InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "jigga"

. (hourglasss) wrote in snapthread,
@ 2019-05-15 12:25:00

Entry tags:

bucky barnes (mcu), clint barton (616), natasha romanoff (mcu)

Who: Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff
What: Can't recluse for very long in a town this small, Bucklesby, sorry.
When: A day after Constantine's cockalicious birthday bash.
Where: Bucky's home.
Rating: E for emotions, I think, but probably fine otherwise.

These were not pieces that required a Natasha-caliber level of spy to be able to assemble into a coherent puzzle. Any sophomore in a suburban high school - even one without friends but with a working cable connection - could have figured out the bare bones here. Steve had avoided Pancho's, as had James, and while neither of them were exactly crazy partiers, it was still a notable simultaneous absence. Steve was avoiding her. There was nothing else she could call it - she had informed the guy that she had died back home, and in any other circumstance, she had a hard time believing the Steve Rogers who occasionally referred to her as his "wife" with a complete lack of irony would have ever let her out of his sight.

Really, though, and this was the biggest: James had told her he would talk to her once it was done. James had said he would call, and James hadn't called.

She had a hard time believing he would have either forgotten or just chosen not to do it, not to her. There was no offense she could take to that: however this conversation had gone, it had gone badly. And he had retreated, somewhere into his own head or his own house, so he could lick his wounds and simultaneously keep tearing himself to pieces, over and over again. It was no great mystery; she might have done the same, in his situation, but if he wasn't going to call, she wasn't going to leave him there to chew himself down tot he bone.

Showing up was bold. Showing up with Clint at her side was bolder, but it had felt - right, somehow, to ask Clint to come along with her, for reasons she hadn't started to unpack. Maybe it was nothing more than she knew he put James at ease. That he mattered here, the way he did to her, or maybe after the last week or so, it would have felt too loaded to come on her own without telling Clint first, that she was going. She didn't know why it felt more appropriate to bring him along than it would have to relay the story secondhand, just - he should be here for this. He should. And so he was, now that they were approaching James's place from the back.

The way he was sitting. The lines of his shoulders, the set of his jaw - something in her heart twisted, and she wasn't sure what kind of name she was supposed to give that twist. Maybe it was just the fact that his posture made it clear that she had been right. She would have loved to have not been right. "Broken tech, Barnes?" she said, taking a step onto the porch, but her voice was achingly gentle. "Thought I'd have heard from you by now, you too good for us?"

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hourglasss
2019-05-16 02:16 am UTC (link)

"No. Not great," Natasha agreed. Hindsight was 20/20 and all, but still, she was supposed to be the one who considered all the angles. She was supposed to be the one with foresight, and it should have occurred to her exactly how bad bad could be. She should have given Clint a heads up, even if the details weren't entirely hers, and the fact that he was rolling with it so gracefully now anyway, when he didn't have to be so graceful - it said everything, and it meant more than that. "I'm sorry, Clint. I should've..." She shook her head at herself, a sharp little pull it together, Natalia gesture and in a tone left over from the Red Room that she very much wished she could have excised out of herself by the time she was 37 years old. Not the time she should be getting sharpish with herself, but it helped, sometimes. Even when she didn't want it to be a thing that helped, it did. "I'll go. Best not to let him linger."

For a minute, she debated asking him to come, too, but - it might be overwhelming, too much. Better to get James out and move him into the company of the pair of them, quickly. She pressed her lips together, just for a second, lifted her own hands. Her ASL wasn't perfect; she'd only known a little to begin with, a few very basic phrases, and so far she and Clint had spent their time on other errands besides teaching her after she'd asked, but this, she could do: a very careful thank you - unpracticed, not as quickly as she was sure he could do it. She wanted him to know the sincerity in it, though.

When she found her way to the bathroom, following the sound of the running water, she left the door open so it wouldn't feel like so much of a separation, and she rapped her knuckles against the wall as she came in, alerting James to her presence. God, he was motionless under the water, as though he hadn't lifted so much as a bar of soap since she'd directed him in. "Sit, please, so I can help," she said, falling into Russian without thinking too much about it. It was - comfortable, and comforting, a little, at the same time. "Let's get you cleaned up and out of here. Can't leave Clint on his own too long." She reached for the shampoo - not clinical movements, exactly, but efficient, not as though she was being overly coddling about it.

