thecapitol | my head's under water

Entry tags:

my head's under water

Who| Sam Wilson and OPEN + closed threads for Initiate, Bucky, and Porrim
What| finding friends and trying to find his state of mind
Where| In the lobby of the Tribute Tower
When| After Sam’s death in the arena
Warnings/Notes| Discussions of death, violence, nightmares, and PTSD; will update with others if needed! Prompts for closed threads in the comments.

On the way up from where he’d woken up to the district suites, Sam’d noticed the blanket and pillow fort occupying part of the lobby. He’d passed it by then, because he wasn’t quite suited for company yet. He’d practically let Arya kill him, and he knows it, and he’s still not balanced enough to honestly be able to tell if it was because he refused to kill a little girl just to keep himself alive for a little bit longer, or if he was just that messed up at the moment.

Sam needed to get himself sorted, as much as he could, and once he was, he had people he needed to check on.

But a day or so after his return, he’s back down in the lobby, checking it out. He looks around for anyone who might be using it, or who’s nearby, so he can head over to them to ask who’d built it, or if they wouldn’t mind some company.

If he can’t find anyone, he’ll just make himself at home, until someone joins him or asks what he thinks he’s doing.

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Kurloz is the first person that Sam seeks out, when he starts looking. Might as well start with his district first, since he’s right there and - he and Albert are fresh on Sam’s mind, the way he’d last saw them. Especially Kurloz, considering Sam’d taken him out - or tried to, some of the footage being played that he couldn’t escape tells him that he hadn’t succeeded as well as he’d thought.

He’s trying not to add feeling guilty about that on top of everything else.

It’s just the two of them when Sam finds him in the kitchen, so he doesn’t feel bad about calling, “Kurloz!” as he jogs over.

That’s all the words he’s got right now, though. When he reaches him, Sam just kind of stands up on tiptoe, yanking him down into a hug and holding on as tight as he can.

Sam’s avoided watching the footage still going on in the arena, as much as he can. He doesn’t know when Bucky and Steve died, how it happened, he only knows that they’re back. That he can breathe a little easier, now that he can be around them. Even if he hadn’t had time to worry too much, that this time what happened in the arena might be permanent.

Not like with Natasha and Albert, who Sam knows died before he did. Who should be back by now, but they aren’t. The longer they don’t show up, the more he starts to feel twisted up inside in a way that is way too damn familiar. All of which means he has to try real damn hard not to hug Bucky the first time he sees him. But he manages it, because last time he’d asked Bucky hadn’t been ready, and he doesn’t really want to ask him again in the tribute tower.

Eventually, he asks him to come with him to the club they’d gone to before - to the blind spot - because he wants to check in with him without the Capitol listening. There’s a lot of stuff he wants to ask him - how are his nightmares, is there anything he wants to talk about that happened in the arena, does he want to try cigarettes now, how is he, but for once, Sam’s not composed. For once it doesn’t feel like he’s walking the line between counselor and friend, he just feels like a friend.

“I’m gonna ask you something I already did, and if your answer’s the same, that’s okay with me.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw, looking over at him. "Can I give you a hug?"

It’s a few days after he wakes up before he approaches her. They’ve never gone out of the tower together before, which means Sam actually has to try to play at being a little covert here. He’d needed a little bit of time, after the way things had ended in the arena, after having to take out Kurloz and still having Albert die on him, after all but letting himself get killed.

But all of that is what he’s not thinking about here, what he’s temporarily putting aside so he can actually act on what Kurloz’d told him about Porrim. So he can actually take the risk and start really trusting her.

He’s a little dressed up when he approaches her - not by the Capitol’s standards, maybe, but definitely by what he usually wears.

“Hey,” he greets with a smile. “I was planning on going to check out the art museum today, thought I’d see if you wanted to come with me.”

He's still getting used to walking again. More than that, he's getting on used to his own motherfucking skin. It feels all tight from the ghost of memories what ain't really there. That and the taste of blood in his mouth, but that one's more familiar.

Sam's voice, calling his name, is a far better familiar. His heart lifts as he echos, "SAM!" And he embraces Sam right back, glad for the means of blanance. Sam is warm and soft as humans is to be and the Initiate forgets about finding something to tie his hair, all long again, back out of the way, causing it to become protective veil to the two of them.

There's a bit of a purr, for just a moment before it's stifled. Don't want to make shit too awkward.

"Fuck, brother, it's motherfuckin good to get gander of you," He says. It's good to see you came back, thank Messiahs you came back.

