6834/First Aid and Big Damned T Talks.

First Aid and Big Damned T Talks.
Date of Scene:	06 July 2021
Location:	Harlem Brownstone
Synopsis:	Sorry, there's too much in this log to sum up in Cliff Notes.
Cast of Characters:	James Barnes, Sam Wilson

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James Barnes has posed:
    He's walking, all by himself, because he is FINE. People are probably all sorts of 'what the fuck, Buck' behind him after he handed that shotgun off to Steve, but Bucky just keeps on walking because the dude is FINE.

    He leans a little too heavily on the banister on the way up the stairs but he's still taking them double time, because guess what? He is FINE.

    Fucking plants, looks like a damned jungle up in this bitch!

    He bypasses the living room after that cranky ass thought and heads straight for whatever bedroom is the quickest to get to.

    There's door slamming! It's the 'leave me be' variety, because damned Bucky Barnes is FINE.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    They're all fine. Everybody's fine! Sam is especially fine too, shrugging out of the wingpack and his tac jacket as they make their way back up into the apartment. Which is a tiny one bedroom one bathroom thing, so Bucky goes ahead and claims the only bed.

    Which, normally Sam wouldn't object to. Dude needs to sleep! But Sam also just did a 35-hour round trip drive with limited help (at least on the way down to Louisiana) so he was kind of looking forward to passing the hell out.

    Well, he's still got some caffeine in his system. It'll have to do.

    Sam diverts briefly into the bathroom for his medical kit, and then he doesn't even knock, just opens the door and walks right into the bedroom. This is not the consideration of personal space and privacy that he affords Bucky back at the Playground, but this is also *not* Bucky's room.

    "Just let me do this so you're not bleeding all over my friend's sheets," he says as he comes in, and he is so, so tired.

James Barnes has posed:
    Except it's not the bed he was claiming, it was the *space* away from everyone else. He's in that tiny bedroom pacing back and forth in that tiny little room like a caged animal. It probably only takes him three steps from one end to the other, but he's still doing it.

    Those fingers of his left hand are tapping away on his thumb. His expression is... fuck, it's ALL the damned things, all of them. He's hurting soooo bad, emotionally, that the physical doesn't even fucking register right now.

    When Sam walks into the room, Bucky's head snaps like on a swivel in that direction. "I'm FINE." All the shit, straight to anger. It's easier than the rawness of sadness, fear, hopelessness... fucking *despair*.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam lets out two breaths worth of almost hysterical laughter before he manages to get himself back under control, fist pressed against his mouth.

    He blinks down at the floor. There's not a whole lot of area to pace but Bucky's doing a damn fine job of it, navigating what basically amounts to a narrow rectangle of open space while Sam closes the door behind himself and stands pressed back against it, like it's the only thing holding him up.

    "Nobody in this apartment is fine right now," he says, and then he gestures with a weary lift of his hand to the bed. "Please, Bucky, just let me do this." There's really no fight left in Sam, not after everything that's happened in the past week. The momentary panicked uncertainty of where-the-hell-is-Bucky that they've just collectively gone through is only the icing on the cake.

James Barnes has posed:
    "It'll heal, Sam." He's stopped on the opposite side of the room from the door, and Sam. He's not lying, it *will* heal just fine on its own, his shit isn't that fucked up this time. It'll just be a faster process if he lets Sam do the patch job.

    He's eyeballing Sam like his friend might be a snake about to strike. Bucky's trembling just a little, barely there and mostly seen in his right hand. He's... not ready, not yet. He just can't handle it, being touched at all, being *cared for* at all. His grasp on his anger is a tenuous thing right now and even Sam's snarky brand of 'tenderness' might just rip away that pissed off facade and let all the rest of it show through.

    *TAPTAPTAP* go the fingers against his thumb.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    The thunk of Sam's head against the door is loud in the tiny space of the bedroom. His eyes are closed, and he's clutching the strap of the first aid kit with both hands like it's a lifeline, though not in the same way as most people view medical supplies.

