yippee-ki-yay

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Who| Sam Wilson and OPEN
What| Even soldiers take breaks on Christmas
When| Super late Christmas Eve through Christmas day
Where| The makeshift infirmary in the science labs and throughout the spaceport!
Warnings/Notes| Sam's got something for all his allies, but if you're not up for a log at the moment, feel free to handwave getting some kind of makeshift weapon, most likely a sharpened metal "knife" or pipe "spear." (I'm also up for fighting or any other run-ins here, too!)


For Bucky
Honestly, Sam doesn't know whether to laugh or be kind of pissed, that the first gift he's seen all arena is a bunch of tangled up Christmas lights. There is absolutely nothing about this that isn't completely fucked up, from having to watch one of his best friends die, to seeing the faces of his other friends up in the stars at night, to having to spend Christmas not only away from his family, but stuck in this space station fighting for his life, knowing more of his people are probably going to die today, if he doesn't bite it himself.

And they're enjoying this, they're sending Christmas decorations and snow like it's all a big fucking joke, like it's a goddamn Capitol holiday special. Shit, Christmas in the Arena, it probably is. He's swinging heavily towards pissed, right about now.

For a long moment, he debates the merit of punching the next thing he sees, even if he has to go out and seek something to punch. But he knows doing something like is just going to get himself killed faster. He's got to be smart, here, he can't do anything like that out of anger. So instead, he counts his breaths, forces himself not to squeeze the lights so hard he breaks them - or hurts himself.

When he finally looks up, letting out a slightly shaky exhale, he spots Barnes. Sam doesn't really try for a smile, not yet, but at least his voice sounds steady.

"Hey, Barnes, help me out with these?"



In the Infirmary
The Christmas tree is mostly just a pile of metal pieces and odds and ends, with lights strung around it and a few gold ornaments - all of which will be cannibalized later for more weapons, lights and ornaments included - but it's something. Most of the weapons that Sam's been putting together are piled under it.

Any friendly face who shows up at the infirmary today is going to get something shoved at them, along with a half-smile and a "Merry Christmas."



Spaceport
The Avengers and their allies are easily taken care of, because most of them have been using the infirmary as kind of a home base, and Sam can figure they'll be there at some point. But he's got other people that he's thinking about - and he's doing a pretty good job of not thinking about how that list should be longer, except for the fact that he's seen some of their faces up in the stars. He might not really know if any of them could use the makeshift weapons he's got as a result of scavenging around the spaceport, but they're going to get them, anyway.

So he's out prowling around, looking for the friends he's got left out there. He's on his guard, of course, just because it's Christmas doesn't mean the arena's taking a break. If anything, it might just mean things are more dangerous.

But that's one of the good things about deciding - deciding, like it'd been a decision more than pretty much a necessity - to give out makeshift weapons. He can still use them in a pinch; he's pretty sure the people they're for won't begrudge him if they come just a bit used.

At least they'll know they work.

Comments

[burningdaylight]

When he eyes the sorry-looking tree amid their search for anything resembling medical supplies – so out of place and a far cry from the tinsel-strewn, no-holds-barred glittery displays mom had been so passionate about – it’s hard not to think it’s yet another sick joke on the part of the Capitol and not the work of a few people looking to keep hope and traditions alive even in a hellhole like this.

It’s harder to know what to make of it when he considers the weapons heaped at the foot of the tree. They’re more useful-looking than the sharp, twisted piece of shrapnel he armed himself with but he doesn’t lunge for any of them – it doesn’t feel safe. He glances to Nick instead through the crack of one swollen eye, silently seeking his opinion on the matter – and admittedly making sure they’re on the same page. Too much worrying on his part, maybe. Their injuries have made them that much more cautious, he knows that, but in light of losing two of their people and in such a short span of time it’s hard not to fear keenly for Nick. Hard not to fear losing him again, only this time to watch him slip away right by his side.

