6661/Once Upon a Dr--Nightmare

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Once Upon a Dr--Nightmare
Date of Scene: 22 June 2021
Location: A barn in rural Pennsylvania (with a brief pit-stop in Harlem)
Synopsis: Things you shouldn't do to avoid dealing with your trauma: a. eat your feelings, b. drive recklessly, c. get black-out drunk. Things that Bucky and/or Sam do in this scene: all of the above. Featuring a brief cameo by Steve Rogers!
Cast of Characters: James Barnes, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers




James Barnes has posed:
    Rescuing Tyler and the other kids pretty much went off without a hitch other than that damned SORCERER getting away. ...and through it, Bucky seemed pretty *normal* - insofar as that word ever really applies to him. But now that it's over, well... he's gone all quiet and just weird again. They landed the Quinjet at the Playground - without a scratch, Sharon! Now he's behind the wheel of the car he borrowed from the motor pool and they're almost back to the city.

    He has not said a word, not one... since they got into the car. Seems however, that he's heading back to that hole in Manhattan if not stopped.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Eventually, Sam has to board the Quinjet. The flight back across the Atlantic is a little bit beyond what the EXO-7 suit is capable of, though he remains in formation out in the night sky until they've put a reasonable distance between them and the op site. It's long enough that he has plenty of time to give Bucky shit about wizards, though, and he's almost convinced himself he's in a good mood when he swoops in through the cargo door and lands.

    Almost. It's a near thing. He tips his head back against the back of his seat for the rest of the ride.

    When the smoke clears and it's just the two of them, after they've dropped off the Quinjet, Sam's pretty quiet too. His phone's out, laid flat on his thigh, and occasionally it buzzes and he fires off a text or two in response.

    "Stay on I-95 until the Amsterdam Avenue exit," he says, and then gives a few follow-up directions that will take them into the heart of Harlem.

    Whether or not Bucky's actually going to listen, Sam isn't sure.

James Barnes has posed:
    "Droppin' you off with family?" he asks. Oh there it is, the Bucky ditch attempt. He does take the appropriate exit. And when they get to their destination, he sits there in the car waiting for Sam to get out.

    Decision time, leave Bucky to his own devices when he's positively vibrating with some sort of weird negative, scary, dark emotion energy or... battle it out?

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam makes a noise that starts out as laughter and ends on a tired wheeze. "Nah. Gideon--my brother--and I don't really get along." He looks out the window, resting his cheek against his balled fist, as he watches the familiar sights of NYC pass by. It's strange to think of this as home, because it's not any more. Sam's on the move so much that he doesn't really know home is.

    "A friend of mine is out of town, taking care of some family that's sick. They're going to let us use their place so long as we water their plants and bring in the mail." Well, that answers that, doesn't it? 'We.' 'Us.'

    He unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door, but he doesn't get out yet. Instead he twists to look at Bucky. "Come on, man." And then he slides out and onto his feet, going around to the back to pull out the bag with his wings in it.

James Barnes has posed:
    That's *weird*. Bucky won't even look at Sam, not even in his general direction. His hands are on the steering wheel, his grip so tight that the thing is starting to creak like it might crack in two.

    "Got a mouse in your pocket?" He's not making this easy, but when does he ever.

    Shame, that's what this looks like. It's not anger, it's not one bit anger.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    The thing is, yes, Bucky usually doesn't make things easy. Sam knows that so well that he just comes to expect it naturally, even as he shuts the passenger door closed and heads for the trunk. So, once he's got his bag slung over his shoulder, he comes up along the driver's side and stops there, one hand coming up to knock a knuckle against the window. Tap-tap-tap.

    "If you start driving away I'm gonna put my wings on and follow your ass," he warns. "And neither of us need the kind of attention that will bring."

    Sam steps up onto the sidewalk and pauses to tip his head back to look up at the building, before he climbs the steps and consults the names listed on the box next to the door. He buzzes one of the apartments, and a second later a voice crackles over the old, tinny speaker. "Sam, s'that you?" a tired voice asks.

    "Hey Mrs. Williams, sorry for waking you up. I'm house-sitting for Angel." He looks back over his shoulder at the car.

James Barnes has posed:
    One day, maybe, if he can ever catch an honest to God *break*? Bucky'll make it easy. He doesn't drive off, but he doesn't get out of the car yet either. The internal struggle he's having is written all over his face. That's typical too, at least with the likes of Sam or Steve. He has an amazing poker face, when he feels like he has to put up a front.

    Finally he gets out of the car and *slams* the door behind him. He brushes past Sam toward the building. Yeah, he's trying to make it look like anger, but it soooo isn't that.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Mrs. Williams helpfully buzzes Sam in with a sleepy but genuine demand that he come over for dinner the next day, and Sam is utterly relieved to hear it *and* the slam of a car door. He lets Bucky sweep past him into the building and then points up. "3C," he says, and then shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he starts to climb.

    His voice is quiet, since it's so late it's early, and even if it didn't seem like Sam knows half the tenants in this building he's too polite to go on making a racket. "Angel is one of the vets I used to council; they got discharged because of DADT and struggled with it, but that was a long time ago." There's a rug in front of the door to 3C that tells guests to "Wipe your paws," and as Sam bends down to lift it and take the key it was hiding, he says, "Don't worry. Angel took their cats with them upstate."

    He lets them in, and it's a nice apartment in the sense that it's homey, well-kept, and well-lived in. There are an absolute riot of potted plants living on the windowsills of the two windows opposite the front door, and even more tucked up onto shelves, next to the tv, sitting on the floor. Sam whistles. The place smells clean in that way only greenery can make a place smell. "I might have signed us up for more than we could handle."

James Barnes has posed:
    "I'll take the couch," Bucky mutters. Probably so he can lay on it and stare up at the ceiling wide awake all night long based on the mood he's in right now. Flowers, greenery, nice and homey, something about cats, none if it even seems to register, there could be a tiger on the kitchen table and he might not notice it. He just wants... *away* from Sam right now.

