sixthiterationlogs | wow look what the cat dragged in

Entry tags:

wow look what the cat dragged in

WHO: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes
WHERE: fountain, inn
WHEN: May 13
OPEN TO: closed arrival, otherwise open to all
WARNINGS: language
STATUS: ~~second prompt is open~~ closed

the fountain

When he closes his eyes, he knows it will only be a moment in his mind, even as darkness blots out his vision and swallows him whole. Regret lingers as it always does, the fact he chooses this over consciousness impossible to ignore when the last thing Steve does is insist on standing there with the wish that Bucky will change his mind written plainly on his face. But it's all the more reason he shouldn't. Yet, even as he prepares himself to wake again to the worst possible scenario, being immersed in water is definitely not something he considered.

There's air in him, enough that he knows that he hasn't been thrown in and also enough that his mind cannot decipher the circumstances. It's hardly enough reason for dawdling, however, and his focus is quickly turns toward finding the surface. Easy enough, even short an arm. Maybe not as efficient or balanced as he'd like, but there isn't time to reassess.

He gasps for fresh breath once he breaks through to air and throws his arm out to pull his body out from what seemed a well but is apparently a fountain. Curiosity after curiosity, it doesn't stop him from clambering free from the water, even if the effort comes quite clumsily without the aid of a second arm. It's then while water drips generously from him, free from the metal joint and free from his clothing, that he realizes his clothing isn't really his clothing and that this obviously isn’t Wakanda. Not even a little.

Jesus Fucking Christ. “Can’t it be Kansas? Just once?” He doesn't expect an answer.

the inn ~~(open)~~

He’s not even going to pretend he’s not new. It seems like something that should be obvious, so why bother with putting people on? Not that it means he won’t do his damned best to make sure people know he’s not incapable, especially with the blatant visible handicap. But he’s dripping a lot less now, and that’s a good time to try and figure out what all he actually needs to deal with given his clear displacement of space and possible displacement of time.

Soaked is still very much the description of his physical state though, something that’s apparently becoming a trend, but he’s far more grateful this time around since his arm isn’t trapped in a vice and, well, he clearly hasn’t gone on a murder rampage either. It’s the little things in life...

There’s a fire at one end of the establishment he wanders into, and even without the cold, it’s a welcome sight. Soggy garments are really not his style, and having a quicker way to dry off other than waiting for the world to end is a huge bonus. He plants himself nearby and takes the opportunity to dig through the pack. It’s sturdy. Effective. But everything else inside is soaked through like him.

God. Why can’t anything ever be easy?

Dragging a hand down his face, he gives a long sigh. One thing at a time, Barnes. And at the least, the water isn’t sopping out of the bag, he tells himself. So it’s not all bad. Maybe.

He wants to laugh, but instead a wry grin plasters itself to his face. Patience is a goddamn virtue, for sure. But as long as he doesn’t get kicked out for being a drowned mess, he’s glad to stay parked here for another couple hours before moving on.

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Wanda was only at the inn when she was working. She was one of two who helped preserve some of the meats and foods that were brought into the establishment. It was sometimes gross but she liked being useful. In fact, she craved the distraction. Anything to keep her mind firmly distracted from the torrent of uncertainties that currently plagued her.

Spotting Bucky at a table was a startling surprise. He looked as he had on the TV and Wanda could only hope that he wasn’t in murderous rampage mode. She didn’t have her powers to protect her anymore. Steve believed in Bucky, so Wanda would believe in him too. With a heavy sigh she cleaned herself up and grabbed one of the spare blankets from the inns storage. She then walked over to Bucky, making sure he could see her as she approached.

Wanda gauged his reaction before then draping the thick blanket over his shoulders. "You should get out of your wet clothes." It wasn’t phrased as a suggestion. He might be strong but this was the sort of place where a cold could kill you if you weren’t careful.

Sometimes, Peggy feels entirely as if she's wasting her time when it comes to her daily vigil at the fountain. Right now, it feels even sillier than usual, what with the hail. Though, at least that seems to have become milder than the full onslaught she'd been caught in earlier. It's been thirty minutes under a self-made tarp when Peggy is ready to give up for the day. No one is going to come through and she ought to make peace with that. She's seen the last of Howard and Jarvis, won't see Steve or Bucky again.

