freewilling: (10)
Sgt Bucky Barnes ([personal profile] freewilling) wrote2018-10-17 09:58 am

OPEN RP



 ✓ anything you can make make sense ✓ strangers welcome!
1943: (→ we ain't ever cross the sea)

[personal profile] 1943 2018-10-26 08:25 am (UTC)(link)
[ The moment it’s out of his mouth, Steve knows it ain’t happening. He can’t see what he looks like, but he sure as hell can see the gamut of expressions go over Bucky’s face, and the amount of concern and hurt there — on Steve’s behalf — is enough to let him know Bucky’s not interested in pictures right now. Truthfully, neither is Steve. He feels a jab of guilt through the bleak curtain hanging over him, at having inadvertently ruined their afternoon out.

Bucky deserves better than this. God, what the hell is he doing, hanging around Steve these days? ]


Look who's talkin'. [ It’s quiet but warm, an attempt from Steve to match the faint levity in Bucky’s voice with some of his own. He has to keep himself from leaning into the arm Bucky’s got around him, no matter how much his tired muscles want to. It’s not that he needs the help to remain upright, exactly; he’s unsteady, sure, pain climbing up and down his body, but his brain’s filled with enough white noise that his feet wouldn’t even notice they were going askew until he was already tripping over them. But with the emptiness clawing inside him, it's as if Bucky’s touch is the only thing holding up him lately, like he'll fold over without it.

Instead, Steve just allows himself to settle under the warm, familiar weight of that arm, willingly lets Bucky propel him out of the alley and onto the street. His mind might be static, but something in his body recognizes and responds to that touch, and the clap to his shoulder is as reassuring as a shot of hooch. Speaking of which. ]


Think I’ll be fine with a drink. And maybe some — [ He breaks off, glancing up at Bucky with a little frown. ] Wait, did you have lunch?

[ Bucky headed here straight from work, didn't he? He must be hungry. Steve tries to think about what he’s got in his pantry back at home, if it’s good enough to put out for company. Bucky’s his best friend in the whole goddamn world, closer than blood, but he’s still a guest when he’s over, and if Ma found out that Steve didn’t —

A cold weight drops in the pit of his stomach and Steve stumbles on his next step, hard. ]
1943: (→ but all this time)

[personal profile] 1943 2018-10-27 08:00 am (UTC)(link)
[ The day of his mother’s funeral is burned into Steve’s memory like nothing else, but somehow his mind slips up every now and then. Forgets. Sometimes he wakes up in the morning, thinking he’s heard the door creaking as Ma slips out for an early shift; sometimes, half-asleep at night, he thinks he feels her presence, as if she’s only in the next room. Even in the full light of day, his ear remains pricked for the rustle of her dress on the stairwell, like she’ll enter the apartment at any moment and he’s only just … waiting for her to come back.

And sometimes, his stupid goddamn brain fills in the blanks with her so that even a stray thought has Steve caught badly off guard, like he is now.

He's dimly aware of Bucky’s arms around him, both of them now, keeping him from what would’ve been a nasty fall onto the sidewalk. His own hand is curled into Bucky’s shirt, white-knuckled, and for a few seconds he can’t speak, trying to focus on what Bucky’s saying instead of what’s running through his mind — go home to the Barnes’, stay the night with Bucky, around his family, around warmth and light and the living. Mrs. Barnes' delicious cooking and kindness, Rebecca's irrepressible liveliness and sense of humor.

He knows that any normal person would want that, prefer that to going home to his cold, empty, possibly food-less tenement. But — ]
I … [ His voice is low, head tilted down. ] I don’t know, Bucky. Your folks probably have an evening planned, I. I don’t want to impose.

[ Steve doesn’t know what to do. He’s been sequestering himself away from everyone, pulling away from the few people who bother staying in touch with him, and he knows Bucky’s noticed this. He can’t help it. It’s as though that part of him that died with his mother wants to bury him too, and Steve wants buried, wants alone, even as he realizes that such a want is unnatural. His grip on Bucky twitches. ]

‘Sides, I look like a mess.
Edited (missing apostrophe!) 2018-10-27 08:00 (UTC)
1943: (→ i've seen more places)

[personal profile] 1943 2018-10-27 08:50 am (UTC)(link)
[ Of course Bucky would say that, see it like that. Family. They’re — Steve knows what Bucky means, he feels it in himself too, that unspoken forever closeness, but at the end of the day, they’re not family family, and Steve’s always going to be hesitant and careful. Always mindful of not wearing out his welcome. God knows the rest of their mutual acquaintances don’t see it the same way as Bucky and his folks do, whether it’s the Barnes’ friends and relatives, or Steve and Bucky’s teachers back in the day.