    ...because he's ashamed. He remembers, or thinks he does, and he's ashamed of what it seems Sam might have seen. It sure *felt* like Sam was there.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam drops his bag next to the door and walks over to the nearest window. For a little bit he's quiet, distractedly running his fingers through the trailing ivy of a plant hanging from the ceiling.

    He's pretty sure he can see where little cat teeth have been nibbling on some of the leaves.

    "Buck--" he starts. Then stops. It's not common for Sam to be at a loss for words, and he's not really, but it takes him a few heartbeats before he actually figures out what to say. "About what happened. I'm sorry." This isn't easy. It never really is, even when he's having conversations like these in a professional capacity, but at least then it tends to come naturally to him. A combination of training and plain inborn talent.

    Now though, nah. Not even a little bit. "I didn't realize what I was agreeing to, but that's no excuse. That was a hell of a boundary for me to violate and I'm sorry. After everything you've been through, you shouldn't have to worry about something like that from the people around you." He exhales.

    "Shit. Least of all *me*. But I did it anyway."

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky's taken up a spot near the couch, not on it yet. But when Sam comes out with it and confirms, without a shadow of a doubt, that what he's been thinking is true? He plops down heavily on the thing and leans forward, elbows on his knees, to stare at the floor. It's a go to move for him because it lets his hair fall over his face.

    "So you did see," he whispers. Damn but that voice sounds ... well, just as broken as Bucky actually is.

    He knows he's fucked up and he knows that the people around him know he's fucked up. But he does try, and mostly fails, to keep them from knowing just *how* fucked up.

    "I'm the one that should be sorry."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "Yeah," Sam replies. He did see, and he hates that he's going to have that image of Bucky strapped down and bleeding in his head for the rest of his damn life, but what's done is done.

    The defensive posture Bucky bends himself into makes Sam's mouth twist faintly, and he moves around to come stand by the couch, opposite the low table in front of it. The urge for a swift and immediate rebuttal bubbles up in him when Bucky tries to turn the apology around, but Sam bites it back. Once he knows he's not going to try arguing (which is just an instinct around Bucky, he can't help it) Sam shakes his head. "Whatever you think I saw in there and whatever you think I feel about it? I can guarantee you're wrong, Bucky. Because if you weren't, you'd know you had nothing to apologize about."

    He clenches his left hand into a fist and then flexes his fingers outwards, the phantom pain of nerve injury still with him. "You went through hell and came out the other side, and I've got nothing but respect for you, you know that right? I mean, I'm not going to stop giving you shit because you're definitely wrong about wizards, but I wouldn't go out on the field with someone I didn't respect, or trust to have my back in a fight."

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky's found an interesting little stain on the floor to focus on. It looks like a little crescent moon. It's something, anything, to look at that isn't Sam.

    "How can you trust me to have your back when... after... I ... they..." Oh, it's the other elephant in the room, the one where HYDRA almost turned him into a murder weapon to be used against his friends. Hell, they did it while Sam was in arm's reach.

    Is it possible for the Winter Soldier to look *small*, he kinda does right now.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    There's even a potted plant on the coffee table, though it's a succulent--at least something they won't have to water. Sam gently nudges it aside and then lowers himself down to perch himself on the table's edge. "Yeah, that was a pretty close call. But in the middle of all of that, man, right there in the middle of freefall, the only thing I could think about was how pissed off I was."

    His hands curl into fists on top of his thighs, and he stares at them. "It was the same thing when I got shoved into your brain. I was angry, the kind of angry where I just wanted to give in and punch something. And, I mean, I did. Not that it did anything, because, y'know..." Sam shrugs, unable to really parse how empty it felt to take his rage out on a literal imaginary figure, even if it looked like one of the HYDRA scientists who had tortured Bucky.

    "And I've spent my whole damn life trying not to be like that. The world sees a black man lashing out and they're all going to think one thing, so I make sure they don't have that opportunity. I help people, I heal them--it's why I became a PJ, and why I became a counselor."

    Sam lifts his chin. Bucky isn't going to meet his gaze, and Sam doesn't expect him to, but he looks anyway. "I know we have to do something to get those words outta your head, and as much as that voice in my head is telling me to punch my way through this problem, that won't help. So maybe instead of asking me how I can trust you, maybe ask yourself if you can trust me to help."

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky's head does snap up. "It doesn't have anything to do with trust. How could you thin I don't *trust* you?" Back down, the crescent moon on the floor, hair in his face. "I don't want you to get hurt, not because of me. I ... fuck, Sam. It's not just the words in my head." He's not Sam. He's not good at expressing himself. All he's managing to do is frustrate himself to the point of just shutting down again.

    His gaze shifts from the stain to his own gloved hands. "I could have killed you, if they had just been a few microseconds sooner, I would have killed you." Or probably not? It's just as likely that he still would have shoved Sam away from himself once it started.

    "You ... didn't do it, what I asked you to." He's still staring at his hands, palms open, almost as if he can imagine Sam's blood on them.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    This is the elephant in the room for Sam. Not what he saw in Bucky's head, not how close they came to the Winter Soldier being reactivated; the fact that he made a promise and failed.

    Sam didn't promise that he'd kill Bucky if it came down to it. He said he'd try, but it wasn't a promise. The promise he'd made was to put himself in-between Bucky and HYDRA if they ended up doing what they did, and he failed.

    He'd watched the playback, after. Post-op review. He knows Bucky intentionally put himself in the way of those bullets for Sam. That's what *Sam* was supposed to do, not the other way around. For a second he thinks about lying, because it's not like he actually heard Bucky ask. But it's a dumb idea; there's no way Bucky would have missed the reflexive flinch and grimace Sam had given, once he realized what Bucky was asking.

    "No, I didn't." His leg bounces a couple of times before it stops, and he presses his balled fist harder against his thigh to keep it that way. "I couldn't. For the same reason you're terrified of killing me; how the hell could I live with myself after, your blood on my hands?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
There's a sharp rap at the door. Three, then two. The cadence is a familiar one, interrupting the weight of the silence after Sam's heavy question.