The first blub comes after that thought, like the universe taunting her. She lingers, then, her resolve slowly coming undone. It breaks completely when suddenly a man comes over the edge of the fountain, but it's not just any man.

Throwing aside her temporary hat, she rushes forward to help him to his feet, soaking herself a little more in the process of tangling her hands in the fabric of his soaked navy blue scrubs. "Sergeant Barnes?" she asks, hope brimming in her, but she still asks on the off chance that this is some sort of awful trick. The lack of arm is enough to give her an indication of when this man is from, but she has to get a firm positive identification.

If he's back, then Steve, Steve could still come back, couldn't he? Peggy shakes her head and focuses on this friend, first. It's been a very long time since she was roommates with James Barnes, but seeing him again brings a flood of familiarity and relief. "We need to get inside," she insists.

His brows raised with surprise upon recognizing the young woman. Given the circumstances, maybe it wasn’t the oddest thing to experience, the oddity of even finding himself in such a location jarring enough that most other things pale in comparison, but he did feel a mild sense of comfort knowing that there was now another person he could hold faith in here.

Well, insomuch as he ever was willing to trust anymore, but that was neither here nor there.

Catching the recognition in her eyes helped ease any doubts he had about what her intent might be, blanket in her hands or not. The gesture was thoughtful and enough that it brought a small smile to his face. The easy one that didn’t ask for anything.

“Well, to be honest, I did consider that, but most people really aren’t into the other people walking around naked kinda thing. Since the only other clothes I have are. Kinda. Also wet.” He nodded toward the drenched sack by his feet, amusement lingering on his face at the dilemma. “Though I guess maybe I could get a room and spare everyone that awfulness. But the fire’s kinda nice to have, what with the hail.”

She liked that smile. Without fail, someone always wanted something from her. It wasn't always something unreasonable. Steve had wanted her to accept herself and ignore the news that portrayed her as a weapon of mass destruction. Clint wanted her to have a chance to be a kid. Which felt like a ridiculous notion.

It was just the way of the world; everyone wanted something.

It was nice to have someone look at her in a way that suggested they didn't want anything at all. Wanda felt herself smiling back. It's been weeks since she'd really smiled like that.

"Not all of us would mind." Her voice was light though her accent remained thick. "The hail is unusual." She was stuck at the inn because of it. "I live with Clint and Sam at the edge of town." Wanda figured it was best to tell him who was here. There was an unspoken invitation should he need a place to stay. One that Wanda would offer to any of those she considered someone worth trusting.

There was a short pause before she spoke again, taking a seat across from him. "What is the last thing you remember?"

“Pegs?” It’s out of his mouth before he realizes, and when it realizes what he’s said, he quickly clears his throat to correct himself. “Uh, Agent Carter.” God, she’s as gorgeous as she was that last he saw her face-to-face, too long ago now. In his own time, it’s only been a short while since Steve has even told him of Peggy’s passing, so having this young beauty fussing over him right now has him caught in a strange space. Whatever else he wants to say gets stuck in his throat, too many words that can’t make sense of themselves. It’s good that she decides to take the lead because otherwise he might be staring blankly at her for longer than necessary. He’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be seeing Peggy Carter right now, especially not so young and full of determination.

If there is any time to need a drink, it’s now though.

“Right. Yeah. Um.” Bucky’s eyes find the sky, squinting. The first hint that this wasn’t Wakanda had easily been the weather, but now that he’s actually thinking about it, it seems a bit Fucking Crazy. “Geezus,” he mutters before nodding. “Yeah.”

Eloquence isn’t on his side today, it seems.

Her smile was something new for him. He’d of course seen the polite one she’d offered Scott when he’d remarked about her coolness, but it was far different from the one he found himself privy to now. Wanda was pretty when she smiled. Unfortunate that she'd gotten caught up in Steve’s tomfoolery.

His brows raised at the suggestion that she would not mind him bare, and a small laugh slipped free from his lips. There were few that would likely agree to such a thought, but he appreciated it nonetheless. It was honest, and that’s all he ever cared for. At the information she provided regarding her lodging, the thoughtfulness returned to his face, and Bucky’s smile shifted into something much more wry.