There were times when a person would want to be coddled and doted on, and there were times when a person just needed someone else to help them accomplish a task that felt herculean, and there was no mistaking that this was not a time for coddling. This was about showing up for him in a different kind of way, and Natasha could navigate that much. This was misery, and Natasha knew how to look things in the eye and not flinch in the face of truth. She should have checked in before now. She should have known, but there was no point in two people ripping themselves up right now. And she talked quietly, through it, step by step, nothing unexpected. "Close your eyes for a second so we can rinse - good. Thank you. Want the towel now?"

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sgt_barnesjb
2019-05-16 02:45 pm UTC (link)

While he'd been living in Wakanda, Bucky had been given a lot of the help he needed in coming back from the horrors that haunted him during his time as the Winter Soldier. Not only had he been gifted with the services of Princess Shuri and her team working on healing the trauma his brain had endured over the course of so long, but he also had been generously given the help of a team of therapists who'd been trying to help him work through the emotional traumas that came along with years and years of violence and depravity, not to mention the PTSD he suffered. One of the most basic things that he'd been taught was that he needed to take things one step at a time, and to break those steps down into the smallest increments he needed in order to do so. One day at a time, one hour, one minute, one breath. Even to do the simplest things, it might take him longer because he needed to take those smaller steps, moments, breaths, but as long as he kept trying -- even if he had to stop briefly -- he'd get there.

The shower was one of those things that was taking him multiple steps. One might've thought he'd be glad to step in under the hot water, to cleanse himself and maybe feel physically more refreshed. But as he stood there looking at the running water, he stopped short from stepping in. It felt like standing under the running water would wash Steve away from him. His best friend's fingerprints were still on his skin, their kiss still on his lips. It felt silly, almost juvenile to think that the shower would take that all away but he couldn't help it. He had to break it down into smaller steps, smaller breaths.

Though he didn't want to wash the past away, he needed to. He needed to keep moving, keep trying, just as his therapists said. Hard as it was, he managed to take that first step, until he finally was under the spray and the water began to run through his hair and down his body. He'd made it that far, but he didn't feel better yet. He had no idea how much time had passed before Natasha appeared in the bathroom. He didn't look up, didn't move until she guided him into sitting on the edge of the tub so she could tend to his hair. There was a big difference between coddling and helping. Natasha was doing the latter, and that was what he needed. Her soft utterances in Russian, guiding him through what she was doing was what he needed. There was no trace of pity. It was just matter of fact -- this is what we're doing, this is how we're going to keep moving -- no coddling at all.

When they finished, he nodded once and took the towel. Bucky dried himself off and soon was dressed again in fresher clothing. His hair was wet but that was fine. It'd dry on its own. He walked with her back to the kitchen to join Clint. Physically, he guessed, he did feel better. Being around the two of them helped, even if it didn't necessarily show right now. You aren't alone -- not really. They're here, they want to be here with you. It's not pity; it's concern. You'd do the same for either of them. Those were thoughts running through his head as he sat at the table, taking the chair next to Clint.

"Dick cake," he said, kind of bluntly, and looked between them.

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today_sucks
2019-05-16 08:27 pm UTC (link)

Contrary to popular belief, Clint really could be left on his own for long periods of time and he'd be just fine. He did it pretty often in fact and most usually didn't end up half dead or in any kind of trouble. Like. At least thirty percent of the time.

He tapped on the table once Natasha was out of the room, making up a beat that was definitely lacking in actual cohesion as he was apparently about as tone deaf as he was deaf, but it was something to pass the time.

When the two returned -- Bucky looking significantly better than he had when he'd wandered off in the first place -- Clint offered them both a lopsided smile in greeting, and leaned his elbows forward on the table. Natasha had obviously gotten the job done and gotten Bucky moving properly and that was good to see. Clint knew that that wasn't necessarily everything but the act of getting up and showering was genuinely a really great start when it came to feeling at least a little like a normal person again.

Saying you look good or how are you feeling seemed completely out of the question - Clint knew better than to ask, because Bucky wouldn't have cared for it at all. And Clint knew that he hated being asked those things too, when he was low. Because it felt like a trick, or like he was being disappointing when he couldn't possibly work up a positive response that wouldn't be a lie.

So, really, it was just a good thing that the first thing anyone said to break the silence was about the Dick Cake.