When the door opens, Steve Rogers is filling the doorframe. Construction boots, plaid shirt worn loose, white tee, blue jeans. It's as All-American as it can get, and he holds up a sixpack of Guinness like an offering before stepping inside.

The tension's thick enough to cut with a knife; Steve reads both sets of faces, the discomfort and uncertainty, and doesn't say anything until he pops two bottlecaps with a flex of his thumb and offers one to each of them.

Steve picks up a third, does the same, and tosses the cap to rattle across the countertop a few inches.

A beat. "This... feels awkward," he remarks after a sip of beer. "Is it awkward because you're not at the 'we're ready to hug it out' point of the discussion, or because I'm interrupting your beautiful moment?"

There's a glimmer in his blue eyes; bringing just a moment of levity to what's obviously a very heavy personal discussion. Most civilians would see the humor as inappropriate.

Which is fine; gallows humor isn't for civilians. A little touch of irreverence even in the gravest of moments helps keep soldiers sane in an insane line of work.

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky takes the beer and finally leans back on the couch, that mop of hair falls away from his face. That's something anyway. Steve's gallows humor bought them being able to see Bucky's face.

    "It wouldn't have been me you were killing, Sam," he says after he takes a long pull from the bottle. If only it was that easy though? Separating the Winter Soldier from the friend inside? They wouldn't be having this conversation if it was that easy.

    Pale blue eyes, exhausted, red-rimmed and dark circled glance up at Steve. He braces for it, brow furrowed, hand almost white knuckled gripping the neck of that bottle. It's a wonder the thing doesn't shatter. He figures it'll go one of two ways... Steve'll jump straight to the 'hell to the fucking no do you seriously think one of us will kill you if it happens again' or... he'll gloss it over and deny it and joke his way through it. Bucky's not sure which he's hoping for honestly.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam's head snaps towards the door when the knock sounds, and then, recognizing it, tips back so that he can blink up at the ceiling. He gets up onto his feet to answer it.

    "You my Uber Eats order?" he jokes, and *then* Sam sees the beer in Steve's hand. His breath wheezes out of him and he shakes his head, standing aside so that Steve can come in. Resetting two locks and door chain after is a momentary ritual that gives Sam just enough time to breathe.

    He takes the bottle and goes back to the window, avoiding the mismatched line of pots boasting a whole nursery's worth of plants by leaning up against the window's edge. His first sip happens while he looks out at dawn spilling over Harlem's streets. "It's fine," he tells Steve, even though it clearly the fuck is *not*.

    "Well, Buck, you sure as hell wouldn't be around after, would you?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Buck, you're asking us to do the impossible," Steve points out. Yeah, he definitely overheard the conversation on the way in. "And we've been through this dance before," he reminds Barnes. "You. Me, Sam. The Winter Soldier. Undoing the ..." he taps a free hand against his temple. "bowl of spaghetti noodles they left you up there."

Steve takes a heavy swig from his bottle; any thicker and the stout would be more barley mash than beer. "You're not the only person I've had this conversation with, y'know. Bruc-- Banner has had his low points. He's flat gone off the reservation before. We still want him on the Avengers and we still want him turning up for dinner." His free hand spreads slightly and he hooks his thumb in his jeans pocket. "With all the good you do, on and off the battlefield, you still come out way ahead on points."

James Barnes has posed:
    Oh look, his beer bottle has a label. Bucky leans forward again, hair falling in his face, and starts to peel at that label. "How many of our *friends* do you think I would have killed before someone stopped me if they succeeded down there?" He's almost positive Sam would have been one of them. "How many fucking passes do I get, Steve? Really? Before ... " He really kills someone he loves. But honestly? Three times now at least, four if the first with Peggy counts... he's been there and hasn't. First with Peggy, then with Steve... and finally with Sam when he figuratively threw himself on the sword to keep it from going there.

    It's true, he has spaghetti noodles for brains, but he's also a whole lot stronger than he gives himself credit.

    But he seems to realize he won't win the argument. Steve would chop off his own arm and beat himself to death with it before he'd ever EVER give up on Bucky. Sam would chop off his own legs, ground himself and never fly again... So, he changes the subject rather abruptly. "Some Martian looking fella named J'onn shoved Sam into my head during a nightmare..." Just feels like something Steve should know. "Weird thing is, I remembered the whole dream when I woke up. That... doesn't usually happen. It's... just confusing bits and pieces or just being terrified when I wake up."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam isn't even going to bother acknowledging Bucky's question by responding to it. That way lies madness, and he's already feeling the tendrils of it trying to sneak past his defenses. He's silent while Steve and Bucky speak, working his way through the bottle in his hands more for something to occupy himself with than an actual desire to drink, because *seriously* Steve, damn, it's like drinking a loaf of multigrain bread.

    When the topic of discussion comes around to J'onn and Sam's jaunt through Bucky's subconscious, though, he's gotta speak up.

    "That shouldn't have happened," he says. "It violated just about every code of ethics I have as a counselor. I know that people with those kinds of mental abilities can do some amazing things, but you can't heal a mind from the outside; cliche as it sounds, it has to come from within."

Steve Rogers has posed:
"J'onn's a Martian." Steve looks up at Sam. "An alien from Mars, I mean. I have a file on him, from the Justice League. I don't understand most of it," he admits. "But my understanding is that what we know of our ability to think and reason is nothing compared to what he knows. You're a good counselor, Sam, a damn good one," he tells his friend. "But I think we might need to give J'onn some deference here. Comparing him to our understanding of the brain is like trying to stack up the Wright Brothers against the EXO-7," he says.

"But that's not something we have to tackle today," he clarifies, and shifts his weight a little before leaning against the counter again. "Maybe J'onn can help; maybe he can't. But you /are/ healing, Bucky. You're better every day than you were the day before. And when you backslide a little bit, you always end up making positive progress once you slingshot back. Don't let one slip get you down. Maybe it's something we can fix with some decent earplugs," he suggests, and then that bantering amusement enters his expression again.