The reality was that despite familiarity and higher levels of trust, he had no idea who any of them really were beyond whatever happened to make international headlines. They were more Steve’s friends than his own, and even trying to pretend he could be comfortable with the idea of feeling safe with the three of them made him uncomfortable, regardless of how they had come so quickly to Steve's aid when they needed to find and stop Zemo. Not wishing to put Wanda on, what with her own clear display of honesty not moments before, he let the discomfort linger for several moments on his face before moving on to reply to her query.

“Went under. Cryo. Had some help.” He didn’t want to be too specific. The arrangement was by the grace of T’Challa after all, and it would be rude to transgress on the mutual respect they’d formed by simply giving away the fact that the Wakandan king was harboring an international fugitive so easily. “What about you? Before you got here, I mean.”

There's a familiarity in his tone that earns a pointed arch of her brow, thinking of the last time she'd permitted anyone to call her Pegs, but luckily, he fixes that before she can smack him hard enough to say 'Howard Stark doesn't get away with that and neither will you'. The sleeve of his shirt will have to wait, but she picks up the things she's brought with her, using them above their heads to try and protect them from the hail as much as possible while gesturing to the path.

"Come on, with me," she says, a barked order as old habits come home to roost. When he might seem to linger, she gives him a sharp prod in the side, directing him to the house she shares with Stella. Normally, she takes people to the Inn, but she has the feeling that their conversation is not going to be the kind that you want to have with prying ears around.

The command registers naturally in his mind, and the Soldier immediately comes to attention, nodding sharply as he takes to her side, keeping step with her. If he were any more coherent, the speed with which he adapted to it would likely come as alarming because he hasn’t received any proper orders in a long while, but Peggy always knew how to command a room with a single look. The familiarity of it carries him as well, muscle memory from decades past when he and the other Howlies would snap to attention as soon as the right tone was used.

He doesn’t know where she intends to take him, but he trusts her enough, regardless of the circumstances, to know there is little reason to doubt, even if a quiet voice whispers in the back of his mind to keep his guard up. Unnecessary as his guard is always up anyway.

Luckily, her new home with Stella is closer to town than her last few, which means that she's able to get Bucky and herself to safety soon. She waits on the porch, gesturing for him to join her inside, trying to shake the ice pellets out of her damp hair. She's wearing her scrubs because she doesn't dare ruin a decent outfit in this weather, but when she heads inside, it's straight for the blankets.

Digging through her things, she finds the quilt and offers it out to him. "Sit," she says, no longer an order, but a helpful suggestion. "I can make you something warm? Tea? Hot water is also available, but I haven't much to flavour it with."

He's surprised when she takes him to a proper house, entering when invited in. The familiarity she exhibits with the building quickly indicates to him that she likely lives here, though the idea makes him feel suddenly out of place. Even at base, he'd never visited Peggy's private quarters. Not that they're still soldiers here, obviously, but she still recognizes him, knows him, and invites him in like it's nothing.

Thinking about it too hard right now is maybe too much.

Taking the quilt wordlessly, Bucky looks it over for a moment before glancing about to find a place to sit. Despite his best not to overthink the invitation to sit now, especially since he’s already in the house, it doesn’t feel right to sit anywhere in his current state. Getting water on the furniture isn’t really prudent is it? He can almost see his ma giving him a look, telling him to wipe his feet at the door without even opening her mouth.

“Tea. Is fine,” he manages to reply after a moment of assessing the surrounding furniture, deeming them all too fine for his drenched state. He eyes the quilt again before he carefully drapes it over his back, the left shoulder strap of the backpack sliding free as he attempts to angle the quilt appropriately. The backpack is immediately awkwardly placed against his back, but he stifles a sigh while ignoring it in favor of focusing on warming up. The bag isn’t going anywhere with the other strap still firm to his right shoulder anyway. “You been here long?”

Peggy absently fiddles with the quilt, wishing that she had thought to lay claim to more men's clothing as people vanished, but she hasn't, so all that she's got it this. She doesn't suggest Barnes take off the wet clothes, mainly because the propriety of the situation demands otherwise.

