kyouyasangels_inc | in the midnight hour I can feel your power

in the midnight hour I can feel your power

(Prompt: 02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops.)

---

If Bucky were being honest with himself, the reason he's still awake would be the memories come to gather at the window of his mind in dark, foggy silhouettes against a backdrop of screams. Luckily he's lying to himself and blaming his rumbling stomach -- which is true, but not the real reason for the season.

Sleeping never comes easily for him when not induced behind glass sparkling with cryogenic mist, and tonight is no exception.

So Bucky shuffles off to the kitchen at 2:14 a.m. in pursuit of a midnight snack. The shitty apartment is eerily quiet, no sirens in the distance for once. For a moment it feels too out of place, as if Bucky were looking at the scene from afar--

But then he comes back to himself just as his hip bumps the handle of a pan sitting on the edge of the sink -- of all places, why couldn't the culprit (Bucky) just put it two inches farther into the sink? -- and

CLANG!

Bucky sets his jaw, ready for the inevitable oncoming reaction waiting to burst through the door in a flurry of fifteen-year-old spunk.

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This is when Rahzel's eyes nearly pop out of her head. "Forty?! What the hell-- is he trying to give the government what they want? Slaves to the nation? I ought to shove that bread up his nose."

So much for that romance-- it appears the teenager no longer approves of this joining. She could make bread, hell! They'd better find another place or else she just might...

Sighing, Rahzel takes his hand and leads him inside.

"You're gonna looove these, trust me!" She beams over her shoulder.

He laughs as he thinks of what a sight that would be and he unconsciously squeezes her hand this time. Feels a little warm in his chest, a familiar and kind feeling.

"You got a way with words."

I did too, once.

"Middle piece only. And milk's gotta be ice-cold, no lukewarm."

The last part is more to himself as he pulls out a glass, but he stares down into it, fridge still closed. It feels almost too familial, makes him feel out of place even among someone who's taken him under wing.

Rahzel's grin widens, a full 100% watt smile that lights up her face. Something warm and joyful fills her chest, like a balloon that might burst at any second.

"Yes, yes, whatever you say, Mr. Buckwheat."

Whirling around, she opens the fridge back up to fetch the milk, drops it down at his elbow. After a moment of watching him, Rahzel pours him some. Another moment of watching him silently, expression open. Not expectant, just steady. Patient.

And then, as if remembering:

"Ah, the brownies!"

In another whirlwind, she scurries to the oven.

Maybe it'll help him forget the shadows that have begun to creep in on the very distant sides of his memory, either that or pick out something light, something to help.

It takes a while for her words to reach him, like a verbal telegraph. He doesn't notice the grip he's got on the glass is unusually white-knuckled.

"Buckwheat...? I don't know 'bout that. Well, the Mr. can stay. I am your elder, after all. One who aged really well."

And maybe he flashes a ghost of a half-cocked grin he proudly worn in 1939. More progress, even if he's lame as hell.

Edited 2016-05-30 05:20 (UTC)

They're piping hot, maybe a little crispy around the edges, but still pretty damn perfect. The smell is delicious, the steam that rises from the pan she deposits on the counter is heavenly, as well. Rahzel takes another glass from their meager provisions and sets it down, pouring herself a glass.

"Buckwheat the Third, then."

That smile...its almost hard to watch it cross his face. Almost painful, like something from worlds away. But he's trying, that flash in his eyes cements it. True life.

"I'll age one hundred times better than you when I'm a cute little old grandma."

Bucky drops into one of the shabby chairs at the kitchen table covered in newspapers.

"Buckwheat the Third. Better spy name than Зимний Солдат, I guess."

This is kind of his third reincarnation, every time a different Bucky.

"Hit me. Let's see whatcha got." He holds out a napkin expectantly.

Her nose wrinkles in confusion at the phrase, the jumble of vowels she isn't familiar with. She says it under her breath, curious, but doesn't push it.

"What's that one? Boy band hair?"

Nevermind about not pushing it. Rahzel releases a put upon sigh and rolls those baby blues.