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky lifts his head again, he's managed to peel the label off in one piece in this short amount of time. That's talent. "Steve, I love you, you know that..." Not that either one of them say it often. "But just like you can't punch your way out of some situations, you can't... optimism your way out either." Optimism... as a verb, indeed when it comes to Steve.

    He leans back and rests his head on the back of the couch, gaze up at the ceiling. Look, there's a little round stain with some lines... looks like a sun... goes with the little crescent moon on the floor.

    "Wasn't your fault, Sam, so stop." Pot, here's Kettle.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "Yeah, nah." Sam's hand cuts through the air in front of him, immediately dismissive. His voice has gone flat, the emotion in his dark eyes roiling. "He put me in there without Bucky's consent. I know it was a serious situation but you're never going to convince me that was okay, I don't care." It's pretty obvious by the grit in his tone that Sam is not willing to hear a counter-argument on this one, that this is Sam digging his feet in and saying 'no, you move'.

    He goes into the kitchenette and sets his beer down in the sink, no longer able to sustain any interest in finishing it. "I'll acknowledge that this might have been acceptable in Martian culture, but--no. Bucky deserves to make the choice, and judging by what J'onn said, Buck had already *said* no."

    Steve cuts the conversation off and Sam waves his hand, the gesture pointed. His arms cross over his chest, and he's staring down at the floor, having just now noticed the stain that Bucky was so taken with only a little while ago. Of course, he's not afraid to make eye contact, so when Bucky calls him out, Sam looks up.

    His shoulders tense and he sucks in air, expression tightening into something uncomfortable, and it's completely obvious that he's about to say something--until he forces his lungs to empty all at once, one big gust of breath.

    Abruptly he says, "I have to take a walk." His steps are forcibly measured as he makes immediately for the door. "There's food in the fridge, Angel said have at it. Just don't drink their fancy energy drinks; they're imported or something."
    Sam doesn't slam the door, but it's a near thing. He stops it just an inch from the doorjam and instead brings it carefully closed with a click.

James Barnes has posed:
    "Damnit," Bucky mutters as he pushes himself up off the couch. "Sam!" he calls out just as the door is closing. It all probably leaves Steve wondering when his two friends got married, seriously.

    When he makes it to the door, Bucky isn't anywhere near as gentle as Sam was with the door. He shoves through it and, while he doesn't actually slam it, he does close it with a little force. "Sam!" he calls out again once he's in the hallway. He has no qualms about waking neighbors it seems.

    All he really wants to do is curl up somewhere and pass out, but he does what Bucky always does, he musters. No matter what the circumstance, no matter how much hell and chaos is happening, the dude always manages to muster.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    It's this or say something he might regret later. Sam has plenty of emotional awareness, certainly enough to recognize he's reached the point of frustration where he needs to separate himself from what's agitating him, go cool off, and get his emotions in check.

    Honestly, what he'd really like to do is just go to sleep for a solid 12 hours, but Sam doesn't think he'll have much luck with two super soldiers in the other room.

    He's pretty sure he remembers the bodega down on the corner on the left making a really amazing breakfast sandwich. Something carb-heavy and greasy with a cup of bodega coffee sounds like just the thing Sam needs so that he doesn't lose his mind, right now.

    Yeah, he knows eating his emotions isn't the smartest thing to do, but right now he really doesn't care.

    Sam doesn't stop when he's called after. Not the first time, at least, but the second time he does, already halfway down the first flight of steps towards the ground floor. Not only does he stop, but he turns back around and jogs up the stairs, mouth set into a grim line. "Be quiet, people are sleeping." He points back to the door of apartment 3C. "I'll be back in a while, I just have to," he stops to glance away, "Not be here right now."

James Barnes has posed:
    Yeah, no, that's not going to happen. It's clear in Bucky's expression that it's not. Really, that man can say SO much with just a look that it's ridiculous. "Well, then let's not fucking be here."

    Really, it's... not like Sam could possibly out run him and Bucky knows it but he still threatens, "Or, y'know, you could leave without me and I could stand in this hallway and sing opera for a few hours?"

    One eyebrow raises ever so slightly in question, 'what's it gonna be bub?'

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam opens his mouth, clearly intending to offer a rebuttal, but then a wave of deja vu hits him at the familiarity of this situation. Except it's the reverse, every time he wouldn't let Bucky run off on his own. His mouth snaps shut and he shakes his head, hands going to his hips as he almost smiles down at the floor.

    "Okay, yeah, I get it. I can't exactly argue with you, can I?" One deep breath later, he looks up at Bucky and nods. "You hungry?"

    Which leads into Sam heading back downstairs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he heads down the street to the nearest. The guy behind the counter's name is Rudy, and the coffee is just as hot and just as good as Sam remembers. Which of course pales in comparison to the goodness of the standard bodega breakfast sandwich, American cheese and egg and bacon on a kaiser roll. Sam pays for the both of them and spends a few moments asking after Rudy's grandkids (twin girls) who he learns are about to graduate high school.

    He clutches his paper-wrapped sandwich like a lifeline as they walk out, and right now it kind of is.

James Barnes has posed:
    The bill won't come to much from Bucky's end, he orders... a cup of coffee. Through it all, he's been quiet. Most days he's not an overly talkative fellow anyway so.

    When they leave, it's Bucky that takes the lead, back to the car. He unlocks the doors with the fob as they get close. "Get in." Absolutely no room for debate, period, none. How's it feel SAM?

    "You can sleep on the way." Where the hell are they *going*? Bucky seems disinclined to reveal that just yet.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    The side-eye Bucky gets for not ordering food is pretty fucking intense, especially for Sam. There is a visible effort on his face not to snap about it; Sam's really just hit a wall in terms of being able to deal, so he has no choice but to let it go. Maybe once he's gotten some carbs into him.

    Sam gets in the car without having to be told twice, still very aware of the role-reversal here. And of all the things Sam is, hypocrite isn't one of them.

    He doesn't sleep on the way, though. His sandwich is eaten with the sort of methodical slowness of someone trying very hard to remind themselves to savor each bite, that there is goodness to be found in the basic tasks that come along with being a living, breathing human being. It's not until he's done and balled the paper wrapper up that he exhales and says, "Thank you."

