thearena | Believe in what I am because it's all I have today,

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Believe in what I am because it's all I have today,

Who| Bucky Barnes and anyone else who wants to chance him.
What| Natasha is dead. Her man isn't well.
Where| The hellish arena, near the orchards.
When| Week two, the first day or so.
Warnings/Notes| Grief, blood and gore, general distress.

When the walls crumble around him and the ground yawns open to reveal hell beneath it, he's calm enough. Bucky Barnes has been through a lot. He's died and come back. He's had his mind toyed with and rewritten; he's snapped back to himself like the most vicious of rubber bands. He's been Captain America, he's been a frog, he's been a prisoner, and he's always been a fighter.

He can handle all of this just fine. Dealing with just one brutal hellscape should be nothing to him, and it is, until he looks up into the sky at nightfall and sees Natasha's face up there amongst the dead, a ghost who feels more solid than his own heart. Incidentally, his own heart pretty much falls to pieces right about now.

The next hour or so is a blank. He abandons his friends and partners, leaves Steve Rogers behind somewhere, maybe in a house that's already sagging in on itself and far from safe. All he thinks about is feeding the sudden roaring flame of rage and distress in his chest that's replaced his heart.

When he comes to--

[PROMPT ONE] --he's fighting three huge lean dogs. They only attacked him because he was stumbling and alone, and they were in a group. They chose poorly. He lashes back at them with makeshift knives put together from shattered glass and salvaged silverware handles; he fights with wire delivered to him from an anonymous sponsor. He doesn't stop to think. He just dodges, defends, attacks, dodges, defends, attacks.

Blood sprays into the air as he stabs one dog in the throat, as he slices open the arteries of another and leaves it to expire from blood loss. He'll be covered in it in a second. He doesn't care.

He strangles the last remaining dog with the wire and then finally pauses to catch his breath. Why is he still alive? She isn't. He just stands there, bewildered and covered in blood and sweat, for quite some time.

[PROMPT TWO] After a while, though, pragmatism kicks in. He keeps up a running commentary in his head reminding himself that she's going to come back, she must be fine in the Capitol, and it's just his luck to still be stuck here, without her; his life always sucks like that. All the while, he busies himself calmly and resolutely butchering the dead dogs, skinning them and parting the meat from their bones. He's out of food anyway. He needs the protein.

In the end, he can be found still covered in blood, roasting the dog-meat on a stick over a fiery crack in the ground, his expression blank, resigned, and weary.

Do you think it would be a good idea to come and join him?

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It was the smell that drew Ian in. Despite everything else going on at the moment, he had run out of food and was hungry. He might meet more things trying to attack him if he stayed out here, but if he holed up somewhere and starved to death that wasn't much help either.

So he followed his nose and came across a man roasting some meat. It took him a moment to realised it was dog - not that Ian was in much of a position to be choosy.

"Hello!" he called out, not venturing too close in case the other man was feeling proprietorial over his meat.

Edited (forgot subjects exist) 2014-06-02 15:44 (UTC)

The other man didn't move at first, or even show any sign of reacting. Finally, though, he spoke. "You're in an arena full of people and things that want to kill you, and you meet a guy covered in blood roasting his kill over the depths of hell..."

Now he looked up, skeptically. "And you just say hello?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I'm one of the good guys after all. Do you need food?"

Despite the casual banter, his voice was as tired as he looked.

Edited 2014-06-02 16:56 (UTC)

Ian shrugged. "I thought hello wasn't too threatening and gave me the opportunity to get away if you turned out to be the possessive type." He stepped closer, glad he was one of the good guys. "I am hungry. Do you have any to spare?"

Bucky lifted his brows. "If I wanted to hurt you, man, you're way too close to get away at this point." It sounded like the kind of comment that should have been delivered with great bluster and bravado, and maybe it was intended to be, but his voice was just too weary to back something like that up. He still sounded resigned.

And regardless of any threatening aspect to those words, he followed them up with a simple, "Sure. Pull up a seat. Let's have some dinner."

