ready to comply

[semi_stable]

[cw: descriptions of a panic attack, mentions of PTSD]


Things have been going very well for Bucky as of late, so it's no real surprise when he's suddenly knocked on his ass again. That's how it goes, after all. That's his story. That's how it always goes.

This time, all he's doing is walking down the street. He's smiling, almost even laughing, sipping at an iced coffee. He's talking with a friend, gesturing with his prosthetic hand, ungloved and visible to anyone who looks at him, and anyone who did wouldn't even be able to tell how broken he is.

Because he is broken. He always will be in some way or another. His brain was taken apart and put back together over and over again, scrambled and reformed, and he'll never be healed from that, not completely. Not to mention all the trauma and abuse, decades of it, and he can have a few good months but he'll never be totally free.

This is proven to him as he's walking past some sort of street fair out in front of his building. It's noisy, with people milling about and several different radios tuned to different stations drowning each other out. They suddenly all go quiet, music and talking replaced with an eerie, quiet static.

Longing.

The word makes Bucky go still, face draining of color. It's a low, commanding male voice speaking in Russian, and Bucky feels a little like he might throw up.

Rusted.

It's coming from every radio, even one from a car passing by, windows rolled down to take advantage of the nice day. It's coming from everywhere and Bucky's coffee falls from his hand, plastic cracking as it breaks against the pavement. "No."

Furnace.

"No, no, no, please," Bucky pleads in Russian, reaching up to put his hands over his ears. It's so unexpected to hear his trigger words that he forgets for a moment that he's supposed to have been cured of them, rewired during his time in Wakanda. But then he remembers, and it doesn't help. Whoever is behind this place has proven how powerful they are, and who's to say that they didn't undo that, too?

Daybreak.

It's getting louder now, more forceful, and Bucky lets out a panicked shout as he stumbles backwards, breathing heavily and shaking his head. He's flooded so suddenly with adrenaline, like ice water being dumped over his head, and he can hear his heart beating. Air gets stuck in his chest and he can't breathe, and while he recognizes the signs of a panic attack, he can't seem to make it stop. He's too terrified of what might be about to happen to do anything but panic.

Seventeen.

"No, no, not again," he chokes out, turning to run into the lobby of his building to try and get away from it, only to find that they're playing in there too, pumping tinnily out of a speaker in the corner. He chokes out a sob and sinks to the floor, pushing himself back into a corner and covering his ears. Someone follows after him and Bucky holds out his hand. "Stop! Stay back."

Benign.

There are four more. Only four more words until Bucky finds out of the switch in his brain will be flipped, if he'll climb to his feet and stand at attention. Four more words until this city finds out if the Winter Soldier is ready to comply.





[Help him. Have your pup be the person he was walking with and/or the one who finds him in the lobby. Despite his fears, the trigger words will not do anything because he's still cured, but he's still going through one hell of a PTSD episode.]

Comments

[the_variant]

All her long life, Sylvie has never imagined herself being able to experience a morning like this one. Though she's still reluctant to stay anywhere that isn't her home, preferring the safety of the familiar, she had at least tried the night before, and while she'd spent a great deal of the night awake at Bucky's apartment, she'd caught snatches of sleep here and there. More than she had expected, if she's honest.

Now they're walking together, both of them with coffee, and it's nice. So many of her days are nice in ways she'd never imagined possible. It's still terrifying at times, scary enough that it sets her heart pounding, sends her looking for a way out, a reminder she's still powerful, she can still beat anything that comes after her, but most of the time, she can allow herself these moments.

It changes so quickly, in an instant, but Sylvie's relieved to find her reflexes still in place. Bucky's coffee drops, his face gone white, suddenly pleading with some unseen force in Russian.

She's never seen him like this.

She follows, sticking close, not touching him, not saying anything, into the lobby of his building. She sets her coffee aside, approaching as Bucky sinks to the floor, and he tells her to stop, to stay away, he's covering his ears and Sylvie looks to the speaker. The words are nonsense, but they clearly have an effect, so she throws a hard shock of green magic at the speaker, blasting it to pieces. The plastic casing shatters, dropping with hard little clicks to the floor, and the lobby goes silent.