    "Something's gotta give here, man," he's saying.

    Bucky's doing his finger-tapping thing and Sam is struggling through a few rounds of square breathing and neither of them are really successful in their attempts to self-soothe right now, Sam suspects. He sure as hell isn't. "I can't just let you retreat into a corner and lick your wounds. You're *not* fine, and I know I can't do anything about that, but I can do this at least. You just gotta let me." His gaze isn't particularly steady as he looks over at Bucky, because Sam hasn't been steady since they got back from 1943. But it's honest, and concerned.

James Barnes has posed:
    "I just need!" Bucky starts out screaming, but... bless his crazy mother fucking heart, he manages to check himself. "... a minute," voice so low that it's almost not there compared to the first part.

    "I just need a minute," he repeats as he takes a step back, putting himself against the wall to slide down it.

    He rests his elbows on his knees and drops his head forward. Fuck but he misses his hair.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam doesn't flinch, because he's been around too many veterans with anger problems for that to ever get to him. But his shoulders do go tense, and for the moment between Bucky yelling and him repeating himself more quietly, Sam doesn't do anything. Doesn't even breathe.

    Give him a minute. That's what Bucky wants, and Sam's not sure he really has it in him to do anything else, even if his gut is telling him that it isn't really what his friend needs. It's an internal struggle, Sam's need to offer assistance warring with his desire to respect Bucky's autonomy, because it's the least he fucking deserves, isn't it?

    Ultimately it ends up being a little bit of column A, little bit of column B. Sam dumps the medical kit on the bed and then he's crossing the distance, small though it may be, to join Bucky on the floor. He doesn't say anything, just tucks his legs against his chest and rests his chin in the valley between his knees.

    Bucky can have his minute. So long as Sam gets to sit there and have it with him.

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky tenses when Sam settles in next to him. Fuck... FUCK. He's holding his breath at first and when he finally does breathe again, it's... that weird little hiccuping thing he was doing that night back in 1943. The struggle is so very fucking real.

    He shifts his legs like he's going to just stand the fuck up and stubbornly walk to the other side of the room to sit back down. But those little hiccuping breaths, coming too fast, chest hurting... he can't quite manage to make himself move. So, instead, he chokes out a shaky little... "Don't."

    Don't what?

    "I can't..."

    ... can't fucking what?

    Could be the world will NEVER know.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam's not psychic. All he has to go on here is empathy and whatever idea of Bucky's inner turmoil he's gleaned, which is both a lot and probably not even scratching the surface at the same time. Neither of which seem to be helping him, because Sam is stuck, brain skipping like a record, trapped on the anxious, unsettling feeling of watching a friend go through something without having even the faintest idea how to help.

    His left hand tightens where it grips his opposite wrist. Next to him, his friend is struggling not to fall apart, and even here, now, the absurdity of the twists and turns Sam's life has taken to bring him to the point where he can say that his two closest friends are super soldiers is enough to make him give a little shake of his head. Sam looks up at the ceiling, where a suncatcher hanging near the bedroom's sole, tiny window is throwing specks of refracted light.

    This is probably the deepest moment of self-doubt Sam's ever had in his life. Running missions with super soldiers, serving on a team with gods and kings and overpowered aliens, and it's not being able to figure out how to comfort a friend.

    All he's got left is honesty.

    "There's nothing I can say to make things better, Buck. I'm sorry. Wish there was. Everything right now feels like it's gone to hell." His mouth twists into a half-smile that's more habit than anything else as he acknowledges his own shortcomings. "But I can promise you that I'll be right here with you through it. You're not alone."

James Barnes has posed:
    For the longest time, Bucky doesn't speak. He doesn't trust himself to. Hell, even after the ten or so minutes pass before he does, his voice is cracking a little. "I just wanted... she was standing *right* there..." A pause, a shaky breath. "... without a fucking pod thing... and I still couldn't..." Even touch her.

