driftfleet | steve's luck with things that fly is nonexistent, really.

[ Four years. God, he can't even imagine.. He's been in the fleet for five months and it already feels like forever.

At first, he thinks that he's said something wrong with how Steve goes silent. His words, though? They shed a little bit of light onto something he's been wondering about, lately. Winter shifts in his seat, leaning against the back rest. ]

So.. you're saying that this is.. normal?

[ He falls quiet, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. ]

I guess it makes a little more sense.. Always wondered why it was just us that got nightmares.

[ He was starting to think that it was some sort of penance for things he couldn't remember. ]

[He snorts. His tone is more wry than bitter when he replies,]

I don't sleep enough to get nightmares.

[Specifically for that reason. Which isn't to say he hasn't had them. He's walked through the dead forests of Bastogne, shelled and wrecked in the endless winter there, seen bodies hanging from the trees and pieces of others scattered across foxholes. There's never any sound in that one, save the crunch of his boots in the snow. And no matter how far he walks, how fast he runs, he never gets out of the woods and always, always wakes cold.]

But yeah. It's normal. As much as any of this is or can be. There are other symptoms, too. [A nod to the door.] Hyper vigilance-- like you're always keyed up for a fight. Sometimes the thoughts just take over and there's not much you can do about it but ride it out. Memory loss is common. [Softer,] Makes you feel like there ain't much in the world that can set you to rights.

[God above, the only times he ever felt any sort of peace - be it the aching sort that warred with regret - was with Peggy. She made sense in a world he couldn't parse. She with her paperthin skin and her bone-white hair and her deteriorating mind-- she still made more sense and he still loved her more dearly than anything.]

[ Winter can't stop himself from looking quickly to the doorway when Steve makes a motion toward it, though it probably just goes to prove a point. What he's describing, though, is... spot on. He honestly hadn't thought there was a word that fit him that wasn't broken.

It's not really something he's talked to Jim about because, well, how could he? The inner workings of his mind are still a thing he has trouble getting out. Memory loss is common. It's relieving in the smallest degree, though it's still frustrating when it happens. There's already not enough he remembers, so when he loses even something insignificant, it's like a physical blow. It's another slap to the face knowing that any progress that he has here is going to potentially be forgotten if he ever leaves. What the fuck is going to happen then? He gets so lost in his head, he forgets that Steve is even there until he catches sight of him. ]

..What can you do for it?

[ The very quiet underlying what can I do about it? ]

[And God help him, he hears it.]

I'm still working that out for myself.

[He says it with a tired little smile, a flicker of frustration he doesn't bother to censor winds its way through his tone. Whoever this man is or decides he will be, Steve can't help but acknowledge the fact that he and Buck never had any illusions about the worst parts of each other. Steve knows he's not perfect, that he can get jealous and angry and spiteful and bitter and all those other emotions people have but don't like to discuss. He's not going to hide them from someone he loves. It's too much like being Captain America.

And he's not going to and will never treat the man across from him like something delicate and fragile. Taking care out of compassion is different, but the world isn't kind, it's not going to wrap up all the things that might hurt him to keep him safe. He does give him a brief look, brow furrowed and expression somber before he draws a breath and ticks his head off to one side.]

Talking helps. Something like... 'a burden shared is a burden halved'. And I think it's working. That friend of mine says it's-- [his mouth quirks down.] harder for me because of the time displacement. If I'd seen the end of the War, I'd've had other people who'd been there. Seen some of the same things I saw. Instead, I came out of the ice into a world that thinks America did all the heavy lifting, who thinks the French were cowards, who doesn't know how many dead Russians we dug out of the snow in Leningrad--

[All the little victories, all the subtle braveries, so much was lost. So many people forgotten. He thinks about a vineyard in France, and a remembered ache crawls through his gut. Shrapnel. The woman who patched him up was a German ex-pat, and he still hasn't been able to bring himself to go back to where their farmhouse stood. Once upon a time, she and her husband and daughter had a happy ending. That's the way he wrote the story, and that's how he'll remember it.

He exhales a little too sharply and reaches up to thumb at his nose.]

