Bucky Barnes (bleedtowin) wrote in districtmarvel, @ 2016-01-27 00:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | bucky barnes, sam wilson |
Who: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson
What: Sam needs out of the Capitol, Bucky needs a sounding board.
Where: District 8, Bucky's place.
When: A couple of days after the announcement and all that went with it.
Rating: Low, but talk of suicide, prostitution, love, child murder. The usual cheer. (Complete log.)
Calling Sam had not been the smartest thing Bucky had ever done. But considering the things he'd done this week (this month, this year), it wasn't really that bad. Bucky hadn't thought Sam might come here, but that wasn't the worst thing, either. No Capitol, no trying to talk through a phone line someone might be listening in on. Moo there to fuss with.
With more time behind him, Bucky wasn't sure what he was going to say to Sam. There were things he shouldn't say and things he'd always avoided talking about. (Steve. Almost always.) But the fact was that there wasn't much damage Sam could do, even if he wanted to. And Bucky didn't really believe the guy wanted to, anyway.
Bucky just wanted ... to have said things. To someone other than Steve, before he had to tell Steve. And his world was limited. The other Victors all had their own problems. Scott knew the Arena loomed and he had Cassie to worry about. Bucky had barely known what to say to text him because they both also knew the other thing Bucky hadn't wanted to admit - Scott was going in and Bucky wasn't. Clint, Natasha, Tony - all of them had the same fate and Bucky was immune to it and didn't want to be. They were waiting to hear something he already knew for sure wasn't his problem, and he wished it would be. He couldn't talk to Peggy again.
There weren't a lot of options and Sam was willing. Bucky just didn't know how to start.
He let Sam in the door when he got there. Bucky was clean, dressed (if barefoot), and shaved. (Because he didn't want to look like he was falling apart - old instincts to not show your belly were hard to shake.) There were dark circles around his eyes to show he hadn't been sleeping, but that wasn't unusual. His mother didn't come down. Becca came through with just a nod and then disappeared into her room, ignoring the both of them. Bucky led Sam to the guest room to put down his stuff and bent on the way to pick up the little ball of black fuzz that appeared from the end of the hall and circled his feet, letting her sniff at Sam, then dropping her with a little bounce onto the bed in the guest room while she and Sam got acquainted. (Or she got acquainted with Sam's bag, first.)
Bucky said hello, introduced Becca when she came through, Moo when he picked her up, but he was quiet otherwise, picked at the sleeve on his sweatshirt with his right hand whenever he stood still, fisted his left hand and then released it. "Sorry I called," he said finally, eyes more on Moo than Sam. "I just ... there's a lot," Bucky said slowly. "I can't really ... most people I know are going to die. I can't just talk to them. Everything else seems pointless and stupid and I can't put it on them, but I …" Bucky shrugged uneasily, trailing off.
Sam had never been in District Eight before, and the difference between that and Two was... painful. He'd known for a while, but this just brought home how much of what the Capitol was, how it existed, was an illusion built on spiderwebs, supported by silk thread, with a foundation of solid fear. It only worked because the Capitol had them all bowed down with a boot to their necks. And they'd just ground the heel in a little more with the announcement about the 75th Games.
He let Bucky distract himself, smiled politely to Becca and played with the kitten, clearly charmed by her, and letting her chase his hand around the top of the bedspread until she decided his bag was more interesting. Finally, he looked up at Bucky, giving him a good, long look. He sighed.
"I'm not. Sorry you called, I mean. Since I heard President Stane's address, I've been slowly going out of my mind a little, thinking about it, running all the scenarios around in my mind, trying to... do the math, you know, and every single one is..." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I swear, Bucky, if the word fine comes out of your mouth, I might punch you." He smiled a little grimly.
Bucky seemed inclined to actually talk, however, and Sam nodded his head. "No. You're right. It does. Seem pointless, I mean. I think that's what they want you to think. Look, right now? This? Is off the record. None of this is official. This is me, being a friend, because you sounded like you needed one. I swear, if I could have thought of a way to resign, that wouldn't come back on me or my family, I'd have done it already. A vacation was as much as I could manage."
