theclearchoice | [RP] please come back from bowels of black, from silent shores, to me once more

Steve never considered himself a voodoopunk. Not really. They're friends of his; he enjoys the rituals, even if he's not sure he believes in them and doesn't really take part, and they don't mind being used as models when he brings his sketchbook. Bucky spent less time with him then Steve did, but they knew him, in passing and through Steve's stories; and Steve, well, he was there at least every couple of weeks, if not more often.

Often enough that when he doesn't turn up for a month, they come looking for him. And when he tells them what happens, they practically drag him out of the house to that night's meeting, and things start happening, and nowhere along the way does Steve have the chance to say no.

No, that's not true. He could have. But he never does, never stops to think about the dolls that lie in the streets and what might have happened, never considers how it might turn out. All he knows is that they're offering him a way to get Bucky back, and he doesn't have the strength to say no to that. Not when the wound is this fresh. Maybe if he'd had a chance to heal, but not now, when the only thing he can think every minute, every time he sits in the suddenly-empty apartment they shared, every time he looks at sketchbooks full of idle drawings, every time he thinks about talking to anyone he knew, because they all knew Bucky too -- the only thing he can think is, he's gone, and it still hurts so much he can't breathe.

He doesn't say no. He just lets them move things along. And the first time he worries, wonders what it will be like, wonders what Bucky will think, is when Byron is opening the door and shooing the technicians out and telling them to give Steve a moment alone with his friend.

And it's too late to do anything but step inside.

He closes the door behind him with his eyes on the table, on the doll sitting there, looking like any other doll and somehow so different because of who he is.

"Bucky?"

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Steve doesn't care if Bucky's crushing his hand, if it's hard enough to hurt. He holds on, squeezing back as much as he can even though he doesn't know if Bucky can feel it. Doesn't know if Bucky can feel anything at all.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out suddenly, and it's everything he didn't want to do and can't stop himself from saying. "I didn't know what to -- you were gone, you were gone and they said they could bring you back and I didn't think about it and we can -- we can fix it. We can. Send you back." Kill you again, he doesn't say, can't say, couldn't bring himself to say if he wanted to. "I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do, I didn't -- I didn't think."

He can't say it, can't tell him that it's okay, that he doesn't mind, that he'd rather be here. he wants to say so much and yet he can't, he is left only with patching together words and comforting noise. It's hard , so hard and yet he keeps trying because what else is he supposed to do?

His other hand moves, reaching out to Steve and holding him there. Hes here, he's here and he's not going anywhere. Fuck the end of the line, he's here til the end of the world if he can help it.

If Steve needed him this much, if he was this desperate, there was no way in hell Bucky was going back.

He doesn't understand it all, but he gets enough, as Bucky holds on to him. He's not gonna do it, he's not going to say put me back, I don't want this, and Steve is sick to his stomach over what that means and so, so relieved at the same time.

He can't do this without him, doesn't know what to do without him, he's lost everything else and he can't lose Bucky too, except he did and now they're here and it's so wrong in every way but it's still Bucky and that's all, that's everything he needed, and it's still so wrong.

He's holding on as tight as he can now, so tight his hands hurt, and he doesn't ever want to let go.

"I'm sorry," he says again, desperate and unsure and he knows he should pull it together, that Bucky needs to deal with this more than he does, but he's been falling apart since the day his best friend died. He still tries, though, squaring his shoulder and fighting off the tears. "I can talk to them. The... the group. See if they can help you figure this out."

There's comfort in the old ways, the times that he can be solid and a rock to Steve who needs him, who wants him, who is willing to defy everything to keep him there.

They belong together, they need each other and this is what they do for one another, how they make it work.

It doesn't matter that its wrong anymore, it doesn't matter that his joints are stiff, his thoughts strange and functions foreign, he's with Steve and that's what he's supposed to do, that is how this goes.

He pulls him into an awkward hug, body rying to curl around his friend as if he can shield him from all the guilt riding him down. He can try tough, he can move his hands, strange as they are, up and down Steve's back and promise though snippets that it's going to be all rgiht.

He goes easily, as awkward as it is; he clings, his thin arms tight as he can get them around Bucky's body. He doesn't cry, at least, but he doesn't say anything for a while either, just lays there, listening to the things coming through the speakers and not wanting to let go.

"We'll figure it out," he says eventually, an apology and a reassurance and a wish all at once. "However this works, we'll figure it out."

He nods slowly, still adjusting tot he ways his new body reacts to his commands. It's a strange and slow process but he's learning as fluidly as he can.

he has no doubt that this will work out beaus it's the two of them and they'll make this better. Or at least manageable and that's not even a question in his mind

It's a question to Steve, it's an outright fear to Steve, but he doesn't want to say that. This has to be strange for Bucky to say the least, and he doesn't want to show that much uncertainty. Neither of them need that right now.

He watches Bucky nod, slow and stilted and not at all like he usually moves, but at least he's listening. At least he's there to hear.

And there's things Steve could say, there's things he could tell him about how hard it was without him, and why he did this, but he doesn't. Hopefully Bucky understands, or at least knows the important parts. That Steve didn't mean to hurt him by doing this. That he'll be right there till they figure out how to make it work, every step of the way.

What he says instead is, "They're probably going to kick us out of here soon. Maybe we should head home."

He nods slowly, awkward and unsure. They probably would and he should learn how to stand properly anyway.

He strings together a few words of agreement but doesn't move, not immediately. He still holds onto Steve, unwilling to separate just yet. He will in a few minutes but...But he needs the reminder of why he's here right now, why he's dealing with this body, this trap.

And Steve doesn't let go either, holding tight. He should; they need to figure out how this is going to work, how Bucky is going to have to move. But he doesn't. He doesn't want to.

He doesn't know that something else won't happen, if he does.

It isn't too much longer before the knock comes, startling Steve -- though even then, not quite enough to let go.

"Give us a minute," he shouts back at the muffled questioning through the door, trying to make himself let go.

If things were different, he would be tensing up right now, holding on tighter and refusing to go. Things aren't that way now though and he's left only looking to Steve, uncertain of what todo. He can move enough to get out of here but somehow he's sure that, if he leaves, everything will just fall apart, end horribly and then he would be lost.

[RP] please come back from bowels of black, from silent shores, to me once more

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