apocalypsehowcomm | Fear Upon Fear [Log]

Entry tags:

Fear Upon Fear [Log]

Who: Winter (Bucky Barnes) and OPEN
When: May catch-all
Where: Medical, the ADI apartments, the library, and the train
Summary: A modified daily routine, book fair, and then the awfulness of a train
Warnings: Continued struggles with personalization, PTSD, medical phobias, catatonia

I. Anti-Medical

After the assault on the circus, Winter spends all of one day in ADI's medical wing, and he spends it alternately flinching and huddling as far from any person as he can get, or completely unresponsive, staring blankly at a wall and letting the doctor poke worriedly at him and his burned leg.

Then in the middle of the night, he flees. Find him outside the the ADI apartment complex at dawn, huddled miserably on the lawn against the bars while waiting for the gates to open.

After that, he spends a few days recovering in his apartment and limping restlessly around the buildings even if moving around is clearly a bad idea, or sitting in whatever common room has the best light, trying to do repairs on his damaged left arm. It creaks and thunks rather than whirring like usual whenever he moves it, and the plates, though cleaned, still show scorch marks.

II. (Not) Well Read

Winter is the opposite of well-read. He has read exactly one book since stumbling into freedom from HYDRA, and he didn't even finish it. So he isn't even particularly interested in the book fair. It's only when people at ADI mention something off about the "quizzes" that he thinks he ought to at least drop by.

He looks distinctly out of place, even uncomfortable, in the library. Something about all the shelves, all the tables, the over-abundance of things to look at and choose, makes him feel off-balance and nervous. It's bad enough that being told he already has a library card elicits growls that make the librarians quail a little. "I have never been in this building before," he hisses at her. "I have never read a book."

Someone might want to distract him.

He doesn't even touch the computers with the quizzes on them, though he does eye them warily, and maybe hovers a little whenever someone he knows is using one. He doesn't trust anything about this. Honestly, he's gotten to the point where he doesn't trust much of anything.

III. Training Wheels Not On

He's not entirely recovered yet, and his arm is still maybe a little glitchy-- not a lot, just a little, and it looks repaired, anyway-- so Winter signs on for the away mission. All of his people are going, anyway, so of course he has to go and protect them. Besides, he doesn't need a working leg to shoot people. There's a rifle with a good scope in his bag, after all.

He makes it all the way onto the platform, but then he's confronted with... a train. The shape of it, the sound the engines make, the steam of it-- he freezes. He can't make himself move closer. Anyone looking close will even note him shaking a little as he stares at it.

And he has no idea why. Which actually makes it worse.

IV. Training Wheels In

Winter makes it on the train. Somehow. Maybe someone coaxes him, maybe someone drags him, maybe he just disassociates right out of his head and follows someone blindly. But now he's on this train, and it is not better. The motion of it makes him feel sick. The sound of it. The smell of it. Looking out the window is impossible. Moving from car to car isn't happening at all.

He spends most of the trip huddled in one of the sleeping cars, sitting on the bed with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, wedged into the corner it makes with the wall so the motion doesn't rock him more than necessary. He sleeps when he passes out (which isn't often). He eats when people bring him things. He does occasional washcloth baths because he can't bring himself to use the on-car shower, so the stink of fear clings to him most of the time. He picks compulsively at the remaining bandage on his leg or at the plates in his arm or at his hair.

He does better with company. Please keep him company. He leaves the door halfway open at all times, even when he's asleep, in the hopes people won't leave him alone. But he can't quite bring himself to get up and seek people out, either.

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"Do that." A pause. "Later. I don't. I don't think I could focus on it right now." He also doesn't want to deal with random memories dropping on him in the middle of all this shit, in case that happens.

He peeks out from behind his hands, sidelong in the direction of the train. It still makes his heart pound to see it, but the worst of the panic is contained, he thinks. Steve is here. Yelena and Kate are already on board. It'll be okay. He's going to tell himself that. Maybe he'll even believe it eventually.

"We should. Go. I don't. I don't know how long I stood there. How long we have until it leaves."