So it's been slow going. I don't really know if there's anything that can 'cure' it. Time and distance. Talking. Learning how to live with it and forgive yourself for what you can't change. But it's a weight. All we can do is carry it.

Edited 2015-12-19 03:24 (UTC)

..A cure implies that something is broken.

[ Winter makes a face, his brow pinching briefly. He can't very well forgive himself for things he can't remember, either. The ones he does have, he's shouldering well enough. ]

[ Talking with Jim the few times he did fess up had helped, though he assumed because it was due to Jim's presence. He hadn't really thought that it was the talking that had been the help. They both play their cards close to their chest, keeping the uglier ones concealed.

He's not weak- not by a long shot. He's gone through more pain than he can really comprehend with his limited memory, but he can fill the holes well enough. He can sympathize with Steve, at least. Feeling out of touch, thrown into a place he wasn't familiar. He feels closer to this person sitting across from him than the man on the bridge- or even the Brooklyn boy he was meant to remember. ]

This friend-- Is his name Sam?

[ Jim has talked about Sam on multiple occasions, and even showed Winter a memory of him. He'd enjoyed the way Sam dealt with the situation at hand, and if all of Jim's stories were true, then Sam was the type of person you never wanted to let go of.

He still wants to meet the man who is responsible for offering Jim a much-needed level of friendship and a kick in the ass when he needs it. ]

Edited 2015-12-28 22:00 (UTC)

[The word is specific, and even as Steve opens his mouth to discuss it, he realizes why. Doubtless, that's been the label Winter's been using for himself in his own mind, and his jaw clicks gently closed. Instead, after a moment,]

Feels that way sometimes. Honestly-- half the time I feel like a fraud. Everyone around me back home is so normal. I feel like I'm the only one that ain't in on the joke. Like I'm reacting to things wrong and that means there's something wrong with me. Why the Hell doesn't everyone get ready for a fight when they hear cars backfire? I can't be the only one that hates fireworks, right? I check behind every door of every room I go into. I look for tripwires. I always wonder if my food's poisoned and if my body can overcome it.

[His instinct (his oldest) is to not talk about his traumas at all. The one at its heels is to relay it dispassionately, like a mission report written up on an old Royal. SGT J BARNES FELL FROM THE TRAIN, PRESUMED DEAD. Neat, packaged, meaningless. The words can't cut like a knife because there's no edge to them. But he forces himself to give weight to what he says. To mean it. If it leaves him bleeding, so be it.]

But I guess-- depends on your definition of 'broken'. I don't think I am. And I don't think you are, either. A cure can just be-- takin' antibiotics when you've got an infection. Antipyretics when you have a fever. Something that helps when you need it, and there's no shame, ever, in needin' it.

[He's still trying to convince himself of that one. Sam's been a big help-- and speaking of Sam,]

Wilson. Yeah. Jim met him sooner than I did, I think. I'd only just-- few days before the bridge.

[ His shoulders sag minutely, some of the tension he carries ebbing away. It's one thing to hear something like this from Jim, who has seen him through these past five months hand-in-hand; but to hear it from Steve? He's still a stranger to Winter, though the pieces are slowly being drawn into place. The ice is receding, though the frost at the edges will always remain. It's still as much a part of him as the bionic arm, or his relationship with Steve Rogers.

The hyper vigilance, checking every room that is entered, having his back vulnerable to attack, so every noise puts him on a wire's edge.. He knows he's not the only one, everyone has trauma- big or small.

Talking helps. Something like... 'a burden shared is a burden halved'.

He's quiet, his focus moving to the speckled pattern the tabletop provides. Piecing things together in his head. ]

I'm not--

[ He knows he's not, Steve knows he's not. It helps to say it out loud, though, to drown out the dark voices that like to lurk on the outskirts. The ones that insist cloyingly sweet that he's wrong about everything. He wets his lips, attention flicking back to the face across from him. That topic is for another time.. ]

The one with the wings. [ He frowns. ] He stopped me from shooting you. He's okay..right?

[His resultant smile is honest and so very bright. He loves Sam just as much as he ever did the Commandos. He's the family Steve didn't even realize he was looking for in the new world.]