[fuckitall]

With all the turmoil, celebrating the holidays is far from Nick's mind. If it hadn't been for the weird ass attempt to instill some Christmas-y mood on the Capitol's part, he'd have gone on not even thinking about the time of the year. How fucking nice of them. After everything that happened, losing Clem and Beth - he feels anything but cheery. At least he has a bundle of lights to

The encounter with Daryl, combined with earlier ones, ended with them looking rather mangled. They finally found some fabric material to make a makeshift sling for Luke to use though Nick finds himself having to breathe out of his mouth after his nose had finally stopped bleeding. Between the two of them, Nick's more physically able to go off to hunt for supplies, and he still has his pipe that's become his other best friend, but Luke isn't having any of that. As much as Nick would protest back, he can't bring himself to leave Luke's side either. The Gamemakers are going to have to try harder to separate them now.

He's on the same page as Luke and regards the weapons with suspicion himself, looking back at him as if to ask "Now what?"

For all they know, it could booby trapped or something. After experiencing exploding consoles and aliens of various sorts, he wouldn't put it past the Gamemakers to do something like that.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Sam's in another part of the lab, taking inventory of the medical supplies they've got left after he'd put together a kit for a Christmas present, when he hears movement infirmary. He tenses, straightening up and grabbing his switchblade, flicking it open. It's most likely one of his allies returning, but there's few enough of them left that Sam can't take any risks.

So he's quiet as he moves back to the infirmary, switchblade at his side, held at the ready in case he has to use it, but he relaxes a little when he spots who's in there. It's definitely not who he was expecting, but at least he recognizes them. Well, one of them, anyway.

"Nick," he greets, giving him a quick, almost smile before he nods at the other guy. "Hey, man." Sam's not entirely sure who this guy is - although he thinks he can guess, given his encounter with Nick in the first days of the arena - but if he's with Nick, Sam's hoping he's all right.

The sleeves of his purple suit are gone - between getting slashed and bitten, they were pretty wrecked anyway. It's pretty obvious what they were used for, considering there's purple fabric in the bandage on his upper arm. Aside from that, he has quite a few cuts and bruises, but they look decently taken care of.

wait, I'm dumb, just remembered Sam's name hasn't been shared yet

[burningdaylight]

As Sam makes his approach, tension visible in the lines of his shoulders, Luke slants Nick a sideways, questioning look. Only briefly though, because the switchblade in hand and its bared, glinting edge don’t go unnoticed. It can’t. Not with what the world has become and the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders. Not after two years with a machete strapped to his back and catching sleep in snatches more often than not. Everyone is desperate and hungry for something - need clashing with need - and not everyone is of a mind to compromise, to negotiate.

"Hey," Luke offers, voice lower, rawer than intended. It’s a cautious greeting but not unfriendly even though he doesn’t try for a smile. He considers Sam’s makeshift bandages, their own sleeves torn up to serve the same and similar purposes.

They’ve all seen better days. That much alone he feels safe assuming.

[fuckitall]

Nick's grip on the pipe soon relaxes when he sees Sam. He'd immediately have told Luke that this guy can be trusted for the latter reason, but the friendliness is so unexpected in this arena and their overall past experiences that he's reluctant to even make that decision. A part of him is glad that Sam's still alive (he's definitely a sight for sore eyes compared to the crap they've been encountering) but the switchblade makes him a little uneasy. It doesn't seem to be covered with blood like one would expect but he wonders where and how Sam had gotten that while he and Luke have relied on broken parts this whole time.

"Hey, Sam." He doesn't smile either, but though the look on his face is a humbled one. He still hasn't forgotten how much Sam has helped him before. That counts for something. With that in mind, he leans over to tell Luke, "This is the guy I mentioned earlier, the one I ran into right after this shit started."

His expression hasn't changed since he greeted Sam, looking at him as if to say thanks once more. "He's the one that saved my life."

Spaceport

[silberfuchs]

There's little to keep Albert's attention in most of the station. With Jet dead, all he really wants to do is leave, but as the unspoken elephant between himself and Venus is that there's no guarantee Albert's husband is even alive out on the other side - the Capitol wanted a bloodbath, it could be they'd decided to cull their off world Tributes permanently for being far too much trouble - it leaves the German somewhat listless. He still eats enough to stay alive, goes through the motions, but sometimes he just finds himself wandering with little recollection of how he got from point A to point B.

