justakidfrombrklyn (
justakidfrombrklyn) wrote2014-08-28 02:34 am
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The headaches began after he came out of the ice...
To say that a lot of things had changed once he'd come out of the ice wasn't just an understatement; it was practically cruel. The worst part in a lot of ways, though, was the way people treated him: as if the ice had preserved him, kept him exactly as he'd been when he'd sent the plane crash landing into the Atlantic.
It couldn't be further from the truth, though.
He'd died. The water had rushed in, the cold had soaked into his bones, the ice had taken over and he'd died and he'd felt it as he'd died. He'd felt the cold, woken up a dozen times stuck in the ice, unable to move and let it consume him, again and again. He still had nightmares about it, nightmares he didn't share because they were so ridiculous in some ways, debilitating in others.
And then there were the headaches.
He only got them occasionally, a strange buzz beginning behind his eyes and around, his eyes shifting unbidden as if he could find the cause for something that was going on inside his own head. And yet, sometimes it really felt like he could. He'd look around, the feeling exploding inside his skull, and he'd suddenly meet eyes with someone and the feeling would suddenly vanish. Usually, the person in question would blink at him and rush off, which was fair since one of the cardinal rules of walking around a large city was to avoid eye contact unless necessary. He didn't think too much about it until he went back to Europe, back at war again in his search for his lost... friend...
Which was when the buzzing headaches started to get far more frequent.
Sam, the finest companion a man could ask for, had decided to follow a lead in Madrid that Natasha had sent their way (one that would have been set off badly had Captain America's well-known mug shown up) which had left Steve enjoying the sights and snooping around Paris for the time being. Thankfully, there was a lot to see, a lot to investigate, but also... a lot to draw.
Beautiful things to draw.
He was halfway through sketching out a panel of the Arc De Triomph when he felt it there, head lifting from the paper to try and find the 'cause'. This was getting mildly ridiculous...
It couldn't be further from the truth, though.
He'd died. The water had rushed in, the cold had soaked into his bones, the ice had taken over and he'd died and he'd felt it as he'd died. He'd felt the cold, woken up a dozen times stuck in the ice, unable to move and let it consume him, again and again. He still had nightmares about it, nightmares he didn't share because they were so ridiculous in some ways, debilitating in others.
And then there were the headaches.
He only got them occasionally, a strange buzz beginning behind his eyes and around, his eyes shifting unbidden as if he could find the cause for something that was going on inside his own head. And yet, sometimes it really felt like he could. He'd look around, the feeling exploding inside his skull, and he'd suddenly meet eyes with someone and the feeling would suddenly vanish. Usually, the person in question would blink at him and rush off, which was fair since one of the cardinal rules of walking around a large city was to avoid eye contact unless necessary. He didn't think too much about it until he went back to Europe, back at war again in his search for his lost... friend...
Which was when the buzzing headaches started to get far more frequent.
Sam, the finest companion a man could ask for, had decided to follow a lead in Madrid that Natasha had sent their way (one that would have been set off badly had Captain America's well-known mug shown up) which had left Steve enjoying the sights and snooping around Paris for the time being. Thankfully, there was a lot to see, a lot to investigate, but also... a lot to draw.
Beautiful things to draw.
He was halfway through sketching out a panel of the Arc De Triomph when he felt it there, head lifting from the paper to try and find the 'cause'. This was getting mildly ridiculous...
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He sighed a little.
"I wish Natasha was here."
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"He's not the only one."
He closed his eyes before he glanced down at his phone.
"I need to go make a call. If you'll excuse me."
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Joe waited until he'd heard both the stair doors shut, before saying:
"He's up there, isn't he."
"Yup."
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"Pick up, Sam. Pi--"
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He stares wide-eyed at Steve, caught completely by surprise.
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"Bucky?"
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The rest of him is just sure he should've at least left Adam with a knife in his heart, because this is definitely his fault.
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"Buck," he said softly, "Bucky. It's Steve. I... I had no idea. I've been looking for you."
He gave a faint, brittle smile.
"Guess you've been laughing it up, me chasing you around, and you following along after us. Jerk."
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His deployment, leaving Steve behind, the worry he tried to hide, the relief that at least his fragile friend would be far, far away from the front lines--
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"Buck..." he said slowly, stepping forward again.
"Bucky, God..." and his eyes are shining for a different reason now, "God, Buck, I've..." and the words aren't good enough but "I've missed you so much."
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And that right there was a loaded question, but one he needed the answer to.
"I can help you, Bucky. Please, let me help you."
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"I don't want to hurt you." And he might, still; he's getting better, memories coming in fits and starts ("--not without you!--"), he's not--
"I'm not ready."
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"All right. All right, space. How much space?"
He looked back at him.
"It's apparently enough space when you're close enough not to set off a headache."
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"It's fine. I'm just not ready..." He shakes his head, trying to knock loose a piece of conditioning that suddenly rears its head.
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