riverviewlogs | 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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's a fool's assumption to think that he might be able to realise he's going to do something to her, sometimes it's like a switch flipped inside his head and he knows that he's capable of killing her. He doesn't want to come back to himself and find a corpse at his feet.]

Fine.

[He doesn't exactly have a better plan.

He raises his right hand, he's less likely to hurt her by accident with his flesh hand, and places it lightly on her shoulder. He uses his other hand to draw out a switchblade from the waistband of his pants and slice open the wounds without care for the pain or blood.]

Work fast.

[Foolish, yes, but that's not entirely new. Sana always thought she was a little too reckless, a little crazy. It's not a great system, but it's the best she can think of under the circumstances. Hoping that she can read it in that point of contact.]

Good.

[She doesn't flinch when he touches her, but there's a sense of tension in her body that's always there. She has the tools laid out, the curved needle threaded, just watching him as he pulls out a switchblade. Then he slices open the wounds, and she nods as she gets to work.

It's not a pretty sight, blood and the visible evidence of infection, but she works fast. Cleaning out the infection, rinsing the wound, then using gauze and pressure until the bleeding slows. She uses an antibiotic ointment instead of a typical disinfectant; avoids that hospital scent. Her hands are fast, precise, and then she's got the needle in her fingers.]

James, don't move.

[Her voice quiet, but she doesn't look away from the wounds. Pressing the edges of the wounds together, and then she's pressing the needle carefully through flesh.]

[His world has narrowed to just the two of them and the effort to hang on to himself, every breath seeming more strained than the one before. It's hard not to feel the touch of a HYDRA scientist, difficult not to see the surroundings of the many bases he found himself working out of and being worked on in.

He manages to hold it together as she cleans out the wound, his eyes glazed and fixed on the middle distance, lips clamped together, and jaw clenched so hard that a muscle is jumping by his throat.

But then the needle goes in.

His hand tightens around her shoulder like a vice, all the strength of the serum and his training going into trying to inflict as much damage as he can while not letting go.]

[ Ava's breath catches as his fingers tighten against her shoulder. Not those metal fingers, which is a mercy, but it's far from comfortable. But she takes it, silent in those first moments. Depending on how aware he is, he might notice that she's more durable than she should be, harder to hurt. But she's pretty sure he's still about to dislocate her shoulder.

She pulls the needle out from the skin, far more willing to have to try again than to push him further down that path. When she speaks, she keeps her voice soft and even.]

--James. You're not there, they can't touch you.

[ There's tension in her body, hyper-aware of him, because she will fight if he really tries to kill her, but for the moment, she's quiet and still, hoping she can bring him back to the moment. Someplace that isn't another hidden base with HYDRA scientists.]

[He doesn't press down any harder and complete the dislocation, but neither does he relax his grip either. He stays almost stock still aside from tremors running through his entire body like miniature waves, eyes fixed on the ground.

His words are Russian when he speaks, unconscious of the shift in language.]

Get away.

Then you have to let go.

[ She has to resist the urge to switch to Russian. She knows HYDRA used English too, and at the moment Russian might be easier for him, but she's not sure he has any associations with Russian that aren't pain, and she needs to pull him back from the threat. Even if her accent is more Brooklyn than Russian, the language still comes easier to her, but she's more worried about him. ]

James. I'm not going to hurt you.

[ His name, the one he'd asked for, trying to give him something. She doesn't know him well enough to know what works, but she keeps calm and tries, even when her body is keyed and sharp.]

[He hates how Russian is sometimes more of a mother tongue to him than English, it feels like another part of himself that HYDRA have taken away. It means he slips back into it in times of stress or fear, and he would be lying if he said he was not afraid now.

But she's right. That much permeates the fog surrounding his brain, he has to let go of her if she's going to get away, but he can't seem to make himself step back from this. His fingers flex slightly as if he's trying.]

You should.

[His words are staccato, strained.]

Make me let go.

You know that probably wouldn't go well for either of us.

[ Her voice is still that same quiet, even tone, but her eyes shine a little too bright even as she struggles to keep that rush of adrenaline from spiking too hard. She won't try and force him, give him something that could be heard as an attack, give that part of him justification. She's trying to avoid a fight, and this feels like it could tip so very easily in that direction. She's not sure if she really likes the idea of leaving him like this, but until he lets her go, that's a consideration for later. ]

James, you can do this. I know what it's like, being experimented on by people like that. But they can't reach you here, and I'm not going to do anything you don't choose.

[ She doesn't know how much of her words reach him, but she keeps talking, trying to pull him back from that edge, the darkness and the fear. ]

[His fingers reflexively tighten on her once more before, with a Herculean effort, he manages to prise them loose and drop his arm back to his side. He's still tense as a rod of iron, ready to snap and attack, but for now he's still.]

Please go.

[He doesn't want to hurt her. No wounds, no care, is worth this. He should have known better than to accept the help in the first place, but at least he hasn't actually hurt her.

For now.]

I could kill you.

[His fingers tense, but then release and she rolls her shoulder. Bruising, nothing that wont heal. She's worried about him, and there's the risk of him running into someone who's not really a fighter.

But she nods slowly, looking up into his eyes.] It means something that you don't want to.

[She seems a little blase about the implied threat, but she moves slowly, carefully retrieving her duffle bag but leaving the first aid kit.] Heat the needles. That needs to be fixed.

[And then if he doesn't stop her, she'll take a few steps back, and disappear into the trees between a blink of his eyes; though he can probably follow it. She'd been trained to vanish.]

[He nearly gets up to go after her.

The flash of fabric through the trees makes him tense, his instincts screaming that he's letting a threat slip through his fingers, but he manages to keep control of himself. It'll be a long time before he has the self control to move from this spot, but when he does---

It's a good thing, proving that it doesn't always end in a fight.]

music and mayhem

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