"Almost a year, now," she responds as she lights a fire in the kitchen and pours in some water from the fountain into a pot to start it boiling, keeping a steady eye behind her on Bucky as though he might vanish at any moment. "I'm going to be presumptuous and guess that you're from my future. I know today has already been a little stressful, but I'm afraid anything I tell you is going to make it worse," she says, turning so she can negotiate with him.

"That said, I'll leave it up to you how much you want to know," she offers.

Tina had the mind to stay inside when the hail started. Then a day had passed and the itch to do something else returned and it was when there seemed to be somewhat of a lull she had left to try to help cover some of the plants. Unfortunately, that ended in needing to retreat inside the Inn halfway home with a good wallop to the head from a piece of hail. If she was smarter she'd have stayed in, but doing nothing was never her strong suit-- And besides, if she had not stayed in she would not have seen the manner as he made his way into the inn.

From the manner he carried himself there was no doubt in her that he would deny any pity or coddling but it was also certain he was new just the same. Sighing from her position of clearing away some dishes for lack of anything else to do, Tina moved to where she knew some of the blankets were and pulled a few out. Without any other further to-do she made her way to the man and placed them on the arm rest of the chair.

"I'm guessing your other clothes got drenched," she offered, glancing towards the man, "you should still strip out and let 'em dry by the fire before you get sick. These should do for covering you for now." And keep him warm and dry from the rest of it, but staying in wet clothes while it was hailing was a rather bad idea.

“Jesus,” he remarks regarding the duration of her stay thus far, idling a reasonable distance behind her as he watches her work. That’s almost insanity to consider. She’s supposed to have been alive where he was a year ago. And not, well, youthful. As she continues, it only further cements his confusion, not that it hadn’t been hiding out the whole damn time since he found himself several feet underwater in a fountain that he’s never seen before, but there are times when shit like that needs to be taken more seriously. Like now.

“Ain’t a fan of being out of the loop.” He tries to be as polite as he can with his phrasing because it’s not as if he’d ever discussed this directly with Peggy before. But it frustrates him nonetheless that people (namely Steve) always seem to think he can’t handle what’s dished to him, specifically since that’s all he’s ever done in life. What’s another dogpile of bullshit? “I’d appreciate the full sitrep, if that’s dandy.”

Wanda felt as if she owed a lot to Steve, to all of the Avengers, though what she knew of the future was significantly less than that of what Bucky knew. She was watching the Avengers fall apart and yet she continued to believe in them. They had been her support after losing the last of her family. She'd always owe Steve for that. In his own way he'd saved her life by allowing her to switch sides.

She wouldn't force him or even ask him to live with her, Clint and Sam. Natasha hadn't wanted to live there either but the house would be open to him if he needed it. She watched him curiously though her gaze was easy, reading what she could pick up from him but not pressing sternly for answers. She assumed that he'd share what he wanted either way.

"Clint was getting me to come help you." Not just Bucky but Steve and those he'd gathered to help him. She didn't know what the exact plan was but she'd known the end goal. Wanda hoped that they were successful in the attempt though no one had offered to tell her the details of the fight.

"Hungry?" There was some soup that she'd made a half hour ago still warming in the kitchen.

He could tell from the way she’d approached that she only meant respect by the the suggestion, concern clear in her voice, and though he had no plans of stripping in front others, not with the scarring along his shoulder, Bucky could not help but smile at the genuine consideration from a stranger, the act itself so foreign that he almost felt human for a moment. It also helped that he caught the familiar accent in her voice, even as much as it maybe didn’t matter so much anymore. New York City was hardly a home for him any longer.

Brushing a few clumped strands of wet hair to the side, he nodded appreciatively while taking up the blankets placed along the chair arm.

“Thanks. Yeah, wasn’t really my choice, but what can you do?” he laughs easily, lighthearted excuse following. “Ain’t so sure I should be taking anything off though. Not when I haven’t the faintest idea what people think of missing limbs. Not the prettiest thing to look at, miss.”