Steve's mouth thins, but he nods. Well, there goes any plan for distracting Winter by showing him videos, but that's fine. They probably do need to get on the train. If they're going to.

"Do you want to walk together?" he offers, quietly, a little tentatively, but not because he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to be patronizing, isn't sure whether it might come off that way. "I can stick with you until you get settled. Or as long as you want. Not like anyone's saving me a seat."

He's prepared to be turned down, shoved away, or left. But that doesn't mean he wants to be. He wants to help, even though all he's really got to offer is solidarity. Maybe that can be enough.

"Yes," Winter says without even a second of hesitation. Then: "Please."

If he's walking with someone, he... thinks it will be easier. And Steve is-- close to safe, in that way, as someone to guard his back. Almost as close to safe as Yelena. Also dangerous but for other reasons, and they don't matter when it comes to think kind of terror, not really.

"It's better with people," he explains, though it's not much of an explanation really.

"Okay," Steve agrees immediately. He doesn't need an explanation. He's got the answer to his question, and that's what matters.

He shifts his bag on his shoulder a bit and steps closer, though not so close as to brush against Winter. He's not sure that would help. "Let's go together. I'll cover your six." At least for the parts where they'll have to walk single file, like actually boarding and walking through the aisles. "Whenever you're ready."

Winter manages to take three more steps before he stops again for a long moment, then ducks behind Steve, almost like he's letting Steve's sheer size hide the sight from him. "You go first. I'll follow you."

Steve definitely stops again when Winter does. He is not exactly expecting what happens, but he just stands there for a second, too, trying to let Winter gather himself if he needs it, trying to shove down the twisting ball of shame and worry and unhappiness. He'll worry about it later, he needs to just be here for Winter right now and not make a big deal out of it.

"Okay," he agrees, softly, simply. "Okay, I'm gonna head in."

And he does, slow but steady, ears straining to make sure Winter is still behind him. If he senses the other stop, he'll do the same, but otherwise he'll walk straight onto the train.

Winter uses Steve half as a lodestone and half as a shield, keeping focused on Steve's back rather than their surroundings. Rather than the goddamn train. He keeps up that way, tunnel-visioned on Steve's broad shoulders and the strap of his bag across one of them.

It gets him up to the train, and a couple steps up the stairs into it, before he has to stop and shut his eyes tight.

Then reach up to grab the strap of Steve's bag. Pull him along, Steve. He thinks he can get the rest of the way in that way.

Steve may not have eyes in the back of his head, but he's always had at least a little bit of a sixth sense for Bucky Barnes. When Winter stops, Steve's a breath or two behind him, but he senses it after a second and stops, too.

Then he feels Winter grab the strap on his bag, and he immediately has a profound sense of... of wrong. They shouldn't have to do this. Winter shouldn't have to do this. They can just stay. This is stupid. This is wrong.

But he also knows that if it were him... he'd want to keep going. And the least he can do is - well. Afford Winter the dignity of his choice. So even though Steve hesitates, he eventually takes another step forward, and then another. And another.

"I'm gonna find us a good spot with some windows and we can sit," he announces. Windows might help. As much as anything can.

"There are cars with individual rooms," Winter says, quietly, tightly. "I checked. We get one of those. Since it's an overnight thing."

Then nobody has to stare at him while he tries to acclimate to being on this stupid train. He has no idea what's going to happen when it starts to move, but he expects it won't be great. He's half-sure he won't be moving again once he picks a car. The thought of moving between these things, while moving, is horrifying.

"Okay," Steve breathes, and starts looking around, reading the little directional plaque on the wall as they make it fully onto the train. He turns right, like the arrow indicates for the private sleeper cars. "Okay, let's find one of those."

He isn't sure how many ADI personnel are already on the train, has lost track of pretty much everything but Winter behind him and the horrible, unfair feeling in the pit of his stomach. So he'll just get them to the first empty car and claim it. That seems reasonable. "We're going right. Tug if you need me to stop."

He would nod, but Steve can't see that, so he manages a soft, "Okay."

As soon as they get to an empty room in the nearest sleeper car, Winter finally detatches and peers into the little space. It's not very big. But it has a door that will close, a pair of twin beds, and a tiny window. Better than the car with big windows on the side and rows upon rows of chairs.

