riverviewlogs | music and mayhem

Entry tags:

music and mayhem

who: Bucky and OPEN
what: A variety of prompts, serious and more light-hearted, for existing and new CR
when: The month of September
where: Quarantine and the ruins
warnings: Minor injury/blood discussion

[i: thief at the hospital]

[Bucky has used the last of what Steve brought him on the night he was pulled from underneath the girder and patched up, but the wound still isn't completely healed and he doesn't want to risk it getting infected from substandard care. The bastardised serum he has might help keep infection at bay, but he's still human and he knows better than to risk it.

So clearly the best thing to do is head on over to the hospital, right?

Anyone passing by the hospital on a few days throughout the month might catch sight of a man subtly climbing in through one of the upper windows, and then climbing out again a few minutes later with his hoodie noticeably more full as if he's been pilfering supplies... mostly because that's exactly what he's doing.]

[ii: a stitch in time]

[Following the hospital raids, Bucky can be found out in the ruins tending to himself.

He has his shirt off, meaning that his metal arm is exposed to view for once, and is dealing with a nasty looking gut wound. It's already been stitched up, he's not in danger of keeling over any more, but he's cleaning out the dried blood and wrapping with fresh bandages.]

[iii: kiss and tell]

[After the disaster with Obi-Wan, Bucky has been keeping a very close watch out for those stupid little lights, determined not to get himself trapped under someone else's influence again. But they're more numerous than he'd like and sometimes one doesn't get seen until it's just a bit too late...

A warning to anyone getting themselves caught with Bucky in the kiss and tell, he may not react well and it could lead to fighting rather than kissing.]

[iv: songs from the old days]

[Bucky doesn't have much of a solid base, more a few bolt holes that he uses in a random pattern to keep him from being easy to track down, and that means that he doesn't have much in the way of possessions. It has to be easy to carry and flee with at a moment's notice, after all. But he has one or two indulgences that he's picked up on a whim, driven by half remembered days from before the Soldier.

He has a kite that he can sometimes be seen perched on a rooftop flying in the breeze, looking unaccountably peaceful. He also now has a record player. He found it in a little curiosity shop, a proper old one with some vinyls to go with it. He doesn't play the music too loudly, but anyone passing by some of the abandoned buildings or ruins might hear the quiet strains of the Andrews Sisters.]

[v: wildcard]

[Bucky can also be found at nights having nightmares, skulking around at the gun range watching others play, or generally observing the world around him. If you would like to play any of these, or have a completely different idea for a prompt, just go for it and I'll follow your lead! You can also hit me up on

bibbety for plotting.]

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[ Peter frowns a little uncertainly. ]

I mean, okay, it's not that you're not allowed out here? It's just that usually you're supposed to, like, request an escort or whatever so you don't get hurt.

[ A pause, and he wonders if accepted methods of conduct are really the appropriate thing to be discussing, here, while the other guy is actively wounded. Peter huffs out a sigh, scrubbing at his face. Then, ]

Listen. I've got a friend. She's a captain on Search and Rescue. I can call her and have her out here to help you back. Get your wound seen to.

No.

[That's immediate and firm, if Peter goes and gets someone more senior then his days of moving around out here undetected are pretty much gone.]

I don't need her help, and I don't need you to be telling people I'm out here. I can handle it.

[ Well, that was a bit of a turn, and Peter's gaze hardens a little. ]

I mean, no offense, dude, but considering you're out here, bleeding all over the foliage, I'm kinda having my doubts about your ability to "handle it."

[His own gaze hardens in return, wondering how the hell he's going to contain this before it becomes a real mess.]

Just walk away, you won't ever see me again, it won't be a problem.

[ Peter holds his gaze for a second longer, and he should leave well enough alone. Probably. He should turn around and just go.

But more and more lately, that pesky thing he calls a conscience keeps rearing its head, and he shoves out a breath between his teeth. He forces himself to calm down, and when he speaks again, it's far more level. ]

I'm not gonna just leave you here, dude.

Listen. I won't call anyone, and I won't tell anyone you were out here, but only if you let me help.

[He could just make a break for it, but then they'd almost certainly be on the look out for him in the future. He has no way of knowing if this man is being honest, and he won't just report him anyway, but he doesn't exactly have a choice.

He really doesn't look happy about it, though.]

Fine.

[He shifts so that Peter can see the wound properly; it's pretty nasty, going in at the front and out at the back of his left side.]

[ That makes two of them looking disgruntled, at least, but true to his word, Peter keeps his hands visible as he approaches. And when the other man turns to make the wound more visible, Peter sucks in a startled breath. ]

Hell, dude. What happened?

[It's been stitched up at both ends, though that's all that's been done to it so far.]

A building collapsed, girder went through me.

[Said like it's no big deal.]

Oh, is that all?

[ With a heavy helping of irony, as he's scooping up the fallen bandages. ]

And here I thought it was just, you know, someone jamming a lance through you in a bout of jousting gone wrong. A girder though? That's nothing.

[He quirks an eyebrow, looking all sorts of unimpressed at the sarcasm.]

It got pulled out, stitched up, I'm fine. I've had worse.

[So there!]

[ He snorts out a dismissive noise. ]

Just 'cause you've had worse before doesn't mean this isn't bad now.

[ The line comes out quickly and easily – and the speed with which he says it says something about how often he's recited that same line. (A few members of his team back home liked saying junk like that – "I've had worse" – himself included.)

He casts around, locating whatever the other man was using as dressing. ]

I'm Peter, by the way. [ Absently, as he presses the dressing to the stitched-up wound. ] Peter Quill. People call me Star-Lord.