Porrim's made a habit of making herself especially available as her tributes start to trickle back in from Arenas. Although she doesn't watch a whole lot of the Games as a rule, she does like to keep tabs on how her own tributes do. So when Sam dies--upsetting as that is--she's not surprised when he approaches her a couple of days later.

She smiles at him from where she's got a hip leaned up against the kitchenette counter, washing out her teacup. He looks nice--definitely a sight better than your standard Arena fare, for certain. And his invitation only makes her smile widen.

"Well, Sam Wilson, I thought you'd never ask," she says, laughter in her voice. She's not an idiot; there's a reason he's asking her, and it isn't that he wants to take her for a turn about town. "I'd love to." She dries off her hands, nodding toward his outfit. "You look sharp."

Bucky woke up disorientated, with the memory of ice cold water and the breath stolen from his lungs by a strong hand holding him down. He wondered where the doctors were, wondered why they let him wake up along against protocol, right before reality came crashing back in to remind him of where he was.

Right.

It doesn't take much convincing for Sam to get Bucky to follow him, walking at his heels like a lost duckling. Easier to let someone else lead for a while and stop thinking about events and names lost, things that he was powerless to change.

He easily recognises the place when they come to it and feels -- relief, that they're here, where words and actions could be made freely, provided you kept an eye out. They're alone here now and Bucky looks at Sam who died first, down in the caves because the Jabberjay's got him into the trap and swallows at the question. Sam looks almost as shellshocked as Bucky himself feels.

Last time he said no, even when they were staring down a fiery death together. This time with ice and loss lingering in his bones Bucky takes a breath, not quite meeting Sam's eyes still, before nodding his assent.

You step out for three minutes, and some asshole dies and gets made king of the pillow fort. Her pillow fort, mind. Pure, unadulterated, crap human engineering, this.

"Go ahead, make yourself at home," That's as good a hello as is likely, as Shepard lets the curtain-wall fall back down behind her, bottles clinking invitingly to the tune of crackling snack packaging, "Come right on in."

Mind your legs, Wilson, coming through. That corner-seat pillow is all hers.

For a long moment, Sam just keeps holding on. He needs this right now, needs to hang on to the proof that Kurloz is alive. Proof that the way Sam’d last seen him - either of the ways, coming after them with lifeless eyes or lying unmoving on the ground, after Sam’d gone for what he thought was a killing blow - is just a memory.

He barely even notices the purr until it stops, but okay, that might be another thing he has to ask him about later.

“You too.”

He holds back on saying more than that for the moment, because he has a feeling if he starts, he’ll end up quickly going into the territory of things he doesn’t want to say with the Capitol listening in.

“You up for going for a walk with me?”

His smile goes somewhere between relieved and pleased when she accepts the invitation. And maybe slides just a little bit more towards pleased at the compliment to what he’s wearing.

“I wouldn’t want you to be seen with me if I didn’t,” he replies, falling easily into just a little bit of flirting.

He should be nervous about what he’s going to do, and he is a little bit. But he has Kurloz backing up his opinion in this, and more than that, he feels comfortable around her.

“Are you good to go now?”

He’d meant it when he said that it was okay if Bucky’s answer was the same, but damn is he glad that it isn’t.

Sam’s moving as soon as Bucky nods, though he keeps his movements slow so he doesn’t end up looking like he’s rushing at him or something. He slides his arms under Bucky’s, wrapping them around his back, and tugs him close. Using Sam crosses his arms over each other or something, but he leaves them open at the moment. Rests his hands lightly on the Bucky’s shoulderblades, leaving a space between his hands so Bucky can pull back if he needs to, even if otherwise he’s pressing in warm and strong.

Holding on without trapping him, but that’s about as much logical though as Sam can manage at the moment, because shit he needs this too.

He’s past the point where he’d feel guilty asking Bucky for mutual comfort, so he just hangs on, closing his eyes shut to everything else, just for a moment.

Despite the fact that he’d just invited himself on in to someone else’s pillow fort and set himself up all nice and cozy, he still tenses just a little when someone else comes in. But he relaxes just as quick when he sees who it is.

He flashes her a grin as he tucks his legs in while she moves past.

“I brought a housewarming present,” he offers, holding up his container of Chex mix. “Or a bribe, either one. You set all this up?”

Porrim lifts her shoulders and lets them fall in that graceful way of hers. "Well, I'm not dressed," she teases, "but now's perfect." Saying she's not dressed is like saying the sky isn't blue; she's stacked for the gods in her usual all-black--heels, jeans, a billowy blouse that's just that side of sheer, and a perfect, shiny ponytail.

