all that's inside a person. That's how Steve became as big and powerful on the outside as he'd always been on the inside. And how Schmidt came to wear his monstrousness on his goddamn skull.
Swallowing thickly, Bucky furrows his brow and looks into the fire. He should probably sit, but he doesn't, just stands there awkwardly, trying not to pay too much mind to how imbalanced he feels without the weight of his left arm. "I was a good killer. Not a good man."
After all, the Winter Soldier wasn't just a construct of HYDRA. They only took what was already inside of him and made it stronger and more efficient.
no subject
"They're not always right. And sometimes, we are at the mercy of our commanders," Peggy says. "Whatever happened, I cannot imagine that you would have ever willingly become a killer unless you thought you were in the right."