Bucky gave Sam a ghost of a smile, then shrugged. "Not that fine," he said. He sank down to sit on the edge of the bed, still watching Moo, that too-long pause Bucky sometimes made more obvious now, coupled with just trying to think. About what he wanted to say.
"It won't be me," Bucky said finally. "It's ..." he faltered. "Off the record," he repeated, as if convincing himself.
He looked at Sam finally. "Steve and me are best friends. Have been since we were kids. It was always us. He was ... back then he was little. Got sick all the time. We spent all our time together. Half the fights I got into were because Steve got his back up about something. Then I got Reaped. And they told me not to say his name. So no one knew who he was. So he'd be safe. I didn't get it, not really. But I did it. And then ..." Bucky shrugged. "I won." His mouth twisted, bitter and rueful. "Whatever that means. Never meant much, means less now. But I came out fucked out, and barely realized ... much of anything, for a while. But I knew enough to start to know why they'd told me not to say who he was. That it was safer to not be around us. Especially me. Back then, I was so doped up, couldn't do anything. Couldn't walk down a staircase because I was afraid it would close in on me. But I remembered that. That Steve was safer. So when he finally got in to the Village to talk to me, I told him I didn't want to see him. And then I didn't talk to him anymore. I took what they gave me and I stayed numb. Played party favor when they paid for it. And I didn't talk to Steve. To anyone that much. And then the asshole volunteered. And I woke back up."
Bucky stopped, shoulder rolling, metal hand flexing. "I stayed away from him, but I tried to help, tried to learn ... how to play the games. But my head's only half there on a good day. It came and went. And he got out, despite himself, and he was still ... he wasn't like me. Didn't just lose himself. We started talking again, after the riots. I told him why I stopped. This, all of this, it's for Steve. He's going in, and it won't be me, and I was so fucking mad at him for that. I didn't want it to be true and I yelled at him some, right after Stane announced it." Bucky smiled, no humor in it. "Turns out he volunteered because I wasn't talking to him. Shit protection, aren't I?" He shrugged. "I forget how to try to do anything for years, and the only thing I did do was a fuck up. I just ... that's what I do. Like I can't be good for anyone, Sam. Someone was good to me, and I didn't even remember it, and then screwed her over by making her think of terrible shit on accident. That's what happened at the anniversary bullshit for Barton. I fucked up, and that's why the whole Capitol thinks I'm fucking Steve and Natasha. And that's why ..." Bucky stopped, breathing out in a huff, taking a minute to regather himself before saying anything else.
"Off the record. Forget the damn record," Sam said vehemently.
Sam wasn't entirely surprised by most of it, had suspected some of it, but other parts were… not expected. He'd known the Capitol did some fucked up shit to their Victors, but there'd never been a hint that they were… Pimping them out? Really? Why the hell did the Capitol even HAVE Victor Support when half of the bad shit that happened to them was because of the damned Capitol!?
He didn't show any of the shock, just listened, and let Bucky get it out. He reached over, slow and careful so Bucky saw it coming, hand squeezing the flesh and blood shoulder for a second, before he let go. "I'd waste breathe telling you that you aren't a fuck up, and that Steve volunteering wasn't on you. You were doing your best playing a game that gets the rules changed constantly, where you can never know who to trust, and where the only relief is…" he stopped, sighing. "But I'm not going to try and convince you of that, Barnes, because I'm not on the record, and I'm your friend right now, not your counselor. And I know damn well, that you won't believe me anyways."
He sighed. "But this shit? All of this? It's not on you. It's one wheel in the great grinding cog of the Capitol. The Victors aren't the stars, they're the goddamn prisoners of war, the examples, the false hope so you don't notice how hard they're grinding you down. Until the Quarter Quell and then they remind everyone that no one is safe." Sam made a low, frustrated growl of sound.
"You saved one person. Well, kind of. Riley. They wanted to drug him up at first, Like they'd done you, I think. But it hadn't worked out well, and Riley didn't react well to the drugs. So they brought me along instead, to keep him… compliant." He gave Bucky a long, look, before he took a deep breath. "They killed him." He said it soft, low, fast, like he wasn't going to get it out if he didn't rush the words. "They didn't put the gun in his hand, but they may as well have. I was gone for… an hour. An hour tops, and somehow his caretaker disappeared and a bottle of pills he'd never had a prescription before was on his bedside table, and he was gone." Sam blew out a breath. "I've never told anyone that before. Never. Not out loud. I barely admit it in my head."