    "I couldn't save Steve either, I tried..." It's that whole 1943 thing, it's still just eating him the fuck up inside, all of it. "But... I guess I wasn't supposed to."

    His words shift between falling out and tumbling over one another to halting and stuttered the entire time. His breathing starts to become more and more strained and hitching. He is SO not fine.

    ...and he misses his fucking hair. He can't hide behind the short style he's wearing now, so he just has to let his head hang down further.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    If Sam makes a promise, he keeps it. So ten minutes pass with Bucky sitting there, and Sam stays exactly where he is, tough as it may be for him to continue ignoring the injuries Bucky's sporting that still need tending to. His left hand has started to flex, into and out of a fist, though he isn't really fully aware of it happening.

    He's still at a loss, here. Nothing Sam can say will make the situation with the Framework any less awful, and their time spent in 1943 is such a huge can of worms that he can't even begin to think about it. His own feelings about it are a nasty tangle, between the bigotry he'd faced, the split-second moment of panic he'd felt when he'd briefly thought Steve had shot Bucky in the back of the head, and then the whole thing where Steve and Bucky had stayed behind, which is... it's something, alright.

    Sam would probably be angrier about it if he had the energy, but right now he really, really doesn't.

    He tips slightly to the side, and the realities of apartment living in NYC means there's little enough space between them where they're sitting that that's all it takes for Sam's shoulder to bump against Bucky's. "Come on, man," he says, though it's an open-ended statement. Sam himself isn't sure what he's encouraging Bucky to do, here.

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky's head drops back and he reaches up to grind his thumb and index finger into the corners of his eyes. Right hand, he's not trying to gouge those baby blues out or anything.

    The hitching breaths get even more... hitchy. This so fucking HARD.

    On top of everything else, Bucky grew up in a time when men weren't supposed to cry, they weren't supposed to show that they felt much of anything really. ...and he hasn't had much time outside Winter to erase that upbringing.

    Finally though, he gives in, just a little, and leans over to rest his head on Sam's shoulder.

    Just that little bit of real contact with another human being that isn't medically necessary or punching something or someone in the face? It has him choking back a small sob of a breath instantly. ...and spluttering out a stuttered, "I miss her..."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Unfortunately the whole "men don't cry" thing is still a prevailing sentiment even in the twenty-first century, for as little weight Sam gives it. Emotions are a pretty critical component of counseling, after all.

    This feels like an appropriate time for Sam to reiterate, at least inside his own head, that he is *not* Bucky's therapist.

    So he's not going to push, even if he thinks it'd be best for Bucky to just let it out. Because he can't be sure that it's not his own emotions influencing that, maybe it's Sam's need for catharsis, not Bucky's, deep down.

    "I know," he says, and Sam doesn't have any kind of hangup about showing emotions or physical contact, so it's second nature for him to get his arm around Bucky's shoulders, tug his friend in tight against his side and let him stay there like that, if that's what Bucky wants.

James Barnes has posed:
    Okay, so maybe Bucky doesn't lose it and throw his arms around Sam like they're long lost lovers and sob in his friend's arms. But here's what does happen...

    Bucky doesn't move when Sam's arm pulls him close. He turns his head just enough that his face is fully and rightly buried in Sam's shoulder and neck.

    It's mostly quiet, just a sniffle or a hitched breath here and there, but Sam'll be able to feel Bucky's shoulders shaking ever so slightly. He'll feel the tears streaming down Buck's cheeks, probably getting him all wet.

    ...and after about twenty minutes of that near silent release, he'll feel Bucky still, breaths evening out.

    The fucker just fell asleep!

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Not much for Sam to do at this point but keep his arm around Bucky and let him do what he needs to do. He's not going to complain about the spot of moisture growing in the fabric of his shirt, or say anything at all about how it's okay or how Bucky's gonna be fine. Sam doesn't believe in either of these things, at least in the short-term.

