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apocalypsehowcomm2022-05-04 10:10 pm
worthallthis) wrote in apocalypsehowcomm2022-05-04 10:10 pm
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.
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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The sky is lightening up bit by bit now, they're crawling closer to curfew being up, at least. "Shouldn't be long," she comments, sliding a finger against the bars.
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"Oh, you know. Insomnia," she laughs softly.
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He frowns down at the useless hunk of metal. "I need to do repairs on my arm. But that can wait until after a bath and. Some sleep."
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Though he also has to admit, "I don't really know what I'm doing with some of it, either. But I at least watched techs work on it, before."
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She considers it for a moment and tries to think if she knows anyone halfway decent that could help him– but all the people she knows are medics or profilers, and this feels distinctly much more science-y in nature. "Maybe you can find someone you trust, eventually. To help." She shrugs. She gets trust isn't an easy thing– does she even trust anyone except her brother here– but it's a hopeful sort of thing to maybe aspire to, at least.
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He shakes his head a little, and pushes up straighter against the fence, looking at the gate hopefully. "Should only be a few more minutes." Maybe someone will take pity on him and unlock it early.