He gave Bucky a sad smile. "So. Yeah. This is probably for Steve. But this isn't on you. This is the Capitol, grinding the boot."
"It's not on me," Bucky repeated dully. "I know that. We can't stop things and we can't change things and things aren't ... our fault. But making it worse for someone, that can be my fault. And that's ... I do. I didn't used to. I told - someone that I just wanted to help because that was the kind of person I used to want to be. But I think that part's gone. I make a mess when I try."
Bucky looked at Sam for a long minute. "I'm dull on the drugs," he said finally. "They kept me around long as they did on the circuit because it was still novel - metal arm, Victor who might snap and kill someone. But I was boring on them, so I was just ... there. When I came off, damage was already done - boring gets around. I had to try to work past it when I was thinking again to try. They wouldn't ... without the novel parts ..." Bucky could see it. But it wasn't a message, so they wouldn't have wanted anyone to know. It was just cleaning house. "I'm sorry," Bucky said. Because he was. He was sorry that Clint had to relive his Arena, that Steve went in at all, that Peggy had to figure out how best to sell one of her Victors in love with the other one, that Natasha had to play the game so well she did it even with him. He was sorry for a shitload of things. He was sorry everyone he cared about almost was probably going to die clawing at each other on the way down.
Sorry didn't actually mean anything.
There had been more. But in the face of that, it felt small and stupid again. And Bucky abandoned it.
"That part's not gone, Bucky. Or you wouldn't care so much about what's happening. Somewhere, inside, is that guy you used to want to be. He's just been... beaten down, drugged up, and shoved deep inside, where it's safe, where it would keep people like Steve safe. If Steve wasn't so determined to get himself in trouble, anyways."
"Yeah," Sam said. "Riley was... He didn't want to be in his own head anymore. He stuck around as long as he did, for me, I think. I just..." Sam blew out a breath. "Man. I don't know what to do. I got in this to keep what happened to Riley from happening to anyone else, but this whole thing is so much messier than I ever imagined. I don't understand why they keep doing this shit. It's just not fair."
Sam gave Bucky a half smile. "Yeah man. I'm sorry too. It just doesn't seem like enough to help, you know?"
"Doesn't matter if he's there, just matters that it fucks up if I try. Everything and everyone I know is fucked up, and I make it worse," Bucky said. "I don't want to, but I do." Maybe there were moments here and there where he did something that helped. But it was muted and nothing compared to the important things. Like bailing water out of a whole sea.
Bucky looked at him. "I ... fuck, I don't know. This is probably a shit thing to say - but most of us are going back in. Most of us don't even want to come out again. He ... I'm sorry. But maybe it's just better. He went quiet, and he went on his own call." Bucky didn't always know why he hadn't done the same, sometimes. He'd thought of it, but there was some part of Bucky that just didn't call quits even when he wanted to. That had gotten him through the Games and kept him going after it - for better or worse.
"It's not fair, it's entertainment," Bucky said. "Whatever the point was, now it's just ... the show is the point. Keeping things how they are is the point."
"Yeah," Bucky said quietly. "Sorry doesn't do anything, even when you mean it."
"That's because most of who you know are Victors, Bucky. Victors who have essentially been put through hell, tortured and forced to murder for their own survival, and then made to come back and smile and laugh about it, and join an endless, relentless parade of glorifying that hell for the sake of others' entertainment. It's a damned miracle more of you haven't killed yourselves, frankly. Because you're all survivors, and you learned the lesson in the Arenas. That's not you fucking up, that's the Game changing the rules on you. They do it all the time. That's not your fault." He shook his head. "It doesn't negate the good you try to do, Bucky. It just… makes it harder to feel any progress."
Sam sighed. "I know. I did the math. Ran the scenarios through my head. Who all was likely. Who might stay out. A little over half, I think." Sam closed his eyes at Bucky's words, swallowing, then nodded once, shortly. "I know. I look at this now and I… think you're right. I just… loved him, you know, and I thought… I don't know, Barnes. I'm not facing death here, and it seems pretty inconsequential to what you all must be going through. But I worked so hard. To be able to help people like you. And now… All this senseless fucking death."
