riverviewlogs | memories are what make us who we are

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memories are what make us who we are

who: Bucky and OPEN
what: Memory sharing event (within dreams)
when: October 9th - 23rd
where: Inside dreams
warnings: Torture, forced memory loss, gore, violence, Nazis.

note: I'll be doing a new dream memory for everyone that tags in, if there are specific subjects you would like to avoid then please note them in your tag/subject line and I'll make sure to tailor the dream accordingly. This can also be used for Bucky to view return dream memories. Open to new and old CR, and you don't need to plot with me first; but if you'd prefer to then I can be reached on plurk at

bibbety

[Bucky tries not to sleep too often even when there aren't oddities happening when he closes his eyes, but even he can't stay awake forever. He's only human, after all, the serum doesn't change that much about him.

But when he closes his eyes and drifts off, he's not expecting to be standing as an observer of his dream, like it's an incredibly realistic movie, and he's certainly not expecting someone to be stood beside him looking on.]

You're not supposed to be here.

[Depending how late in the event it is, and how many people he's seen in his dreams already, that statement ranges from confusion to tight irritation in tone.]

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[She listens, and there's a faint smile that touches her lips at the words. It's something not pulled from his head by whatever was doing this to them, but shared. Something personal. And there's something in his insistence that Steve never had them on the ropes that makes her think of Sana.]

Sounds like he attracted his share of trouble.

[Not that she had any idea what that was like; of course she does. It's not the same, but it still almost seems worth sharing. Things don't have to be the same. It takes her a few moments to decide, a few wavering breaths.]

I had a friend when I was in Brooklyn. Her name was Sana.

[It's singular. One friend. But there's something in her voice that says it was Important, maybe more important than just about anything else. Anyone else. There's something in how she says her name, between reverent and hopeless.]

[Why does it seem like all of the significant things in life happen in Brooklyn? Or perhaps that's just his skewed experience talking.]

Yeah? Tell me about her.

[He wants to hear. Not just for the distraction from what's going on around them, but because hearing about anyone who could be friends with people like them is always a bonus.]

[Ava wouldn't really count him wrong on that point. There's something about Brooklyn. It was the one place that had mattered to her.]

Things were different, back before I started to remember. She was my only friend in the world. [Her voice is quiet as she tries to find her footing.]

Sana's mother was a Russian ballerina that settled in the city, but she died in an accident when Sana was young and she never really got on with her father after he remarried. But she was... smart, strong, athletic, charming, pretty. She loved science, won the gold medal in the fencing regionals, and was always popular with the boys. [There's almost an eyeroll at that last part. There had always been boys, even if none of them ever mattered.]

She would drag me to parties, she loved cupcakes and I used to steal them for her sometimes. During the summer, we used to sneak in and watch the Cyclones play, we made it out to see the Mets once, but jumping security was riskier. I have no idea how, but she'd always get me something for my birthday; sketchpads or pencils or charcoals. I used to draw her sometimes, but I was too shy to let her see.

[Her words are nostalgic, fond, affectionate, rambling a little just because that three years had been everything to her once. She loved Sana like a sister. She misses her. She feels like she lost her, broke something she doesn't know how to fix when she left and came back as someone else.]

She was always there. She was just... good, I guess.

[Bucky listens as she talks, it's so easy to see Steve in all she says. A friend more important than most other things, loved like a sibling, a relationship that's changed forever thanks to things beyond their control.

As she's talking, the scenery shifts, they've followed the Soldier down and to an unmarked car which takes them all to a warehouse, fitted out with all the security HYDRA can afford. They don't even talk to him, just give him a perfunctory glance over and then direct him to the cryogenic freeze tanks. He goes without a single protest, without hesitation.]

I'm glad you had her.

[Good memories, even if they're fleeting, are important to hold on to.]

Me too.

[It's an admittance she almost doesn't say, but it's true. She misses her almost more than Alexei, in some ways. Alexei was gone, dead, but Sana was still living in Brooklyn, she was alive, Ava just didn't know how to be part of her life anymore. Not without putting her at risk; though if she's honest, she always had been. She just hadn't realized it. She'd always thought that if things went bad, it would be SHIELD agents dragging her away, not the way that her world had vanished.]

Even if it was only for a few years, she was important.

[She's not sure she'd be the same person she is if she hadn't had Sana. But she shifts a little, watching the memory. The way they look him over like looking for defects, and then they're directing him to the cryo tank and she shudders a little. It's not the chair, but she can't help thinking about it as she watches him go under without hesitation.]

[There's nothing else he needs to say to that, she already knows how vital it is to hold those good memories close and saying it out loud would be pointless. He expects this is going to be over shortly, anyway. He's going under, the ice is forming over the glass of the cryogenic freeze tank, this has to be the end of the memory.