That's Sam, yeah. And he's good. Real good. He's an Avenger now, same as me and Natasha. Good soldier. Better man.

[ He nods, he corner of his lip turning up briefly. Not quite a smile, but the intention is there. He's glad that Sam is good. Someone that does what he can provide deserves it. ]

..That's good.

[Jim's from too early, he realizes. Winter... might not even know. Steve glances down at his hands, he rubs absently at his knuckles.]

Do you know how it ended? Or... want to?

[ He falters, but covers it quickly. He has the chance to know what he has to endure when he goes back... How much more of Hydra he'll have to take. ]

..Tell me?

[There are so many reasons he shouldn't, and only one that he should. That's the choice he makes, and the one he always will.]

Hydra tries to initiate Project Insight. Me, Nat, Hill and Sam [he leaves off Fury, for now.] suited up to stop them. We-- [a deep breath. He very obviously means you and I.] fought. Wasn't pretty. The Hellicarrier went down, and I fell into the Potomac.

[He doesn't bother saying how badly he was injured. How little he cared if he survived. It's not relevant.]

You pulled me out. [he exhales.] Nat dumped all of Hydra's data onto the internet. We've spent the last year stomping them out, but I haven't-- seen you since. I know they don't have you. I just-- [a flickering upwards twist to his mouth, not a smile.] don't know where to look.

Edited 2015-12-29 04:43 (UTC)

[ We fought. Wasn't pretty. He honestly doesn't doubt that-- especially since the last thing he remembers happening before the Fleet was being wiped. What Steve is telling him can very well be what happens next. Which means...

It's a little jarring to think about. Hydra fails. He fails his mission. He doesn't go back. He's..free? Winter wonders what happens to everyone he knows- his handler, his team... Pierce. It doesn't really matter, but part of him is curious. ]

..Stop looking.

[ The answer comes immediately. If Steve has spent an entire year for him and they haven't crossed paths, it's no use. Clearly, he doesn't want to be found. He's quiet, and seriously debating whether or not to even divulge something that he hasn't even told Jim yet. He reaches up, rubbing a hand over his face and sighs. ]

I remember-- 'm not sure when.. But I think I went rogue on a mission. Once. I think it was a few days before they found and collected me.

[ ... ] Sorry. Just-- it's hard to find someone who doesn't want to be found.. unless you know how to look.

[There's a blink-and-you-miss-it spasm of honest grief on his face, stark as blood splatter on snow, and then he's clearing his throat and looking down. Went rogue on a mission, emphasis on the singular time--

He's seen enough of Hydra's files, he know enough of why they work to guess at why it was only once. Steve has never dealt well with hopelessness, but in this his hands are shackled and bound.]

I can't promise that. There's no guarantee I'll remember your wishes when I leave.

[He says it as gently as he can. Trying to find Bucky has all but consumed him, these last months. Sam-- and thank God for the man - has been telling him to slow down since long before Ultron. But Steve barely sleeps, skips meals, has been refreshing his rusty Russian on old audiobooks every moment he can squeeze out of every single day.

He can't rest. It's not in him.]

No, I guess not.

[ There's no way to tell what, if anything, will be remembered of this place if and when they return. He's still grateful that Steve refuses to give him an empty promise. Being honest is better.

Steve mentioned earlier that Natasha had dumped information on the internet.. He looks up from the table. ]

What information went public?

Edited 2016-01-01 17:41 (UTC)

All the data Hydra had stored on SHIELD's servers.

[No sense flinching from it.]

A lot of classified information about the Chitauri attack, every black ops mission overseas for the last decade. My war record, as much as was ever transcribed and digitized, Natasha's service record for and against America. [He glances down.] Most relevant information they had on you went down with Zola. Pierce kept you off the grid.

[A bitter twist to his mouth. It's maybe the only smart thing Pierce ever did, because if Steve had to choose-- he doesn't know that he could have dumped SHIELD's files if exposing his best friend was on the line.]

[ There are lots of things civilians shouldn't be aware of, though Natasha must have had her reasons. It's for the best that no one have all the pieces to his own record. There are too many things that can be used against him; the programming runs deep enough that he's not even sure what's there.