"It's gone," she says, then goes to Bucky anyway. Whatever it is, she thinks he thinks he'll hurt her. She'd like to see him try. She puts her hands on his forearms. "It's quiet now."

[semi_stable]

The explosion makes Bucky flinch and he covers his head, forcing himself to open his eyes to see what happened. When he realizes that it was the speaker, that Sylvie shattered it, and Bucky makes himself take a breath once everything goes silent.

She's reminded him that he isn't alone, and even if he were to become the Winter Soldier, she wouldn't let him hurt anyone. She'd put him down if she had to, and that's a relief.

Sylvie leans over him, reassuring him, and Bucky looks up at her with wet eyes, squeezing them shut again and sending tears rolling down his cheeks. He isn't embarrassed. He's juts devastated to learn what a hold those words still have over him, after all this time.

[the_variant]

Crouched in front of Bucky, her hands still on his arms, Sylvie wishes she was better at offering comfort. It's similar to how she had felt sitting beside Luther on the boardwalk, not knowing what to say or do, not knowing how to make this better.

That she wants to make it better might come as a surprise to some, but it's what she's always wanted. Revenge, yes, but also to make things better. For the people whose worlds were erased, for the little girl she used to be who lost her home.

And now for Bucky.

She moves one hand from his arm to the side of his neck, watching with her brow creased. "What was it?" she asks.

[semi_stable]

He's safe now, away from the rest of the words, and he has to hope that they wouldn't have done anything. He's cured, he's free, and now this is just residual panic. It's the PTSD that wakes him up gasping in the middle of the night.

Sylvie is crouched in front of him and Bucky knows that he owes her an explanation, but he still can't quite seem to breathe.

"Upstairs, okay?" He's shaking all over, stumbling as he tries to pull himself to his feet while gasping for air. "I need to get somewhere safe."

[the_variant]

Sylvie stands, taking Bucky's hands to help him to his feet, still watching with concern. More than anything, she understands what he's saying about needing to be somewhere safe.

For her, it was always somewhere she could put her back to the wall, see all the exits and all the directions from which someone could approach. Sylvie has spent more time than she's ever told anyone wedged into crevices in cave walls, slouched between desks and cabinets in crumbling office buildings, braced in places where she's been able to protect herself from all sides.

For now, she only nods and keeps her hands on his, doing a quick survey of the lobby and deciding on the elevator. It may not be the safer option, if they were truly in danger at the moment, but she can tell he's panicking. The elevator is easier.

"Breathe with me," she says, taking his hand and placing it on her abdomen so he can feel each slow breath she takes as they wait for the elevator doors to open.

[semi_stable]

As they wait for the elevator, Bucky turns to watch Sylvie's face, hand pressed to her belly as she breathes in and out. He looks at the flecks of green in her eyes as he forces his breathing to match hers, slow in and slow out, and he feels a little more in control of it by the time the elevator doors slide open.

He follows her inside and flinches a little as the doors shut, looking around as if he's only just now realizing how small it is. The whole short ride, he holds onto her hand and focuses on his breathing, jaw clenched and eyes closed. It's a relief when the doors open again and he can step out into the hall, heading quickly for his apartment.

As he gets his keys out of his pocket, metal jingling in his shaky hands, he starts to hear Bopp whining and scratching at the other side of the door. She barks sharply and it's alarming enough that Bucky curses under his breath as he rushes to get the door open.

It's only once he opens the door and gets inside, only to be dragged down to the floor by Bopp, that he realizes what's happening. She's a service dog for a veteran with PTSD, and he's having one hell of a panic attack. He sits back on his haunches and lets her lick at his face, pressing hard against his chest, and he wraps his arms gently around her.

"She's doing her job," he says to Sylvie, looking up at her and reaching out to take her hand again. Once he calms a little, Bucky lets out a shaky breath and rubs her between the ears. "Good girl. I'm okay."

[the_variant]

"She is," Sylvie agrees, gently extricating her hand from Bucky's, because with Bopp doing her job, it's time for Sylvie to do hers. She passes her hand lightly over Bucky's head, an indication she isn't going anywhere, then she walks through the apartment looking for anything that might turn on and blare the words that had been so upsetting to him.