One such time finds him in the spaceport, aimlessly meandering and kicking the broken remains of a little reindeer in front of him like a poor excuse for a football. It had landed next to him some morning (he thinks it was morning. There's no telling time in here,) and proceeded to screech 'Run Run Rudolf' in a tinny, off-key variation until he'd smashed it to bits with his metal foot. At least his cybernetics are good for relieving minor annoyances.

Sam's presence here doesn't surprise Albert, not really. Surprise implies a emotional investment into one's surroundings. Instead Albert just takes note and offers an indifferent nod. "Scavenging?"

[sizeofyourbaggage]

His relief at seeing Albert is pretty short-lived. Sam's seen what it looks like when someone's given up before, and Albert looks dangerously similar to that. It's not exactly surprising, considering Sam'd spotted Jet's face up in the stars earlier, but honestly, Sam has no idea what to do with that. He's dealt with people he cares about dying and having to keep fighting, even with having to go on with the uncertainty of whether or not someone is actually dead out there, or if there's a chance they'll make it back.

He doesn't know what to do with this. With someone who's dead, but they might be out there waiting for you, and the only way to find out for sure is to die yourself - except there's no solid guarantee that you'll be back, either. So he doesn't say anything about Albert's state, or about Jet, just eyes the pieces of the toy reindeer briefly, considering seeing if he can take it back to the infirmary, find out if Banner can do anything with them.

Then he quirks a slight smile at Albert's question.

"Delivering," he replies, gesturing at the items in the makeshift cord belt he has - a sharpened piece of metal with a wire handle, a lead pipe, the laser gun he'd managed to pilfer from a damaged robotic turret, all stuff he'd scavenged before. "I don't know if any of it'll actually be useful to you, but I wouldn't be a very good ally, or a friend, if I didn't bring you something on Christmas."

[silberfuchs]

"Don't waste gifts on me, I've got mine built in." He extents the long knife from his left hand to illustrate, then lets it fold back into his arm, dropping the limb to his side. His posture is benign and nonthreatening. "Those without special powers and skills will find them more useful. Though I appreciate the sentiment."

He looks down at the crushed remains of the toy reindeer, the little red LED that was once its nose blinking feebly. He hadn't associated the damn thing with the holiday, though it's so very obvious. He imagines Jet still alive - he has to imagine Jet is still alive, lest he slip into that foreboding darkness that continually threatens him - spending Christmas alone in the Capitol. They'd already missed so many Christmases and here he's to miss another. He almost wonders if he could ask Sam to kill him to escape, but he'd been on the receiving end of that request before and he won't wish it on anyone.

"I hadn't realized it was Christmas." He sounds dull and drained despite his desire to put on a straight face.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

His eyebrows raise a little. “Impressive.” He should probably be more on edge, here, considering he’s wandering around in the middle of a death arena and has been looking at cats like they might secretly be out to get him, but Albert pulling a knife barely even makes him tense. Even if they didn’t have an alliance, Sam trusts him.

And he’s too busy feeling a mix of concern and resignation to be worried about a surprise betrayal.

“Not hard to lose track, in here.” Sam’d only known because he’d been keeping track of the days, especially after Steve’d gone. He’s got habits, to keep him focused, when the days start blurring together. “Wish I could wish you a merry one, man. Maybe we can have a do-over, when we get back to the Capitol.”

Assuming they do get back, anyway, since as far as Sam knows, the only way to be mostly certain about that is to win.

[silberfuchs]

"Maybe." He shrugs, but there's the certainty behind his voice that since the Capitol finds ways to corrupt everything else, why not Christmas too? He's not sure he wants whatever passes for the holiday in Panem.

But that doesn't mean he can't share gifts of his own.

"Are you hungry? I got lucky and found a potato." Something he probably should have eaten a day or two ago when he found it. He may be a cyborgs, but he does still get hungry. Usually. He hasn't been mostly, since Jet died, and only makes a point of drinking water and eating little bits of the freeze-dried whatever. He's heard rumblings about alien eggs infecting the packs, gestating inside a person and bursting out like some terrible piece of science fiction, but any alien would be hard pressed to make their way out of Albert's alloy chassis. He'll give Sam the food he's pretty sure is more or less safe.