    He knows how to do this, though. Offer silent comfort. It's weightier when it's someone he knows on a personal level, especially because the past few weeks have seen fit to upset Sam's own calm and sense of self in a way he hasn't felt since he came home from Afghanistan. Sam doesn't start crying himself or anything but he definitely has a frog in his throat, and sure, it's not like they're clutching at each other, and yet there's a level of reciprocity to this that is unintentional but real.

    Maybe that's why it takes him so long to realize Bucky's asleep. Sam should get up, get him in bed, get *himself* in some kind of horizontal position too because he's not getting any younger.

    But he doesn't. After a little while, Sam tips his head back against the wall and dozes.

James Barnes has posed:
    It's a good two, maybe two and a half, hours later - that's a good run for Bucky when he's at the end of his rope really - before the screaming starts. When it first begins, it might just about deafen poor Sam given the proximity of Buck's mouth to his friend's ear.

    Sam has heard that scream before. Sam's been live and in person for this nightmare before. ...or at least one similar to it. In his head, deep down where the shadows and darkness reign supreme, someone is *hurting* Bucky. No, not Bucky, the Winter Soldier.

    His back arches violently, and it's a good thing that Sam's on his right side and not his left, because Bucky's right hand finds purchase on anything it can and *squeeze*. It just happens to be Sam's thigh, about midpoint between hip and knee. Could be worse, could have super soldier crushing down on a knee cap, or... the family jewels were it more north.

    If Bucky was awake and doing this intentionally, there might just be some snapping bone. But he's not, he's doing it from a foggy, muted dream state with only what's able to drift out manifesting in the tangible world. It's still going to leave one hell of a deep tissue bruise in the shape of Bucky's fingers.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    And it's a testament to how tired Sam was that he stays there the whole time. His sleep isn't easy, or particularly restful given the uncomfortable position, but whatever dreams he has aren't ones he remembers when he wakes up.

    Or is woken up, as is more appropriate given the circumstances.

    His head's ringing, somebody's screaming, and for a few seconds Sam is back in Afghanistan. Their camp is being attacked, and he's gone from flat out unconscious to fully awake, upright, blood pumping in the space of a second. People are dead, or dying, and Sam's a medic.

    The bruising grip Bucky digs into his leg has a silver lining, because the pain is grounding enough to snap Sam out of it. His chest is heaving, sweat suddenly gathering at the back of his neck, his hairline, at the insides of his elbows, but his surroundings solidify into the tiny bedroom in Harlem that they're crashing, and he blinks at the floor.

    Somehow he's managed to tip himself over, so his body is half-twisted, and his shoulder is sore from the impact. His leg hurts worse, though, and he's still in the grip of an adrenaline-fueled panic so he just reacts. His hand goes to the one on his thigh and he snaps out "Bucky!"

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky's screaming, blessedly stops. His grip on Sam's leg loosens. He's still sucking in ragged, gasping breaths though and, in between them, he growls out, "YA vospol'zuyus' etim sverlom, chtoby snyat' tvoi glaza s tvoyey golovy."

    Yes, it was definitely one of *those* dreams.

    He lets out one more, softer more distant... muffled scream before baby blues that were actually open and staring blankly, come more into focus.

    "Sam..." Quiet and squeezed out between a few lingering gasps of panic. He *did* hear his friend's voice, just took a minute to get through.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Since Sam still doesn't speak Russian (and maybe he should start learning the language) he can't make the connection between what he's seen in Bucky's head and the details of the nightmare Bucky must have been stuck in.

    Not that it matters, really. He probably wouldn't have been able to put two and two together right now anyway.

    They're both on the floor gasping for breath, Sam's back half-turned due to the uncomfortable-looking way his body has fallen. Sam gets out "Buck," and then, maybe ten seconds later, "Minute," because it's Sam's turn to need one, now. He's got a forearm braced against the floor, his face pressed into it, and it's honestly a lot longer than a minute before his chest isn't heaving with each breath. He gives a wobbly shake of his head as he pushes himself up, back into a seated position, and the way he blinks is a little dazed.