Peggy keeps her back to him while he takes in her news, grateful that she doesn't have to show the wash of emotions over her face, because the whole of this place has been one unexpected turbulent ride of emotions after the next, which Peggy hardly feels equipped to deal with. When she feels like she has control of herself, she adjusts the heat of the fire and turns to face him again.

"This is the third time I've met you here," she says. "The first, you were from my time. The second, you looked very similar to the way you do now. I have no idea where you went either time," she confesses, and the first, she should have known. They had been sharing space, she should have figured out where he went. "Yet, here you are, back again," she says, as confounded as ever.

"What makes all this worse is that I've spent a year trying to find a way out," she says, the frustration in her tone, "and finding nothing."

Humming thoughtfully, he eased back in his seat a tad, considering the implication. There was no knowing what was worth discussing and what was worth avoiding. He was from a time well after her last memories however, and that made the decision all the more difficult, not knowing what telling her of future outcomes could mean. Seemed exactly like the thing most people avoided in the novels he used to read, and fiction or not, there always seemed to be a strain of logical truth to the science fiction of old.

“Yeah, I could use a bite,” he answered, instead of answer with regard to the initial matter. Though as an afterthought, he added, “That was quite a bit before what I remember,” to keep up the transparency, albeit selectively.

She didn't expect for him to tell her more of her future. If she truly wanted to know then she'd ask Clint who appeared to have come from a time similar to Bucky. "You don't have to tell me. I don't think it changes anything here or when we return." If we return, she thought to herself.

With a nod of her head Wanda stood. "I'll be right back." She left him to his thoughts to go fetch a bit of soup. It didn't take her long to return with a hot bowl of soup as well as a glass of water and a hot beverage that she balanced on a small tray. The soup was a thick potato soup with carrots and fish. Wanda hadn't had all the spices that she needed but it smelled like it came from somewhere in Russia.

"Here." She placed the soup and water in front of him before taking the hot drink for herself. It was just hot water but it fought away the cold. She didn't have tea or anything to put in the water.

His brow furrows, eyes alert with realization as she explains her lot. The gravity only weighs heavier as disappointment settles into her final words, and he finds himself suddenly far more aware of how utterly fucked up the situation is. He has no memory of having been in a place like this, and it hardly seems like something Hydra had a hand in, especially because the unnaturalness of the circumstances would certainly stand out more than any of the memories he held naturally on his own. There’s no protocol relative to such a notion either, an apparently encased space where he was capable of coming and going so many times while others could remain captured.

What kind of crazy place has he come to? God. Poor Peggy.

He doesn’t want to dismiss her clear struggles since arriving in this place, but it’s difficult not to want to offer his condolences, his sorrow, that someone like Agent Margaret Carter would be more or less trapped somewhere for a year without a means of escape.

“Pegs,” he starts, trailing off when nothing else comes. Bucky doesn’t correct himself this time. “Jesus. Are you. Holding up okay?” It’s the only thing worth asking. No one deserves what she’s gone through, and no platitudes can erase what she’s likely endured in the interim. A clear crease forms in his brow, the concern he always help for the wellbeing of others making a rare appearance, but here and now it sharpens because Peggy isn’t just anyone. Peggy's existence is something too grand for him to even quantify properly with words.

"I would say not nearly drown in a fountain," Tina offered, "but I'm well aware that is an inevitability." Her shoulders remained set, but the faint smile on her lips was friendly enough. Tina wasn't the best with friendly conversation, but neither was she going to allow someone to remain dripping on the floor if she can help it. Her eyes darted to his missing limb for a moment before she shook her head.

There's at least no pity in her eyes when they flicker back up to the man. "Perhaps not, but a missing limb is the least of anyone's worries," She answered, frowning only just slightly, "there's a bathroom you can slip out of your clothes from, but people should be more worried about you getting ill than seeing something that wasn't pretty."

The question takes her aback, mainly because she hasn't heard it in some time. When she'd developed those icy powers after losing Natasha and Bucky and Steve the last time, people had been very worried and lovely, but it's been terribly busy since. The lightning, the storms, the bugs, and now Credence's troubles mean that she's been on the helping side to make sure people are taken care of.