"While it's still piping hot? I refuse to listen to you complain if you burn your pretty mouth. Vani will cry."

"What."

His blank stare should be enough but something about boy band hair makes him run a hand through his. Is his considered boy band hair? What the hell even is boy band hair?

"Why would I complain? It'll heal before you'd even know. Not really patient when it comes to brownies."

He doesn't explain how. It's weird enough living it still, after all this time.

Edited 2016-05-30 08:50 (UTC)

Now that annoys her. True irritation in her eyes, she slams a spatula down on the counter...dangerously close to his hand.

"Listen here-- it doesn't matter if you can heal super fast. You shouldn't have to take that pain. No human being should." Not the good ones, anyway. She's distressed that he thinks so little of himself.

"Don't think so little of yourself."

Bucky is genuinely taken aback by Rahzel. Being the Winter Soldier, he was never to question his own opinion of himself. He was always the simplest thing, the thing he was training to be: cold, murderous, a trainer to others like him, someone to be ordered. He wasn't someone, he was something, and it's a hard way of thinking to break.

Taking and making pain has been part of his life for far too long now.

"I'm used to it. And..."

He sighs, drags a hand through his hair again.

"Maybe I deserve it."

Rahzel can't take it anymore. First, she scoots the brownies out of Bucky's reach, then, whirling on him in a flurry of rage and hurt, she whaps him upside the head with the spatula.

"How dare you say something so stupid in my presence! Go wash your mouth out and repent!"

Her shoulders shake and her eyes are stormy as she glowers at him.

"Never, ever talk about yourself like that ever again. You're here, right now, you aren't hurting anyone. This is your life. And in this life, you aren't meant to punish yourself."

Had Bucky anticipated any kind of reaction like that from her, he would've had ample time to catch it, but as it were the spatula makes contact.

For a split second he hears her words of fury in his mother's voice, a voice he wouldn't have been able to pick out from a recording if he'd tried before now, and it shakes him to his core.

And then that...that last bit, it sounds like something Steve would say. But so different coming from her. What about him makes her believe in him so much?

He curls his metal hand into a fist.

"I'm not hurting anyone yet. I don't know when that'll change, don't you get that?"

Edited 2016-05-31 06:24 (UTC)

She's even madder if the spinning spatula is any indication. This aura isn't of hatred or fear or any of the like-- its hurt, plain and simple. She slaps him again, this time on his flesh hand.

"So what?! You think all of us don't think that same thing, every day? Those of us with powers, without? You think you're that special, huuuuh, you special snowflake?!"

Another swat, tears clinging to her eyelashes because it hurts, hurts, hurts to see him like this, to know with all her heart he believes this.

"You might as well go out there and step on the ant hill next door. Will that make you feel better? Will that give you your satisfaction?"

Alright, that's enough attempted abuse -- so Bucky grabs the spatula out of her hand, catches a wrist with the other.

"Ten words. That's all it takes for me. Do you even know what that's like? Watching it all happen from far away as you're doing it?"

He tuts.

"What the hell do you know? There's no satisfaction. How many times I gotta tell you?"

Edited 2016-05-31 06:59 (UTC)

Rahzel doesn't even struggle against his grip, she doesn't bow or break, not like the metal he can twist, nor the bodies he has befallen.

She's steel incarnate.

(does she know what it's like? to be unmade? to be pulled out to make room for something else to be stuffed inside?)

Her expression twists in her body's stead.

"Tell me again and again and again until you're blue in the face! Tell me that and only that, not these words! Fight, god damn you! You don't get to talk about yourself like that because that's giving up."

"I'm fighting every day!"

But he doesn't relent in his grip, doesn't want to hurt her -- God no, that's the last thing he could take at this point -- but she's the only thing he's got anchoring him for now.

And it scares him shitless, more than anything he's ever been asked (or ordered) to do.

"You think I want to give up? You think after everything they did, I want them to win? I don't need someone worrying about me. You're just weighing me down."