    He's silent after, disposable coffee cup in his hands as he stares out the window.

James Barnes has posed:
    Side-eye vs. BuckyStare(tm), battle royale.

    "You thanking me or the sandwich?" he asks. Bucky drives *fast*. This something Sam knows, something Sam should be used to. It's not like there are any near death experiences in the form of potential fiery crashes though. He may have a lead foot, but Bucky has completely control of the vehicle the entire time.

    "We still have about two hours to go, you might as well get some sleep," he points out. They're heading south, in the general direction of Pennsylvania?

    "Unless you wanna fuckin' talk about it?" Whatever *it* is.

    But then, well, he decides to talk about what he think it might be? Or at least part of it? "I didn't have enough faith in you and I'm sorry, Sam. I shoulda trusted you to stop it before it got too far and I didn't. I still woulda taken those bullets though, even if they weren't..." If HYDRA wasn't trying to hi-jack his brain again. "...because I knew I could and you couldn't."

    He falls silent, but it's not a silence that invites comment yet, it's a weighted silence, laden with things unspoken that he hasn't found the words for yet.

    "... Look, you gotta give me a break with all this. I'm just... I'm used to going it alone and not leaning on anyone else. All those years out there, the times I'd manage to get free for a little while, it was just *me*."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam snorts. "The sandwich, obviously."

    As fast as Bucky drives, Sam flies through the air faster, so he doesn't really care. You can't be the level of adrenaline junkie that straps a miniaturized jet engine to your back without thinking speed limits are a suggestion, not a hard rule. In response to Bucky's repeated suggestion to sleep (now *that* is hypocritical) Sam only lifts his coffee to his mouth and takes a pointedly noisy sip. He's not going to sleep.

    Especially not when Bucky decides to talk. And sure, maybe Bucky's gone all contemplative and broody in the middle there, but that's never stopped Sam from saying something he thinks needs to be said. "I know you would. That doesn't mean I'm okay with you having to, but I understand why you did," he responds.

    And then he sighs. He tips his chin forward, presses his thumb hard into the spot on the bridge of his nose, between his eyes. The acknowledging silence Bucky gets in return is heavy, Sam's eyes narrowed and focused out the car's front windshield as his thoughts twist and turn. After what feels like ages to Sam but is probably only about half a minute or so, he asks, "You know it's not just you *now* though, right?"

James Barnes has posed:
    "Yeah... I mean, I do. It's just..." Old habits, really really old ones, seventy or so years in the making? They're hard to break. But there's more to it than just that. "I guess what it comes down to is that I'm afraid to let myself lean on anyone else, depend on anyone else because I know that it'll only take them a second to rip everything away again." His voice is soft, barely a whisper, halting and just resigned, sad? It's also not the easiest thing for him, admitting this shit? Admitting that sometimes he feels like he'd rather not have it than have it and lose it again, fuck that's hard.

    "I'll try harder," and that's the best he can do.

    He moves on to the next thing he thinks is an issue, changing the subject from his admitted character flaws on a dime. "Do you know why I was upset about you being in my head?" Rhetorical question, because he answers it. "It's not that I don't trust you. I... It's that... I'm afraid that the things you'll see... I don't want to wake up and, fuck..." Give him a minute, this is even HARDER than that other crap. It's something that he's even giving all this a go right?

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Bucky is having a pretty startling moment of emotional clarity and Sam is stunned by it, quiet in his seat. He feels a little guilty that he's underestimated Bucky, that there's obviously a hell of a lot more going on up in that big cyborg brain of his than Sam had given him credit for.

    He sits back and listens. Not that it's an easy thing to do, because Sam's a human being with compassion, but Sam is also a human being with an education on mental health, so he knows right now what's best is to just let Bucky speak.

    When Bucky says he'll try harder, Sam only nods and answers with, "Okay."

    Believe it or not, Sam actually does have an answer to Bucky's next question. He doesn't speak up immediately though, and then Bucky's continuing on so the opportunity is lost. Instead Sam flexes the fingers of his left hand into and then out of a fist, still feeling the phantom sensation of tingling nerves.

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky drives onward, thumbs tapping away at the steering wheel a little ... nervously? This is just hard. One mile marker passes and another, one more... then another. Finally he sucks in a deep breath to let it out slowly, inhale again and say, "I couldn't deal with it if I had woke up from that shit and saw you looking at me different, okay? I don't have a lot of people in my life that don't look at me like I'm a Goddamned piece of glass that's gonna shatter if they put the peanut butter on the same side as the jelly when they make a sandwich. In fact, I got fucking one... and that's you."

    All those words come rushing out in one breath, tumbling over one another and by the time he's finished, he sounds angry. ...but anger is easier than fear, Sam's learned that lesson about Bucky in spades over the years. When he's feeling afraid, he resets and defaults to anger.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam's a lot more reserved with his own outward signs of anxiety, so that one clench of his hand is all that really happens. He isn't a stranger to channeling the chaos of unpleasant emotions into physical activity but he tends to go bigger: it used to be through running, back when he was a civilian, and more often now it's flying.

    Given that neither are an option right now, he'll just have to deal.

    The thing about peanut butter and jelly throws him off for a second--Sam flat out doesn't understand how that would even be *possible*--but it turns out that he was right. Sam had a pretty good read on what Bucky's reason was.

    "You know, that's a pretty common thing for people dealing with trauma to feel," he says. "You see something terrible, or something terrible happens to you, and it changes you, right? I get that. And then you think it's going to change the way people look at you, and that's the worst feeling in the world because you already hate knowing that you've changed, seeing it in someone else's faces just means you gotta deal with it over and over and over again."

    He tips his head against the car window, and for a moment Sam's not here, he's back in Louisiana after coming home from his second tour, looking at his sister's face. Seeing the same damn thing then that Bucky sees around him now. "So, I get it."

