thearena | You're falling to pieces every time [closed]

He leaves the woman where she'd fallen, unsure if she was already dead or still dying. His head is ringing with the echoes of the jabberyjay's mocking voices, though the birds themselves have mercifully flown off by this point, as he tries to pull himself back together and find some stability. Bucky might not be in his right mind but he can still picture the reactions he will get from his friends should he return back to the cave like this. That's the last thing he wants.

There's blood on his hands, he needs to clean it off.

Ignoring the treacherous whisper in his head that the blood can never come off Bucky turns and makes his way to the river. The cold water will help, not just in becoming clean but in waking him up. He slipped back into the Asset again, he can't go back like this. If he can just clear his head he might yet be okay.

He heard the screams - the jabberjays and what could only be real. He knew it was folly but he thought he could almost tell the difference - because most belonged to people he loved, and one -

One belonged to a woman he barely knew. He stumbled as he followed the cry, and came up to the river just to see Bucky come up to it on the other side.

Covered in blood.

The gun felt heavy at his side as he scrambled to get it out - either the blood was Adella's, or it was someone else's, either option meaning danger.

Any chance of this going peacefully ends the moment that Dorian goes to draw the gun.

Bucky's world narrows down to that action and he's forgotten what just happened, forgotten the blood on his hands and his own conflicting emotions. There's danger in front of him and if he doesn't act fast then he will die and if he dies then he will leave the others, his friends, behind to face the arena alone.

He goes from a slow disorientated walk to leaping forwards in a split second, bunching his muscles to throw himself across the distance between him and Dorian and make a grab for the gun before it can be fired. It's too close quarters to allow the other man to get off even a single shot.

Nothing says pay attention to reality like a bullethole through the palm of your hand.

Bucky leans heavily against the trunk of the tree, sparing a glance back for the rushing river that his opponent had fallen into. Though the temperature is freezing there's still a chance Dorian could survive the water and he doesn't want to be around should he choose to return, alone or with friends.

In addition to the rapid bleeding from that wound he's also bruised and battered in other places and feeling extra resentful towards the Capitol for taking away his accelerated healing. This is not something he can expect to recover from before the end of the arena. It's going to limit him and his capability up until the point he dies.

... which is not something to focus on right now. Bucky is at least grateful for the ability to think clearly as he sets his priorities to trying to stop the bleeding and make it home, where Bruce or Sam will be able to do something about the wound. If he goes carefully he might even make it back without making this day even worse on himself.

Jet might not have seen the fight, but he'd heard it. Or, at least, he heard the tell-tale sound of a gun going off. It startled him when he heard it, not for the sound itself, but for the fact it existed at all; very rarely were guns handed out and not knowing who held them was not a good feeling. Part of him said he should go the other direction, that would be the smart choice...but he also really wanted to know what was going on and if someone might be hurt. He was an idiot, but at least he was aware of it.

Jet crept through the trees, hunting knife in hand and stance tense. When he saw someone leaning against a tree, he froze, hidden behind his own. The first thing he noticed was the blood covering the person's hand, the next thing was who the person was and it made his chest go tight.

"Bucky!" The knife was stashed away as he quickly closed the distance between them. He looked around, half expecting to see the shooter coming back to finish the job but, thankfully, no one came. He turned his attention to his friend, eyes quick to take in the rest of Bucky's injuries before finally falling on his friend's face with an expression made up of concern and a touch of humor. "Why's it that I always find you injured, huh? It's like you go looking for fights."

both hands reached to take Bucky's injured right, attempting to keep the frigid metal from touching bare skin. The temperature might not pose a threat to a cyborg's limbs, but the metal still got cold and could hurt a normal person if he wasn't careful.

"He fell in the river." That's what Bucky says first, once he's registered that the person coming through the tree's is a friend rather than another foe. If he weren't so wound up right now he could have let himself sink down in relief. He didn't want another fight, not today.

First, assure Jet that the threat was gone, then move on to the next matter. He's trying to use his left hand to staunch the bleeding, something he can only do because once he realised how cold this arena would get he kept a glove on it, else the metal would be sticking painfully to his skin right about now. A glance at Jet's reaching hands reminds him that his friend must be having the same problem.

Despite a slight hesitate at first, Bucky turns and leans his back on the tree, holding out his hand so Jet could see the damage. "The bullet went through cleanly."

It would have been hard pressed not too, the anatomy of the human hand didn't offer much resistance in that manner. Still it's lucky, if the shot had been a few inches in another direction some of his fingers could have been blown off. Though for the amount of use he's going to have in them from now on they might as well have been, so it's no consolation at all, really.

