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

[semi_stable]

Bucky lets out a quiet chuckle at that, reaching up to rest his hand over Loki’s arm. The contact is a welcome comfort and Bucky takes a deep breath, tipping his head back to rest against Loki’s shoulder.

“Every time they said the words, I could feel my body trying to fight it, but I never could,” he admits quietly. “They would wipe my memory, shock it out of me, so all I ever really knew was pain and how to kill, but it never felt right. I knew my mission and how to carry it out, and I knew what it felt like to scream and be shocked and beaten and injected with things, and I knew it was all wrong.”

Another set of tears slide down his cheeks and he sniffles, wiping them away with his knuckles as he looks down at Bopp’s sweet face. “That’s all I knew for decades, pain and death and torture, and it’s all tied to those words.”

[thewrongpath]

Hooking his chin over Bucky's shoulder, Loki ran a hand through his hair, lips grazing his temple. "I don't relish causing pain, but I'd like to eviscerate those people slowly, if any of them are left," he admitted, shifting to sit more comfortably with Bucky between his thighs.

"I would very much enjoy hunting those people down."

He was quiet for a moment, finding Bucky's hand and brushing his thumb over his tear stained knuckles.

"I know it doesn't feel like it, but I think you're remarkable. You have every reason to be cruel and embittered, and yet, you're..." Loki swallowed, clearing his throat. "You're exceptionally kind. And full of so much love. That's what I mean, when I say you're not broken."

[semi_stable]

“I’m sure many of them are left,” he says quietly, and for a moment he lets himself imagine it, Loki with all of his magic and all of his fury, breaking bones and tearing them limb from limb. It might be satisfying. At the very least, it would stop them from hurting anyone else.

Bucky doesn’t like causing pain either, but there are some people in the world evil enough to deserve it.

Loki stays behind him, holding him, practically cradling him, and Bucky lets himself sink back into that strong embrace, reminding himself that he’s safe here, probably safer than he’s been in a very long time.

Part of that safety is because of the complicated man currently holding him in the middle of his living room floor, and Bucky shuts his eyes as Loki speaks, shedding another tear, but this one isn’t so bad. It comes from a different place within him.

“Thank you,” he says after a moment, sniffling and turning his head to rest his forehead against Loki’s jaw for a moment. After a few more deep breaths, he leans forward to open a drawer in the small table next to the sofa and extracts a notebook. It’s unremarkable, a simple composition book, and he holds it tightly as he sinks back against Loki again.

“I still feel like I can’t really trust my memory. New things come to me all the time, from when I was held captive but older, too. The war, and growing up.” He swallows hard and opens the book, dragging metal fingertips over lines of neatly scratched notes, nonsensical paragraphs and names and dates. “I write down everything new that I remember. I think— I might still be healing.”

[thewrongpath]

Loki held him a bit tighter, lifting a hand to brush away the tear rolling down his cheek. When Bucky shifted to pull away, Loki let him go, uncharacteristically quiet as the other man produced a small notebook from the back of a drawer, holding it in his hands like something precious.

As he settled against Loki's chest once more, Loki remained quiet, listening as Bucky explained the process of his remembering. His healing. His grief. They'd already shared so much, but this felt particularly sacred.

"I wouldn't expect a lifetime of wounds to heal quickly," he agreed, reaching out to touch the edges of a worn page with something akin to reverence.

[semi_stable]

Bucky didn’t think that anyone would ever see these books. Even Steve didn’t know about them, nor did anyone in Wakanda. There were just for him, something he was doing on his own, but he’s been reminded that he doesn’t have to do that so much anymore.

“I am handing you a very big dagger,” Bucky says quietly, thinking back to their conversation in the woods. When it comes to tools that could hurt Bucky, this is a very big one. There are good things in this book, memories of his family and friends, but awful things, too.

“I don’t even know what all I’ve forgotten. There are chunks of my life still gone, for the most part, but it’s comforting to know that pieces are still coming back to me,” he says, biting his lip before turning a few pages, looking for something in particular. “I also write down important things that happen to me in the present, just in case.”