    "It's not going to change anything for me, though. You think I look at the people I counsel that way, you think I pity them? It takes guts to dig yourself out of that, even if it takes your whole life. The only thing that might change is my damn blood pressure if I don't get to punch a few more HYDRA assholes in the face."

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky's new at this, the whole admitting feelings thing. Hell, he's likely been through more than a few therapists that have just thrown up their hands over his refusal to actually say anything meaningful and helpful. He's not entirely sure how to respond to Sam so he doesn't... not immediately anyway.

    He reaches over and turns on the radio. Tie a Yellow Ribbon by Dawn blares from the speakers. He doesn't change it. That's a whole lot closer to 'his time' than the other stuff on the radio.

    A few more songs pass, all of them from the 70s, must be an 'All Out 70s' station. Somewhere in Space, Quill is smiling.

    When he finally reaches over to turn it back down, the silence is a little awkward for a few moments before, "I wouldn't say no if it had to happen again..."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam takes the request for them to hit pause on this conversation that the sudden crackle of the radio obviously is with grace, falling quiet again. It's a good excuse for Sam to take the time for some introspection of his own, which the whole bodega-sandwich-and-coffee episode was supposed to let him do anyway.

    So, he walked out. Not something he usually feels the need to do in tense situations, but Sam knows he's bounced from one crisis to the next so many times in the last few days that he feels his nerves fraying. Mostly figuratively, but his arm is still bothering him, and Sam wonders if that's partly psychosomatic.

    Without thinking, his thumb has started to tap along to the beat of the song, and then the next one, and then the next one.

    "You call me with a lead on some HYDRA faces that haven't been smashed in yet and I'll be there," he says. "Just say the word."

James Barnes has posed:
    When Bucky turns the radio back up, it isn't to 'don't wanna talk anymore' volume. It's just background music now. For the rest of the trip, he does very little talking and when he does it's to tell some story about Steve from when they were kids or to ask Sam about his sisters and the kids; small talk. It's not something Bucky is over fond of or good at these days, but it used to be.

    Their destination takes them to rural Pennsylvania and down more than a few dirt roads, including the last one that can't even be called a road at all. It's more like two tire rut tracks through the woods. There's a gate at one point in the middle of that non-road. Bucky stops the car, rolls down the window and says... to no one, "Grant Winters, tell Ruby she still owes me two rootbeer floats and a Snickers bar." Maybe that's some kind of code? ... Grant Winters though? Sam might pick up on the significance of that alias; it's Steve's middle name and well, Winter.

    A woman's voice replies... from somewhere in the trees so it almost sounds lie it's coming from everywhere in the trees nearby. Her 'twang' definitely doesn't scream Pennsylvania. "Good luck gettin' me t'pay up." But... the gate swings up and open.

    "Sunglasses and the baseball hat on the floorboard in the back, put them on," he tells Sam.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    On the other hand, Sam is old hat at small talk. It's not long before it's mostly his voice overlaying the quiet music coming out of the car's speakers. His nephew's experiment for the school science fair where he extracted DNA from a strawberry, the current war between two competing restaurants in Delacroix that is apparently a boon for his family's seafood business, that sort of thing. It's not long before he's complaining about the lack of a professional baseball team in Louisiana, which is apparently just a Thing for him.

    Not to say he doesn't love the Saints! But Sam's a baseball guy.

    Talking about random shit is also a way for Sam not to ask about where they're going. Bucky knows, and Sam's going to leave it there, despite how curious he is. That they end up in the backwoods of Pennsylvania is maybe not what he was expecting, though.

    He waits as Bucky rolls down the window, and his eyebrows gow up. Immediately it's obvious that Sam picks up on Buck's total lack of creativity when it comes to aliases; the corners of his mouth lift, and he's still grinning as he looks away, tucking that nugget of information into his arsenal for later deployment as needed.

    Even after that strange exchange, Sam doesn't ask. He just unbuckles his seatbelt and twists to reach into the back, putting both items on as requested without comment.

    And then he puts his seatbelt back on, because even on these old dirt roads he doesn't trust Bucky not to drive like a bat out of hell.

James Barnes has posed:
    "Just so you know, they'll know who you are. But this is neutral territory and as long as you're not screaming to the world that you're an Avenger and they know you're with me.. lets just say they'll appreciate the lame attempt at hiding it." The baseball hat, by the way, says: Dunce Cap on the front in big orange letters.

    A little further down that road, maybe a mile that takes much longer than a mile should, it opens up into a field. At the center of the field is an old red barn surrounded by cars, motorcycles and a few pick ups. Most are out of state plates. He parks and is climbing out of the vehicle before he mentions, "Oh, and they know who I am..."

    The barn is empty when Bucky opens the side door save some hay bales stacked in a corner and tractor parked in the middle of the thing. The hay bales in the corner are his destination. He flashes a winning grin up at the wall and his left middle finger before those hay bales swing aside to reveal a set of stairs.

    Down the stairs, through a hall, right turn, another hall, left one more, left another short set of steps and yet another hall. Each hall had a door that had to be buzzed open. The last and final door is painted barn red where the others were simple metal affairs.

    That red door opens to reveal... a damned Honkytonk bar! ...with some illegal gambling and maybe some prostitution and definitely a whole lot of mercenary types.

    Yes, yes Sam, Bucky has dragged you to a Goddamned Mercenary gambling den Honkytonk. Surprise?

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Strike that whole "without comment" thing. Sam reads what it says on the hat, sighs, and twists to punch Bucky's arm. Thankfully their positions means it's not the metal one. "You're the worst," he says as he puts it on, and then twists it around so the brim is backwards, which is really all he can do about it.

    Aside for plotting his revenge. How strong of a neodymium magnet would he have to buy so that Bucky wouldn't be able to get it off?

    He tucks his hands into his pockets and glares at the back of Bucky's head for most of the walk, made obvious despite the glasses by the way his eyebrows are drawn in and his mouth is set. Whatever the hell Bucky's dragging him into, Sam is starting to get the distinct feeling he doesn't belong. Made all the more obvious when the last, ominously-painted door swings open and the crooning of country music hits him along with the general cacophony one associates with a bar. "Man, you've gotta be kidding me." Yes, Bucky, surprise. Very surprise.