"I didn't... not this time."

The wound was ugly, but Bucky was right, it had gone through cleanly. That didn't mean much for his friend's hand, though. "This time." He parroted back to Bucky with slightly relieved teasing in his tone. As long as this didn't catch infection and got tended to properly, he should be fine and that was what Jet was grateful for.

He let Bucky have his hand back a moment as he knelt and dug out the largely unused first aid kit so he could retrieve a gauze pad and some bandages. He didn't dare put anything on it or do anything but keep the bleeding in check when he knew there was a doctor in the house. Kit replaced, Jet stood again and pressed the gauze pad around Bucky's injured hand to cover both sides of it before he started to wrap the damaged limb to keep the pad and the pressure in place.

"Is this the only really bad one or is there something else? We need to get you back to Sam."

Bucky shifts his feet, wondering if he should feel genuinely chatised for the injury. He probably deserves it for the trouble he's gotten himself into. If his Handlers were here they'd be furious.

No, they're not here and they're not his handlers anymore, no matter how much his ears are still ringing because of the Jabberjays.

"There were birds. Did you hear them?" he can't help but ask. "Like the robots in the last arena."

He holds his hand as tight as he can bring himself to when Jet lets him have it back for a moment, too aware of torn flesh and splintered bone as blood soaks into the glove of his left hand anew. Luckily he can't really feel that. The glove is the only thing keeping his metal hand from sticking to the wound, anyhow, so its sacrifice is worthwhile.

Bucky shakes his head as he lets Jet take his hand back, clenching his jaw hard as it's wrapped, "Everything else is minor." bruises, scrapes and shallow cuts, nothing to panic over.

"Good." He answers that first. It's easier. He presses Bucky's arm to his chest so his hand was higher than his arm then grabbed the rest of the bandages to make as best a sling he could. That should help until they can get to where they're going, although he was concerned about how much blood had already been lost. It wasn't a lethal amount yet.

"Come on, let's keep moving before someone less helpful finds us. Lean on me if you need to, okay?" Bucky could probably largely walk on his own, but if he was too tired or got dizzy, Jet would be there for support.

Now that they were moving, he didn't have much reason to keep ignoring Bucky's question about the jabberjays. "Yeah, I heard 'em. I tried my best not to." But it was hard to cover your ears with your metal hands in the cold. He'd ended up pressing his wrists to them, hoping the parka could muffle the sounds, but he'd still been able to pick out various voices that matched with his friends here and his teammates and his friends on Valhalla, all who he was so sure couldn't be here. And yet it'd been heart-wrenchingly convincing to the point that, if it hadn't been for that damn robot in the last arena, he might have believed it was a real rendition instead of synthesized.

He glanced over to Bucky. "You okay?" Not the injuries, but the jabberjays, he didn't doubt the whole 'people you care about' thing had applied to Bucky as well. The look in his eyes said Jet wouldn't blame him if he was less than okay.

Bucky clenches his jaw but refrains from making any sound that acknowledges the pain he's in, there's already too many signs giving that away. He's paler than normal and despite the cold there's sweat on his face from the strain. "Okay."

It's a little easier now his arm is restrained, he just has to remember not to try and move it, which is easier said than done. His brain keeps trying to send messages to his fingers, not realising some of those connections have been cut and the result was agonising. They'd trained him to ignore pain though, if he concentrated he could still do it.

Once they were back at the cave there would be painkillers.

Bucky starts to walk, keeping back at Jet's side as fast as he can manage between bloodloss and the deep snow. He doesn't need a hand yet, he won't at all if he can help it.

"Yeah." he grimaces, "The voices..." Bucky shakes his head, "They used different voices this time."

Jet tried to keep their pace slow enough for Bucky to manage, but they couldn't linger either. Still, Jet knew a thing or two about pride and not letting yourself get help when you probably should, so he let Bucky call that shot. Once they got to the river, that'd probably have to change anyway.

"What voices?" Usually, he wouldn't pry...but this time it was as much for Bucky spilling his guts to feel better as it was Jet listening so he had something else to focus on while they were on the topic.

He's hesitant on the cusp of saying it, because saying it gives away a pretty intimate part of his past, not just to Jet but to the viewers. Bucky licks his lips, dried and cracked in the cold air and ducks his head, lowering his voice as much as he can while still making it so jet could here. "Handlers."

