catch-all; cross my heart then I hope to die with a peace of mind

[prisonking]

who: Michael Scofield + Various
what: Catch-all
when: March, pre and post underground mission
where: City planning, communal Housing, et al.
warnings: Possible mentions of self-harm, drug use, child abuse, and mental illness. Potential acts of violence.

Starters in comments. PM if you'd like to start something.

Comments

[anotheroldsoldier]

[The more upset Michael seems to get, the more Bucky's expression smooths out into something quieter and more thoughtful. A little sad. He hadn't meant to ruin breakfast by bringing up demons from Michael's past; a small part of him wonders if this is going to ruin the easy camaraderie they've had so far. It'd be just like him to do that.

But ultimately, he's not making Michael tell him anything. He's volunteering the information. And the least Bucky can do is listen, so he does, resting his fork on his plate and watching his expression as much as he can.

Oh. To be brought here so soon after something like that... Losing your father is hard. He remembers that much from his own childhood.] I'm sorry. [Two words are hardly sufficient to carry the gravity of sympathy, but there they are. He isn't sure what else he can offer.]

If you need to get it out, I can listen. I don't- know what else I can offer, but I can listen.

[prisonking]

I don't want to talk about it.

[ Michael shakes his head, burying his face in his arms. Bucky has done nothing wrong. Michael's the one with a problem. He always is.

He doesn't want Bucky to see his face, or his weakness, but it's already too late. Michael can't convince himself of his own strength, never mind anyone else.

It's all a facade.

At his core, he's just a selfish, scared little boy who doesn't know when, or how, to let go. ]

I'm sorry.

[anotheroldsoldier]

[Michael is hurting, and there's a part of Bucky that wishes he could help, but there's an even bigger part that knows sometimes you just have to get a hold of yourself on your own. He's been there, in a way. Not mourning a father, or at least not recently, but mourning the person he used to be. Did talking about it ever help?]

That's okay. Believe me, I get that. Not wanting to talk about it. [He lets the acknowledgement out there, and looks back down at his plate, letting things lapse into silence. He only hopes it isn't a lonely silence; he doesn't leave, doesn't judge, he just eats his pancakes and tries to be there.]