Given the tone of the other man's voice, Ian wasn't sure that was true. But since he hadn't turned out to be the possessive type, they clearly weren't going to be testing the hypothesis, so it didn't matter.

"Thank you." He smiled at the offer and came closer to sit on the ground. He still kept a little distance between them, just in case.

"Sorry, I know this is no fancy restaurant." Bucky tore off a chunk of cooked meat from the skewer and readjusted the rest so it could be more easily roasted before handing the piece he'd taken off over to Ian. "And I'm no chef. But let's count our blessings."

And for a moment, his tone turned bitter. "I mean, we're both still alive. Not everyone here can say that."

"No," he said cautiously, taking the piece of meat. By his tone he'd probably seen a friend die and thought perhaps it was best to try and take the other man's mind off it. "If we did end up in a restaurant in the arena it would probably just have poisoned food anyway." He chuckled and took a bite of the meat. And then made a face: it really didn't taste as good as it had smelled.

Bucky slanted a glance sideways at the other man. "It's dog. Monster dog. If you expected it to taste good, I don't know what I can tell you, man."

He rubbed a hand caked with dried blood against eyes stinging from smoke and heat. "But you're right. It's probably your safest bet around here. Everything else...who knows what it'll do to you?"

He smiled. "I'm just going to pretend it's a nice piece of steak, cooked to perfection." It wasn't as if he had much choice of what to eat around here. Especially at the moment.

He closed his eyes and had another bite. It still tasted just as bad, but he managed not to make a face this time.

A brief snort of tired amusement greeted that. "Good luck with your imagination, pal." He pulled the stick back from the flames again, ripped off another chunk, and made a game attempt of his own to eat it. It was slow going, but right now all he could taste was blood and bitterness anyway. So it hardly mattered.

"You're pretty laidback for a guy in a deathmatch," he finally said.

His imagination wasn't bad in general, but this was pushing it a bit far. He carried on, though, knowing that eating it was better than starving.

He shrugged at the comment. "If I die, I die." He didn't care about winning, but he couldn't say that in here, where everything they said and did was being recorded. "There will always be another deathmatch."

Bucky matched that shrug. "This place breeds a hell of an attitude. I don't like it." But there was no venom in his voice, only wry bitterness.

He glanced away. "You should go, when you've eaten. I probably attracted more attention than just you."

The smell of blood is what draws Cos in. He's been out searching for the Progenitor, his former teammate who, if he's also had his powers completely restored, could butcher every being in the arena with a thought or even destroy the entire planet.

He expected the worse when the signs of violence led him to a lone figure with several bodies scattered around them - dogs. They're dogs. Not people. And that wasn't Jan. He stopped all the same, weighing up if it was worth the risk of addressing the stranger. Unless the man was truly out of it he must have realised he wasn't alone and if he's on a rampage then it wouldn't matter whether or not Rokk engaged him. And if he was the type to attack a passerby better that Rokk be the one to deal with it as opposed to someone less capable of defending themselves currently.

Mind made up, he stepped in closer, gesturing at the blood soaked mess that was the other Tribute. "Quite a mess you've made. Seems to me you might want to do something about that." He didn't know what the sense of smell of the creatures around here was like but it didn't seem advisable to tempt fate.

For the moment, it was not easy to tell whether the man standing surrounded by three dead monster-dogs had any intention of continuing his rampage. Bucky's breathing was a little uneven, his eyes unfocused, his posture still tense and combat-ready.

But when the younger man approached, he lowered his arms; he let his makeshift weapons clatter to the ground. "Why bother?" he said flatly. He had heard Rokk's comment, after all, and even understood it, despite whatever state he was in. "Let the rest of 'em find me, let the other guys find me. I'll go down fighting, or I'll take them all on."

But he sounded very tired.

"Pointless bravado aside, is that really a good idea? Whatever happened, it can't be reason enough to just give up."

He shouldn't get involved. He had a job to do and a role to play and neither one had anything to do with helping what seemed to be a depressed fellow Tribute. In theory they're supposed to come back when killed - all the footage of previous arenas confirm that this is generally the case. But not always. And no matter how temporary, dying can't be a good experience. It may be unavoidable in the end but he's never been the type to give up and accept what seems to be fate or to let others do the same.

