steve rogers (willingtopay) wrote in the100, @ 2016-02-15 15:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, bucky barnes / winter soldier (mcu), steve rogers / captain america (mcu) |
Who: Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes
When: Today!
Where: Medical!
What: Bucky's waking up and realizing some bad things happened.
Warning: They love each other a lot, and this all makes Steve's heart hurt a lot, so you know, be prepared for BFF feels.
It could been a rollercoaster hitting that drop: wind rushing past your ears and forcing you to squint as you picked up speed. Then, your stomach soared upward, and no one really judged if you let out a scream before the track leveled out again. You pulled into the boarding platform, and the first order of business was to go get a hot dog and maybe a soda. To settle down, right? Just another summer day out in Coney. They’d done this a million times. He just didn’t remember the guns the last time. Or that crispness in the air and the snow that that crunched underfoot. Everything felt so cold. He felt so cold. Probably should have taken his scarf, but he’d told his ma that he didn’t need it. Running back home now to get it would have the rest of Mr. Collins’s third grade class laughing. Wait, that wasn’t right. That -- No. Bucky shifted slightly. There was a dull sensation coming into focus now, and it grew sharper with the passing seconds. There was also a vague awareness that a blanket was on top of him; it grazed his right hand’s fingers and he grabbed a swath of it. It felt real. His sense of touch was off, but he could feel some of the texture of the fabric before even that tactile bit of evidence was swept beneath a searing pain in his left arm. Something was wrong. He forced his eyes open, only to be greeted by a room all-too bright for his unadjusted sight. Steve had lost track of how long he'd been waiting. He couldn't stay by Bucky's bedside all day long, not with his other responsibilities hanging over him. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He was pretty sure the doctors would get sick of him getting in the way, too. But as long as he could manage, he was there. It'd been obvious the moment he first set eyes on Bucky that his best friend was in bad shape. A closer look told him more: the hair, the missing arm. The realization broke Steve's heart all over again, but at least he was there. He was safe. He was alive. Losing him time and again opened up the wound deep inside that had never healed in the first place, but getting him back in whatever shape, whatever age, from whatever universe, stitched it slowly back together. He heard the movement before he saw it, and lifted his eyes from his sketchbook to see Bucky moving slightly, and then opening his eyes. He set the book down as he leaned in. His voice was gentle when he spoke, "hey, take it easy." That was easier said than done. What had started as a slow awakening hit the next three gears in rapid succession. Steve’s voice was lost to the ringing in Bucky’s ears, otherwise it might have snapped him out of a confused and building panic. Pain was mingling with lack of ability to place what had happened, and that much forced Bucky to try and plant his hands behind him and sit up. His eyes opened just in time to catch a quick glimpse of the light overhead before a misjudgement collapsed his one arm beneath him, and he dropped heavily back onto the bed with a breath forced from his lungs. Unwilling to leave it at that -- a sleeping limb wasn’t going to keep him pinned down -- Bucky reached for the blanket and half threw it off to get a better glimpse. The clothes were not his clothes. No restraints, at least, but that didn’t mean a whole damn lot. He fumbled to see if he could at least pinch some feeling back into his right arm, but… His hand came down on empty space. Unable to comprehend that, he tried again. No purchase. There was only mattress beneath his hand. Something wasn’t right. "Whoa --" Steve reached out, partly from instinct, to offer support to his friend, but he stopped short of touching Bucky yet. He didn't want to overwhelm him with too many sensations all at once when he was just waking up. It took all his willpower to hold back, though. Everything in him was screaming at him to help, to do something, and Steve had no idea what that was supposed to be now. Was this what it was like for someone to watch him wake up? It was a good thing, then, he thought, that he was there, because if Bucky tried to run like he had, Steve would be there. "Buck?" he tried again, a little louder, but still as gentle as before. "Can you hear me?" So much at once was making it next to impossible to follow any single thought for long enough to get mental footing, and beyond that was the fumbling to explain why he couldn’t feel his other arm. There had to be an explanation for it. He was just missing something. His head was spinning, and Bucky knew the right course of action was to calm down and let the wave of paranoia pass. It was a voice that broke his effort, though. Bucky looked up, finally noticing that someone was hovering over the bed and looking at him with probably as wide-eyed a look as he was wearing on his own face. His brow creased, mind’s gears trying to place the familiarity as his eyes finished adjusting to the light. He swallowed. His throat was dry and rough. To his still-ringing ears, his voice sounded the same. “What’s…” He stopped, looking away. It might have been out of self-consciousness, but, really, there was a bigger picture here that he had absolutely no grasp of. He had better training than this. Alright, Barnes, figure out where you are. The answer: it looked like a hospital of some kind. He pulled his gaze off a distant bed that looked to be unoccupied, then looked back at his bedside guest. It clicked, finally. He relaxed, marginally. He knew that face. “...why’m I here?” Steve relaxed once he could see that Bucky was starting to. He’d been staring at Bucky, terrified and concerned and helpless. He knew he was hovering over Bucky, ready to jump if his friend needed him, and he knew he should give Bucky space, but he didn’t know how much help to give, either, or how much Bucky would want. He settled on waiting another moment to give Bucky some more time. “You...” Steve’s smile was a little sad. He wasn’t sure how much of it Bucky would even believe it if he tried to explain. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell. How cruel was it to have to explain to one’s best friend that everyone had thought he’d died? That instead, he’d lost an arm and -- well, they could get to the rest of the how later. “We’re in the medical ward of a place called Mount Weather. You were injured. Do you remember the train, in the Alps?” “I…” Bucky closed his eyes, willing that memory to come forward. It felt like trying to grab smoke. Each attempt let his fist empty, as the wisps dispersed more and more. He couldn’t piece it together. The pain wasn’t helping, either. He flinched slightly, suddenly aware of at least one part of what Steve had said. It made sense. Bucky knew he was the one put up in the bed, and despite the telltale signs that he was in a bad way, his fleeting thoughts hadn’t settled long enough to really answer why that was. Steve was confirming it for him: he’d been hurt. The shock of that was next to none, given their place at the frontlines of the war, but… “How bad?” Bucky asked, trying to keep Steve in his focus. For all of the few minutes of consciousness, he felt like he’d run a marathon. “Just… how bad’s it?” he asked again, his right hand once again gravitating to his left shoulder. Of all the questions, he had to ask that one. Steve’s brow knitted slightly, and he kept looking at Bucky’s face, even though the space where his friend’s arm should have been was nearly screaming at him. It was better, however, that the explanation came from him and not a stranger. He couldn’t give Bucky his health back, but he could be there with him. “Your arm was damaged,” he began, nodding towards Bucky’s left shoulder. “That was the worst of your injuries. There was nothing anyone could do. You’ve been unconscious for a little while.” It was a miracle that Bucky even survived. He shouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have, if not for… Steve didn’t want to imagine what had been done to make sure Bucky could survive that fall and the subsequent weather that winter. He didn’t want to imagine admitting that they’d thought he was dead. Instead of doing that, Steve tried to go a little lighter-hearted, “I’ve been bored out of my skull here, talking to myself.” It wasn’t really any breaking news. His arm was damaged, and even through the murk swirling around his brain, Bucky knew that it was confirmation. Damaged wasn’t injured. He wasn’t feeling his arm because it wasn’t there. Against his exhaustion it fell like a shove, toppling him completely over. Waking up alone would have been enough to deal with. This… This was just more than he was braced to handle right now. Bucky slumped back entirely, the pillow beneath his head crinkling under the weight. He stared upward at the ceiling without really trying to focus on any one thing. Finally, he closed his eyes. There was still plenty of recovery to go despite all the rest he’d clocked already. “So... call the orderly,” Bucky muttered. “And get ‘er number for me if she’s pretty.” That was the Bucky he knew and loved. Steve chuckled and shook his head. "She's all yours, if you can convince her you're not a creep." He reached out and placed a hand on Bucky's knee briefly before standing up. "I'll be right back." Steve wasn't gone long, and when he came back, Nurse Temple was with him, to check on Bucky's vitals now that he was awake. She didn't stay long either, but she did leave Steve with a warning that his friend needed to rest. "Do you want me to let you sleep, or…" Steve didn't know what Bucky wanted, company or to be alone. He didn't want to leave, but what Bucky was dealing with was more than anyone should have to. “I brought you a glass of water, if you’re thirsty. You probably are.” It was a general compliance as far as the nurse went. If Steve was there, she was vouched for, no questions asked. Bucky didn’t have much energy to really protest anything, anyway. There was a wearied smile given when she stepped up, but that was roughly the sum of it. His mind was busy falling through layers of half-formed thoughts. He didn’t know where Mount Weather was, or who was running this place. He’d been out, but for how long? Half of him wanted to force himself to stay alert and get some answers. The other half? Just needed some quiet. Steve was talking. Bucky looked up, then his eyes drifted to the side to spot a glass of water. He was nodding absently, not really sure that he wanted it. For all the shocks and gruesome discoveries that came with war, you’d think waking up without a limb wouldn’t faze. That was far from the truth, though. He felt numb, even despite the pain that was shooting daggers outward from his shoulder. Maybe it was just his body’s attempt to process this new normal. “Yeah. Yeah… thanks,” Bucky answered, voice still rough, but quiet. “Maybe gimme a few to…” To what? Stare off? He wasn’t sure what words he was looking for. As reluctant as Steve was to go, he knew that this was something he couldn't fix. Bucky would need time to process everything that had happened to him physically. And then he'd need to tackle where they were, and how they'd ended up in the future in another dimension. Beyond that, Bucky just needed time for his body to heal. Steve offered his best friend a smile, and then he nodded. "I'll come back in a few hours." There were other things he could do around the mountain - other things he needed to do, though he wasn't sure how much attention he'd be able to give them. "If you need anything, I won't be far away." Bucky reached a hand up to cover his eyes for a moment, then ran it back through his hair. He nodded, feeling that gravity pulling him back down and to sleep. If he was safe, he could risk stealing just a quick nap. Refuel the reserves enough to maybe get out of this bed next time. There was going to be a helluva lot to get answers on, and he really needed a clearer mental state when those answers were given. “Go get some rest yourself, Steve,” Bucky answered. His hand dropped back to its side. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Bucky didn’t know it, but his words hit Steve somewhere deep inside. Steve knew he didn’t mean to, and he knew that it wasn’t Bucky’s fault for any of it, but there was no guarantee that Bucky really wouldn’t be going anywhere. Steve had faced that head-on over and over, first during the war, and then when he realized that the assassin who’d been hunting him was really Bucky, and then when Bucky had disappeared here (several times, in fact). Neither of them had any control over where life would take them, or what might happen. That was why Steve was so reluctant to leave; he didn’t want to miss out on another second. But... that was unrealistic. They couldn’t spend every second together. And he did need to get some sleep, too. He hadn’t gotten much of that since Bucky had arrived. Bucky was in good hands with the medical staff. He’d be just fine. … If only Steve could convince himself. “I’ll hold you to that.” |