    Still, though, Sam is Sam, so he manages to croak out a "You good?"

James Barnes has posed:
    "K..."

    ... you good? It's the loaded question isn't it. It might start to feel like it's loaded with incendiary rounds with as long as it takes Bucky to answer it.

    Maybe because the answer is? "Yeah, I mean... no... I've been killing them Sam, HYDRA fucks from a list of names I have. Hunting them, killing them, making it look like accidents."

    Exactly what made Bucky feel like he could, like he *should* come clean with Sam right now, in this moment? It's hard to say for certain, but one can guess it might have had to do with Sam not once making him feel judged, pretty much for anything... not even crying like a fucking toddler on his shoulder.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam stretches his legs out in front of him, because the pain in his thigh is pretty decent but so's the pain in all his joints from sitting in the same position on the floor as long as he did. He rolls his shoulders and grimaces, eyes squeezed shut.

    Really not getting any younger.

    "Yeah," is what he responds to Bucky's confession with. Mostly because his head is still swimming, the smell of smoke and sand and blood still in his nose. No. He opens his eyes and looks around, reminding himself where he is. "Like that lobbyist on his boat yesterday, right?" he asks. "Or the DoE employee up in Delaware?"

    Even though Sam isn't really capable of keeping himself fully grounded in the moment--or maybe it's because he's struggling--it's clear that he's not just putting this all together right now.

James Barnes has posed:
    "Yeah," Bucky's response echoes Sam's. It's not like he's surprised Sam figured it out. "I'm not gonna stop, Sam." Laying it all out there it seems, his tone doesn't leave a whole lot of room for discussion. "They made the boogeyman, now they can feel him coming after them."

    Slippery slope, that.

    "I'm sorry about the past thing..." He's still leaning against the wall, been upright almost the entire damned time. Still 'standing' so to speak. "I'm sorry I ... didn't tell you... but I can't be sorry for the way it went down after it was done and in motion."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    It doesn't quite take the wind out of Sam's sails, Bucky saying that, but it is enough to make him hesitate. He's not the type to come out of the gate swinging, especially right now when he feels like a fairly competent toddler could knock him down.

    "Is that how you're framing your actions, doing this? You really think it's a good idea?"

    The mere mention of their brief time spent in 1943 is enough to wind up the tension in Sam's shoulders somehow even tighter than it already is, when he looks about ready to shake himself apart. Sam would prefer to forget it ever happened rather than let it remain a jagged, bleeding wound in his brain. A *lot* of bad shit went down. "I don't want to talk about it," he grits out, which is probably the first time Bucky has ever heard Sam say those words.

    He stares down at his hands, both on his thighs, the right one framing the sore spot on his leg while the other is pressed flat down to keep it from spasming closed. "I don't care about the HYDRA agents you're taking out," he says, clarifying, a while later. "I really don't. I've accepted that we're basically fighting a guerrilla war, here. But with everything that's happened, this feels like... a bad idea. Diving down deeper when we're already in a dark place."

James Barnes has posed:
    Not talk about it! That's pretty much something Bucky's always on board to do. Needless to say, he lets that drop.

    "Sometimes, the only way out of the dark, is to go deeper, Sam," he murmurs quietly before falling silent again. His eyes close, maybe he's falling back asleep?

    He sounds like he might have been close to it when he says, "I think I might still be leaking a little bit." It's true, he is maybe a little, but ... it'll stop on its own. Maybe Sam'll see it for what it is? Just a way to give his friend something to focus on that he can actually fix?

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "That is actually a valid method of confronting your issues, yeah," Sam agrees. And then he elbows Bucky, a cheap shot right in the arm, though with little force behind it. "In a controlled environment under the care of a mental health professional, not you going off half-cocked in the middle of the night. Dumbass."

    There's not a whole lot of bite to it, though. Maybe Sam senses it's not going to do any good, or at least maybe he thinks now just isn't the time. Either way, he's grateful for the excuse Bucky's injuries provide.

