[This is vulnerable in a way that he's been very careful not to be, not even around people that he actually trusts, and yet he can't seem to stop. His entire body is tensed up with the effort of attempting to control himself and he just... can't.
All he can see is Steve on the helicarrier, Steve bloodied and beaten and nearly dead, but refusing to give up. He can see the reprogramming machine and the impersonal faces of HYDRA, and now he can hear Steve's voice overlayed with his own, their screams the same. Is that what they did to his friend? They took away everything that made him Steve Rogers?]
He got his will back.
[It's half statement, half question, and wholly a plea. Please tell him that Steve recovered who he was.]
[There's a whole lot of ill making the haps in Bucky's head. Visions he no longer sees, panic he no longer feels, but it's not that hard to read without. It ain't a goddamn thing to guess.
Especially not with what Bucky speaks. He's not sure how to answer. It's a complicated motherfucking question with an answer all the more so.
But he doesn't want to see Bucky beg.]
Yes. [It's not a lie. It's not a lie, he tells himself] Yes, he... he fought hard. And he wasn't alone. He had you and Tony and Sam and... and everyone. He was still in there, more so than me. [He just needed more time than he got.
He doesn't say that.
He doesn't mention how the scars don't ever truly go away. They of all people know that. His arms fold over his chest, hugging as though to hold himself back.]
Truth told, Bucky, when I saw him, he mostly just worried about me.
[The damn fool. Saying, I don't want to get you into any more trouble, like it wasn't his own fault.]
He's never going to forget that somewhere out there, there's a Steve that's suffered through something he should never have experience with. He knows about the scars, he knows that Steve would never be the same even if he recovered his will, he knows all of this and it's why it's dug under his skin like steel hooks.]
Sounds... sounds like him.
[Of course he was worried about someone else, when was he not? That's what made Steve a superhero, it's what always had, even before the serum gave him the muscles to match his stupid outsized heart.
He scrubs a hand across his face and crosses to the poster of Steve, taking it down and folding it to give him chance to gather himself again.]
[He watches, an ache settled in him. This wasn't where he thought this wicked shit was going to be at to go. Far from it, really. This ain't much easier.
He winces when Bucky takes the poster down. He looks like he wants to say something, but Bucky beats him to it and whatever words he had are lost in a rush.]
When I see dreams without entering them, I see them through your eyes. I feel how you felt, like it's me. I know the way the cut you up. I know the way they made sure you obeyed and how it didn't stop. The... the electricity... they...
[The more he talks of it, the more he remembers somewhere else, the same damn thing more or less, just different incisions, different orders, and different ability to scream when the shocks began and coursed through like fire. Damn him for bringing that up knowing he'd have to talk about this.
It mutes him. It makes his body shake, but he was asked to keep going and he has to. Hardly louder than a breath, he says:]
Sorry. [And from there he recollects, distances, refocuses. He just needs a moment. His eyes are little more dull when he continues, but he does indeed manage to do so, and it sounds more natural now, less like it's coming out in panic.]
There are words what get spoken sometimes. And there's some motherfucker what looks like John, but... it's not John. [He's not sure what that means.] And then there's killing. Some happenings more abstract. You don't sleep much, but your fears latch to mine and it made them come to me clearer.
He'd been prepared for what he thought was the worst, just some small knowledge about who had done this to him and perhaps what he had been before, but not to know that Izzy had seen through his eyes. He's heard the words and that sets his teeth on edge just as much as it would have if Izzy had drawn a gun on him.]
No.
[Just no.
He's facing Izzy again now and literally every muscle is so tense that he seems brittle instead of strong, like he might snap into a million pieces.]
No! You shouldn't have been in my head, what the hell is wrong with you that you wouldn't tell me?! Are you trying to use it? Were you gathering information?!
No! [He shouts it right back, with a different sort of desperation.] Of course I wasn't planning to use it, Bucky, why would I ever?! I can't stand what they motherfucking did to you! How the fuck would telling you I knew something like that ever do anything but make you scared of me?!
[And he is, right now. He knows it's fear. Turned all against him, ain't that just motherfucking funny.]
Dammit, you were my friend! I don't want to hurt you!
[But he already has, quite obviously. It's what he does.
It would have made me able to protect myself before now, it would have proven you were trying to do the right thing by not hiding inside my head and watching over and over. Did you get everything you needed?
[He can't control what he's saying any more, it's just pouring out of him in a torrent of paranoia and fear so strong that it's nearly paralysing.