The word is synonymous with a lot of things for him, primarily control and orders. They were important people to him even if they couldn't be called loved one's, the Capitol must have figured out what a powerful effect those voices could have on him to go to the effort of recreating them.

Handlers? The way Bucky's acting, it's clear he doesn't want it discussed so openly and Jet can definitely respect that. It just leaves him to figure out the context for himself. He eventually makes the connection while combing through what he knew of his friend. Bucky had said he was 'wiped' so he didn't have his memory, making him easier to control and these handlers must have been the ones holding the strings.
It was like Nevua, forcing Jet to poison souls and kill innocents, pulling his strings without Jet's permission. The thought of hearing that bastard's voice again made him sick, he could only imagine what it was like for Bucky to hear those assholes all over again. He wished he could make it better somehow.

"I'm sorry." What else was there really to say? It wasn't like he could promise it wouldn't happen again. He hesitated, but then decided to give something a try, a tactic he used when Albert's mind was too crowded by bad stuff Jet couldn't physically do anything about. Buckys mind had a lot of bad stuff too...so, even if he was about to sound ridiculously crazy, it was worth it if it worked. And if it didn't? Well, he tried.

"You know, when I was a kid, my parents used to take me all around New York to see the sights and all that. I don't remember a whole heck of a lot from back then, but I remember going to amusement parks. I know one of 'em was coney island -before it got all busted up. It was loads of fun, unfortunately most of the place died out...bu I'm guessing it was huge when you were living there. Kinda miss amusement parks and their rides and crappy food, even if this place had one I bet it'd be sucky."

He was prattling, carrying on about nothing, anything else but the thing that had been bothering Bucky before, he was supplying a distraction in the form of something completely irrelevant and it didn't even matter if Bucky responded, as long as it seemed to be working, Jet would just keep going, switching from pointless topic to pointless topic to fill the silence and occupy his friend's thoughts.

Bucky shakes his head, unable to respond to that. Jet needn't be sorry, but more and more 'sorry' seems to be the word he see's people use when they don't know what else to say. It's well meant and Bucky thinks that perhaps that's all that matters in the end.

He's content to let Jet talk and ramble onwards, while Bucky himself concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other while remaining upright in the snow. It takes a little more thought than he'd like, left, right, trying to compensate his weight for unseen obstacles underneath the snow. Being heavier on one side doesn't help and he misses the strength he was accustomed too, which had made having a metal arm a much smaller difficulty.

"Coney Island got busted up?" he repeats, suddenly, giving Jet a strange look. He knows that name, he knows it... "The Cyclone?"

The Cyclone, it was a rollercoaster. And I threw up?, Steve's words. He'd made Steve ride the rollercoaster with him once, hadn't he? The idea of Coney Island busted up suddenly seems a very bad thing.

It's nearly jarring when Bucky speaks up all of a sudden, he was used to his rambles going unheeded, the distraction rarely came in the words, but more the constant of the sound.

He shrugged at the question, a little sorry Jet had to tell him if Bucky had some kind of fond attachment to it. "I mean, it's still there, coaster too, but it's abandoned. Well, okay, not anymore. What I mean is, after the war, people started travelling around to other places in the U.S. more and Coney Island got less and less popular. Then the street gangs grew and the turf wars chased tourists off for a long time. My own gang never went over there, fellas in the Bronx had no business in Brooklyn except their own personal stuff." Which was when he'd gone over there only to find at least one gang had set up their turf right around that area.

"But by the time I woke up again in the 21st century, it was back in business, not quite as popular as before, but at least it'd been dusted off." He glanced over at Bucky, a bit of hope leaking into his tone. "You remember something about it?"

"I went there with Steve." he answers, reaching to grab onto a tree branch with his hand as he negotiates a patch of uneven ground. The blood loss is getting to him somewhat. Bucky grits his teeth and forces himself past it, concentrating on the memory. "I made him ride the Cyclone with me."

He thinks, despite the vomiting that had followed, it had been a good day. Though he must've regretted it after, remembering how his friend was small and chock full of health issues and maybe pushing him onto a rollercoaster wasn't the best idea. The idea of the memory still feels good though.

"Don't think he liked it much."

Jet snickered at the thought of Steve Rogers in an amusement park and not enjoying it. Although, he was fairly certain the image was colored by how he imagined Albert at an amusement park: grumpy and only amused some of the time. That probably wasn't quite right, but it made Jet smile.

"That's too bad. From what I remember -which isn't much- it was a pretty cool place."