Stella makes sure she's well, but it's so odd for someone newly here to care about her before their own plight. That's why she's so silent, gaping at him before she collects herself. "I'm as well as one can be," she admits. "I don't like failure and here, I fail every day. Every time I go out to the canyons and they continually close in on themselves, every time the borders become more impossible, every time someone leaves without leaving a map, I feel like a failure."

"Sergeant Barnes, I'm meant to be comforting you," Peggy remarks calmly, raising a brow at him seeing as she knows there will be more questions, soon enough.

If, he thought for himself as well following her reply, though he nodded regardless. There was no real knowing in their position anyway, was there? No sense wondering.

Watching her leave, he wondered silently how long she must have been here as well. It was a fair thing to question, considering what Peggy had told him, and even without understanding how all the time displacement functioned with regard to...well, the lives they knew before this place, it likely did not make the experience any easier for any of the otherwise. Unfair really. He could only hope he wasn’t blamed for it somehow.

When Wanda returned with the tray, he sat forward again, hand tugging the blanket more firmly over each shoulder so he could eat without losing the warmth of the cloth. He smelled the soup before she set it down in front of him, and it was familiar in a way he couldn’t place a specific memory to. Not that it changed much of anything because his stomach rumbled quietly regardless. His heightened metabolism was going to be trouble here.

“Thank you.” It was offered with a grateful smile, though perhaps more sheepish than it might be otherwise. Only then did he notice the spoon set in the soup that slowly—slowly—sank down into the potato, as it trying to hide from the world. His eyes lit up, earnest amusement settling into his expression, and he laughed quietly as the spoon continued sinking and sinking, fearing the daylight and curious eyes. Bucky plucked it up before it found itself immersed, smiling to himself before cleaning off the sides of the spoon with his tongue so as not to make a mess.

“This is good,” he commented, moving to get a proper spoonful. “Did you make this?”

Wanda's fingers curled around her cup. She enjoyed the heat of the water as it seeped into her palm and warmed her hand. She took a small sip and focused on the heat as it coursed through her body warming her from her core. It was always relaxing to drink a hot liquid, which was why she developed the habit of drinking hot water when there was nothing else.

"If you're here around meal times you'll be fed." It was a useful piece of information. He didn't look like the sort of person who knew how to cook. Wanda was used to cooking for her brother when it was just the two of them. It wasn't until ending up here that she started cooking more often.

Wanda's gaze focused on his fascination with the spoon and she couldn't stop the smile that spread over her lips. That was a new sight for her and a pleasant one. It was cute and a little unexpected.

"Yes. You like it?" She sounded genuinely curious. She didn't think he'd lie.

The hail's already been going for almost a full day when Clint steps into the inn, and that's a horrible sign. Okay, well, it's kind of a standard sign given where they are, but overall pretty horrible. If this keeps going, they're really going to have to start worrying about the crops.

To that extent, when he comes in the inn, he's wearing his jacket (which he'd had to dig out of his closet), but he's also carrying a stack of wooden boards under one arm and a case of some sort in the other hand. He needs some lunch and is looking for a few certain faces, but the one he finds there isn't at all what he expects.

"Barnes?"

Well. She wasn’t wrong. A short, surprised laugh at the frankness of it slipped out after the remark, and Bucky dismissed the sudden outburst with a quick shake of his head, amusement clear on his face. Technically he didn’t drown, so that was at least one good thing to take away.

Taking in her words, the soldier nodded idly. Were there stronger imperative for him to truly remove his clothes, say a lack of experience in having been drenched before in his childhood and having survived under far cooler temperatures with a significantly less fit body, he would have thought on the idea more thoroughly. But here, now, his clothing, even wet, held enough of his body heat that stripping would likely only force his temperature to drop more quickly. That and nothing could quite prepare anyone for the metal bound to his flesh.

Smiling politely, he started draping a blanket across his shoulders. “Think I’ll be okay at this point. A lot warmer in here already. With decent company to pass the time with.” His eyes caught hers in a brief glance, and he offered a more genuine smile, surely grateful for her help. “Where are my manners though? Name’s James. Or Bucky, if you’d prefer.”

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wow look what the cat dragged in

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