[Voice, backdated to March 17]

[Bucky leaves T'Pol's body where it is. He wipes his knife on his pants, an automatic gesture that leaves another green smear of blood on his soaked uniform, and after staring at her for a moment, he walks downstairs to sit with Steve's corpse. And sits.

Maybe ten minutes later, he clicks on his communicator.]

Steve's dead.

[Bucky's voice is hollow. There's anger there, but it's smothered by the numbness he feels, the strange unreality of it all.

(It's being instinctively self protective, withdrawing instead of thinking about it. He doesn't want to think about what she'd tried to do to him, or what happened to Steve, so shutting down helps him focus. Keeps him from just staying sitting on the floor next to Steve.)]

So's T'Pol.

[The silence stretches for several seconds, even though he doesn't kill the connection.]

I need someone to take her to the infirmary. She's on deck. [I stabbed her, he thinks but doesn't say, because he can still feel her hands on his face and her thoughts on his, and he's got Steve's blood on his clothes and even though it's a more than familiar sensation, he thinks he's going to be sick.] I've got him.

[Open Spam, March 17th through 19th]

[The first thing Bucky does after bringing Steve to the infirmary is go to the inmate showers, strip off his bloody combat uniform, and stand under water that's so hot, it's almost scalding. He's practically catatonic, mouth drawn into a thin line as he just stands motionless under the hot, steaming water.

He turns up in the infirmary an hour or so later, sitting similarly motionlessly by Steve's bedside in a fresh uniform. He's got the shield next to him, clean now and leaning against the chair he's rooted himself to. He's largely unresponsive, even if people talk to him - or more accurately, his responses are just delayed, like he's shut out pretty much everything but the person in the bed in front of him - and he's got a mean five o'clock shadow going at some point. Hunger starts gnawing at him at some point, but for the first time in a really long time - maybe since the last time Steve was really, really sick - he totally ignores it. Even after the late shift starts, he doesn't move to leave. He doesn't even sleep.

(His thoughts feel sharp and brittle, like they had after Zola had been finished with him for the day and he'd been thrown back into a cell to sleep. Or try to sleep. It feels like what T'Pol had tried to do ripped a bandage off a wound that hadn't healed, and he doesn't want to fucking deal with it.)

But once Steve's up and around, Bucky vanishes. He's not in any of his usual haunts, not on the network, nowhere really.

(Thank god he's still got C-Rations in his room. 8v)]

[Public Video, Backdated to Thursday]

[It's pretty dark when Bucky clicks on the video feed, but that's nothing new. He's sitting on the couch in Steve's room, and the light from the comm's screen is illuminating his face. He's not wearing his Commandos jacket, although it's folded over the arm of the couch, and he's still got his uniform pants on, even if he's swapped the t-shirt or fatigue green sweater for one of the plaid shirts Stiles had gotten for him.]

Alright, for anyone who's new, I'm Bucky Barnes. I'm a sergeant with the US Army, it was 1945 before I got here, and anyone who says "hail" or "heil" anything around me's gonna get a fist in the face.

I was running some people through basic training before stuff went to hell. I'm gonna need a headcount of who's still interested. That includes anyone new - we cover endurance, strength training, hand to hand, weapons and survival skills. It's gonna be hard, and you're gonna be mad as hell at me sometimes, but it'll be worth it next time we wind up somewhere dangerous. We're gonna meet in the gym until whatever's going on with the missing room's gets fixed.

[If it ever does.

There's a quiet rustling noise some somewhere off camera, and Bucky looks off to his left, distracted. He drops his voice, and manages to look irritated and amused at the same time.]

One more thing: if anyone wakes up the star spangled dummy here- [Bucky jerks his thumb towards what's presumably the bed and therefore a sleeping Steve.] In the next eight or so hours, I'm gonna kick your ass.

I don't know what you guys did to him while I was gone, but Steve's taking a week off. If you really need Cap, call me or one of the other twelve superheroes you've got on board. Pretty sure we can handle it.