"The tip was the first thing to go," he said remorsefully. "But we saved you the best part of the balls." A pause, and he leaned forward even closer. "It's from space. Er. An alien planet. I guess technically every planet is in space."

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hourglasss
2019-05-17 01:51 am UTC (link)

Natasha tapped her foot against Clint's once beneath the table, a friendly bump of appreciation. It wasn't a surprise, really, that he knew how to navigate this, how to let the moment breathe. They'd talked about this much a little bit themselves, too - brains are sometimes going to brain, that was really the most succinct way of putting it, and for whatever reason, this was a time when James's brain was doing some braining. "I don't want to ask what constitutes the best part of the balls. You may also notice that it's a little more orange than...what you would usually expect, you know, from a healthy penis, but I was booed when I voiced concerns about that. So."

To say nothing of what had actually ended up happening to the tip of the cake, the photographic evidence of which was now apparently forever mounted to the wall at Pancho's. That'd be fun. Though in the moment, of course, it had been worth it. The sacrifice of a little dignity to make her friends happy seemed like a more than fair price.

She'd washed his hair. Surely it wasn't a trespass to reach out now, and she pressed her foot against Clint's a little more closely as she stretched a hand over the top of the table, the tips of her fingers resting against the outside of James's wrist. Lightly, without pressure or insistence, just - reassurance, maybe. He didn't have to talk about it, no, but they'd listen if he did. Badly, it went badly was clearly the answer to the question she wasn't asking out loud, but the contents still mattered. They weren't entirely irrelevant.

Not if Steve was freezing her out as a result of it, but that wasn't something she was going to bring up. "Try some," she said instead. "More fun than bringing you over some vegetables, anyway, which was what I was going to suggest before Clint got all excited about the balls."

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sgt_barnesjb
2019-05-17 10:00 am UTC (link)

Asking how he was would've probably just gotten them both a bit of a stare. He definitely didn't want to answer that. He wouldn't have taken offense to it, he just figured it was pretty obvious that he wasn't okay right now. He wasn't putting up any false pretenses other than that he probably wasn't going to ever go into detail about what had happened. He wasn't hiding that he was broken right now though. Bucky just didn't have it in him, even if he was pretty masterful at the art of stoicism. He trusted them both enough to let them in enough. The question didn't need to be posed. No, he was not okay, but he was semi-functioning enough that they probably didn't need to worry about him going off the deep end.

There was one thing that he'd sort of been figuring out in his time alone, and it was something that concerned the both of them. Natasha's fingers resting on his wrist and the way Clint was taking the edge off his mood in a way only Clint Barton could do really drove that thought home. Now just wasn't the time to talk about it. Really, he wasn't sure when or if there even was a right time to actually go there, so for now he'd keep it to himself and try to figure it out a little more. Right now; Dick Cake.

Bucky listened, and really it was funny to hear them talking about it. He wished he had been there to see all of the action taking place around it, but it was absolutely for the best that he hadn't been. "The best part," he mused aloud. "What is that, the underside?" He was trying. One step forward after about a hundred steps back was something.

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today_sucks
2019-05-19 03:42 am UTC (link)

Maybe they could all just take turns braining about stuff. At least then there'd be two people to snap the other one out of it. It'd sort of helped him the other day. Or at least gotten him to a place where he'd realized he was being an asshat and that he ought to shut up. And that counted for something, he figured.

He poked his foot in Nat's general direction, until his ankle was pressed against hers under the table and wondered if he shouldn't just do it for Bucky too, because that kind of touch was grounding and unobtrusive and he clearly needed a little something. But Nat was on it anyway, a light touch and that seemed right and fine, so he just decided to keep on keeping on.

"We wouldn't have really brought you vegetables," Clint said to Bucky, a little hushed like it was a near apology for even the thought of it. "And obviously it's the underside. Left. Yes, it matters, Natasha. Before you ask." Listen. If Bucky was trying -- and he obviously was -- there was no reason not to just continue this awful conversation.

He reached across the table, picking the fork up to steal some of the frosting. "It's weird. Because it's obviously cake. But not normal cake. Also I had to explain cock and balls to an old alien lady with four arms so. I'm probably going to space hell."

