on_va_voir (on_va_voir) wrote in districtmarvel, @ 2016-01-18 02:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | bucky barnes, steve rogers |
Who: Bucky and Steve
Where: District 8
When: Immediately post-announcement
What: I'm going, no I'm going, Over my dead body
Steve needed to text Peggy.
Or, well - call. He needed to call her. Because this wasn't the kind of conversation you had over text. You didn't text someone to let them know you were about to be sent back into an arena that was designed to kill you in some horrifying, sensational way, while thousands of people watched. He didn't think that was really a conversation to have over the phone either, but since Peggy wasn't here in District 8, he didn't have much of a choice. This wasn't a conversation he could wait to have, either, which meant he needed to call her soon, but before he did that, he had to talk to Bucky.
There was no doubt in Steve's mind that he was going to end up back in the arena. It felt like every word out of Stane's mouth had been directed at him specifically, and Steve had a feeling he wouldn't be the only one drawing those parallels. This was too convenient, too perfectly timed to be anything other than a planned attack against everything Steve had chosen to stand for. In one fell swoop, Stane could rid himself of Steve, and whatever other troublesome Victors he might be tired of, and if Steve had always thought that a united front of Victors might be enough to encourage Panem to rise, well - this might just do the exact opposite.
The logistics of this were overwhelming, because if Steve was going to be reaped, then he needed to make sure the gears he'd set in motion would continue to turn without him there to crank the wheel. Which meant he needed to talk to Tony, too, and Scott - shit, Scott, who Steve thought was maybe the only District 12 Victor in recent memory, which meant he'd be reaped, too -
It was too much to sort through, and Steve needed to talk to Bucky.
Even as his mind raced with too many thoughts, the rest of Steve felt numb, distantly removed from his emotions. He hadn't waited once the announcement had finished, had gotten right to his feet and headed outside, without stopping to put on a jacket or even his shoes. It was drizzling outside, a cold, miserable rain that would soak him to the bone if he stayed out in it for too long. His bare feet were already losing feeling as he squelched through the muddy grass toward Bucky's house. He hadn't even made it halfway when the door slammed open, and Bucky came stumbling out.
Steve heaved a great, shuddery breath, then suddenly bolted forward, closing the distance between them in a matter of strides. He grabbed Bucky's shoulders, then, his grip tight and unyielding, something frantic in the curl of his fingers.
"You're not going," he said raggedly. "You're not." Because he knew Bucky - even after all this time apart, he knew him - and Bucky would want to protect him from this, because that's what Bucky did. But Steve wasn't going to let that happen. Not a chance. He wasn't going to send Bucky straight back into a hell he'd barely escaped from the first time - a hell he'd maybe never escaped from, considering what he'd had to endure after his Games were over.