She finds a radio shoved into a corner of a cabinet and while she doesn't know if Bucky uses it or not, she figures she probably shouldn't start destroying his belongings. Instead, she wraps it in several towels, more than enough to muffle it if it were to turn on, then pushes it back into the corner of the cabinet and builds up more towels around it.

That done, she returns to Bucky and Bopp, considering them for a moment before she lowers herself to the ground as well. Her hand finds Bucky's knee, closes over it, waiting until he's ready.

[thewrongpath]

The droning voice, speaking a language with only passing familiarity, boomed from the tinny speaker in the building's lobby, where Loki had been waiting for the other man's arrival for only a few moments. The arrival of the voice seemed to coincide with Bucky bursting through the doors, hands over his ears, eyes wild with panic.

Loki had never seen him like this. In fact, he'd witnessed terror of this purity only rarely in his long life. For one cruel moment, Loki almost wished to continue to watch through to its conclusion.

What awful thing was on its way, he thought, excitement zipping through him, only to be chased quickly at its heels by worry so great that he found it difficult to breathe.

He strode forward, stopping abruptly when Bucky warned him to stay back. Instead, he took one more step closer and dropped to a knee.

Devyat.

It droned on from a radio behind the empty security desk, from a young girl's cell phone, pouring out from the elevator as the doors slid open. And suddenly, everything was silent. The spell was simple enough, a protective shield settling down around the two of them.

"Bucky," he murmured, ducking in an attempt to catch his eyes. "James, it's all right."

[semi_stable]

Everything goes utterly silent and it's only then that Bucky looks up to see Loki in front of him. He's so relieved, not only because it's someone that he trusts, but it's someone who is strong enough to hold him back if need be.

"Wait," he says suddenly through gritted teeth, reaching out with his good hand to grab Loki's wrist. "I need to hear the rest. I need to know."

He's cured. He's supposed to be cured and he finds himself needing to make sure. "Take it down, Loki, please."

[thewrongpath]

"Alright," Loki agreed, dropping the spell without hesitation. The sound came rushing back in, the chattering of voices of onlookers drowned out by the droning of that voice.

Turning to give a warning look to a pair of young girls hovering near the elevator, their mouths agape, he said, "Ladies, do move along." When they hesitated, he added a calm, yet forceful, "Now."

They scurried into the elevator, the doors shutting behind them.

[semi_stable]

It would have been safest to let Loki keep the spell up, to never hear the last few words, but then he would always wonder. The words obviously still have power over him, but to what extent?

Homecoming.

The elevator closes and Bucky stares at Loki desperately, holding onto him and swallowing hard. He's shaking all over, curled up as small as he can make himself.

"You have to stop me if they work," he pleads, biting his bottom lip and squeezing his eyes shut, too overwhelmed for eye contact. This is miserable, a moment as awful as he can remember in Darrow, and he realizes how foolish he's been, thinking it's behind him.

One.

"There's one more," Bucky grits out, gripping Loki's wrist hard enough to bruise, but he can't seem to make himself stop. He's too scared, too overcome with panic to realize that he doesn't even feel the pull of the words like he always did by this point.

[thewrongpath]

It wasn't difficult to put together what was happening. These were some kind of trigger— An activation of the weapon HYDRA had created from his unwilling body all those years ago.

"I won't let you hurt anyone," Loki promised, but not because he gave a damn about anyone in this city, save a few. While he didn't wish for their deaths, certainly, and no longer felt that their lives weren't worth protecting, Loki was not so selfless that he might sacrifice one of the few people in this universe he'd ever truly cared for.

In any universe.

So, Loki would do all he could to spare Bucky the grief of hurting someone innocent. Stop him. Incapacitate him. Kill him?

No. He was more likely to join him in his murderous rampage before that ever happened, but luckily, he doubted it would come to that.

Loki held the wrist Bucky clutched like a vice close to his chest, drawing them closer together, his free hand gripping the side of Bucky's neck. Thumb resting on the hinge of Bucky's jaw, he said, "You're all right. I'm not going anywhere."

[semi_stable]

Bucky nods, relieved that whatever happens, Loki is there to hold him back. He opens his eyes and stares at Loki, locking onto his blue eyes and going still.