Jet's smile fell a bit as he looked over at Bucky and took in the color of his face and the way he was struggling to keep his balance on the uneven terrain. He offered his hand to give his friend some support as they went.

"You want me to can it? No offense if you do." He'd been hoping the distraction would help, but if it was doing the opposite he'd rather keep silent.

"He threw up." Bucky offers by way of explanation. He thinks Steve was probably enjoying it before that point. "He was smaller then."

Smaller, far thinner and more sickly, carrying around the weight of a dozen ailments on his narrow shoulders. Bucky had seen the pictures and had a dim recollection of a form Steve Rogers had once occupied that was far more familiar to him than the tall musclebound hero he was now.

"No it's... it's fine..." he breathes in more deeply, then after a glance at Jet's proffered hand makes himself swallow his pride and take it. It's that or go down in the snow at this rate.

He didn't immediately put his arm around Bucky's waist, just kept a firm hold on his hand to give him something sturdy when he needed it. If his condition got worse, he'd have to forsake what was left of Bucky's dignity for his safety.

As for rambling...he'd kinda reached the end of the road with that subject. At least they were nearing the river now and would just need to cross it and get to the caves and then find Sam. "D'you remember anything about baseball? It was a big deal to me when I was younger and I don't think I knew a guy back then who didn't care one way or the other about it."

Bucky starts to recognise their surroundings and is immensely relieved to know that safety is not far away, he just has to keep going a little longer. He tries not to think too hard about the long-term repercussions the wound on his hand will have for him in the future, getting back and having it taken care of was more important.

"I..." he thinks for a moment, holding onto Jet's hand as the river comes into sight. "No, no I can't remember. Steve says we went to games before. He said I liked the Dodgers."

Jet pulled a face at the mention of the Dodgers and made a displeased noise. "That makes sense, based on where you're from and all, but it's probably better you don't remember. It'd break your heart to know what happened."

He paused the conversation as they reached the water's edge and he let go of Bucky's hand to reach into the icy water and pull on a bit of rope caught on the bank. Attached to the rope was the end of a tree trunk, the other end of which was sitting on the opposite bank. With both ends firmly on the opposite banks, a they had a bridge. Now the hard part was getting them both across it with Bucky's compromised balance.

Jet reached to take Bucky's hand again and lead him across the trunk. "Hold on tight, alright? Try and keep your feet, we don't want to add hypothermia to gunshot wound."

Bucky frowns, unsure what could have happened to a baseball team to break anyone's heart. Now that he thinks about it Steve had a strange expression on his face when he'd talked about them too, though he'd only been telling Bucky good things. Maybe he'll ask him about it later.

"Who was your team?" he asks instead, leaning against a tree while jet pulled the the tree truck over to them. Huh, he'd never thought of doing that, but before he'd never worried about his inability to get across in other ways.

Snorting, Bucky shakes his head and gives Jet his left hand, muttering, "I hate the cold." before stepping out after his friend.

He can do this.

Jet laughed a bit at that and carefully led Bucky up onto the wood and started across it as soon as he was sure his friend had his footing. "Me too. Should've seen me back home, I'd always wear as many jackets as I could cram on myself, Al always made fun of me for it, said I looked like some poofed up bird."

One foot in front of the other, as long as he kept his balance, he could steady Bucky any time he shifted a way he shouldn't. Even if it took them an hour, he'd get them both on the other side dry and as warm as they could manage.

"I was a Dodger's fan myself. Never hated the Giants or anything, just never got into them like I did the Dodgers. They both moved to California, neither of 'em play for NYC any more, that's what's so heartbreaking." One of the worst tragedies to have woken up to in the 2000s, in Jet's opinion.

Bucky imagines Jet round, like a ball from coats, bright coloured one's thanks to the bird imagery and he actually snorts, unsure if it's really that funny or he's just that woozy from blood loss. Maybe a little of both.

"If I could, I would." he says, swallowing as he moves slowly across the log, "Don't care how I look if I'm warm." he'd had enough of cold for several lifetimes, so it was just his luck the Capitol put them in an arena like this one.

Nodding along while focusing on putting one foot in front of the other Bucky processes this information, tries to find some kind of emotional response in himself to it and comes up empty. Maybe someday but not know. "Oh."

Jet shrugged. It wasn't like he was expecting some great show of emotion from the news (although a tiny bit would have been heartening but he wasn't put off by it.) "Don't worry, someday you'll be crying into your pillow about it."