"It's more than entertainment, Bucky. It's a message. A clear, and blatant message. They want to make an example. They want to make sure everyone knows that no one is safe. Not even the Victors."
"I know. I just ..." Bucky made a frustrated sound. "I didn't ... talk to anyone that much. Sometimes. Tony, Barton. Scott. But the last year I just ... remembered maybe. How to have friends. Be a friend. Or I thought I did but I have it wrong, since I make their lives harder, not better, and that's not what I want, not what I wanted to be. And now ... that's all I'm ever going to fucking have been to them."
Bucky's eyes jumped from where he'd been watching Moo crawling her way into Sam's bag, measuring how he said that. Love meant a lot of things. He didn't know which Sam meant. It didn't really matter. It was terrible no matter what kind. "It's not. Inconsequential. You should tell some of us, maybe. Lot of 'em have been Mentors, watched friends. They know what it's like. To watch. Might ... make it easier if they knew you did." He took a breath, quick and steadying. "I ... Steve. I ran around with a couple of girls when I was a kid. But I always wanted to be around Steve. I was only starting to figure out it might mean something more than just best friend when I got Reaped. Went to sleep along with ... everything else, after the Arena. But it never went away."
Bucky shook his head, rushing on. "It's a message to us. To them. To most people in the Capitol - it's just a show. We're not even people to them." Or they weren't as kids. Just little walking blurbs and faces. Victors had been around a while. Bucky didn't know if that made it better or worse. Maybe it meant people would actually give a shit when they died. Or maybe to them it would just be clearing out the old to make way for the new.
"I know. And now, you've just started to make connections, and now it's all going pear-shaped," Sam said. "I don't think that's all you're ever going to be to them, Bucky. That isn't going to be what they're thinking about. How Bucky Barnes screwed them up. They're going to be thinking about the good stuff, and hanging onto that. Isn't that how you got through it? Thinking you'd done a good thing, protected someone you cared about? Just because the Capitol twisted it all up, doesn't make it invalid."
Sam didn't shy away from it this time. "In love. Yeah," he clarified, from the look Bucky was giving him, answering the question before he even asked. He sighed. "I guess. Seems too little too late now though. Most of them probably still think I'm spying for Stane anyways. When... man... I wish I could turn it back around on that asshole."
Ahhhhh. And there it was. The piece Sam had been missing to the puzzle that was Bucky Barnes. "Well. You should tell him, Bucky. Before he goes in. Before you never get a chance to."
"The people in the Capitol are spun sugar, Bucky. All pretty colors and glitter and no substance, most of them. They rest on their laurels on the broken backs of the districts." He sighed. "Message received anyways, loud and clear."
"They're not going to be thinking of me," Bucky said with an odd little laugh. "I don't expect that." He didn't. They had their own lives, their own problems, their own regrets and cares. What he'd done or failed to do or fucked up - it wasn't going to matter when they were in the Arena. He wasn't going to be on the minds of anyone but Steve, and he didn't mind that. It just bothered him, that most of what anyone was ever going to remember about him was a metal arm and brutal death. In a way, the Arena was the only thing Bucky felt like he'd done right, because he'd been a fucking good show. It just hadn't been anything he actually had done - just what was done to him. He'd survived the show (barely), that was all.
"Did he know?" Bucky couldn't help but ask. He grimaced. "Sorry. None of my business." He shrugged. "It's not you, you know. No one can trust anyone in the Capitol. Most Victors play it pretty close to the chest with each other too." Or maybe Bucky had just been too distant from it to hear most of what they had to say, before. He'd spoken to Scott, but there was always an understanding in place there, too. Scott had things to lose. You didn't get in the way of that. Bucky was the same.
"He thinks you work for him, right? Maybe you could, somehow, if you figure out something for your family," Bucky said. He didn't know what, but maybe. Steve's ideas of revolution were all nebulous to Bucky, who hadn't heard the details. Probably because he hadn't been that receptive - he'd wanted to stop Steve from doing it, not know how he planned to incite everyone.
