imfollowinghim | twelve ✪ spam & video

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twelve ✪ spam & video

[Spam for Steve]

[Becky's dead, and this is the most comfortable she's been in years.

Admittedly, after sleeping in uncomfortable military issue beds and in dirt holes and even a cell in a HYDRA facility, anything's comfortable. But this is comfortable and familiar in a way she'd worried she'd never have again, especially not here, and who's she to turn that down? Curling up on couch cushions and under blankets on the floor of Steve's apartment makes her feel like a kid again, and it's definitely hard to pick wandering back to her room over this.

Even if tonight - or this morning, whichever - Steve starts tossing and turning in his sleep, and between being a light sleeper and only being a couple inches away from him, there's really only so long she's going to be able to avoid noticing that. At first, she's barely even aware of what woke her up, or that she's awake at all, but then the blanket she'd been huddled under gets all but yanked away, and I mean come on, she was using that.]

Stop stealing the blanket, Stevie, [She grumbles, voice more than a little slurred as she grabs feebly for the blanket. She winds rolling over on her side to face him in the process, fails to do much more than flail at the confiscated bed covering and gives up. She's already almost back to sleep when Steve jerks more violently and lets out a distinctly unhappy noise, and a lifetime spent worrying over her friend dying in his sleep gets her up and alert almost immediately.

It's not the first time she's seen him having a nightmare - and he's woken her from a fair share of her own, too - but that doesn't stop her from worrying and hating that this is something he has to deal with now.

Becky sits up, hair mussed and spilling from the braid she usually keeps it back in these days, and carefully nudges at his shoulder. When that doesn't work, she shakes him a little, trying to be gentle so he doesn't wake up thinking he's under attack or in danger.]
Hey, hey Steve, wake up. Wake up, you're okay. You're okay. [She smooths a hand over his forehead and runs her fingers through his hair. It's a gesture she's probably only half consciously aware of learning from watching his mother do it when they were small and Steve was sick, and it's a motion she's had to preform too many times over the years, for Steve and for other young guys who didn't deserve to have this kind of burden put on their shoulders.] You're okay.

[In her concern for Steve, she doesn't notice that she's wearing clothes that don't fit and a different set of dog tags, but considering the dark green wool sweater and fatigue pants are clearly meant for someone a couple inches taller and a couple pounds heavier, it'll probably be apparent soon enough.

And, you know, Steve will recognize them as what Bucky fell asleep in last night.]

[Public Video]

[The video feed clicks on to show yet another quasi unfamiliar face, who's apparently made herself at home in Steve's room and might have raided his closet because even if the clothes still don't fit her at all, the t-shirt, plaid button down and sweatpants she's requisitioned for herself are a hell of a lot more comfortable than the army issue stuff she'd woken up in.]

Alright, I couldn't really give less of a shit of who you guys think I should be right now, because even if this is a flood, I still know who I am and what I'm doing here, so the lectures on how stuff's gonna be different in a couple days can wait. For anyone who's behind, I'm Becky Barnes, and there're a couple other things I wanna cover first.

One, I really need some clothes. I don't care what they look like so long as they fit. [Well, okay, she cares a little, but she kind of doesn't want to just wander around on board in clothes she's practically swimming in.]

Two, if anyone gets into any dumbass fist fights because they don't know how to deal with their new hormones, head up to the infirmary or give me a call. I'm a nurse, and I've been patching guys up after fist fights since I was a kid.

And three, [This gets a very familiar smirk out of her, because, well. She is technically Bucky.] Once I get some decent clothes, I'm heading up to the CES for some target practice. James, you in? Or are you still sore after the last time I kicked your ass?

Helena, you wanna check in?

Threaded | Flat

[The problem with having perfect recall is that it gives your mind some really, really great fodder for nightmares. Most of the time, when Steve has bad dreams, it's less a dream and more the past playing out again and again in horrible perfect detail, and he's never, ever able to change things the way he desperately wants to.

He's also usually a heavier sleeper than he means to be - sure, he's got great reflexes and the senses to go with it, but his body also needs the sleep to regenerate anything it's lost during the day. He can go for days without sleeping, if he has to, but when he does sleep, it's usually pretty hard.

He's dreaming - remembering - Bucky falling off that train, like he's dreamed a hundred, maybe two or three hundred times before. He's never fast enough, never good enough, and all he can do is cling to the ruined side of the car and watch his best friend disappear, and there's never, ever, anything he can do about it.

But before the scene can replay again, or maybe morph into something else just as horrible, someone's shaking him. That starts to pull him out of it, but he's a little slow to respond - and he must still be dreaming, because a second later, someone touches his forehead, and no one's touched him like that in years. Not since his mom died. In fact, he thinks he can hear her talking to him now -

He starts to come awake - really awake, blinking and remembering where he is, which is on his floor with Bucky, only… the person looking at him is not Bucky. In fact, it's nowhere near Bucky, it's a woman, which is confusing because as he squints and gets a clearer picture, she's wearing Bucky's clothes and… what?

Steve jerks a little, away from the unfamiliar touch. For a second, he remembers that "nurse" they sent in to comfort him when he first woke up in New York after 70 years, but that's not the case here. He's on the Barge. But he doesn't know who this is.] What - where's Bucky? Who are you?

[And why are you wearing his clothes? This is really, really weird.]

[Here, Bucky, have a face that you don't recognize, but definitely has a bone structure and the wide, dark eyes reminiscent of one Allison Argent--scratch that, Alan Argent.

And right now, he's gaping into his feed, trying to place the face until...]

What the fuck is--Bucky? Dude, is that you?!

[Okay, so, you're just getting a laugh. She can't help it, okay? This is ridiculous, and for once she's not affected.]

Hmm...

[ Chase tilts his head. So, there's Bucky. They look the same when they're guys, but different when they're girls. VERY INTERESTING. ]

Yeah, I'm the cuter one. [ Kind of muttered, said mostly to himself. ]

[Wow.

That's not fair.

He pauses before answering; it's not like he mistakes her for Fields. She looks more like Lara than Fields. Still. He's never quite forgotten the woman drowned in oil.

He's not quite as amused as he might have been, had she looked different, but there is still a note of entertainment in his voice, even if it's muted.]

The last time was a draw.

[Stiles just...stares at the screen for a moment because this is...seriously the weirdest flood ever. Allison is a guy and Bucky is a girl and Stiles is basically utterly baffled and kind of at a loss.]

If you can't find any clothes that fit you could always ask the Admiral for some.

[There's a pause, and then Dora gives a few golf-claps. There's a sardonic air lingering out of habit, but the approval in her smirk is genuine.]

Bravo. About time I saw one of us reacting in a way that proves we know how to handle it.

[Yep, they've got Bucky too, apparently. Lydia heard her name and decided to jump into the conversation when she realized who it was. ]

I can definitely help with the clothing, Becky. Maybe you and Alli-- Alan should swap a few items from your closet.

Becky, huh? [Makes sense.]

Mine might fit you.

We get into fights anyway.

Threaded | Flat

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