riverviewlogs | It only hurts when I'm breathing

Entry tags:

It only hurts when I'm breathing

who: Ivar and OTA
what: Catch-all for the month
when: Last week of June
where: All over the city
warnings: Drunk teenager. Fighting monsters in animal form. Ivar being Ivar.

A. Numb the feelings

In the past three months, Ivar had lost four people he cared about. Two he was in love with or maybe he would have been if he thought himself capable of being in love with anyone. It had hurt to lose Letha and Marco, but he thought he'd be able to work past it with enough time. People came, people went. That was life.

To lose his father and Athelstan was worse. They were family and he'd not realized how much he'd come to rely on them during his time here. He and Ragnar had butted heads a lot, but Ivar had finally gotten close to him in a way he'd never gotten the chance to back home. The priest had likewise managed to get his way past the teen's defenses and become a close confidant. They had told him they were leaving. Despite his usual stoicism, Ivar had managed to finally tell them he loved them just before they were gone.

He was unable to really cope with the emotions that had come afterwards. Really, Ivar was only equipped to handle one at a time, so dealing with sadness, loss, grief, and regret altogether was too much for him. So he did the only thing a true Viking would to numb the pain: he went out and got drunk every night for a week. He'd just sit at the bar and drink until he either passed out or was tossed out for causing a ruckus. Though the expression on his face wouldn't suggest it, he could really use some company during these outings.

B. The animal side of things

The other way he found to get rid of feelings was by shifting into an entirely different form. He'd become a dog, or cat, or any number of the other forms that he could take. He just let his mind sink under the instincts and roam the city for an hour at a time. Anyone who encountered him in these forms would find an animal willing to be pet and cuddled for any length of time. Being in animal form was the only way Ivar could allow himself any sort of positive contact with other people.

Of course, that wasn't to say all his forms were sunshine and light. He'd go out beyond the wall and transform into the giant alien form that resembled a cross between a bull and a lion, allowing the predatory instincts to lead him to fight monsters out in the trees. It didn't matter how battered he got from these bouts, morphing back to his human form always took care of any injuries. He wouldn't mind company during these outings, just so long as he got to wreck havoc.

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It had been a while since Ivar had seen his wayward friend. Then again, Bucky was never the most consistent of companions. He tended to come and go on his own schedule. Still, there was one place that tended to draw the two of them in. Ivar knew if he stayed there long enough, Bucky was bound to show up, if only to make sure Ivar didn't get a little too keen handling the weapon.

So he was at the gun range and there was something different about the Viking teen's attitude. Normally, he seemed enthusiastic when he handled weapons. Right now, there was something forced about his focused attitude, like he was trying to distract himself from any thoughts or emotions that might be crowding his mind. He didn't want to be feeling anything right now. It hurt too much to have this much loss in his life. But at least Bucky would know plenty about that.

Contrary to popular belief, Bucky didn't spend all of his time haunting the gun range to spy on the people using it. But he does check in pretty frequently, mostly to keep track of who might be a threat here. Ivar will have been there for nearly two hours by the time Bucky drops down beside him, at a distance of about four feet so as not to startle him, on silent feet.

"Brace it on your other palm."

He can tell something is wrong, but he'll attack this from a roundabout way. Maybe that'll help Ivar to loosen up.

Ivar doesn't startle as he once did when Bucky used to appear. Somehow over the year plus a few months they've known each other, he's gotten used to it. He's in his wheelchair today. Stark's leg braces are wonderful for getting around, but he had planned to be here a while, and the pain would have become too great if he was on his legs the entire time. He looks up at Bucky, and there's something sad in those ice-blue eyes, that even Ivar with all his anger and toughness can't hide.

He nods and does as he's told, bracing the gun on his palm. He's become a fairly decent shot with all the practicing he's done over the past months, becoming more accurate with his head shots, and with a more consistent pattern of overall shots. He gets off a few more shots before he looks back up at Bucky. "Did I ever tell you something you taught me saved my life went I went home?" He'd prefer to start off with that instead of talking how heartbroken he is right now.

He can tell that there's something wrong there, something deep and dark in Ivar's eyes. He looks raw, exposed. Nothing in the way he moves or speaks, it's just a sensation that Bucky recognises from himself. He remembers that, he remembers walking around like an exposed nerve after he pulled Steve from the Potomac, and it took a long time for that to go away.

"No, you never told me that." He looks surprised, but also a little pleased. He usually takes lives, not saves them, so this is good. "You remembered me, our lessons, back home?"

"I did. Never told anyone because who would believe me?" That was one sure way to no longer be in charge of the army. They'd follow a crazy Viking, but not one who was prone to weird delusions of ending up in another time and place.

"It was when I had taken York and the English attacked. They were led by the nose right into the traps I placed, allowing my Vikings to slaughter them." It was in a casual manner that he spoke of the massacre of men who were just trying to take back part of their home. "I was watching it all, but I wanted to be down in the action. I got in my chariot, but I was knocked out of it, and was on the ground stunned. They thought I was an easy target. But I used that move you taught me to flip myself over and kill the man who was stupid enough to approach." Bucky would likely remember which move Ivar was referring to. It had been the very first thing he'd ever taught the Viking.

He looks up at Bucky then. "So I guess I wanted to say thank you for that." It was rare as hen's teeth that Ivar ever thanked anyone for anything. But he owed it to his friend.

It was actually comforting that he'd remember this place when he left, the people here had helped him become more human and he didn't want to sink back into what he had been when he first arrived here. Beyond that, there were things in the future, things people had told him about, that he wants to try and influence in a different way.

He nods. He'd rather that his moves hadn't been used to kill anyone else, but when it was war then death was an acceptable end result, kill or be killed. Better that Ivar survived than the other man.

"Any time, I'm glad it helped you." He takes a seat on the ground, still looking ready to move at a moment's notice despite that. "Maybe I can do it again, if you feel like telling me what's eating you up?"

He'll take what he sees as a small sign of approval. Bucky knew exactly what Ivar would be using the knowledge he gained for. The Viking was eternally grateful to his strange and oftentimes unpredictable friend for what he had been willing to teach. Ivar has come to rely on Bucky as a solid presence. He knows he shouldn't grow this attached, these past couple of months have proved that, but he can't help it.

He takes a deep breath, trying to compose the emotions that are in turmoil before he finally explains.

"My father and the priest that was part of our family both left. That's four people in three months that have left me." People leaving Ivar is the thing that hurts him the most out of all the hardships he's experienced in his life. It's something he's never gotten used to and doesn't think he ever will. It hurts just as much this last time as it did the first time. Poetically, his father had been the cause both times. He thought after losing the man three times in his life, he'd learn his lesson, but apparently not.

Ah.

His expression shifts subtly into a soft sympathy, he knows what it's like to lose people over and over again. He's lost Steve twice already, not to mention Clark and Ellie, sometimes he feels like he shouldn't make connections either. But it's been worth it, even with the ones who have left, he feels more human now than he has done in a long time.

"Did they talk to you about it before they went?"

That's what hurt the most when people went back through, the lack of discussion as if he wasn't important enough to get a say in it at all.

For Bucky - Happiness is a warm gun

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