He eels past Steve and inside and into the corner of the left-hand side bed. Support. Protection on two sides. Definitely better.

Once Winter detaches and wedges himself into the corner, Steve takes it upon himself to be the one that closes the door and shuffles around the small space to check every inch, even though there admittedly isn't much to check.

Still, "Perimeter's clear," he confirms, once he's checked from end to end, even if it's ridiculous to claim there's even really a perimeter at all. "Do you mind if I stay for a little while? Until we start moving, at least?"

He wants to stay, wants to be here for Winter, but he will make himself go if the answer is no.

Winter watches him do the check, arms wrapped around his knees, and finds it does actually help. He thinks he can trust Steve to do a proper security check. Mostly proper. Steve isn't nearly paranoid enough, but he'd notice the big things.

"Stay. If you want to." He hugs his knees tighter, feeling stupid for being so tense, but unable to stop. "Tell me more about where you come from. When you come from." They've talked a little about it, he knows that it's about the same time frame as Yelena, but he doesn't know a lot else.

He definitely wants to; he situates himself nearer the door (not that the place is exactly spacious), so that at least anyone trying to get in will wave to go through him.

"I - came from Asgard, most recently," is the answer, after a few seconds. Okay, it's not like he'd been in Asgard long - and he hadn't been planning to stay - but it is the truth. "In 2023. Or - " Here's where he pauses. It was actually 2013, when he was in Asgard.

Here's where he looks pained, and admits, "I'm not sure how much I should tell you? A lot... has happened. Between when you came from, and when I came from." Part of him wants to tell Winter everything - in case, no, when he goes back, he could prevent a lot. Fix a lot. But he hasn't been able to tell Tony, and Winter isn't Tony, won't do the same kinds of things with the information, but he thinks it might be kinder if he doesn't tell Winter, either.

Well. This isn't helpful. "You said Strange and Wanda were from the same time?"

Maybe he's trying to gauge, a little, what they might have told him.

"Steve. We're never going back," Winter says flatly. "They don't even know how we got here. It won't matter what you tell me, because. We'll never be there again."

He puts his chin down on his knees. "Pretty sure they were. Yeah. From much later than I am, I think." Steve knows when he's from, by now. It's probably really, really obvious.

That definitely gets a frown. "What? Just because they don't know how we got here - they say - doesn't mean there's no way back." Even if ADI is telling the truth, even if they don't know, it doesn't mean it's beyond explanation. Or beyond, say, Tony Stark's ability to fix.

After all, the guy helped them build a time machine.

Steve tries to focus instead on the others who were here - who he believes probably slipped back to where they'd come from, but he knows he's got no evidence of that, either, and the idea of them just disappearing doesn't sit well with him. "So you didn't talk to them much about it," he deduces, which is probably still an overstatement.

Winter doesn't have the presence of mind to argue about it right now. He doesn't even have the presence of mind to give Steve a proper glare for being naive. Maybe later. When he's not on a goddamn train. Which is going to start moving, probably, any minute, given the faint warning whistle he just heard.

He tries to focus on the conversation, not the train. "Not a lot. No. Wanda told me some things about you. Strange mostly tried to talk about me."

He does have to add, though, because it's important: "And ADI is telling the truth. Someone with magic tested it early on. They don't know how we got here or how to send us back."

"So they're telling the truth that they don't know. Doesn't mean there isn't a way."

But for all that it's said stubbornly, Steve won't push that particular point. It's probably not the best topic to distract Winter with right now. Besides, there's a fun internal argument going on, with half of him saying he can't make exceptions for Winter that he won't make for Tony, and the other half saying this is different, maybe he could just... make things easier for Winter. If he does decide to go back.

He finally ends up saying, "I looked for you. Right after Insight. For months. Years. But you didn't want to be found. I - guess if we're not from the same place, that's probably still going to happen to you. If you do go back," he adds, and then keeps going. "I... probably didn't care that you didn't want to be found as much as I should have. So - sorry. I don't think it's likely to change, if you have a Steve that's anything like me."