She offers him her arm, wondering exactly what he's got up his sleeve. And for the first time in awhile--since the Crowning, really--she feels a twist of nerves in her stomach, accompanied by a rush of adrenaline and a fidgety need to do something. "Lead the way," she prompts with a smirk that covers up all her inner fidgeting, somehow, someway.

Bucky's grateful, for the approach that is slow but doesn't give him time to doubt his choice. There's still a tensing of his shoulders when Sam gets close, an involuntary reflex after so much time where any touch was either indifferent or meant to cause pain. It's all for naught in this case because the embrace is simply that, an embrace.

It takes Bucky a few seconds to find his balance, his hands slowly coming to rest on Sam's back as he bows his head but doesn't close his eyes, staring at his friends shoulder instead. Yeah, he can do this, turns out, if only for a little while. It's not bad, it's the opposite of bad and he needs it too.

Anything to get rid of the memory of the ice.

He's relieved. He knows the awkwardness of coming back to speak to someone what all you've culled, or been culled by. It was an experience only felt within Capitol, but one he could do without. He's more used to rolling past his deaths, pretending like they didn't happen. It's easier when all everyone else makes like he didn't do no shit wrong-- though he knows he did.

"YEAH!" He says. "Sure motherfuckin thing. ALWAYS DOWN FOR CHILLING WITH YOU." He needed to walk out the ghost of his lost limb anyway. The best way to do that would be to keep stepping with it. Shake that shit right the motherfuck out.

He's not so quick to miss what Sam's getting at. A walk meant seeking privacy. Sam's knowing of blindspots means he knows how to get it.

It's funny, he remembers so long ago now, when it seemed like there was no place to hide at all. He'd resigned himself to lack of privacy, to everyone knowing his secrets. From feelings jams with his no-longer-moirail, to his sprees of slaughter past. It reminds him how Sam's newer than it feels. That he's old, in terms of being here now.

Still, he keeps that smile up. No reason to bring it down yet. He had a feeling that could change.

"After every arena, yeah. It's a nice little vacation from the twenty-four hour one-way mirror thing they've got going around here," Acknowledging the lie of Tribute privacy was as good as defying it, philosophically speaking. She leaned out to dip into his snacks with a grin, "You're welcome to help me defend it from the clean-up crew, at least until the crowning. They're so pissed."

She cracked one of the bottles open as she settled, and the carbonation decompressed with a satisfying hiss. Her careless wave was an offer; have one, Sam.

"Barely got the last one squared away before I was right back here to rebuild it again. Bullshit Cornucopia."

As long as the blind spots are an option, Sam will probably never really get used to his privacy being invaded, no matter how long he ends up staying here. He can adjust to being more than a celebrity, to knowing that anytime he’s with someone, that any move he makes is probably going to be misconstrued and edited and passed around as proof of god knows what. That doesn’t bother him.

But there are some things he isn’t willing to let the Capitol see, not if he can help it. Things the Capitol could use against him, if they knew about it - more than they already have - and things that he knows are twisted up in the rebellion, so much that he knows he’s going to incriminate if he has to start finding ways to talk around them.

Really, he’d use them for a lot more than he already does, if he wasn’t worried about bringing attention to himself.

He pulls back when Kurloz agrees, smiling at him as he claps a hand on his shoulder. Sam’d throw an arm around his shoulders and guide him out, keep it there as they walked, if it weren’t for the fact that Kurloz was about a foot taller than him. Instead, he gives it a squeeze before starting out.

“How’s your leg feeling?”

Sam rests his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder, focusing on keeping his breathing slow and even. Counts Bucky’s heartbeats, keeping himself grounded in that so his mind doesn’t start replaying any of what happened in his last week in the arena.

He could probably keep like this for longer, just staying silent and reminding himself that there’s someone else there, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm Bucky. So after a little while, he pulls back, but doesn’t completely let go. He’ll let Bucky be the one to step away when he needs to.

“You up for telling me what happened?”

He makes a ‘tch’ noise, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “You’re dressed just fine,” he teases, following it up with a slightly appreciative look.

When she offers him her arm, he takes it, tucking it in his before he starts out. He keeps the conversation idle and playful as they head to the museum, in part to keep up appearances, and in part because he always does better at covering up his nerves when he’s got something else to focus on.

As soon as he can without looking suspicious, he makes a path for the archway he knows is a blind spot, and lingers under it. “I needed to talk to you where no one was listening,” he says quietly, wanting to gauge her reaction to that before he gets more specific.

“That’s true genius, right there.” But no, it really is. Sam’s a hundred percent on board with pillow forts in general, adding in even the smallest bit of seclusion from the Capitol and making them a little annoyed in the process just ups it. “Hell yeah, count me in.”