Bucky laughed again, rubbing his right hand over his face. "He's got a girl. She's great. And she knows, and she wants me to tell him and convince him to pretend he's in love with me instead of her, just in case the Capitol feels bad enough about killing half of a new favorite couple off to call off the Quell. It's never going to work. But they won't let me volunteer, and it'll be him. I can't ... I watched it once. I'm going to be there, watching them all go, watching Steve. And she wants me to tell him. She never asks me for shit. So if there's a shot, then I'll do it. But ..." Bucky shook his head. "Dumb to care about that with what's coming, but fuck. It was mine before I went into the Games, and it's still mine after, how I felt. And I'm going to have to ask him to fake it for people to watch." When it didn't work, Bucky would have lost everything he held on to.
He was going to do it. It was just so much fucking harder than it should be for something that didn't matter at all, not in the bigger picture. "I just wanted to say it to someone. Before I have to tell him."
Sam gave Bucky a funny look and shook his head, smiling a little sadly. "I think you have more of an impact on people's lives than you realize, but okay." The problem with coming out of the Arena alive, Sam had noticed, is it made most of the Victors seem to feel utterly worthless as a human, but idolized as heroes and they couldn't reconcile the two. Especially if the Capitol was prostituting them out!
Sam didn't mind telling Bucky. At this point, it felt weirdly good to talk about. It hurt. Stabbed, even, but it was a good ache. "Yes. Yes, he knew. It's uh.. part of why he volunteered. Thought we could be together, living in the Victor village, set us up for life." Sam grimaced. "Didn't work out quite that way."
"No. I know. I mean, I thought I had a grasp of it, you know. I expected resistance, but after talking to Rogers, I realized how utterly... hopeless the whole idea was." Sam shrugged. "I don't blame them for not falling in line, they had no way of knowing I was trying to be sincere."
Sam grimaced. "I don't know what. Most of my family still swallows the Capitol line pretty solidly. My dad and brother are Peacekeepers. I come to them with this, and they're more likely to... probably turn me in, actually," he said, coming to the slow realization. "My mom would kill them, but they'd do it anyways."
Sam listened carefully to the plan Bucky was clearly unhappy about. "It's.... not that bad a plan. I mean, it's a terrible idea, but it's not a bad plan, which just goes to show how upside down this whole stupid thing is. But if you do it, Bucky, you gotta be honest with him about it. All of it. Why you're doing it. What's at risk. How you really feel. Or the whole house of cards will fall down around you both.
Sam reached over again, squeezing gently on Bucky's arm. "I.... I get that. Thanks. For trusting me with it. It's yours, Bucky. It's always gonna be yours. Even if you have to use it to keep him alive, it's still yours."
"It's not that," Bucky said. "It's how your head works. Everything ... narrows. Falls away to just stay alive. Keep going. You don't even remember why, just that you have to. Little things remind you sometimes. I ... someone sent me coffee. But mostly they're not going to be thinking of me because they can't. Too busy with the rest."
Bucky winced, looking down. "Sorry's still useless. But yeah. I am." His mouth pulled up in the same little bitter half smile. "You know, hopeless about life's not usually what Steve goes for. He's just kneejerk about the Capitol, sometimes. And we've only been talking again a couple of months - he doesn't know you helped keep them from doping me up."
Bucky didn't know what to say to that. That it might come down to Sam having to make a call, but then - for what? Against what? There was no plan, nothing happening except a disquiet in the air and Steve talking. He just shrugged again, reaching over to tug Moo away from chewing on the handle of Sam's back and dropping her on his thigh, scratching at her ears before letting her wander again. "I could walk up and tell my mom the whole District was revolting and she might bother to get up and look out a window, maybe," he said instead. Just to say that they were in different places with family without saying he was sorry again.
Bucky grimaced. "It's a shit plan, but it's lessy shitty than any other idea I had. It's not going to work." He sighed. "But I lie about everything. Don't think I could do it with that. Not to him. It's not going to make a difference but ..." Bucky made a face. "Yeah. It's mine. And I'm going to hand it to him so he can get flustered by how to say he's flattered, but has a girl, and then she can talk him into pretending and everything will be fucked up. It'll be part of a show. That's not mine. The show's never been mine. But I'll do it. I was always going to fucking do it once she asked. Just ... needed to think first. Talk it out, I guess."
