rekindleme | time to bite the bullet

Entry tags:

time to bite the bullet

Who: The Winter Soldier and YOU. Later: Steve Rogers enters the fray.
Where: A) Outside housing building 1 and elsewhere; B) an alleyway in district 3; C) district 2
When: A) The last week of June, day or night; B) July 1, day; C) July 2, night
Summary: Bucky A) climbs out windows, B) has a bad flashback, and C) confronts Captain America.
Warnings: Possible violence, allusions to torture and amputation and stuff?? His life is awful basically.

The Winter Soldier was not having a good time.

For one, the past two weeks had been used getting accustomed to the fact that he was not only still not HYDRA's asset anymore, but that he was on an entirely different planet that somehow looked very much like his own from what he could tell, not to mention the aliens, the touch quota that he was largely ignoring, being both more and less noticeable in a way that made him uneasy, people trying to talk to him when he had no idea how to carry on a conversation, and fighting some asshole in a flying metal suit.

Oh, and there was the fact that whoever was in charge of assigning the newcomers rooms put him right next to Steve Fucking Rogers, otherwise known as the giant mess of memories and emotion he couldn't handle right now, or any time in the near future. It had been a miracle that he managed to avoid being seen when he first entered his room, and in the days after he learned the man was there, he listened carefully to his neighbor and for the most part, used his window as an entrance and exit. He didn't care about anyone else noticing him; HYDRA wasn't here. The mission was the only one whose attention he was particularly interested in avoiding. But at least he had the presence of mind to wear long sleeves and make his metal arm less conspicuous.

-

He'd done a bit of hunting, in the meantime; he was particularly good at remaining hidden when he tried, and had scoped out the people Rogers interacted with both in person and on the network, taking note of each and whether they were likely to share any information about the assassin, should they encounter him. Much to his irritation a few of those he'd encountered appeared to know Rogers, and though he hadn't observed them speaking to him about the man with the metal arm, it seemed likely to him that they would inform him of a local threat. As soon as he heard a description of him, certainly Steve would try to find him. So why had he seen no attempts to locate or contact him...?

As the days passed, he started to become more distracted by the increasing lack of mobility in his arm, which was thanks to the damage incurred during the only fights in his memory and the amount of time that had passed without maintenance; it put him at a major disadvantage. He wasn't about to trust any of the people who were involved in bringing him here, so he decided to search for anyone who might be able to repair it, clad in his long sleeved jacket and cap to help keep him from being noticed. But he wasn't certain if he would trust anyone to do it even if he did find someone.

The soldier was deep in thought as he made his way through a quiet, dark alley on his way to do some surveillance, wondering about his arm and if he'd ever had it in such a terrible state before. The technicians always did their work quietly, he was fairly certain, so he never knew much about the details. The most he could recall was shortly after they attached it--

"The procedure has already started--"

--how he came inches from breaking the man's neck, not caring about whatever he had to say about the way his new, gleaming arm functioned--

"You are to be the new fist of HYDRA--"

--and without knowing why or when he'd started screaming, or where his anger had come from, he slammed his malfunctioning fist into the brick wall, causing it to crumble. But the anger didn't fade, and the images didn't either. The recollection of a saw whirring and cutting into the remnants of his arm nearly caused his knees to give, and he fell back against the opposite wall to support himself before slamming his elbow into that and letting out another, shorter yell that ended almost like a whimper.

He was a short way from the main roads, but to say it was audible was an understatement. Unfortunately for him, he may have attracted some attention--hopefully attention that would either not startle him or that would be prepared for his volatile state of mind.

-

He realized the day after that he was malfunctioning both physically and mentally, and that he wasn't certain if he could keep moving forward like this on his own. As much as he hated it, he needed help. And the one person who could help him the most was his ~~mission~~ ~~neighbor~~ ~~target~~--Steve.

He might have prayed that the man's claim that they were friends were true if he knew what praying was or trusted that any higher power would want to assist him.

Instead he prepared for the worst; he had no intention of meeting the man in either of their apartments or inside a building; it would be safest to meet him in some neutral ground, where he could possibly escape and remain hidden until... until he no longer needed to. He found the thought unpleasant, so he didn't plan very far ahead.

He sent an anonymous text message to Steve on the network in the early morning hours: 2200 hours d2 2 blocks ne of hospital. alone

The soldier found a dark place he could see the entire street there and waited, hidden.

[OOC: Make sure to tell me what option you'd like: either noticing him using a window like a door and what date, OR noticing the ruckus he's causing from the flashback and if you have a preference for a more violent Bucky or a more catatonic one.]

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Diarmuid has to admit he is relieved that James seems to understand his explanation. However, just as the word 'deserve' throws James, him asking the boy about it throws Diarmuid and leaves him trying to explain something else he's not exactly sure how to explain.

"To deserve something means that you either did something to earn it or it is something that everyone--no matter who they are--has the right to have. Everyone should be happy and have the chance to do the things that they like to do!"