Infirmary

[honeyibrokeharlem]

Bruce isn't looking too well. The roar in his head is getting louder. He's thinking about leaving, but... for now, he concentrates on examining the little wind-up toys he had gotten, and looking at the weird cyberpunk tree they had whipped up.

"You know..." He gives a small huff of air that could be mistaken for a chuckle. "I don't think I remember the last time I celebrated Christmas."

[sizeofyourbaggage]

There's no way that Sam couldn't notice the fact that Banner is looking worse for the wear. Most of them are, by now, though, and even if Sam suspects there's more to it than that, he's not going to say anything about it. Not unless Banner mentions it first, anyway.

"Yeah?" he asks, glancing away from giving the tree a critical eye to look at Banner. "How come?"

[honeyibrokeharlem]

"I was never really religious, and Christmas wasn't that big of a deal in my family to start with." A holiday supposedly all about family doesn't sit well with a man who has always had a terrible relationship with his family. After he cut off contact with his parents, he just didn't celebrate it for years until Betty started spending Christmas with him.

"Once I left the country, there weren't too many people to spend it with." Once or twice entire families would take him in for the holidays, or one person would have a mug of something hot for him and chatter about Jesus, but it was never a regular thing, since he moved around so much.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

"Yeah, that'll do it." Sam's family is religious, though Sam himself goes back and forth on it, and Christmas has always been a big deal for them, but he's met plenty of people where it just wasn't. Enough that the idea no longer sounds foreign to him, at least.

"Sorry your first celebrated Christmas in a while couldn't be a little more of a traditional one, man," he says, casting a glance around the room. "When I was serving, you know, I kind of learned to take what I could get."

[honeyibrokeharlem]

"Tradition is overrated."

Bruce gestures to their scrap metal Christmas tree.

"This? This, I'll remember. More than I can say for most Christmases." He pauses a beat. "I could do without the constant sense of impending doom, though." He doubts that the Capitol will let them have a nice thing. What will it be? More aliens? More burning gas?

[tookthewheel]

Bucky has his own gift box in hand, filled with beautiful roung gold ornaments that he's trying to figure out some kind of use for from the moment he opened it, when Sam calls him over. He looks up from the contents before walking to where the other man is.

"Lights?"

He'd rather have had something like that, an object that he can find an immediate lethal use for. It's no garrote but the wire of the lights looks strong enough to be used to strangle someone or as a makeshift rope if necessary. Bucky doesn't voice his disgruntlement however, keeping his thoughts to himself. Instead he shows Sam his own 'gift'. "They sent me these."

[sizeofyourbaggage]

"Tangled ones," Sam replies. "But I'm not sure they come any other way."

When he looks in Barnes' box, sees the gold ornaments, he lets out a huff. It isn't really amused, but he does manage to follow it up with something very nearly resembling a smile. "Well look at that, now we can have ourselves a halfway decent tree. Gotta have some place to put your presents. Then tomorrow I can give these to Natasha and see how many aliens she can take out with them."

That last bit is the kind of thing he'd normally keep to himself, when talking to people, but he doubts Barnes will look at him funny for thinking of using Christmas lights to kill aliens. Probably not a lot of people here would, actually.

"If we can get them in order, anyway."

[tookthewheel]

"A Christmas tree?" he looks at Sam like a boy who's just a shade too uncertain about his answer to not make it a question.

It's not a hard connection to make after the experience in the Mall arena, where for a week there had been fake snow (far less dangerous than the kind they'd brought here), lights and tree's, as well as presents scattered under them. They'd played music too, a piece like the kind the robotic turrets were singing now. Over and over again to try and drive them mad.

"Why would you give them away? They're a good weapon."

Reminded of the task at hand Bucky sets down his box and reaches for the lights to begin.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

See, now, it’s stuff like this that is just entirely unfair. It’s pretty much impossible for Sam not to want to be this guy’s friend, when he looks at him like that. Sam’ll just consider himself lucky that he’d already resigned himself to it months ago.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and this time his smile is a lot closer to its usual brightness. “Can’t get an actual tree, obviously, but I bet I can rig something up.”

Sam hands him one end of the lights, starting to work on the other before he answers Barnes’ question. “Because they’re a present. I’ve never skipped celebrating Christmas, even when I was on active duty in the war. Giving weapons seems like the best I’ve got here.”