He doesn't know what to do. He can't kill Izzy and keep the words secret that way, he can't even remove himself from the equation to make sure everyone stays safe, because they'll both just be brought back. He can't do anything, and now there's a threat right on his doorstep. He wants to flee, he needs to be anywhere but here, but he can't because he's in a goddamn prison with tiny boundary walls and an all-seeing god child.
[All too many times before he's done this, lashed out with accusation out of sheer panic and unknowing what else to do. Fear and rage dance a circle around the root of hurt.]
I ain't seeking to do nothing against you. I'm giving you chance to take from me what you need made gone. And as long as you are in these meadous, I am not going to let anyone motherfucking hurt or use you like that! Neither will I let you hurt no one else! Even if you want me to forget who you are, I'll still motherfucking stop it!
[It ain't a promise of sentimentality. He won't allow this meadous to come to harm if he can help it. Bucky is only one piece of that. But it means it's a promise he can be sure of]
He has enough left about him to tell that Izzy is being genuine about what he'll do to make sure Bucky is comfortable, that he'll rip into his own mind and take out all the pieces that make him a threat. He should take him up on that. He should make sure he surgically removes every single memory that could hurt him, because this-- this is intolerable.
Izzy knows what was done to him in intimate detail, he knows the trigger words, surely it's the only solution to be safe. He can't be safe if he doesn't tell him to take it all out.]
No.
[The word sounds almost broken, ragged and harsh. He looks hunted even as he speaks, unable to go through with it.]
I can't-- I can't be the one to do that to someone else, you can't do that. I can't.
[He has to get out of there. It doesn't even matter that this is his house and he'll be leaving Izzy alone in it, he just knows he has to go. He's out of the house and gone in moments, running as fast as he's capable of doing, leaving the door ajar in his wake.]
[He hates this. He hates that he can't feel anything. He hates that whether he could or not, he's motherfucking useless.
He hates that he's the goddamn villain no matter what he does. He hates that he keeps having to go through this shit with people he called friend.
He hates that hearing he ain't got to tear his ownself apart doesn't bring enough relief and a little that it does.]
That's not what-- Bucky!
[Bucky bolts. He could chase after. He could keep up, again one of the few to be able. But instead he stands there, wishing foolish that he could be someone else.
Hours later, a folded paper has been left in Bucky's mailbox.]
i'm sorry.
[He suspects that it's the last he'll be seeing, hearing, or feeling Bucky for a long ass time.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
All he can see is Steve on the helicarrier, Steve bloodied and beaten and nearly dead, but refusing to give up. He can see the reprogramming machine and the impersonal faces of HYDRA, and now he can hear Steve's voice overlayed with his own, their screams the same. Is that what they did to his friend? They took away everything that made him Steve Rogers?]
He got his will back.
[It's half statement, half question, and wholly a plea. Please tell him that Steve recovered who he was.]
no subject
Especially not with what Bucky speaks. He's not sure how to answer. It's a complicated motherfucking question with an answer all the more so.
But he doesn't want to see Bucky beg.]
Yes. [It's not a lie. It's not a lie, he tells himself] Yes, he... he fought hard. And he wasn't alone. He had you and Tony and Sam and... and everyone. He was still in there, more so than me. [He just needed more time than he got.
He doesn't say that.
He doesn't mention how the scars don't ever truly go away. They of all people know that. His arms fold over his chest, hugging as though to hold himself back.]
Truth told, Bucky, when I saw him, he mostly just worried about me.
[The damn fool. Saying, I don't want to get you into any more trouble, like it wasn't his own fault.]
no subject
He's never going to forget that somewhere out there, there's a Steve that's suffered through something he should never have experience with. He knows about the scars, he knows that Steve would never be the same even if he recovered his will, he knows all of this and it's why it's dug under his skin like steel hooks.]
Sounds... sounds like him.
[Of course he was worried about someone else, when was he not? That's what made Steve a superhero, it's what always had, even before the serum gave him the muscles to match his stupid outsized heart.
He scrubs a hand across his face and crosses to the poster of Steve, taking it down and folding it to give him chance to gather himself again.]
Fine. Tell me what you know.
[He needs to move on from this.]
no subject
He winces when Bucky takes the poster down. He looks like he wants to say something, but Bucky beats him to it and whatever words he had are lost in a rush.]