It's a very idealized view of the world, of course. He's not thinking about the people who would be happy doing bad things, because he believes most people are good people deep down.

He has so much to learn...

He tries his best to take in what's being said to him, but he still doesn't understand. It feels like the words have stopped having meaning, or maybe that they never had meaning, and all that's left is noise that makes his head hurt. Even things like things that they like to do are hard enough for him to consider when he hasn't just been confronted with terrible experiences he didn't realize he had.

Drawing his shoulders in as if to try to close in on himself, he leans forward further until his hair is hanging across the sides of his face. He looks exhausted.

Diarmuid's expression grows gentle when he sees how tired James is. Slowly, so not to startle him, Diarmuid reaches out to lightly rest a small hand on the man's head, starting to stroke his hair after a moment if he's not pushed away, "You need to rest, Lord James. You can think about things more later. Can you stand up? I can help you back to your apartment or you can come rest in mine. I don't mind."

I just want you to feel better and stop looking so sad...

The man doesn't move when he's touched, only closing his eyes for a second and finally getting his breathing even. After a moment, he nods in reply, and uses his working hand to start pushing himself to his feet.

"Yours," he says quietly. He doesn't have the energy to do the proper surveillance and then climb into his own should the captain be in his own apartment next door, and he can't risk seeing him in this state. Diarmuid lives in a different building, so the choice is clear.

"Slow. Careful. There is no hurry," Diarmuid is so much smaller than James that there isn't a lot he can do to help the man up, but he tries anyway. Indeed, once they are standing, Diarmuid's head barely comes up to the man's waist. However, that doesn't stop him from reaching up to put an arm around James' waist to help balance him.

"Let me know if you need to stop and rest, okay?"

He shakes his head, thankfully able to get to his feet without much trouble despite his heavier arm not working properly. Though slightly unsteady, he's confident enough that he won't need Diarmuid's help to move forward. So there's that, at least.

"I can walk."

There's no hurry is a new concept to him, although he's not unaccustomed to going at his own pace, it was always fast enough to accomplish whatever missions he was given in the span of time he needed to accomplish them. He hasn't thought about not having some sort of time limit before. It's... strange to consider.

"Are you sure?" Diarmuid turns worried eyes up at James' face, but the tone of the man's words and his expression seem to be enough to answer the question without anymore words. He steps away from James, but not too far just in case.

To be honest, it's not like a boy his size would be able to stop one James' size if he fell, but Diarmuid would sure try.

"Once we get there, I can make you some tea and warm up some soup if you would like. That should help you feel better too!"

As unfamiliar as he is with the thought of food and drink to aid recovery, it makes sense. It should give him the energy he needs to get out of this state.

And he has to admit the thought of it is somewhat appealing, though he isn't sure why.

The man nods before carefully looking at the surroundings and stepping forward. He honestly isn't sure if he could escape properly from everything that might be a threat to him in this city at the moment, but it's better than being unaware.

"The building is this way," Diarmuid points toward where Building 3 is and then starts to walk in that direction, chattering away as he does. It seems seeing his friend actually up and moving makes him worry much less, "I left Lir at home, so he will be waiting for us. The puppies will be waiting too. Is that okay? You don't mind puppies, do you? They are very friendly!"

"I don't know," he admits as he follows Diarmuid; he doesn't know how to deal with animals in the same way he doesn't know how to deal with people. But Lir was quiet and nonthreatening when he first met Diarmuid. He can likely deal with a small dog.

"It's fine."

"You sound a little unsure. You...probably don't remember meeting any dogs, do you?" Diarmuid stops walking a minute and looks up at James, "Let me go in first and ask them to sit. That way you won't get jumped on when you come in. They can be a little excitable, but at least they aren't like my neighbor's cat. He's a ninja cat! He gets into all kinds of places a cat shouldn't be able to. I found him in the dog's food one day! It was so funny!"

Though, it would be far less funny to a twitchy assassin than a little boy to be sure...

"No."

He can't really remember interacting with any kinds of animals, and in some ways it's lucky he can even remember what animals look like what. He did meet a girl that called herself a cat, but the soldier doesn't imagine that Diarmuid is keeping something like a person as a pet.

He largely feels the tangent about the neighbor's strange cat is irrelevant, but he nods in response. It seems like a good idea.

It's totally a tangent... Little boys tend to go off on them a lot. Especially, excitable little boys.

"We will just have to fix that! Hopefully, Grey and White can help you make new good memories about pets!" Diarmuid starts walking again and as he does, a small butterfly suddenly appears out of his hair and moves down to his shoulder fluttering there. When it's wings brush his neck, Diarmuid giggles and puts out his hand for it to move onto. Once it has done that, he turns around--yes, he's walking backward-- to show it to James.

"What about butterflies? Do you like butterflies?"

Though his eyes follow the butterfly, he keeps some attention on the path ahead of Diarmuid to make sure the boy doesn't run into anything.

"I don't know," he says, but there isn't any distaste in his expression as he observes the insect. "They're very small."