He pauses when he finds what he’s looking for, pointing it out with a gleaming fingertip so Loki can see. It’s the date of their first night together, and then a brief passage. Swam to the edge of the world with Loki, kissed under the moon, realized how good sex can feel when I take my time. Slept next to another person. This was a good day.

[thewrongpath]

It was so unexpected, seeing his name written in Bucky's sketchy writing on the pages of what amounted to a diary, that Loki found himself without words. The raging narcissist that he was, he certainly enjoyed being thought of, being remembered, being memorialized in writing.

What surprised him was his feeling of relief, to know that night had meant as much to Bucky as it had to him.

From nowhere, Loki produced a gold pen, and with a delicate flourish, drew a playful little heart over the dotted-i in his name. "Let's hope for more good days, then," he said, his tone lightly teasing, despite his sincerity.

[semi_stable]

Bucky wasn't sure what to expect when he showed his journal to Loki. He's surprised himself by doing so, and it makes him a little nervous, like he's cracking open his own head to show Loki the inside-- scattered and disjointed, something to try and make sense of.

He turns his head to look at Loki and the expression on his face isn't one that Bucky thinks that he's seen before. He looks deeply pleased, but not in that charmingly smug Loki type of way. This feels more private, more genuine, like he's surprised by it, and Bucky can't help but to lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

There's a brief green glow and suddenly Loki is putting his own touch on the page, and Bucky can't help the soft, fond laugh that slips out of him. He nods at the words, finding a bit of genuine hope in them, and then sniffs a bit as he closes the book.

"We should probably also get up off the floor," he says with a wry smile, sinking back further against Loki even as he says it, because it's nice to be held like this, cradled between this man and his dog.

[thewrongpath]

He'd drawn the little heart for no other reason than to make Bucky laugh, a little bloom of pleasure settling in his chest when his mission was accomplished. The pen disappeared and both of Loki's arms slid around Bucky's chest, his chin hooked over Bucky's shoulder.

"There are more comfortable places to be," he agreed, though he made no move to get up. There was the couch, and a bed, and various chairs scattered between, but in that moment, he felt settled in a way he rarely ever did.

Bopp twisted her little body to look at him with her big, brown eyes and he chuckled softly, lifting a hand to scratch behind her ears. "What are you staring at?" He asked her fondly, his other hand splayed over the steady beat of Bucky's heart.

[semi_stable]

"Probably," Bucky agrees, but he makes no attempt to move from the floor either. Instead he lets the reassuring calm of this moment wash over him. Not too long ago, he would have had to go through this completely alone. He had nothing in New York, no one at all, and while he'd found companionship with Sam, it wasn't anything like this.

He's never felt anything like this at all.

A genuine smile tugs at his lips as Loki rubs at Bopp's head. It only encourages her and she bounces to her feet, less protective and on alert now that Bucky has begun to relax. She steps up onto Loki's thigh and sniffs at his face, practically smothering Bucky in her fur as she pushes Loki down onto his back. Bucky spills after him, laughing as Bopp turns her head between their faces, licking one and then the other as her tail wags.

"Yes, Bopp, hello," Bucky laughs out, reaching up with one arm to try and gently push her away. "We're okay."

[thewrongpath]

Despite having the strength of a god, Loki was helpless to resist her, spilling over onto his back after her eager nudge.

"Good heavens," Loki complained halfheartedly, letting her snuffle and lick at his face for a few moments before gently joining on on pushing her away. "Bopp, you're terribly ill-behaved," he said, knowing the opposite to be true. She was there for Bucky's comfort, and did her job exceptionally well.

Slipping out from under Bucky's weight, Loki rose to his feet, offering Bucky a hand. "Let's leave the floor to the animals."

[semi_stable]

"He didn't mean that," Bucky says with a laugh. When he tells Bopp to sit, she does so immediately, tail curling around her feet as she sits still, tongue lolling out as she pants happily. Loki reaches for him and Bucky takes his hand easily, letting himself be helped to his feet.

"You could have at least left me that cool pen," he teases as he scoops up his journal and returns it to the drawer. For a moment, he considers moving it to a different hiding place, but it quickly fades. If he trusted Loki enough to tell him about it at all, he can know where it's kept.