[There's a soft swoosh of air as a pillow goes flying towards the camera. Bucky catches it almost without looking and puts the comm down, turning away as he kills the feed.] Go back to sleep, you dumb punk.

[Spam for Helena, backdated to Tuesday]

( cw for references to torture and medical experimentation )

[So for the last twenty minutes or so, anyone living on or walking through the first floor will probably have been hearing a strange combination of noises: the whir of remote controlled toy airplanes, a noise that kind of sounds like a TIE Fighter scream, swearing and then the sound of something plastic and metal getting smashed. Hard. Maybe a couple times, just to make sure it's dead.

When Bucky clicks on the video feed, he looks at least mildly pissed. At worst, definitely pissed. His hair's a little rumpled, and he's carrying an absurdly patriotic looking shield on his left arm and doesn't even give a shit anymore that he's got it on him.

Yes, he's figured out the theme of the flood. Yes, he knows this was stupid, but sometimes you kind of just can't stop yourself before the thought happens, and so now he's being attacked by toy airplanes and tanks.]

Has anyone figured out how to make this shit stop once it gets started? [Any further bitching is being cut off by the appearance of another model Stuka that has apparently decided to start dive bombing his head.]

Aw, mother- [The video feed goes sideways and then veers up to the ceiling for a moment giving you another glimpse of the toy plane before Bucky just switches the comm off so he can focus on knocking it out of the air with the shield.]

[Open Spam]

[Bucky wakes up in his room feeling good. Great, even. Like himself again, and it's once he makes that realization - that he wasn't himself - that a lot of anger floods in, settles itself in his chest, and he's up and out of bed in an instant, needing to do something.

So instead of heading to the dining hall or the library, he goes right to the gym to beat the hell out of a punching bag until his hands are bloody, the firing range even if the targets aren't a challenge for him at all and the CES to go for a run until he's sweaty and out of breath. (The last one takes a while. Like, longer than it probably should, beyond just feeling physically fine after getting sucked through the door.) He's still wearing his uniform, and might have visible weapons on him on the run. In the gym, he's stripped down to a white t-shirt with the SSR logo on it, and the gun's nowhere in sight.

Eventually, he sheepishly wanders into the infirmary to clean up his hands, and then heads back to his room, fully intending on collapsing on the bottom bunk and just. Staring a hole in the mattress above him until he feels like actually sleeping.

Or, you know, a cat pretending to be a transgenic might have broken in while he was out, but regardless.]

[Public Audio]

[Later, Bucky clicks on the comm, takes a breath to say something, and then... hesitates. Because fuck if he knows what to say. He knows logically that it wasn't his fault, that it wasn't him, but he still feels like he needs to apologize, or say something about what happened.]

I'm sorry. I know that's not- I know he wasn't-

[He can't explain. Doesn't want to explain, doesn't feel like he should have to explain why he'd never want to work for the people who'd tortured and experimented on him, who've killed more good men (and probably women and kids, too, it's not like they'd had morals) than anyone's ever going to be able to count, but he still tries to grate out an answer.]

Look, [And he sounds exhausted and mad as hell all at once, but tries to force it into something else so he can explain, because he knows by now that a lot of you are going to have no idea what he's talking about.]

Where I'm from, HYDRA was the Nazi deep science division, before their boss basically decided Hitler and his pals were taking too damn long to take over the world and went rogue. I spent the last year trying to stop them and the Nazis with [Steve, fuck he misses him, but he's fiercely, selfishly glad he's not here right now anyway.] Cap and the Commandos. I'd cut my damn arm off before I'd ever work for them.

[... Probably not the best thing to say, considering how he'd showed up here. But there it is. They're the whole reason he's here - if that HYDRA goon hadn't gotten back up and fired on them, he wouldn't have gotten blown out of the train and died.]

I know how dumb this sounds. Believe me, I do, because it sounds like something out of a comic book, but it's what happened, and I'd still be back there taking them down if I hadn't gotten killed.

This is bullshit.