Freight car.

The transmission ends and every muscle in his body seems to tense up, eyes wide and frightened, but nothing happens. No switch is flipped, Bucky is still Bucky, and he lets out a relieved sob, tipping his head back against the wall.

He feels like he did in Wakanda, weeping as Ayo looked at him proudly. He's still cured, even here, and he reaches up to cover his face with his free hand, loosening his grip on Loki's wrist.

"It's okay," he rasps out, fingers trembling as he rubs at his eyes. The relief is so palpable that he sags as if his strings have been cut. "I'm still fixed."

[auctionofinnocence]

Everything is fine, until it isn't.

She and Bucky have just finished brunch, a luxury Lari is afforded by her new job as a caterer for a very classy hotel. She's even had a few jobs so far, and they've done very well, if she does say so herself. That brunch is meant to be succeeded by a fun romp in either his bedroom or on his couch is only a happy side benefit, honestly.

And then the speaker in a nearby car, and other speakers nearby, restaurants and cafes each playing their own music, all change simultaneously to that strange new channel. Larita can't speak Russian, but she knows one or two words, and nothing that she hears seems particularly offensive.

But Bucky becomes an explosion of sound and movement, away from her.

No, not away from her. From this broadcast.

"Bucky!" she calls when he rushes into the lobby. She follows after him, concern and fear warring with themselves inside her. She's never seen him like this before. She's never seen anyone like this before, not since her first husband, when the cancer got too thick in his mind.

His hand flies up, warding her back, and she holds hers out, palms towards him.

"Bucky, it's me," she tries. "It's Lari."

[semi_stable]

"I know. Stay back, please," he says again, because he doesn't want to hurt anyone, but definitely not her. She's only human, so delicate when up against Bucky, and he wants her so far away from him.

Nine.

"I told you-- I told you that I was made to do things that I didn't want to do," he pants out, gritting his teeth as he stares at the speaker in the corner in terror. "This is how they did it."

The words shouldn't work. They aren't supposed to anymore, and maybe they won't here, but he can't be sure.

Homecoming.

[auctionofinnocence]

Larita understands, suddenly, what is happening. He'd told her, but she hadn't let herself fully understand what he'd been saying. The words coming out of the speakers, the utterly visceral reactions he's having. She understands, now.

It seems impossible, but it's happening. For the first time since she's met Bucky, Lari actually believes he might hurt her. Not because he wants to, but because he'll have to.

"Bucky," she says, keeping her tone level-headed. Damn cool in a crisis, Jim had called her. This might not be a crisis, not yet, but Bucky certainly seems to think it's about to be. "If what you think is about to happen happens, what do you need me to do?"

[semi_stable]

It's too late, he almost says. If the worst happens, she's already too close to him. She's already in the way. A witness. An innocent bystander. Those are the ones that he feels most guilty about.

"Get on the elevator," he grits out, because that will be safer than her running out the door, and if she's out of sight, he might not even remember her if the programming takes over. He might not remember anybody.

One. It's too late. There isn't time, and Bucky just has to hope that his deprogramming is still in place, and that he won't lose himself. Freight car.

Everything seems to go eerily silent and still, aside from the blood rushing between his ears, heart pounding, and Bucky waits. Seconds pass and nothing happens. There is no pull at his mind, nothing forcing him to stand up and comply. He goes limp, air rushing out of him as he leans back against the corner. "It's okay," he says to Lari. "It's gonna be okay."

[auctionofinnocence]

Larita had held very still while Bucky directed her, her feet braced and ready to bolt even where she crouches beside him. But when the voice stops, and the air is filled with that ear-ringing silence broken only by their breathing, she doesn't move. She waits, watching him for any sign of change.

Bucky's entire body seems to sag, and she shifts to her knees; it's a wildly vulnerable position, given what they'd both just thought was about to happen, but she shifts closer, not away, and rests her hand on his shin.

"Of course it is," she says softly, like she'd never expected otherwise.

[semi_stable]

Even though the Russian voice has stopped and Bucky has started to calm down, he still wouldn't have been surprised if Lari ran. He wouldn't have blamed her, either. From an outside perspective, he must look like a crazy person. He is a crazy person in some ways, and what just happened only makes him realize just how much.