He grabs a bottle as well, popping it up as he resettles himself.

“I saw. Didn’t go for it this time, myself.” Sam takes a drink from his bottle. “What do you even do back here while the rest of that is going on?” He makes it sound a little like a joke, how boring, right, but it’s a genuine question.

Sam’d been taken out with the arena itself last time, and he’s not sure how to handle facing the prospect of another few weeks with some of his friends in the arena without him.

"Watch the arena, eat food, schmooze. Buy people gifts with my savings and put little notes in'em," That last thrown in with a grin around the neck of her bottle, "The notes are free if you buy a sponsor gift."

There was more to the arenas than fight or die, even when they'd been for native children. They subsisted on public funds, were too expensive to do otherwise, but much of what offset that came from advertising and extravagant betting. And sponsor gifts.

"I like to put little stars on mine, it's good for morale."

Porrim's good at this--idle chitchat, their usual playful banter. She doesn't pay a whole lot of attention, letting Sam lead the way, slowing down her long, purposeful strides to look more relaxed, unhurried. And somehow she's not surprised when he stops them beneath an archway and says that.

Her eyes go wide for just a moment, before she adjusts her expression to something light and casual. Hands clasped in front of her--to keep them from shaking--she leans back against the wall of the arch. "I see. Well...I'm listening." Is her heart racing audibly, or is it just her?

That's another thing what he realises he's used to. Every motherfucker as he looks up to being smaller than he is. An ironic thing, that. But for all his height, he still looks a stretched out kid in the mirror. Sam's got age on him.

He lets Sam's hand jostle him, like it's got more sway upon his being than it truly does. He grins, smile reaching right up to his eyes as to shut them. Then he follows after.

He hums and gives the leg a shake, then moving his ankle about in a small circle. "You know as how like, motherfuckers get sensation ghostly of limb lost? S'LIKE THAT, BUT UP INREVERSINGS. Wake up feeling dead, or like you ought be missing bits. ONLY PAIN'S BEING THAT WHAT'S UP IN THE NUG." Memories. Everything was memories here. Everything else turned back in time. Bodies meant nothing.

"Don't let it fool none, and you ain't got nothing what to worry about. SHAKE IT OUT UP AND OFF. S'nice have it back though. ALWAYS IS, CAN'T DENY." With injuries alone, he'd be down three eyes, three horns, a leg what got broke, one missing, arms burnt to fuck, and some rot upon him-- twofold-- if he wasn't restored every time. A thing for which he is grateful.

If only his errors could be restored so clean.

"Got sight as you dealt with my-" He makes a face. "-being a daywalker. SORRY ABOUT THAT. Never happened to me before, I didn't even get a motherfucking thought to it..." Would he have been able to pop off his own nug? He's not sure. He could've tried smashing it though.

Bucky let his hands drop when Sam pulled back, but he doesn't draw further away or make Sam let go. He's comfortable in this between state for now, drawing comfort from the certainty of touch instead of the opposite.

"Thor." he says after a moment, the name accompanied by a downwards twist of his mouth, an unpleasant expression in memory of what had happened and his own mistake. "I ran into him near the lake."

Sam hadn't been watching, that was good.

"They made him believe we're his enemies."

Sam nods, considering. He can do that. Ask Porrim and Azula for some more advice, maybe. He’s already been working with them to try to get his own sponsors, and that seems to have worked out pretty damn well. He can do the same for the few friends he’s got left in there, at least then it won’t feel completely like he’s sitting out here being useless.

Then she adds on the bit about the stars, and his expression lights up a little, grinning wide. “That was you? Those were great. I stuck ‘em up in my spot in the cave, made all my allies jealous. I didn’t realize you knew Barton or Barnes.”

"Glad to be of service."

A toast, Sam, to you, to your stars, and to your ability to turn a narrative profit on a few hundred credits and some marker-pen. Truly an inspiration.

"I've had dealings with Rogers from the day he showed up. It's not formal, but we look out for one another, in there," There was a great deal one could say about the merits of having Captain Steve Rogers at your back, but Shepard only shrugged, "He gave me a heads up about Barnes, back when there was two of 'em. I dunno, his history reads like some kind of wrecking ball, but we get along just fine. He's cute, like somebody lost a puppy."

Exactly like a puppy, really, right down to the hairdo and the big wet eyes.

"Barton's another story-- but I was friends with Romanov, more or less, so I figure anybody she's that attached to has to have some merit. I once watched that guy get taken down by a nine year old dressed like a pink cupcake. Embarrassing as hell, but he wouldn't remember that."

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my head's under water

For Initiate

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For Porrim

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