When I see dreams without entering them, I see them through your eyes. I feel how you felt, like it's me. I know the way the cut you up. I know the way they made sure you obeyed and how it didn't stop. The... the electricity... they...
[The more he talks of it, the more he remembers somewhere else, the same damn thing more or less, just different incisions, different orders, and different ability to scream when the shocks began and coursed through like fire. Damn him for bringing that up knowing he'd have to talk about this.
It mutes him. It makes his body shake, but he was asked to keep going and he has to. Hardly louder than a breath, he says:]
Sorry. [And from there he recollects, distances, refocuses. He just needs a moment. His eyes are little more dull when he continues, but he does indeed manage to do so, and it sounds more natural now, less like it's coming out in panic.]
There are words what get spoken sometimes. And there's some motherfucker what looks like John, but... it's not John. [He's not sure what that means.] And then there's killing. Some happenings more abstract. You don't sleep much, but your fears latch to mine and it made them come to me clearer.
no subject
He'd been prepared for what he thought was the worst, just some small knowledge about who had done this to him and perhaps what he had been before, but not to know that Izzy had seen through his eyes. He's heard the words and that sets his teeth on edge just as much as it would have if Izzy had drawn a gun on him.]
No.
[Just no.
He's facing Izzy again now and literally every muscle is so tense that he seems brittle instead of strong, like he might snap into a million pieces.]
No! You shouldn't have been in my head, what the hell is wrong with you that you wouldn't tell me?! Are you trying to use it? Were you gathering information?!
[He's scared, slipping.]
no subject
[And he is, right now. He knows it's fear. Turned all against him, ain't that just motherfucking funny.]
Dammit, you were my friend! I don't want to hurt you!
[But he already has, quite obviously. It's what he does.
Fuck, he doesn't know how to fix this.]
Please, listen, Bucky.
cw: suicidal ideation
[He can't control what he's saying any more, it's just pouring out of him in a torrent of paranoia and fear so strong that it's nearly paralysing.
He doesn't know what to do. He can't kill Izzy and keep the words secret that way, he can't even remove himself from the equation to make sure everyone stays safe, because they'll both just be brought back. He can't do anything, and now there's a threat right on his doorstep. He wants to flee, he needs to be anywhere but here, but he can't because he's in a goddamn prison with tiny boundary walls and an all-seeing god child.
He can't cope with this, he's about to break.]
cw: suicidal ideation
[All too many times before he's done this, lashed out with accusation out of sheer panic and unknowing what else to do. Fear and rage dance a circle around the root of hurt.]
I ain't seeking to do nothing against you. I'm giving you chance to take from me what you need made gone. And as long as you are in these meadous, I am not going to let anyone motherfucking hurt or use you like that! Neither will I let you hurt no one else! Even if you want me to forget who you are, I'll still motherfucking stop it!
[It ain't a promise of sentimentality. He won't allow this meadous to come to harm if he can help it. Bucky is only one piece of that. But it means it's a promise he can be sure of]
You're still in control here. Just breathe.
cw: suicidal ideation
He has enough left about him to tell that Izzy is being genuine about what he'll do to make sure Bucky is comfortable, that he'll rip into his own mind and take out all the pieces that make him a threat. He should take him up on that. He should make sure he surgically removes every single memory that could hurt him, because this-- this is intolerable.
Izzy knows what was done to him in intimate detail, he knows the trigger words, surely it's the only solution to be safe. He can't be safe if he doesn't tell him to take it all out.]
No.
[The word sounds almost broken, ragged and harsh. He looks hunted even as he speaks, unable to go through with it.]
I can't-- I can't be the one to do that to someone else, you can't do that. I can't.
[He has to get out of there. It doesn't even matter that this is his house and he'll be leaving Izzy alone in it, he just knows he has to go. He's out of the house and gone in moments, running as fast as he's capable of doing, leaving the door ajar in his wake.]
cw: suicidal ideation
He hates that he's the goddamn villain no matter what he does. He hates that he keeps having to go through this shit with people he called friend.
He hates that hearing he ain't got to tear his ownself apart doesn't bring enough relief and a little that it does.]
That's not what-- Bucky!
[Bucky bolts. He could chase after. He could keep up, again one of the few to be able. But instead he stands there, wishing foolish that he could be someone else.
Hours later, a folded paper has been left in Bucky's mailbox.]
i'm sorry.
[He suspects that it's the last he'll be seeing, hearing, or feeling Bucky for a long ass time.]