The second the words leave his lips he wishes he could take them back. But she probably already knows, and it unnerves him that she can read him as easily as this.

"Why do you even give a damn?"

Edited 2016-05-31 22:10 (UTC)

"Because it hurts, you idiot!" Stubborn is as stubborn does. She steps on his foot, though not with the entire weight of her tiny four foot frame. "It hurts just seeing you like this! Thinking you don't deserve someone to care...How could I not give a damn?! So tough shit!"

If he keeps this shit up Rahzel's going to twist him into a pretzel.

"So how dare you ask me something so stupid. Ask me that again and I'll rip your nose off and make it into sushi."

He barely feels her foot come down on his but does enough to know she means business.

"The only person who would even give me half a chance is someone...well. I definitely don't deserve his forgiveness. I don't deserve or want anyone's."

He lets go of her wrist and leans forward, bracing his full weight on the counter with locked arms.

"You'll end up hurt if you stay, too. And end up with some really nasty sushi."

Edited 2016-06-01 03:55 (UTC)

She can't take this anymore. Despite her release, Rahzel steps forward and, with all of her might, slams her forehead into Bucky's. Her teeth chatter in her skull as pain zings throughout her head.

"Look what you did now! Pain I can take, pain I'm still here for despite all of that. And there's nothing you can do about my choices besides shut up and take it."

She rubs her hands against the red mark she knows is there and huffs.

"If you don't want forgiveness so bad, then why do your eyes plead for it every time you look at me? Or at anyone? Answer me that, smart ass."

"What the--"

Actually and truly stunned, Bucky takes a second to blink and stare as she continues on. He's pissed off that she's this deep inside his head, can read him when he's been trained to hide it, hide his mind behind a citadel of interlocking walls.

How is she making him unravel just that tiny bit?

When he speaks again, his voice is soft and he rubs the spot on his forehead. He looks at her as if he's never seen anything like her -- and he really hasn't.

"I destroyed so much. So many lives, families. And you're really telling me that I deserve more? Use your youth for something less depressing."

(Oh, Bucky, if you only knew.)

Fiercely, "I'll use my youth for whatever I damn well please, thank you very much! And I've decided to turn your life around, remember?"

Okay, his head is a lot harder than she-- okay no, she definitely knew he was hard headed and stubborn and pigheaded. Rahzel knew this so why oh why did she risk her little head with this brute? Oh yeah, because they're friends.

"Does that mean you can't live your life too? Does that mean that you dying, that you just wandering around like a stinky hobo is going to honor their lives? No, it doesn't. Moving on would. You aren't a villain, you're a victim. The same as them."

And they know it, too. If heaven exists, they must know it.

"How generous of a life counselor. Headbutting me at three o'clock in the morning."

But his voice cracks, his hands curl into fists. He tries to keep the slightest of shakes out of them, out of his broad shoulders, but he knows she's way too damn attentive for her own good.

"How can the others see me like you do, though? I don't know if I could."

"And my only fee is tears! Aren't I the best? Give me a sparkling review, will you~?" Somehow, despite the anger shaking in her body, the trembling of her shoulders from how tense this entire exchange has been, Rahzel smiles at him.

"Keep being good. Being that good man that you have always been and have never ceased being inside. Protect the weak. You can and you will."

Bucky has to squeeze his eyes shut hard against the sting of them, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows to steel himself. Not fast enough to miss her smile, and he hurts with how much he seems like he's seen it before. Many people share many features - that's one thing he's discovered after all this time.

"I don't know. I can't even protect myself from what they did. You never get to sleep because of me."

Expression softening, her fingers curl around his chin, hold his face steady so she can ook into those eyes once he opens them.

"They messed you up, but they didn't know they gave you ways to protect yourself-- no, I don't mean kill. I mean hide, adapt, learn. You can be anyone if you need to be-- and they aren't counting on you being yourself."

Rahzel shrugs, a tiny roll of shoulders.

"You really are into that special snowflake thing, aren't you? I have my own reasons for not sleeping."

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