[tookthewheel]

"They had trees in the last arena, for a week there were trees and snow. They wrapped boxes like these but there was nothing inside them." he explains, thinking back, "It's only supposed to be once a year, isn't it?"

If that was true then why again, why now with the extra surprises. The little robot's, one which had looked at Bucky and angrily pronounced him naughty before exploding, and the costumes on the little green mutts.

Bucky frowns, preying open a knot with delicacy that might be surprising from someone like him, "But keeping it would help your chances."

[cognitived]

As much as the infirmary has become the Avengers' home base, and his own by proxy, it's actually more than a little uncomfortable to spend extended time there. Clint doesn't really know these guys, and he doesn't really trust them, even though he does trust them more than anybody else in this damn place. It's just, Clint's used to being high above everyone else, hidden and silent and watchful.

This place has him going crazy. Well, crazier.

In any case, Clint does come back to check in, especially as the days pass and more familiar faces light up the sky. So for now, he crosses the room quietly, brows lifted at the sight of that metal lit up tree. In all honesty, it's actually probably better than most Christmases he's had in a long while. If he thought about it, that's probably pretty sad. Doesn't mean he can't return that little smile though, head tipped in acknowledgement.

"Merry Christmas, man."

In his hands is a little gift box of his own, he'd opened it early to find a santa hat, and a part of him wanted to save it and give it to Natasha because she'd roll her eyes at him. She's really the only one around for him to gift things and spend holidays with. They've spent more than a few holidays together on missions, anyway.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

His smile grows a little when Barton returns the sentiments, though he glances back over his shoulder at what he’s calling a tree. Sam hadn’t missed those raised eyebrows. “Least the Capitol was nice enough to send us lights and ornaments.” There’s just a little bit of sarcasm there, but Sam can’t help it. “Best we could do with what we had, but I’m guessing you know something about that.”

Then he nods at the fabric-wrapped laser gun he’d pushed into Barton’s hands. “If Natasha asks why you got that and not her, it’s because I’ve got something better in mind for her.”

And by ‘better’ he partially means ‘more amusing,’ but he knows she could actually do something with those lights, after they’re done being decorations.

[cognitived]

Clint's still not entirely sure what to make of Sam, the guy's not entirely what he's used to, but there'd been something in Natasha's face when she mentioned him. Clearly this guy means a lot to her, and to the others, and maybe that's part of the years he's missing. Or the months they'd spent in this place without him. He doesn't know, but he'll find out eventually. Clint hates being without information.

For now, there's a little snort of laughter, and then a surprised blink as Sam pushes a bundle into his hands. The laser guns here are still unfamiliar, but Clint knows the weight and shape of guns like the back of his hands. He tucks his own Capitol given gift under his arm and unwraps his gift without finesse.

And the thing is, Clint doesn't really need weapons to kill. But it's -- it's a gift more than he expected, especially in a place where people are expected to die, whether at the hand of enemy or friend. Clint looks up, quiet and thoughtful, features not quite soft but definitely tempered.

"You giving all of us weapons?"

He's surprised, okay.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

He quirks a little bit of a smirk at the question. "Not all of you. Thor got stale cake, and Banner's getting another one of those toy reindeer the Capitol's handing out."

But given the look on Barton's face, he's kind of guessing there's more to the question than just who's getting what. His smile softens a little as he shrugs one shoulder.

"I spent a couple of Christmases overseas, back when I was still serving. Never seemed like enough reason not to celebrate it, however we could. Kind of the same thing here." Exactly the same thing here, except there was an added reason of 'fuck you Capitol, I'm not playing your games today,' but that's not the kind of thing he's going to say outloud. "Figured I'd give you guys something actually useful."

[cognitived]

It rings true, the reasons Sam says. Clint did his own time with the military, even if his own time with the military ended in a clusterfuck of a dark op that left him mostly deaf. But he knows the comfort a celebrated holiday can bring to a team, the faint lightheartedness before another battle.

So he nods, pretending somewhat like he's not warmed by this gift from a near-stranger. Sam might guess at it, but Clint isn't going to bring it up all on his own.

"Guess I'm a favorite, then." He bats his lashes, smirk tugging at his mouth.