    "C'mon," he's saying as he somehow manages to get himself to his feet. That he only sways a little bit is pretty shocking just to Sam himself, and he's careful to brace himself against the wall before he reaches down to hopefully get Bucky up and standing too. "Let me take a look."

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky manages to pull most of his weight up on his own, really only using the 'hand-up' to maybe make Sam feel useful a little more? Not that Sam *isn't* useful, just... there's so much that can't be fixed at the moment. It makes the little things that can mean more.

    "Well, I've been living in crazy town for over seventy years now, maybe that makes me a qualified mental health professional?" Once on his feet, he strips off his leather jacket, second on to end up with holes in what? He's spending a lot on leather these days. The shirt comes next.

    The side is the worst of the two wounds, the still covered thigh is just a graze to the outside. It's his left side, so there's not any bone damage... his rib cage on that side is metal, strengthened to support the weight of his arm and shoulder. ... so it might be a little weird to see metal gleaming through the through and through.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam bursts out in wheezy laughter that sounds genuine, if a little incredulous. "No, man, it really doesn't."

    While Bucky takes off his jacket and shirt, Sam steps out of the bedroom long enough to wash his hands. He's already seen direct evidence that even super soldiers can get taken down by infections given the right set of circumstances, so he's not going to risk it. First thing he does when he's back is snap on a pair of non-latex gloves from the kit.

    If it's weird to Sam, seeing more evidence of HYDRA's modifications, he doesn't let it on. "You know, for once I think you were actually right about it not being a big deal. Through and through," is his deterimination. Sam still cleans it with a few non-alcoholic wipes and then floods it with some sterile saline solution (though nowhere near the amount he'd used for those puncture wounds last week).

James Barnes has posed:
    "I dunno, I mean... don't Universities give life credits or some shit?" Bucky counters. The only time he even flinches through the patch up is when the saline hits the wound and that's because, well, it's cold.

    ... ... ... ... weighted silence before, "Sam, we need to deal with what Zola did to Steve. ...and I know someone that can probably get at a cure rather than just a bandaid where we have to sit and watch him suffer and pray he pulls through." His brow furrows, his voice lowers. "'cause we don't know if he will in the end. We... the serums used, they're not the same with us."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "Not unless you test out," Sam answers. "And I'm giving you an F right now, Bucky, just because you're a pain in my ass."

    Since he knows this is the kind of injury Bucky's body can actually handle, all Sam does after he makes sure it's clean is tape down a few squares of gauze to both the entry and exit wound, then wrap a compression bandage around Bucky's middle over top of them, which should take care of any residual bleeding until the serum can step in and get to work.

    In comparison to the other handful of times Sam's patched him up, this one is easy. "Gonna need you to lay down if you want me to take care of that one, too," he says as he gestures to Bucky's leg. The part about Bucky taking off his pants is left unsaid, because even Sam is allowed to be a little awkward about things like that, once in a while.

    He's sorting through the contents of the first aid kit, making a mental list of what he needs to replenish (more than he'd like) when Bucky brings up Steve, and his... condition. "Whatever was in that dart has already started affecting him," Sam says, because he's observant as a rule and has medical training to back it up. "...okay now you're making me nervous. Spill it."

James Barnes has posed:
    Truth be told, Bucky's more self-conscious about losing his shirt than his pants. Those scars... people seeing them, it's still a sore spot for him. Sometimes even with Sam.

    Besides, the guy wears plain old, run of the mill, cotton boxers so it's not like they're all revealing and weird. Could be worse, could be a leopard print thong or something.

    He kicks off his boots and drops trou before sitting gown.

    He waits until Sam is all engrossed in his work before he drops the bomb. "Zemo. I need to go see Zemo."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam was in the military. He's seen a lot of people naked, in worse conditions than Bucky's in right now. A lot worse. There's also no gunfire overhead or explosions in the distance, which is also just great.

    The graze is pretty easy to take care of, just a quick clean and some antibac cream before he puts a bandage on and it's done.