He's never quite apologized to Bucky for that. This isn't the same thing, but somehow, it still feels important. There's - a lot of things he probably should've said to Bucky that he never had.

"If I go back now and remember you, why would I run away from you," Winter says flatly. "That's stupid. You're not going to hurt me."

The thought of someone else who is also him, somehow, is kind of unpleasant, but he's trying to imagine it. It's a difficult and thus distracting exercise. If it was right after the helicarriers... he did leave the stupid former target on the bank, instead of staying. Why did he do that? "Is that why I ran away? I didn't trust you?"

It's - okay, it's sort of nice to hear that said so plainly. Of course Steve wouldn't hurt him. He'd never -

Well. He'd never hurt him intentionally. It doesn't mean he'd never hurt him, he supposes.

"I don't know - I mean. Probably? How could you? I was just some crazy stalker who wouldn't give you space to breathe and come back to yourself."

Those words maybe have the ring of a quotation, because that's definitely how Sam had put it, a year in with no luck.

"You're also you, though. And the only thing I remembered besides HYDRA." He's trying to think. The whole helicarriers debacle is just such a mess in his brain, these days, now that he knows what it's like to actually think and feel and maybe kind of sort out those feelings. His head had just been soup back then.

There was fear, but there was always fear. (There is always fear. There is fear right now.) Which fear was it that led him away? He hugs his knees tighter. "I couldn't lead HYDRA to you by staying. That first day. While you were injured." That's one fear. That the stupid former target would die because of something (else) he did. He tries to narrow it down. "Looking at you. Hurt," he comes up with. He can't put a word as to why.

"I am me," Steve murmurs, like it explains things; it sort of does, at least in his mind. He knows he's... a lot. Sam had a lot of talks with him about that, too, even if Steve doesn't think it's actually changed much. He's at least aware of it, now.

He glances at Winter now, wanting to argue, but also feeling like that's probably not the right move. Steve doesn't think staying would've put him in any more danger. But - okay. He doesn't know for sure. "It wasn't your fault," he finally says, because it seems like the most important thing to say. "I got hurt, but - it was worth it. It was... " He stops short of saying good, because even he knows how that sounds. But Bucky had been alive. He'd much rather have Bucky alive and punching his face in than Bucky gone.

"I'm okay now. And you're okay now." For some definition of okay, at least.

"It was my hand," Winter says. "Fault or not. I remember it. I remember it a lot. So."

He lists to one side, leaning against the train wall, as he gives a sudden lurch. His face maybe goes a little more white. Hastily, as if trying to think about anything other than the train starting to move, he says, "You looked for me anyway. When I ran away. What was that. Like."

"I know," Steve says, softly. He does. He knows that's how he feels. They don't agree on it - probably never will. But he knows.

Steve tenses as the train suddenly starts to move, feeling desperate and useless all at once, seeing that look on Winter's face. He maybe starts to reach out, hand stalling out at the question, like he isn't sure whether he should keep reaching out or pull back.

He hesitates for a second, then finishes what he started, resting a hand on Winter's left bicep, nothing more, while he tries to come up with some kind of reasonable answer to the question. "Frustrating. Terrifying." That's not very helpful, is it. "You - clearly didn't want to be found. And all I wanted was to find you. I had no idea how. Natasha tried to help, but she was busy wrangling Congress after SHIELD, especially when I disappeared off the map, and Sam and I - we're both just soldiers. You were the best there was at disappearing. I maybe worried you'd never want to see me again, and - I couldn't stand that thought."

It's a lot more open and honest than he really wants to be, but the circumstances being what they are, maybe some open honesty is worth it, right now.

Well, that kind of explains the things Steve said when he got here. About avoiding if Winter wanted it. Just because his emotions were going haywire and he was terrified didn't mean he wanted to be avoided, though. Maybe the other-him was even more confused somehow.

"Did you find me?" A pause. "Him?" Because unless they do make it back somehow and all their memories from this world are lost, there's no way that person Steve was chasing could be Winter. He swallows, hugs his knees more tightly against the motion of the bunk beneath him, and asks, "What happened?"

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