But Lari doesn't run from him. She gets on her knees and shifts closer, and Bucky finds himself a little stunned and a lot grateful. Her words even make him smile the slightest bit, and he reaches up to push his hair back from his face, looking at her helplessly. "This place really likes to fuck with us."

[feelheld]

It's strange, a little disorienting, seeing in someone else what she's felt so many times herself. Of course, Dani knows entirely too well that panic attacks are very common, but being aware that a lot of people experience them and actually seeing someone in the throes of one are two very different things. She's always tried to hide hers, ever since she was a kid and they first started happening. By that logic, part of her thinks she should turn and go and not intrude. If she would prefer privacy at such times, it only stands to reason that someone else might, too.

Except this isn't just someone else, it's Bucky. Maybe that shouldn't altogether surprise her when she's had a sense since that first night they hooked up on the beach that there was a similarity in them, an understanding of sorts, but it throws her all the same. It also draws her out of the elevator into the lobby, making her way slowly, carefully to the corner he's tucked himself into. Across from him, a foot or so away, she kneels, setting the basket of laundry she'd been taking downstairs aside. Clean clothes can wait. Whatever is going on that has him so distraught is far more important. And while she's never been good at talking herself down from a state like this, that doesn't mean she won't be able to help him.

"Bucky, hey," she murmurs, her voice low and soothing, something just for the two of them, entirely in spite of his telling her to stay back. "It's me. It's Dani. Can you try to breathe?"

[semi_stable]

"Fuck, Dani. Stay there," Bucky says miserably, because she's one of the last people that he wants to see right now. He wants the people he cares about the most the farthest away from him, because he doesn't want them hurt. "You should really get out of here."

Nine.
Homecoming.

The words blare from the speaker in a booming Russian voice, firm and sharp-edged, and Bucky curls his hands into fists against either side of his head, staring at Dani with terror in his expression, chest heaving as he chokes on a breath. "I don't want to hurt you."

[feelheld]

"You aren't going to hurt me," Dani says, her voice low and steady, carrying a calmness entirely at odds with the way her heart is beginning to race. She means what she says — she genuinely does not believe that Bucky would ever hurt her — but that doesn't make it any less unnerving to see him like this. He looks downright terrified. It would be impossible for her not to start feeling a little of that fear, too.

She doesn't get any closer, not wanting to crowd him, but she doesn't move away, either, still watching him carefully from where she's kneeling about a foot away. "And I'm not going anywhere. It's gonna be alright."

[semi_stable]

"We don't know that!" Bucky cries out, because her trust in him is misplaced, at least in this moment. If those words do trigger the Winter Soldier, it won't matter that he likes Dani and wants her to be safe. Nothing Bucky wants will matter because he won't be Bucky. He'll be someone else entirely.

One.

"There's one more." Usually by this point, he'd feel the programming taking hold, and just how useless it was to try and fight it. He doesn't feel that now, only the terror he could. Maybe it'll be okay, but maybe it won't. "If I change, you need to run, okay? Just run."

[feelheld]

"Why would I need to —" Dani starts, only to cut herself off. The why of it doesn't matter so much in this moment. What does matter is that he's clearly distraught, terrified of something, and while she still can't imagine that he would be any kind of danger to her, she can still give him this part of what he's asking for. Improbable as it might seem, if anything like that does happen, then she'll try her best to get out of here.

"Okay," she finishes instead, quieter and a little hoarse, nodding. "If something happens, I — I'll run."

[semi_stable]

The response makes Bucky nod, and he winces as the final trigger, freight car blares over the speakers. He holds his breath, fists clenched at his sides, but after ten seconds or so, he has to admit that the words aren't going to do anything. The deprogramming has held even in this strange little world.

Bucky's eyes snap open to find Dani still there, and he lets out a ragged breath as he stares at her. Now he just feels weak and foolish, and he scrubs his good hand over his face.

"I'm okay. I'm gonna be okay," Bucky says as he pulls himself to his feet, looking anywhere but at her. "I'm sorry. I'm-- sorry."