[He's tense from head to foot as Peter gets close enough to actually touch him, and it takes all of his self control not to slam his fist into his face and knock him out when he actually presses the dressing to his side.]

I didn't ask.

[It's rude, but he says it anyway.]

What kind of name is Star-Lord?

[ super rude, and Peter cuts him an unimpressed look before turning his attention back to dressing the wound. ]

It's a call sign. Something I picked up back home.

[ Peter's been around enough folks with hairpin triggers to know when he's on the verge of setting someone off; he's careful to move slowly, at least, as he settles in, telegraphing his movements to show he's not trying to pull a fast one. ]

Any reason why you're sitting in the middle of nowhere instead of in a hospital, right now?

[To be fair to Peter, Bucky has heard his share of ridiculous call signs back in the army and in HYDRA, so he can't judge Star-Lord too much now he knows what it is. It's still dumb, but it might not have been his choice.]

I don't need a hospital.

[It's through gritted teeth as he watches all of Peter's movements like a hawk, the discomfort entirely from the man this close to him rather than any pain.]

It didn't kill me when it happened, so I'll be fine.

Spoken like someone who doesn't believe in infections.

[ And this comes out dryly, too. He feels Bucky's gaze on him like a physical weight. It's discomfiting, and Peter has the uncomfortable sensation that he could step onto a landmine at any second, but things seem to be going well, so far.

Or well enough that the guy's metal fist hasn't punched out all of Peter's teeth. Peter's learned to take the victories where he can get them. ]

Hold this, will you? [ And Peter nods down to the dressing he's holding in place against the injury. ] Need my hands free to bandage it.

[It's probably a good idea to give Bucky other things to do with his hands than potentially punch Peter, otherwise this might have got really ugly really fast. As it is, he takes the dressing as ordered and presses it down hard against the entrance wound on his side, though he can't quite reach around and press one to the exit wound at the back.]

I believe in them, I just don't get them.

[Usually, anyway. His bastardised serum helps fend off all but the most persistent of infections.]

Forget it, talk about something else.

[It's an order more than a request, he needs something to focus on.]

[ His gaze flits up at that comment, like he’s trying to decide whether or not he wants to ask for clarification on what he means that he doesn’t get infections. The other man seems to make the decision for him, and insisting on a topic change, and Peter, knowing that he’s more or less wearing out his welcome, huffs out a breath.

Slowly, he winds the bandage over the dressing, adjusting the gauze over the exit wound at the other man’s back, keeping his movements easy to track. (He knows a thing or two about folks on the very edge of their patience. Rocket had snarled or snapped at him a few times, when Peter moved too fast and surprised him. Drax had lashed out with a fist and left him with one hell of a black eye when Peter had startled him out of a dark mood. And a few of the Ravagers had pulled a gun on him when he was a kid, after he dropped out of the vents when they didn’t expect it.) ]

So.

[ Falsely light and conversational. ]

See any good movies lately?

[This is hard, one of the hardest things he's done recently. The longer that this stranger is in his personal space, the hard and aching press of a gauze to his side, the more that he feels his grip on what is real and here and now slipping.

Movies? What the hell sort of question is that? He doesn't actually remember the last movie he watched, probably something from back before he shipped out the first time, it's not something he tends to waste time on now.]

Wizard of Oz.

[He nearly spits the answer out, his eyes tracking up to Peter's face, something intense and violent barely restrained behind them.]

[ The sharpness of the answer, the heat of the words, makes Peter flick his gaze up.

Maybe a mistake, considering how fucking angry the guy looks, and Peter tries his best to keep the sudden spike of nervousness from his face. ]

Easy. [ As gently as he can manage. Which isn't much, admittedly, since Peter isn't exactly the gentle type. ] Almost done.

[ He goes a little faster, now, though the pace by anyone else's standard might still be glacial. ]

Which one was your favorite? I was always kinda partial to Scarecrow.

[The gentle tone does help, it's jarring with the jagged memories in his head because nobody who ever worked on him in HYDRA spoke in careful voices. Peter's is the voice of someone trying to help, it's why he's trying so hard to keep hold of himself despite the fireworks going off inside his head.]

Lion.

[The fingers of his metal hand clench very suddenly into a fist, a tremor going through his whole body.]

You need-- you have to back off. This was a mistake.

[ His gaze flicks up again, and it’s just as well that he’s finished wrapping the bandage, securing the dressings in place. He shuffles back a little, hands up in a placating gesture. ]

All done, dude. Just take a breath.

[He does his best, staying abnormally still and trying to just breathe until he can trust himself to look up and talk without losing it.]

...sorry. Thank you.

[ The gratitude catches him off-guard, and it shows on his face – the way his eyebrows raise up and the way his head tilts a little.

Truthfully, Peter had been tensing himself up, readying himself for a fight in case the dude couldn't wrangle whatever weird thing he had going on. He's relieved that won't be the case. ]

Wasn't a problem.

[ He pauses, frowning glancing around to take stock of their surroundings. Peter's not entirely sure if he's caused more or less damage in trying to help, and he's even less sure if he ought to just bow out. That weird, niggling voice that might be his conscience says he ought to do more, but his sense of self-preservation says he should cut his losses.

Eventually, he lets out a slow breath, frowning. ]

If I leave you alone, will you be able to get yourself somewhere safer?

[Bucky's own conscience is tickling at him too, telling him that he owes more than just a muttered word of thanks to this man. He's of the perimeter guard and should, by rights, have reported him and even tried to make him go to a hospital; instead, he helped out personally and has been nothing but understanding.

He's not good at demonstrations of gratitude, however, and so he just ends up looking awkward as he stands up and gathers his things together as if he doesn't have any wound in his side at all.]

Yeah. I've dealt with worse.

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