"Well," he says with an awkward laugh, unsure of how to continue their evening. He isn't embarrassed, not really, but a little off-kilter.

[thewrongpath]

Smirking, Loki produced the pen once more, plucking it from the air like a slight of hand trick. "Greedy," he accused, even as he passed it over.

"Sit down, I'll fix us a drink," he said, giving Bucky's shoulder a squeeze as he made his way towards the kitchen. It struck him as strange, how easily the offer came to him, after a thousand years rarely doing anything for anyone but himself.

[semi_stable]

Bucky can't help it. The sight of the pen makes him smile, nose scrunching as he reaches out to take it. These small tricks amuse him, simple as they are for Loki.

"That's me," he jokes, using the pen to gesture to his sparse apartment before putting it safely away in the drawer. Loki tells him to sit and Bucky nods, realizing only after Loki has walked away how domestic it all feels, how safe.

After getting Bopp a treat (or three), he takes off his shows and socks and then sits down onto the sofa, tipping his head against the back of it and blowing out a breath, rubbing at his swollen eyes.

"Are you getting the firewater?"

[thewrongpath]

"Would you prefer something else?" Loki called, opening cabinets and poking around with vague curiosity. Unsurprisingly, the food and drink in Bucky's pantry was simple and nourishing, though Loki spied a few indulgences here and there. The obsession with food trucks and fancy steaks spoke of a boy who'd grown up with little, and desired for comfort and familiarity.

Loki blew out an unsteady breath, unprepared for the warm ache, which had taken residence behind his breastbone.

[semi_stable]

“No, I think a stiff drink couldn’t hurt,” Bucky calls out. “It’s in the cabinet next to the refrigerator.”

Bopp hops up onto the other side of the sofa with one of her chew toys and Bucky watches her for a long moment, smiling just at the sight of her, and at the sound of Loki rifling through his kitchen.

“Hey, do you want to stay over tonight? We could over takeout?” He calls out, doing his best to sound casual, biting his lip and wrinkling his nose as he waits for the answer. He lowers his voice to a near whisper and looks over at Bopp again. “Maybe you should go give him the eyes.”

[thewrongpath]

"Got it," Loki said, drawing down a pair of glasses and pouring them both a finger or two.

He couldn't explain the brittle way he felt, despite not having been the one just tortured by his own past. Still, he smiled, and it reached his eyes, because a Loki was nothing if not skilled at carefully constructed nonchalance.

He could hear the hesitancy in Bucky's voice, and clarity came to him like a swift punch to the face. Never in his life had he wanted to make someone else happy, and now he'd split the desire between two desperately complicated people, the three of them about as hopeless as could be when it came to matters of love.

He thought of that silly little heart he'd pressed into the pages of Bucky's notebook and felt like an utter fool.

Returning to the living room, he set the bottle down on the coffee table, passing one glass over to Bucky as he took a seat. "I'll stay," he said, casual as you please, and knocked back his drink in one gut-burning go.

[semi_stable]

It takes longer than he would have thought for Loki to come back from the kitchen and once he does, he's the picture of nonchalance. He agrees to stay, which he wouldn't do if he didn't want to, but there's something feigned about it. Or maybe that's just Bucky reading too much into things, feeling too vulnerable after what just happened.

But then he knocks back his entire drink while Bucky is still lifting his to his mouth and he pauses for a moment, brow furrowed as he takes a sip.

"Are you okay?" He asks quietly, wondering if he might appreciate a moment to compose himself. He bites his lip at the hesitant tone in his voice, looking down at the amber liquid before taking another burning sip. "I know all that probably wasn't a picnic for you, either."

[thewrongpath]

Wheezing around the burn of alcohol, Loki croaked, "I'm fine."

It might have been easy enough to leave it at that. Safer, perhaps. For, if nothing else, his pride. But Bucky looked at him, then, hesitant and insecure, and Loki found he couldn't risk the fall out of leaving him to think he'd done something wrong.

"If it wasn't, it's only because I loathe to see you in pain."