"Did I say something about givin' up?" Bucky's voice was suddenly sharp, anger and determination cutting through the weariness. "What I said was I'm done hiding from this damn place and everyone in it. I'm done playin' nice and not trying to hurt anyone."

He glanced up to the sky, where he'd seen Natasha's face so recently. "My friend is dead. She's dead. It might not last, I don't know, but I'm here without her now and I've got no reason to hold back."

That... doesn't exactly sound reassuring. "Is that meant to be a threat? I didn't come looking for a fight but that doesn't mean I won't defend myself."

Cocky? Maybe. But he had good reason to be confident for the moment. Later he might need to be more careful but it wasn't later. Rokk could understand the sense of loss. No matter the circumstances losing someone you cared about was always hard. But that didn't mean he wasn't prepared to fight if it came to that.

Silence for a moment, as Bucky lowered his gaze to the young man before him. He grinned humorlessly. Finally, he said, "I wouldn't have given you a warning like that if I had any intention of attacking you, kid. So relax."

He shook his head. "What made you come up to a guy like me standing around covered in blood, anyway? That wasn't a smart move."

"Maybe not." Rokk answered non-committally. He wasn't about to reveal that he had a much better chance of defending himself than might be apparent. No point in giving away an advantage. He did frown at being addressed as 'kid' though it wasn't the worst thing he'd been called so he let it slide.

"I'm looking for someone. I thought you might be him." It probably didn't make him seem any smarter to be actively looking for someone who could be the cause of similar levels of carnage to what he was currently seeing. Good thing he wasn't aiming to impress anyone with his intelligence right now.

"Maybe you've seen him? About my age. Br- Human appearance. Blond hair... strange eyes. Almost like an insects."

"You thought I might be him." Bucky looked skeptical at that, but he let it slide. He thought about it for a few moments, glancing down, silently taking in all the blood around him.

Finally, he looked back and shook his head. "Sorry. I've seen a few people around here, but no blond guys with insect eyes." And then, suddenly: "You worried about him, or what he might do?"

Bucky was gone almost immediately after they both caught sight of Natasha'a face on the sky, announcing that she had passed away like the others that were shown up there. It was just a blink and the man was gone. Disappeared into the chaos brought after the sirens.

Hours went by in his search for his friend, being stopped by some crisis or another as time ached on, but Steve always returned to his search for Bucky. When he'd finally stumbled across him again, his friend was covered in blood and roasting meat.

He wasn't sure what to say, so he sat down next to his friend like it was any other day, before opening his bag and silently offering some of the water he'd gotten from the sponsors. Right now he was mostly hoping that none of that blood was Bucky's.

Too bad about that quick flight. It probably would have been better if Bucky had stuck around to be comforted by Steve; that would really have been the sane and sensible option. But since when has Bucky Barnes been a practitioner of common sense at times when emotions run high? Since never, that's when.

Fortunately, by the time Steve got to him, he had calmed down somewhat. He didn't say a word either at first; he just took the water, had a few sips, and then handed it back.

"Hey, Cap," he finally said. "Sorry I took off on you." He didn't appear to be injured himself--or, at least, if he was, he wasn't showing it. "You need dinner?"

He looks at the food Bucky is offering and definitely has his doubts. "I'll pass, but thanks." Steve is going to stick to the food the sponsors gave him for now. Seems safe and he has enough to ration out with the others to last the week. After seeing Natasha grow slow and tired, he's been extra cautious about what to eat.

"That was a jerk move back there," there's a touch of dry humor, but it's obvious from his tone he gets it, that this is him saying it's fine. He understands needing to disappear after someone you care for dies. And sure, they know she's be alive again in the Capitol, but that doesn't change that she's died. That Bucky is taking it hard. "It's a hell of a thing, I'm sorry, Buck." It's quiet and deeply sincere.

He places a comforting hand on Bucky's shoulder. This time when he speaks, his voice is a strange mix of light dry humor and understanding, "Just, next time you want to be reckless, bring me along. It's my hide she'll tan if you get your dumbass killed."