It's best that it went down with the one who made him in the first place. ]

You're sure he's dead? Who else--?

[ God, he wants to know, but at the same time, he doesn't want to think about the possibility of a different outcome. ]

He 'died' in the seventies, they kept his-- consciousness on a series of computers. Those data banks were destroyed. I was there for that.

[He works his jaw off to one side.]

Alexander Pierce. That one I missed-- but he took two shots to the heart. I don't know about the rest of STRIKE. Lot of people were unaccounted for after Insight went down.

[ Pierce. God.. As horrible as it is, he had been the most consistent face when coming out of the ice. The most recognizable, at least. The others tend to fade into the background.

That dark part of his brain is all but screeching, now. He should have been there to take the hit for his master. All but impossible if his mission was elsewhere, but-- it's still inexcusable. What about his handlers? Where were they? Were any of them left? He starts referring to the proper protocol in where to report in such an event, but that thought process comes to a slamming halt.

Logically, he knows it's fucked up to even care about what the fuck happens to any of the people that did that to him. Forced him to be their monster that went bump in the night. He just can't shake the knowledge that he failed and there will be hell to pay for it somewhere.

With a start, he looks up from the table that he'd lost focus on, instead keeping Steve's face in his sights with a frown. ]

..Oh.

[He recognizes the conflicting emotions too late. Bucky was, in many respects, a better liar than the Winter Soldier - the expression isn't one he's ever had cause to see before - and Steve glances away to give him a moment's privacy.

Because at the end of the day, Bucky's defining characteristic was his loyalty. To a boy that never earned it, to a country that didn't deserve it, to a war that stripped him down to nothing. It's a knife-edge against his throat, that Hydra saw that and exploited it. But of course they would. There've only been a handful of people in all the world in which that loyalty runs soul-deep.

Softly,]

You gonna be okay?

I'm fine.

[ He immediately regrets the waspish tone, and at least looks apologetic. ]

Sorry-- I hate this. [ He stays quiet, looking back to the table, then briefly to the door. Still wary that someone is listening, waiting. It's been six months and he still can't find it in him to truly relax unless he's around his double. It's getting better around Steve, though. Slowly, but surely. He wants things to be the way they used to- the way that's still hard to remember. No thanks to Hydra.. ]

I understand what I am to them. I know that I don't owe them anything. I can't-- [ He shakes his head. ] It's harder than I thought...getting them out of my head.

Edited 2016-01-21 19:40 (UTC)

[The anger rises like bile. Sam'd prewarned him, they may have to wrestle with something like Stockholm Syndrome. He swallows it, and after a tentative moment reaches out to very, very gently touch the pads of his fingers to Buck's metal wrist.]

It's all right to feel that way, pal. It was all you knew for seventy years. Anyone in your place would feel that way. It's-- how they operate. And it's not your fault.

[ He sees Steve's hand move, so he doesn't react, simply watches until there's pressure on his wrist. Winter's head inclines slightly to looks at him, assessing his expression.

It's sympathetic, but it doesn't rub him the wrong way- it's not pity. Not from him, and certainly not from Jim. ]

I'm glad it didn't happen to anyone else. [ There's no way he'd wish it upon anyone, either. ]

[Tiredly,]

It shouldn't have happened to anyone.

[Ever. Period. That human minds can conceive of such cruelties-- he wishes he could say he doesn't know where they come from. If he ever had any illusions about mankind being more good than evil, they died at Oradour-sur-Glane. And again, a million times more, at a million more atrocities. The War was just a showcase for what already existed in the human condition.

He was never naive, but once upon a time he had a hope that's since been gutted, and had the red ruin of its innards strewn out over snow. Will is what sustains him, not hope.]

But maybe we can keep it from-- ever happening again. I'd like that.

No..but there's no changing that it did. Now they pay the price.

[ It's something that happened, something normal people couldn't have possibly endured, but he did. Someone else may not be so lucky, and that's troubling. Hydra is still out there- even if some of its higher ups are dead. Cut off one head... It would be nice not to have anymore victims of it. ]

I'd like that too, Steve.

steve's luck with things that fly is nonexistent, really.

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