Jet smirked over at him before finally stepping off the trunk and onto solid ground again. His grip was still tight as he led Bucky to the same solid ground. Once they didn't need it anymore, Jet put the end of the trunk on that bank into the water to make it hard for anyone to follow them over.

"Come on, Bucky...we're almost there now, so don't go passing out on me or anything. I'll have to carry you like some princess and then Sam'll just laugh at us both."

Bucky isn't too sure about that but who can say, really, with so much unknown and still forgotten in his life. "We'll see."

It seems to take longer than it should to cross the tree thunk. Every step is an effort, every moment fraught with the danger of tipping over and falling into the water even with Jet holding tightly to his metal hand. He's sweating somehow by the end of it, despite how cold the air is around them.

Stepping onto solid ground is an incredible relief. "I won't pass out." he grumbles, though he is leaning a little more heavily against Jet now. In actuality it's not Sam he's worried about so much as Bruce, the doctor had been so unhappy with them after the tiger fight... he'll be displeased with Bucky for this as well. "I'll make it."

Just up this rise and they'll be there at the cave...

Jet kept a hold of Bucky and began actively supporting him with an arm around his waist as they went up the rise. Pride be damned in this case, he wasn't going to risk something else happening now that they were so close.

As the reached the top of the rise, music began playing and Jet flinched, not expecting it. It was just the In Memorium that played at the end of the day when people had died and, based on the number of canons throughout the day, something had happened; there were bound to be a fair number of faces. He just hadn't realized how dark it had gotten already.

Jet paused to watch, judging a few moments more wouldn't hurt so they could check to make sure there was no one familiar pictured in the sky.

Unfortunately for them both, there was.

Bucky's beyond pride at this moment, the blood loss is getting to him, affecting his ability to think. In conjunction with the cold that makes his entire focus narrow down to walking, step by step, up the incline towards the cave.

Almost there. Almost...

He starts at the music the same time Jet does, an instant before he recognises it for what it is, making Bucky realise that it's later than he thought it was. Jet stops and Bucky stops with him, leaning more heavily against the other cyborg as he turns his gaze upwards.

The memoriam is always done in order of District, so it's Albert's face that shows up in the sky first. That alone is enough to turn Bucky's stomach, make him shoot a glance sideways at Jet to see his reaction before he looks up again, transfixed by the sheer number of names and faces. It's a highly unusual amount of -- District 5's emblem is shown and there is Sam's face.

"Fuck."

"That bastard!" When Albert's face shows up, Jet's stomach twists and anger flares in him. Al was just supposed to be out hunting, but instead he'd went and got himself killed, Jet couldn't let him out of his sight for five seconds. It occurred to him he could have gotten caught in whatever had happened to make so many faces flash across the sky and that mollified him a bit. Albert wouldn't have gone looking for trouble...he wasn't Jet.

His thoughts hiccuped when he saw Sam's face not too long after Albert's and his arm around Bucky tightened. Two teammates in one day.

"Something must have happened, something big enough to take down so many of them in one day. Come on, we need to get you some help." There was still an edge in his voice sharpened by anger and frustration, but it was easier to focus on Bucky and what he needed. Jet didn't want to see his friend's face in the sky next. "You got another doctor around?" He'd been banking on Sam's help but, well...

"Jet." Bucky says with mild alarm at the exclamation, his eyes searching his friends face even as inwardly he continuew to struggle to wrap his mind around the fact Sam is gone. If he hadn't gone out into the woods... no, that's useless thinking. There's no point or room to linger on what if's. Sam will be there in the Capitol when they get back.

It troubles him though, what happened?

"Banner. Bruce Banner. He can help." he supplies, and maybe he'll have an explanation for this.

Right, Banner. Albert had mentioned something about him being a doctor on top of everything else. Jet had always guessed he meant in the academic sense, but if he knew anything that could help Bucky, that was all that mattered.

"Ok." Jet paused to double check his grip before taking them over the ridge and down to where the cave's mouth was. "We'll get you patched up in no time and we'll see those jerks back in the Capitol."

He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or Bucky, but either would be fine with him, as long as they made it back to safety okay.

Bucky nods grimly, "Right."

There's nothing else they can do right now but believe that. The undercurrent of horror about the situation still feels fresh, a bolt of uneasiness that couldn't be acclimated to no matter how many times it happened. Somewhere people they cared about had died and they hadn't been there to help them.

Slowly he begins to move again, making the slow ascent forwards towards the cave.

You're falling to pieces every time [closed]

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End?