"Suit yourself." His tone remains mild, his reckless and desperate energy spent for now. He doesn't let on, of course, as to whether his decision to eat the monsters is made out of recklessness or lack of options. If he admitted that he has less food from sponsors than Steve does, there's no doubt Steve would try to share. And Bucky doesn't want that right now.

He doesn't resist the hand on his shoulder. Maybe he's gotten used to this slightly-different version of Steve Rogers--or maybe he's just too wearied from his frenzy of grief and fighting to object. "I'll outlast you here, Steve," he says after a moment. The humor has gone out of his voice. "You know it. This place suits me better than it ever suited you."

Steve's jaw tightens a little when Bucky says that. Sure, he can agree that Bucky will probably outlast him, but only because Steve knows he keeps putting his own life on the line for other people. Hell, he jumped into the lake to save a man and risked drowning when the fish latched on to him.

But Bucky more suited? That right there, that's-

"Bullshit," the word comes out a little harsh, because Steve doesn't like how Bucky seems to vilify himself.

His tone isn't nearly as harsh when he speaks again, “You're no more suited to kill these people than me, maybe you can pull the trigger easier, but I'm sure you pay a heavier price than me after,” it's really not hard to catch from their past conversations and Bucky's actions that the man carries guilt for his days as the Winter Soldier. When Steve finally kills here, it'll be because there was no other choice.

“You're a good man, Buck, and I've seen you struggle with that here,” Steve thought Bucky would find his way, but he thinks Natasha's death only made the path more muddled. “Don't lose yourself to this place.”

There's a moment, then, when Bucky tenses a little, surprised at the passion with which Steve speaks. This is something he's not used to. Inspirational speeches from Captain America? Sure, that's part of the job (a part he was never very good at himself). But raw emotion, not so much. The Steve Rogers he knew back home was always the one who kept his feelings in check while Bucky flew off the handle.

So Bucky's a little off-balance when the rest of Steve's words hit him, a little more surprised than he otherwise would be. Of course, that much is something the Steve he knew would have said as well, but here and now, he won't accept it. "Forget it. You think what you're telling me means anything? You don't know me, Steve--you know a buddy you grew up with who has my face. You forgotten that? I'm not your childhood friend. I'm the guy the army trained as a teenager to do your dirty work in the war. That is who I am, and always will be."

The words hurt a hell of a lot more than he wants to admit.

He knows this isn't his Bucky, that's not something he's ever forgotten, but he let himself get lost in not feeling alone, to not have that cold settle over him. But the words are like being doused in freezing water, the feeling gripping his chest as it tightens until he feels like his heart is about to have an episode.

Yet, Steve doesn't share this, none of it beyond the widening of his eyes for a short second. He pushes it deep in himself, because this isn't about him. Instead his brow furrows, giving Bucky a thoughtful look.

"Who exactly are you trying to remind of that?" Steve is much more level in his tone now, having already progressed from passionate to calm when he last spoke. "I've know you're not the man I grew up with, just like I've never tried to be the man you respect, but what I have done is make an effort to get to know you these last few weeks. And I'm confident in the truth of what I said."

He wonders if Bucky is the one who doesn't know him because he forgot to do the same. That stings a little.

Edited 2014-06-23 09:32 (UTC)

The moment the combative words escape his mouth, a pang of regret hits Bucky, and when he sees the expression on Steve's face as a result, that pang breeds and multiplies into a storm of guilt and inner disappointment. Oh, it's a brief expression, but that only makes it worse, because he knows that just means Steve buried the feeling so that he could be more supportive. That's what Steve does, even this Steve. Maybe this Steve more than the one he knows.

He slumps a little, the remains of the dubious meal he's trying to cook sagging in his hand, his head sinking in shame. "Damn it, Steve. I can't--"

That old impulse flares up in him, the one that tells him to run away because he isn't worthy, isn't deserving of kind treatment after everything he's done and been through. He struggles with it in silence, then.

He watches Bucky's posture changes, slumps and sinks like the man is defeated. It makes Steve feel guilty, he's here to comfort the man not make things worse. This wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go. Real good job there, Rogers.