    "Yeah, no," he says as he sits back. "Nope. Absolutely not." He doesn't even look at Bucky, like that would somehow give legitimacy to the idea.

    He gathers up the kit and stands. "Go to sleep."

James Barnes has posed:
    "Sam, it's Steve," Bucky points out, his tone bordering a little on ... warning? "...and Zemo is our best chance at getting at a cure if there is one, period, our best chance."

    He really really didn't want to have to play this next card, but he absolutely does. "I'll go it alone if I have to, Sam... because it's *Steve*."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    And there it is. A pretty messed up thing to do, take advantage of a weak spot like that, as if Sam doesn't have a track record of diving into hell when he should *really* know better just because Steve's involved somehow.

    Then Bucky twists the knife deeper by saying he'll go in alone if he has to, and how is Sam going to let that happen? He can't. "Dammit, Bucky," is all he says for a good long while, but it's answer enough. He digs his thumb into the point between his eyebrows, right above the bridge of his nose. "Fine. But we go in together, and if he tries anything, we bail immediately. You know how he is."

James Barnes has posed:
    "It's probably better if I talk to him alone, Sam." ...and not because he has plans to maybe well, free a jailbird, no... he'd never. Funny thing though, the closer they get, the harder it is for Bucky to actually pull off a bald-faced lie, even if it's a lie by omission.

    Because the next bit *is* true, but not as true or important as the bit he's not saying. "... he's more likely to deal with me by myself than with an Avenger there."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    The fact that what Bucky's saying is true doesn't mean Sam has to like it. "And why is that?" he asks, eyebrows up like he's legitimately wanting an answer, even though the rest of his expression is tense with understanding. He knows exactly why Zemo would want Bucky alone.

    "You need backup, with him. No question. Dude is a snake and I'm not letting you go in there alone." He points at the bed. "We can talk about how we're going to get to him tomorrow--my Avengers status might be the only way we can--but for now you're going to go to sleep," he says.

    And not just because Sam really needs a few hours that aren't spent dozing with his back to a wall, himself.

James Barnes has posed:
    "Let me?" Bucky actually *laughs*. ...and for a good minute. When he's finally back under control he agrees, "Sure, Sam, we'll talk about it tomorrow."

    Since he's already mostly nude, save those boxers and his socks, he kicks back on the bed.

    After a second or two, he repeats, "Let me?" with another little laugh. "Oh Sam..." what in their time together makes Sam think that he can 'let' Bucky do anything?

    "Night."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam's not just gonna stand around and be disrespected like that. He rolls his eyes and walks out, though he leaves the door open, so Bucky can hear him move around the apartment. "Sarah's not here," is said over the sound of running water, in the direction of the bathroom. "So go fuck yourself, Barnes."

    He comes back in long enough to set one of those fancy boxed waters on the nightstand, and flip off the light. "Night, you asshole."

    If Cael or Steve are still around, he is fully prepared and willing to kick them out, because they both have places to go home to and Sam has dibs on that couch for at least the next eight hours.

James Barnes has posed:
    "You love me or you wouldn't be worried about my hydration!" Bucky calls out from the bedroom. It was shit night, it really was, being chased by those melty dudes, it sucked.

    But, all things considered, Bucky seems a little fucking lighter. Probably because he finally got that little bit of release of emotions he's been needing for so long.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "And this is how you respond to my genuine care and affection? I see how it is!" Sam's still up and moving, and will be for a while. He'd go for a run to burn off some of the anxious energy except he'd spend the entire time waiting for a HYDRA goon to jump out from the bushes and merc him.

    Those plants aren't going to water themselves.

James Barnes has posed:
    It isn't long before Bucky's sound asleep. It'll last a few hours, like it always does. When he wakes up in a sweat and with a scream building in his chest that never finds life in the waking world, he gets up from the bed - dragging the pillow along with him.

    In the morning, Sam'll find him asleep on the floor beside the couch. There's no LILI!