What's a nice boy like James doing, hanging ‘round that Rogers kid?

A surprised, sharp huff of amusement escapes Steve at Bucky’s words. It feels like a reminder from a lifetime ago. ]
You’re not wrong.

[ His voice is clearer, less of a rasp even if it’s still dry. The Barnes’ have seen Steve in far worse condition, as chagrining that is for him to think of. And hell, but Steve’s so damn tired of pushing Bucky away. He’s exhausted to his bones as it is, but keeping Bucky at length is harder on him than drawing away from anyone else could ever be. Steve’s used to being tired all the time, used to throwing himself at metaphorical brick walls, but this battle is different because despite everything, there’s a small, vital part of him that refuses to fight.

Steve inhales through his nose slowly, lets it out just as slow, feeling himself relent. ]
But I — I don’t think I’m in much shape to. Talk much, at the table. They won’t mind, right? [ This is Steve quietly requesting, without actually saying it out loud, that Bucky whisk him away after dinner. ]
1943: (→ i'm gonna be here)

[personal profile] 1943 2019-01-20 08:59 am (UTC)(link)
[ The bright smile on Bucky’s face — the sincerity behind it, the obvious relief — sends another thin stab of guilt through Steve. He’s known that Bucky must’ve been worrying about him, but knowing is one thing and seeing is another. The visible proof of it hurts, even through the fog of apathy surrounding him; he’s not worth this. All he’s doing is dragging Bucky down with him.

Least you can do is smile back, Rogers.

He manages one as Bucky helps him up, thinks about saying something like Yeah, she takes after her big brother, as an attempt at levity, but decides against it. Bucky deserves better than a half-hearted joke. ]


Thank you.

[ Quiet but earnest, as Bucky claps him on the shoulder, letting his own grip on him loosen and gently fall away as they both straighten. There’s a fleeting twinge inside Steve, a soft voice inside him protesting that loss of contact, sounding much like the little boy he was when Bucky first walked into his life, bringing warmth with him. Steve ignores it, lets it smother into silence as they exit the alleyway without further preamble.

The rest of the walk passes by in a blur, Steve’s gaze trained on his feet, and it feels like it’s only been a few minutes before they’re approaching the Barnes residence. The sight of Bucky’s home rings a dusty bell in the back of Steve’s mind, and he slows to a stop, tugging at Bucky’s shirt sleeve. ]


Bucky, wait, gimme a — I gotta ...

[ Just because the Barneses have seen him worse doesn’t mean he should just waltz in there like this, and Steve’s vaguely annoyed at himself for forgetting his manners. He’s always tried to look his best in front of Bucky’s family, occasional accidents aside, and they haven’t seen him in weeks. Shame prickles down Steve’s spine as he pulls out a comb and tries to fix his hair, roughly tugging through the strands. ]
1943: (→ steady as a hammer)

[personal profile] 1943 2019-01-21 01:49 am (UTC)(link)
[ Steve's distracted enough to miss the set of Bucky’s shoulders going momentarily stiff, but the laugh he catches loud and clear. It gets an involuntary little grin out of him, guessing what Bucky thinks about Steve’s insistence to be presentable for his family. Bucky's a brother to him, thicker than blood, and he knows his Ma felt the same — loved him as her own. But it’s a formality ingrained in him since childhood, when he went to Bucky’s place for the first time, dressed in his Sunday clothes and on his best behaviour, simultaneously terrified and determined.

As it is, Steve’s grateful for the extra help — no mirrors nearby — and while Bucky fixes the fit his coat, he runs a tongue over his busted lip, tasting copper and hoping he’s got the last of it. Or at least as much as he can get off without water, anyway. He finishes off by sucking at his teeth and swallowing, since there’s nowhere to spit, and then meets Bucky’s eyes with his own.

There isn’t much of a light in them, but Steve’s trying. Knows he has to get through at least dinner and pretend to be a real boy throughout, instead of the marionette he feels like these days, and he can only hope that it isn’t obvious to anyone but Bucky. ]


Gotta give 'em something to muss, then. Make it worth Becca’s while.

[ That’s a good start, at least. He brushes off his shirt and adjusts his suspenders one last time before nodding at Bucky. There’s still a residual unsteadiness in his limbs, and the pain in both his stomach and his head is a continuous throb, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. ]