    There isn't a single damn country bone in Sam's body but here he is, trying to look inconspicuous in this ass-backwards den of ill repute.

James Barnes has posed:
    They're greeted at the door by an older woman. Just how old is hard to say, but her hair's gray and the little laugh lines around her eyes are deep when she smiles. One of those eyes, it should be mentioned, has been replaced with a ruby, polished smooth has a marble. "Well, I'll be damned, Winters... or is it Summers now?" That lhast little bit whas pitched law, for immediate ears only. "Did me good to here you were finally out of the cold on the more permanent, boy, c'mere and give Ruby a hug."

    And another surprise, Bucky wraps that little old lady up in a tight hug and a, "Good to see you, Miss Ruby." When he lets go and she steps back, her attention shifts to Sam. She wags a finger at him but her tone is good natured enough. "You're here with him, so that's good 'nuff for me, but don't you go forgettin' that there ain't no law in here." Again, for immediate ears only. "...and that hat, it just will not due." The Dunce Cap is promptly removed and Miss Ruby reaches right on over and swipes the white Stetson off a phasserby. The man looks momentarily startled, but keeps walking without any form of protest. She plops that cowboy hat down on Sam's head, admires her handy work and nods to herself in approval. "Now that'll do."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    The whole ruby-for-an-eye thing is a level of unusual that is par for the course for Sam's life, so he takes Ms. Ruby's appearance in stride. Watching her demand a hug and Bucky immediately sweep her up into his arms to obey is a whole other thing, though, and both Sam's eyebrows go up at that.

    His expression shifts back into careful neutrality from the surprise of a moment before when Ruby turns to him, and he shakes his head. "I'm not a cop, ma'am," he says, speaking quietly as well. "I'm here to keep this guy out of trouble," he jerks his thumb at Bucky, "Not start any of my own." That's not strictly speaking the truth of why they're here (Sam's still a little uncertain on that one) but it's true that in the general sense he sticks with both Bucky *and* Steve to provide a voice of reason.

    Or occasionally for the opportunity to poke fun at them, though Sam feels the roles may be reversing as Ruby swaps out the cap on his head for a Stetson, which he awkwardly reaches up to tug down.

    "Uh..." He's literally at a loss for words. Except the one his mother made sure he never forgot: "Thanks."

James Barnes has posed:
    Ruby falls into a fit of warm, friendly laughter at Sam's responses. Both in regards to Bucky and the hat. "Welcome to the Barn then," she says once the laughter fades. "Have yourselves a good time and, Winter, you tell Horace that Miss Ruby said you're on the house tonight.

    Bucky offers the old woman a playful wink and walks further inside, toward the bar. Sam doesn't get off so easy, not yet. Ruby lays a staying hand on his arm and leans in to whisper, "Whatever they're payin' you for that job, keepin' *that one* out of trouble? It ain't near enough."

    The place truly is a full fledged, authentic style Honky Tonk bar. From the sawdust on the floor to the mechanical bull in the corner to the Country Western band on the stage...

    The Winter Soldier and a black man walk into a Honky Tonk, there has to be a joke there somewhere?

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Despite what reservations Sam might have about being here, something about Ms. Ruby's nature puts him at ease. Despite her gleaming eye and the less-than-reputable company she keeps, she reminds Sam of a lot of the older ladies who've been in his life, the aunties who helped raise a whole community of children.

    It's familiar, and Sam's glad that Bucky has someone else in his corner at least a little bit, for whatever relationship Ruby has with him.

    He glances up at the white brim of the hat that he can see in his topmost peripherals. "Yeah, you're telling me," he replies with a breath of laughter. "Benefits are good though. Great dental." And then he smiles, bright and easy, tipping the brim of the hat at her with a wink before he follows Bucky after.

    "Tell me you have better taste in alcohol than Steve does," he groans as he takes a place at the bar.

James Barnes has posed:
    It's a little weird, or maybe not? In this room, surrounded by what are likely a bunch of hardened criminals and killers? Bucky seems completely at ease. It's probably the first time Sam's seen him actually relax in a really long time. He's laughing at something Horace the barkeep said when Sam approaches. Horace, however, is walking away.

    Bucky's already ordered two drinks. For Sam, just a simple whiskey and coke. As for the other, he points to it and then to Sam and says, "Under no circumstances, okay? For Bucky only..." That said, he slams back the shot of whatever that shit is and double taps on the bar when Horace looks his way. One more please.

    He turns around, leaning against the bar to look out over the crowd. "There's a room in the back Ruby'll let us use if we can't drive back tonight," he explains to Sam as if maybe he plans on not being able to drive back tonight?

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam bumps his shoulder against Bucky's when he comes to stand side-by-side next to the man, and he nods to the bartender as his drink is sat before. "What the hell is in that? Tell me you're not drinking lab-grade ethanol or something," he says as he watches Bucky knock back that shot. His eyes narrow behind the sunglasses.

    He takes a small, steady sip of his own drink. "I'm obligated to say that drinking is not a healthy coping mechanism," he tells Bucky, and then takes another sip... which turns into a longer drink... which turns into the whole rest of that whiskey and coke sliding down his throat. With his empty glass, he lifts his hand in polite request to the barman, and then slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose so that he can rub his forehead.

    "Just so you know, I'm not holding your hair back while you puke," he says.

    Which is a lie. Sam would absolutely do that. He'd just make fun of Bucky while doing so, and then forever, for the rest of their lives.

James Barnes has posed:
    "I have no idea. Ruby won't give away her trade secrets," Bucky replies just as Horace sets down the second round. He's drinking something mind altering without knowing what's in it? He must really trust Ruby. He... downs the second, double taps the bar but Horace is already right there with the bottle and a clean shot glass to pour the third. Horace looks to be about the same age as Ruby. He's pretty no nonsense in appearance, surly really, but he cracks a smile when he slides that third over to Bucky. That smile widens when while he's mixing Sam's refill.