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hourglasss
2019-05-20 03:22 am UTC (link)

"I didn't ask. No one heard me ask. I finished asking questions about this thing around the same time as you and Carol baited me into taking one obscene photo with it," Natasha pointed out, even smiling a little as she said it. "Let it never be said that Natasha Romanoff does not know when to shut up and let the people eat cake. Even if the photographic evidence of my shame is now mounted to a wall that's apparently integral to the entire structure of the Pancho's building."

She took her hand away from James's and stood up, giving Clint a gentle, affectionate swat on the back of his head when he stole the fork to scrape up that frosting. "Give that back to him, I'll get you another," she said. It was a pretty big piece they'd brought, anyway; supersoldier portion-sized, yes, but James didn't seem like he had an aggressive appetite right now. Still, he needed to eat something, and maybe it'd be able to happen at least by rote if he saw Clint nibbling at it, too. It was easier sometimes, to fall into a pattern if someone else kicked it off.

"Was the silverware - nope, here it is," she said, answering her own question as she found a second fork. She passed it over to Clint, then decided to keep standing, see if she could scare up some water glasses. If he hadn't been eating a lot, he would probably be a little dehydrated, too, it stood to reason. "It wasn't a bad party, even if Clint ends up in space hell for flashing an old alien lady, I'm just assuming that's where this story ends. Though it made me mildly grateful I've never had a birthday, one that involved erotic cake or otherwise. James - glasses? This cabinet here?"

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sgt_barnesjb
2019-05-20 02:26 pm UTC (link)

If Clint had reached out to make physical contact in some way, Bucky wouldn't have minded it. Though really, the other man's presence and humor were a comfort in of itself, and Bucky appreciated it a lot, especially right now. He was tired, most of the time, but right now he was especially tired of feeling the way he did right now. He was tired of being sad, of feeling lonely, and he needed a reminder that humor was still there and for fuck's sake, it was okay for him to laugh or at least to smirk. He would forever be grateful to Clint for that.

Hearing about the antics surrounding the cake did make Bucky wish he could've been there for it to see it in person so he could find even more humor in it because it would've been one of his memories, too, but given everything that happened he wouldn't have been in the right mental or emotional state to have enjoyed it at that point. It was better to hear about it now, when he had enough functionality in him to really respond to it, not just grunt and drink.

"Mm, up there," he said, when Natasha inquired about the glasses. He turned back to Clint, his lips still slanted upward in that little smirk. "We could've shared the fork," he said, and let that subtle attempt to flirt hang in the air because, well, Clint could do with it as he wanted. It could've been a flirtation, or it could've just been trying to keep things simple so it was one less utensil to wash. Whatever the other man wanted to do with it, he could.

He took a bite of the cake then and it was .. actually not bad. Different, as he'd expect alien cake to be, but it was good. Probably because it was the underside of a left testicle. "The left, it does make a difference," he added after swallowing. He needed to probably say more, something that didn't revolve around the conversation piece that was on the table but it was hard to know where to start. He didn't know what they knew, if they knew anything. Natasha knew he'd talked to Steve; he didn't know what Clint knew.

Bucky fiddled with the fork in his hand, kind of jabbing at the plate the cake was on before spearing another little section of it. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I didn't keep my word to call, Natalia. I just... Sat down out there and lost track of the time." He ate the bite he'd scooped up. "Nothing left to do now but move forward." He wished it was as simple as that.

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today_sucks
2019-05-21 11:14 pm UTC (link)

Clint tilted his head forward dramatically over the playful smack, full on pout presenting itself because there was no way he wasn't going to take it to extremes. "This counts as domestic abuse," he said, even though he ended up relinquishing his fork.

Only to be told, mind, that he could have kept on keeping on. And even shared. Which -- warmed Clint quite a lot. He offered Bucky a smile that was nothing but honestly pleased. "Next time," he promised, and couldn't say whether that meant next time they ate stuff at the same time or the next time they had left underside balls cake.

He let Natasha do her thing, wandering around the kitchen and getting this and that -- probably just letting seconds go by because time mattered for things like these. Even if Clint wasn't exactly sure what these things were.

He stole some more frosting, chin leaned on the palm of his free hand. "That happens sometimes," he said, even though Bucky was talking to Nat. But he got it, the concept of sitting there and losing time to nothing, because nothing mattered. "But forward is good. I shoulda brought Lucky. Should I go get lucky? Maybe we all can." That way no one would be alone, and then they'd be at Clint's which was certainly not as furniture filled as Bucky's, but it did have blankets and said dog.

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