His expression stays as it was, calm and thoughtful. He knows what he wants to say to Bucky, but he rather not while being broadcasted. So, instead he chooses his words wisely.

"We're still getting to know each other, obviously or I'd be saying what you need to hear and not making asses of us both," there's a wry note to that last bit, but his voice sobers again when he continues. "Just do what you feel is best. Whether that's good or bad, I trust your judgement."

'I trust your judgment.'

This isn't the Steve Rogers he knows back home, he has to remind himself. Still, hearing those words lightens something in him, if only for a moment.

Bucky straightens up and looks Steve in the eye. "I'm going to find out how she died. That's all I need to do right now." He doesn't add anything about his plans for after that. He can't think that far ahead right now. He's just not that kind of planner.

He can guess of the unspoken plans after, the possible plans to get revenge on those who killed Natasha. It's something Steve can understand, he vowed to take down all of Hydra after Bucky fell from him. So, he doesn't plan to ask him not to do it, as he said, he trusts this man and whatever decisions he makes.

"I'll help any way I can, even if that's just staying out of the way," he gives a nod, holding eye contact. He should probably mention that he got separated from Thor and Stark, but he figures that's more his own problem than Bucky's.

"This one isn't your fight, Steve." Bucky speaks plainly, without a grudge or resentment. "You keep being a hero in this place. There's a lot of others who need you."

For a second, a smile ghosts across his face, though. "But stay alive, all right? 'Cause I'm gonna stay alive too, and I want to come back and fight at your side again when I'm done with this."

What Bucky says doesn't offend him, he gets it, even if he wants to clarify that it's okay for the man to need him too, but he doesn't. It won't do any good right now, he'll let Bucky have the fight he needs to have and be there when he's ready.

Steve returns the smile, though his is less of a ghost, Bucky's words mean a lot to him, "I can definitely do that, besides, I'm pretty hard to off, so I'll be around when you're done."

Is it a good idea for Matt to join Bucky? Probably not. But there's no one else in this whole damn place who might understand what he's feeling right now, how utterly devastated and helpless he feels, knowing that Natasha's gone and they're all still trapped in this hellhole. Part of him feels like he ought to apologize. She'd died on his watch. He should've tried harder to save her. But it wasn't his fault. She was dead before she found him, and rationally he realizes as much. It still eats at him though. She isn't even his girl anymore and it hurts like she still was.

It's stupid to obsess over, but he can't stop thinking about her. The smell of her blood haunts him like a ghost. It's stuck on his pores and in his clothes and the only thing that drags him out of thinking about it nonstop is the metallic scent of animal blood in the air. Moments later and he catches Bucky's scent, too. That seals the deal. He has to talk to Bucky.

No attempt is made to mask his approach. He's fully capable of stealth and silence, but now isn't the time. Instead, he approaches boldly and loudly, in a gesture of peace.

Sitting there at the edge of hellfire, rangy dogmeat on a stick before him, blood splashed all over him, Bucky lifts his gaze and just watches the other man for a minute as he approaches.

'Darling, I did something with Matt I shouldn't have.'

His mind automatically goes over all the ways he could hurt the man he's watching now who can't watch him back, all the ways he could end Matt Murdock here and now, but somehow they always bleed into him ending himself right afterwards.

That's probably an unhealthy line of thought. Besides: Natasha wanted to look after him. She wanted, she wants this man protected.

"You know she's gone," he just says instead, flatly. He doesn't know how Matt knows. But he can tell. "Back in the Capitol. Whatever. She--she died."

Edited 2014-06-07 04:28 (UTC)

"I know," Matts answers softly, voice quiet, almost like a prayer. This moment seems achingly solemn. He almost hates to ruin it all by evoking her name, her image her presence. Still, he has to grieve. He needs to grieve. Natasha is dead and he was there and he couldn't even stop it.

Just like Karen. Like Heather. Like Elektra.

"I don't know who did it, but I'm going to find them." He takes another step toward Bucky. "Are you coming with me?"