Bucky laughed suddenly, harsh and quick. "You know, if we do this, if he goes along with it - last thing we'll ever say to each other will probably be a fake kiss goodbye with cameras watching. Just ... fucked up. Everything is fucked up."
"Ahh." Well. That made sense. Sam would like to think he'd have time to think about the people he loved, but he'd never been in the Arena, never would, so how would he know?
Sam laughed. "Wasn't Rogers' being hopeless. Just made me realize it in myself, I guess. Didn't really think about it til I got home that night and it hit me. Safer to fall apart there," he quipped. "Besides, I don't go name-dropping to score bonus points with other Victors, Barnes. Wasn't his business if you were talking to me or not. Not unless you decide to tell him."
Sam watched him with Moo, and when Bucky let her back down to wander, reached over to scratch her ears, before he rummaged into the outer pocket of his bag, pulling out a soft wool ball in bright colors that jingled, rolling it across the bed for the kitten to pounce on.
"You have to lie to survive in the Capitol," Sam admitted heavily. "You just.. have to. But you have someone, like Steve, who is important to you, love or not, and you.... you owe it to yourself to tell some truths, Bucky. Not everything has to be a lie. Even if you just keep it close to your heart, you got to tell some truth somewhere, or you start believing your own bullshit."
He gave Bucky a long look. "You're putting words in his mouth and you haven't even talked to him about it yet. Don't assume. Don't imagine his reaction. Just work out what you're going to say. You can't control anything else in this fucked up situation, but you can control your words. Your actions. That's it. Take control of those, and the rest is up to other people. You can't keep letting yourself take the blame for the universe being shit. There's only so much weight you can bear, Bucky, and you're already drowning most days."
Sam sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. Sorry doesn't cut it. But... yeah."
Bucky half smiled, shrugging. "Not safe to fall apart anywhere. But don't care what Steve knows. I tried to not tell him ... some things. Worst things. But didn't get him anywhere but confused. And you're not that bad a thing, so don't care if he knows you talk to me ..." his smile quirked up a little bit more. "I mostly told you I was fine anyway, until lately."
He laughed when Sam pulled out the ball, soft and still a little lost sounding but genuinely amused, too. "You really did bring toys. Mostly she ignores them and eats my shit."
Bucky shifted his weight uneasily, fingers fisting restlessly. "It was enough. Just ... me knowing. Didn't even all out admit it to myself until lately." Because Barton called him on it, and then Peggy. "But I didn't ... expect anything. And didn't need to tell him. He had something that was better for him - why the fuck would I get in the way of that?"
Bucky went quiet for a minute, and then said slowly. "I don't know why I do that. Why I ... drown. Barton, Romanoff, Stark - all of them. They all went the same place I did and they're screwed up, but they ... hold it together. I never could. Like there was something already unscrewed and I just didn't know until everything came apart in the Arena." Bucky grimaced. "Doesn't really matter - I fell apart, and I'm not going in. They kept it together and played useful and they probably are." Tony, probably not. But the others. There weren't that many Victors. The Odds were against them - they always had been.
He shrugged again, trying to shrug off the thoughts, the weight, what was about to come down - all of it. Bucky gave Sam a thin smile. "Kind of sound like you're still trying to Counsel you know, Wilson. Give some shitty friend advice, quick."
"Then you tell him. Point is, I wouldn't. Not even to try to make myself look less like a Capitol snitch." That wasn't how Sam operated. "Yeah, but I never believed you anyways."
He scoffed. "Of course I brought toys. And treats. And possibly a really fucking cute pirate collar for her, but she might have to grow into it and if she's anything like every other cat I know, she'll hate it for a few days."
"You want the easy answer, or my actual theory? Also, if you think most of them are ANY better at holding it together than you, you are sadly mistaken my friend. They're just more practiced at hiding it, that's all." Sam was pretty sure Bucky had a distinct disadvantage because he'd been drugged for so long, and his Arena had been particularly bloodthirsty. He wasn't any more or less broken than the rest of them, though.
Sam grimaced. "Ugh. Sorry. Habit. How about we get drunk and see if the kitten likes beer? I also brought some of those sweet cinnamon candies you always gorge yourself on when you're in my office and I pretend half the dish hasn't gone missing when you leave."