    "And I'm obligated to tell you to fuck off!" Bucky replies, raising his voice over the music that's filled the room since the band returned from a break.

    "I won't puke! But I tend to piss in strange places when I'm drunk, better sleep with one eye open!" Deadpan, but he's joking right?

    It becomes pretty clear that Bucky is not an unknown element here. At least a half a dozen, maybe a few more, rough looking men pause long enough for a hello and one of those 'manly man bro hugs of bonding'.

    ...and then here comes the cute little red head and her equally cute little brunette friend. "Beth," Bucky greets as they approach. "You two gonna just gonna hold the bar up all night, Mr. Winters?" It's the redhead, she must be Beth? ... and is that an invitation?

    The band starts in with Watermelon Crawl, by Tracy Byrd.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    For a long moment, Sam allows himself to ponder the consequences of their actions. It hasn't been since he was still Sergeant Wilson that he's drunken himself to the point of stupidity, but he still has very clear (and painful) memories of the morning after. On the one hand, this time around he's not gonna have to report back to base camp while still feeling like he's been run over by a truck. On the other hand, he's older now, and supposed to be wiser.

    "If you're telling me that now to get my informed consent, then you need to know that I'm not into it. No judgment, but it's a hard pass." Sam doesn't rush to keep up with Bucky.

    He's not matching drink to drink, because A. Bucky has super soldier serum in his veins and B. fuck, just, no, not gonna happen, he does not need to validate his own masculinity by torturing himself, no thanks.

    Instead, Sam pushes his sunglasses back up and acknowledges the various people who come on by with greetings with a tip of his(?) Stetson. It's kind of growing on him.

    Beth and her friend get the same polite but distance greeting, because Sam is actually trying to abide by the whole 'cause no trouble' thing, and part of that is keeping a low profile. He has no idea what the invitation is because Sam, once again, is not a country type of guy.

James Barnes has posed:
    "The ladies want us to dance, Sam!" Bucky explains to his friend. As if to confirm Bucky's assessment of the situation, the brunette holds a hand out to Sam... invitingly, "My names Anna," she tells him in a voice that's just heard over the din of the bar.

    Bucky bumps shoulders with Sam and gives him a raised eyebrow look that's clearly... 'what's the harm'.

    The harm? The harm is that people on the dance floor are line dancing, it's a ridiculous, but fun form of dance, truly. However it generally requires a person to know the steps.

    "Sam, is it?!" That would be Bethany. "C'mon, I'm sure if you're here with him you're better suited to be out there than holding up the bar!"

    Well, whether Sam comes or not, it seems Bucky's going to take Beth up on her invitation. But not before he leans in and whispers, "Careful, might be seen as slighting the locals if you don't comply." Is he... serious?

    He slips his hand into Beth's and heads for the dance floor leaving Anna looking at Sam expectantly.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Nevermind all that about not keeping up with Bucky's drinking, because Sam immediately slams back the rest of his glass, and then drops it with a careful *clink* to the bartop.

    "Do they," he says drily, and it'd be ridiculous for him to take his sunglasses off just to glare at Bucky, so Sam doesn't. Besides, Bucky's probably immune to it after spending so much time glaring, himself.

    His head swivels to glance towards the dance floor, and the groan he lets out is basically silent. Unless someone else in here has enhanced hearing, Bucky's probably the only one who's going to be able to hear it over the music. "Nice to meet you, Anna," he says, and reaches out to take her hand. For a second it looks like he's going to shake it and make some kind of excuse, but then he sucks in a breath. "Fair warning, I'm going to disappoint you out there. Not my kind of dancing."

    Without having to look, Sam kicks Bucky's shin in retaliation for his whispered threat, and then Sma lets Anna lead him out onto the dance floor.

    It's like being led to his own execution.

James Barnes has posed:
    Truth be told, Bucky has never done the Watermelon Crawl in his life. He has done the whole line dancing thing before though. Just not this particular one. However, it only takes him one round through and he has it down to a science. He claps when he's supposed to, turns when he's supposed to, stomps a foot when he's supposed to; he looks like he's done it a million times.

    But more important than that? What is that expression on his face? Is that a smile? A real one? One that actually reaches his eyes? It really and truly is. Goddamn, but he looks *happy*.

    The rest of the evening, for Bucky anyway, is spent between bar and dance floor. A few times, when the band slows it way down, it's a little obvious that he's a little more than a little familiar with Beth. ... in that they are in perfect time with one another out there!

    At one point, his fun is interrupted when he helps Horace toss a few assholes out on their ears. But overall, it's an uneventful, stress free night for him. He's definitely NOT in any shape to drive them all the way back to New York. Hell, he might not have been if he hadn't drank whatever that shit was. It's a fun night, but he's also exhausted at the end of it.

    For the first time in a very very long time, he sleeps without nightmares. It's exactly what he needed.

    That is until Ruby comes into the room before the sun's even rose, shakes him gently awake, and whispers in the dark. "Winter, boy, I need your help, they got Horace." ... Uh-oh...

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Look, Sam has some rhythm, he does. But he's also got more than a little bit of unease, and the alcohol hasn't really hit him yet, so he has no liquid courage to back him up here. He stumbles through most of the dance and only seems to pick it up at the very end, which is fine, he's glad it's over. Anna is a saint for putting him with him as a partner, and he buys her a drink by way of apology.

    It takes two or three more whiskey and cokes before he's out there again, and then he's totally got it. What, like it's hard? Sam will be glad in the morning that this is not the kind of place where you whip out your phone and start recording, because his sister would never let him live it down.

    Never.

    Sam stays out of the way during the instances where Bucky is pulled away for bouncer duty, because he's pretty tipsy (that's a lie, he's flat-out drunk) and besides, Bucky's got it. If he starts betting with Beth and Anna about how far Bucky's gonna toss whichever drunk starts causing trouble next, well, that's his business. Especially since he's not above taking money from the ladies; it's the 21st century, after all.

    By the end of the night, Sam basically has to be poured into bed. He clutches the brim of the Stetson that now might as well be his, and he's out like a light.