A few tense moments of silence follow that terribly charged question. Finally, Bucky says, "If they took down Natasha, they've got to really be something, you know. Something in this place had weakened her these past couple of days, but she's still her. She's still a force to be reckoned with. You prepared for that?"

But unbeknownst to Matt, a bitter smile has started to curl up Bucky's mouth. He knows that it may well be that neither of them is prepared to deal with whoever killed Natasha. He also knows that neither of them really cares at this point.

If Bucky really thinks that the threat of violence is enough to scare Matt out of this, he's got another thing coming. Besides, he had no horse in this race before. Until they took Natasha, he had no reason to want to fight anyone, no reason to demonstrate the things he could do. Now? Now he wants revenge in the worst kind of way. And no one, not even Bucky, is going to stop him. "The question should be, are they prepared for me? 'Cause now I've got a motive, and these bastards didn't give me one before. I want whoever did this taken out. Now."

The smile widens into a grin, and in a second Matt should be able to tell, because Bucky starts to laugh. It's a strained and desperate sound. But underneath the unhinged distress is the confidence of a man who knows he's still dangerous.

"You got any idea who did it? Let's get them. You can beat the shit out of them from the front and I'll stab them in the back when they try to get away."

He shakes his head, disappointment easy to read on his face. "She died before she could tell me." That statement alone is enough to make Matt want to hit somebody. Hard. "But she was bleeding like crazy. I can track blood better than a dog can. Once I find that trail, I won't let up."

It's a good thing that Matt can't see the look on Bucky's face, because behind the anger in his eyes there is, for a moment, a terrible guilt and distress--she died on someone else. On this man he doesn't really know, who she once deeply loved. It's not ever something he's been insecure about before--what there is between him and Natasha is his rock in a stormy ocean of instability--but here everything is up in the air. And still, even though Matt can't see it, he can probably hear the sudden roughness of Bucky's breathing, the way his heartbeat skips and jumps so jaggedly.

"Then let's go."

It hadn't occurred to Matt that this fact would be painful for Bucky to hear, but he understood it instantly. He'd loved Natasha once -- still did, when it came down to it. But his love for her was different than what she and Bucky had, and Matt knew it. Matt was the ex. Not just the ex, though. They were like siblings, how they fought and teased and generally provoked one another. The love there was genuine and real, but it wasn't like what she and Bucky had had, still had. Matt thought then about how livid he'd have been if Karen had died in someone else's arms. Or Elektra. It would've eaten him up inside, even if it were someone he liked and trusted. And Bucky hardly knew him, so how could he really trust Matt?

"Follow me," he said, voice utterly calm, to offset Bucky's edge. "She found me in the amusement park. I can track her from there."

Instinctively, Bucky nods at that, before thinking to add, "All right. Lead the way, man. You can do stealth, right? We might need it around here."

He glances around at the dog corpses near his feet. "Don't want to run into more things like this. Or people. That'd be even worse."

Unless, of course, they were whoever killed Natasha. He'd be thrilled to meet that person now. They both would.

"Stealth is easy," Matt says, the scent of dog blood stinging at his nose. He could avoid anyone or anything, if the mood suited him. And it certainly does right now. "Stick close. I'll warn you if there's someone nearby."

And with that, he seems to disappear into a shadow, though he can be seen moving if Bucky's paying any attention at all. The tall trees of the orchard which loom over them provide plenty of cover to mask them both as they make their way across the arena toward the midway. It's second nature for him to find the shadows and dark places, even though he can't see them. It's like something inside draws him toward the darkness.

He doesn't move too quickly, though. He knows Bucky is good, knows he's not going to shake him easily, but he still doesn't feel the need to make Bucky work at following him. Any other time and maybe he would put on a show of things or have a bit of fun in this chase, but now it's different. The mood isn't right. They aren't having a good time. This little team up is for a purpose. It's all for Natasha.

He slows down a bit more, to let Bucky catch up. "We're almost there. It was by the carousel. You can see it in the distance." Matt can see it with his radar, the oddly shaped roof, the old wooden horses with large, jetting teeth and carved saddles. "Over there. That's where she died."

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Believe in what I am because it's all I have today,

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