[semi_stable]

Bucky doesn't really buy it, but he doesn't want to push, either. He's relieved when Loki explains further and Bucky feels like he suddenly understands. Seeing Bucky like that upset Loki because he cares, and maybe it's the realization of just how much overwhelms him. Bucky can relate to that.

"Ah, I see. You're having feelings," Bucky says with a sly smile, taking a chance on trying to make him laugh. He holds up his glass and leans in, wobbling a little as if he were drunk. "I'll tell you a secret," he says in a stage whisper, just inches from Loki's ear. "I feel them, too."

[thewrongpath]

"Feelings of annoyance," Loki countered haughtily, leaning away to refill his glass. He wanted so desperately to take the other man into his arms that he felt nearly sick with it. Just to hold him. The only other person he'd felt anything comparable with was Sylvie– When she yelled at him. When he knew she felt wounded but was too proud to say. When he woke up beside her on the mornings after she crawled into bed with him. When he did something small to make her happy and she smiled before she could remind herself not to.

Somewhere, Mobius was laughing his bureaucratic ass off.

[semi_stable]

Bucky's expression falls a bit when Loki pulls away from him, but he gets it. If Loki doesn't want to acknowledge like that, so plainly, he understands. It hurts a little, but maybe that's just because of how fragile he feels. Maybe he made it too real.

"Okay," he rasps out, looking at the side of Loki's face for a moment before straightening up and leaning against the back of the sofa, knocking back the rest of his drink as he kicks his feet up onto the coffee table. He sets his empty glass on the side table and picks up the remote for the television. "We won't speak of it."

[thewrongpath]

Across the room, Bopp's eyes seemed to narrow at him warningly. Could a dog appear disappointed?

Yes, apparently so.

He knocked back his drink and set the glass aside.

"Don't," he said, plucking the remote from Bucky's hand. "What would you have me say? I could say that this made more sense to me when I only wanted to fuck you, but that's never been the case."

[semi_stable]

"I didn't ask you to say anything," Bucky replies placidly, but his gaze is steely as he looks over at Loki. He isn't sure how to react to this. Maybe a few weeks ago, he would have. It's strange to suddenly have it coming from the man who sat on the floor and held him while he cried, who made his mark so confidently in one of Bucky's most sacred possessions.

He thinks warily of all the daggers that Loki is holding, and how scraped raw he already feels.

"You don't have to stay, Loki," he says after a moment, and it may seem like he's trying to make Loki feel bad, but he isn't. It's just the truth. He'd rather Loki just go home than sit here struggling with himself. "I'll be okay, really."

[thewrongpath]

"What? I'm not going anywhere. I want to be here," he argued, emboldened by the need to be contrary. He'd thought that Sylvie was the one to hide her feelings behind bristled cruelty, but they were similar in ways even they tended to overlook.

"You did want me to say something, otherwise you wouldn't have been hurt when I didn't," he pointed out. He dragged a hand over his face, drawing in a breath. "I'm not leaving. You'll have to throw me out, and we both know you can't." It was meant to be a joke, but his voice wavered a bit too much to pull it off.

"The truth is, I realized in the kitchen just now that I love you quite dearly, and it seemed to have rattled me a bit. You'll have to forgive me."

[semi_stable]

The more that Loki talks, the more that Bucky feels his own ire start to grow. He doesn't know what he did to make Loki so riled up, and he sits up straighter, nostrils flaring when Loki says that he can't.

"I can damn sure try," Bucky snaps back, and he makes a move to stand up before what Loki says next-- well, it literally knocks him on his ass. He falls back onto the sofa and stares over at Loki in shock, unsure of what to say. His heart sort of leaps because it's unexpected and romantic and kind of a slap in the face all at once.

"Forgive you for what? Finding loving me so damn upsetting?" Bucks asks, voice cracking a little even though he's kind of trying to make a joke. His heart is pounding hard enough that Bopp lifts her head to look at him with her ears perked up, but Bucky gives her a thumbs up, which lets her know that he doesn't need help. "No one I didn't share blood with has ever said that to me before, so give me a minute."

Overwhelmed and unsure how to express it, Bucky turns and kicks Loki in the ankle. "You didn't say nothing. You called me annoying, jackass."