Because of that, they don't cause him any problems, so he has no real thoughts about them.

"This one my father made for me. It listens to what I tell it to do. Sometimes, I have it look for things. Sometimes, he looks for things for me before I even know I want him to!" Diarmuid giggles and the butterfly flutters back into the air. The boy turns back around for a moment, then pauses and turns back again.

"Hey, I'm very small. What do you think about me?"

A butterfly that can track things for Diarmuid... he doesn't really understand it, but it certainly sounds useful, and it means the boy has more than just himself to look out for him. He considers it a good thing, given how trusting the boy is.

The asset was programmed to answer questions, and he can see no real reason not to answer this one.

"You've been helpful," he says, "but you trust easily. It's dangerous."

"You aren't the first person to tell me that," Diarmuid frowns, as confused now as he was back then. Of course, it doesn't help that he was raised in such a sheltered manner and that the only night someone did something truly terrible to him has been erased from his mind.

"Do you really think someone would try to do something bad to me? I'm just a little boy. What would it gain them?" Diarmuid will never understand why people would draw innocents into their fights. When he becomes a knight, of course, he will have to be more careful, but now he is just a boy...

"They might use you," he replies, thinking that some might take him as a hostage in exchange for something else. The soldier knows but doesn't remember he's encountered that sort of human shield before, despite never hesitating because of it.

"I met a girl here," he continues, thinking of another reason, "she said she knew people who hurt others just because they wanted to."

"Do you think there are people like that here?" Diarmuid's frown deepens, "But everyone I have met has seemed nice! No one has tried to hurt me. They just try to help! Just because..." His voice trails off because he knows deep down that there probably are. After all, the stories he has grown up on have all kinds of bad people in them. He...just likes trusting people more.

"I wish people would stop hurting each other..."

"It's a risk," the soldier says simply. The scratches on his face are indicative of the fact that there are others here willing to hurt people~~, even if he was the one to strike first in the last fight~~.

Things would probably be easier if no one hurt each other, but the soldier can't imagine a world where violence doesn't exist. He would have no place in that world, anyway.

"But all of life is a risk. That is what Father says, and if you don't risk anything, you don't get anything," Diarmuid thinks on this a moment and then nods. "I am willing to risk getting hurt if my trust helps others. If there is a chance of making them happier then it's worth it!"

And this isn't just childish naivety talking. Even as an adult, Diarmuid will prefer to sacrifice himself to help others...

He can't argue against that; no matter where you go, there's always the possibility of injury or death. But he intends to minimize that risk if he can.

Something about Diarmuid's outlook feels familiar. He can't place it, but... something tells him he should look out for the kid if he isn't going to look out for himself. He already intended to do something like that because he's so young, but... this is a stronger feeling.

It will probably be simple enough to do. Tracking people is one of his specialties.

He continues to follow Diarmuid, falling silent. His fatigue makes it difficult for him to come up with much else to say, and nothing seems important enough to talk about at the moment.

Diarmuid doesn't try to push conversation after that, since just looking at James makes it clear how tired he is. Indeed, Diarmuid starts walking a little closer to the man again, just in case. Soon, they arrive at the apartment building and Diarmuid leads the way inside, only speaking once they get to the door.

"Let me go and tell the puppies to sit before you come in, okay?" Diarmuid pulls out his key and then opens the door for a moment so he can slip inside. If James listens closely enough, he will hear the boy order the puppies to sit and stay before the door opens again.

"All right! You can come in now!"

Though they're heading towards a different building, the soldier feels it's probable he might be spotted by a certain captain if the man is heading in or out of his apartment. So he keeps an eye out, hunching over slightly and pulling the collar on his jacket up to help keep him from being conspicuous.

Thankfully they reach Diarmuid's room without incident, and he finds a kind of relief in that which he wouldn't normally feel. He waits patiently, his senses sharp enough through the tiredness that he can tell the boy is doing what he said he would.

The man steps inside when Diarmuid emerges and calls him in, and he takes in the details of the surroundings automatically despite not expecting any threats. Old habits are hard to break.

What even a quick glance around the apartment will reveal is that it is definitely the home of two little boys and no adults. The kitchen table has several open bags of candy on it. Laying nearby is a pair of real, sheathed swords, and a practice sword. Slightly off from the living room are the bedrooms and a peek inside the first one will show a bed with several stuffed swans and a stuffed butterfly on it. There is also a green cloak resting on the foot of the bed.

The bedroom next door is closed, so it can't be seen into.

The kitchen counter has a couple of pots and plates on it. There are also several towels around and a chair pushed against the counter.

In front of the table is where the two puppies are sitting. The grey one looks similar to an Irish Wolfhound, while the white one looks much like an English Sheepdog.

"This is Grey and this is White," Diarmuid points to each puppy in turn, before going to stand by James. "Puppies, this is Lord James. He is going to borrow our house to sleep in, okay? Make sure you guys are quiet!"

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