He turns to look at her, expecting her to be gone any second, but then... the scene shifts around them.

All of a sudden they're in this draughty old tenement apartment with the quiet sound of a gramophone record playing a slow waltz. A teenage Bucky Barnes, perhaps fifteen but already well grown with good muscle, is holding a skinny little Steve Rogers as if Bucky is the girl in this dance.]

C'mon, Steve. You've gotta learn how to dance with a dame, or you won't ever get a kiss goodnight.

[He grins and starts up the steps again, putting on a falsetto voice.]

Oh, Mr. Rogers, you're such a good dancer.

Can it, Buck. [Steve is laughing.] You're such an idiot.

[She can feel her own tension, her heart races as he goes under, the ice forming on the glass, and even just watching feels claustrophobic. She remembers him screaming. And she wants- more than anything, she wishes there was a way to offer some sort of comfort but she doesn't know the words, so she just stands near him, watches as it fades away, and expects to wake up in her bedroom.

Instead, the scene changes. A gramophone, a waltz playing over the speakers in an old apartment. And as the memory comes into focus on the two young men, it's like a strange kind of balm that evens her nerves, watching something good. Even if it was before what happened, it's still nice to see, even if it feels like a further trespass, one that's more delicate than watching the Soldier. Glass that's already spider-webbed and vulnerable.

But there's something joyful about it, too. The way Bucky grins, the way Steve laughs, catches her, taking in the ease of it all. It's almost familiar in a strange, disquiet sort of way.]

You used to dance?

[Something small, not touching the more quiet parts of it, as best as she can, anyway.]

[Bucky's entire being is focused on this scene with such fierce desperation that he almost doesn't hear what she says, almost forgets she's there at all. He's seen this before in his dreams, but only in snatches and the focus was unclear. He saw the feeling of the memory, rather than the sharp lines that make it real. But now he can smell the damp wood, he can hear what Steve's laughter sounds like, he can see his own face in a smile.

He takes a step closer as if he can be part of it, but neither of the boys notice him. He's not really there, just an intruder, a ghost.]

...yeah.

[He did, didn't he?]

I was the best dancer in Brooklyn, all the girls used to want to step out with me.

[She watches him, doesn't move to follow him, lets him soak in the memory, and her heart twists as it occurs to her that he doesn't remember this like this. His memory of this must be more shadowy, indistinct, like most of her old memories. The boys don't notice him, though Ava watches him, the way he can't seem to interact with the shadows of his own mind, and there's something a little tragic about it.

She's quiet even after he speaks, a slight smile curving her lips. Giving a moment before she responds.]

I used to dance, too.

[She's a little awkward as she says it, because it's such a strange thing for her. One of those things that are misty around the edges in places. She remembers dancing, ballet for her mother, how Natasha had been taught swing to lure the Americans.]

Do you ever miss it? Things like that?

[Being valued for things that didn't hurt anyone.]

[Bucky is leading Steve more than Steve is leading Bucky, despite Steve being in the male position for dancing, and they're still treading all over one another's feet to the point that eventually Bucky just falls back howling in laughter.

"Oh, pal, better hope you get a dame with no nerves in her toes."

"Shut up, Buck, like you were any better."

Bucky's smirk becomes positively wicked then. "Maybe you better ask Mary Peters, she asked me to ask her to the dance next Friday."]

Of course.

[The reply comes a bit late, he's so reluctant to speak over the two echoes that he waits until they're done to talk to Ava.]

I miss it every day, but I can't be what I used to be, those days are a long way behind me now.

[She can't help smiling as she watches the memory play out, the way they laugh, the sort of pleasure in moments like this. They were such good friends, which she'd read in a museum display, but there's something about getting to see it like this, hear it and feel it on the air. The tone of voice, the playful teasing. It reminds her of Sana in ways, even if the details are different.

She waits for him to respond, makes no attempt to push for it. She knows this is important to him, there's just something that feels even more like a trespasser if she were to just fade into the shadows and watch him.]

It's true. I can't- things won't ever be the way they used to.

[There's a weight to it, the way the words skip. Loss that's sharp; things she doesn't talk about.]

But I try to keep what pieces I can.

Yeah.

[It's all he says, just one little word. But the rasp to it and the weight behind his voice says that he understands. These tiny pieces are all he has left, sharp fragments that cut as much as they reveal pictures of a better time, and he hoards them as jealously as he can.

All of a sudden the memory cuts off. That's all that even Quarantine can get out of his piecemeal memories, and the scene before them disappears.

Ava might have time to catch a glimpse of Bucky reaching out as if to desperately grasp what's already gone, before they both wake up.]

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memories are what make us who we are

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