snowblindrpg | [log] The Hills Have Eyes [closed-ish]

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[log] The Hills Have Eyes [closed-ish]

Characters: Watson, Charles, Davesprite, Bucky, Zell, Sora, Kunsel, Homura, and Quark
Location Building 235 (Aquarium) and Building 130 (Pharmacy)
Date: Day 162 - 164
Summary: Eyes appear all around, static and paranoia return, friends arrive with fire, hopefully no one is getting attacked. Later, Bucky, Quark, and John discover evidence of Fiona's murder.
Warnings: References to character death.

[The aquarium has the feel of a small-town tourist attraction, the sort built to give people just stopping to fuel up on petrol a reason to stay for an hour or two. There are various aquariums inside that, according to plaques beside them, once showcased various Alaskan fish; they're empty now. The whole atmosphere is kind of eerie, with the water casting rippling patterns on the walls, ceilings, and floors, but there's hot water in the sinks for anyone who wants it.

What's probably unwanted by everyone is the eyes. They're on the walls, drawn in the frost on the windows, they're on the ceilings, and the static crawls its way over walls and people. The sense of being watched, of being followed, is strong.]

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You don't know how fast I can run.

[It's half dry and half genuine. He might not have his enhancements here, but he was already extremely physically fit before the serum and has been specifically trained to be swift and strong in all kinds of terrain.

His mouth sets in a stubborn line.]

I won't let either of us get killed, I know how to survive.

[He knows how fast Steve can run. That's close enough. And bloody hell, why does he always have to be the one to bend? Why the hell are people here so bent against him sacrificing himself for the greater good--for their good? Alfie and Fiona are the same way, and it's intensely frustrating.

There's another glaring contest for a moment as John searches out an argument that will persuade him. He suspects there isn't one. But there is a sharp scalpel in John's pocket, one he can reach easily and cut the strap, himself, if he needs to. Bucky might have a harder time refusing to just run if John's on the ground, instead of in his arms... arm.

He pulls off his pack and holds it out to Bucky, dropping his eyes away.]

If I feel you flagging or you start staggering, I'm getting down and walking on my own. Is that understood?

[He's not going to let John get down once he's up, but that doesn't stop him nodding once just to stave off an argument now.

He hesitates a moment, John can't exactly jump up to get his legs in the sling Bucky has made, they need to get him on a higher starting plane. He slings the extra pack over his good shoulder, still wincing ever so slightly at the added weight. Maybe a small amount of Vicodin wouldn't have been the worst idea. Ah well, too late now without revealing he hasn't taken any at all, and he imagines that might spark up argument again about his fitness for carrying another person.]

Come back in the bathroom, stand on the chair. It'll be easier on your ribs.

[He really hopes Charles is sleeping through all of this, given that the man is still somewhere in the aquarium as far as John is aware. Reluctantly, the doctor hobbles back to the bathroom along with Bucky, and over to where he's wedged the chair. He place the umbrella on the nearby counter and drags himself up.

Getting his bad leg into the sling is the trickier part. John's grimacing by the time they manage it. After that, John locks his arms around the other man's neck and sort of... swings himself into the correct position with a grunt. Once he's still, John speaks up quietly, tone mock-severe.]

If you ever tell anyone about carrying me like that, I will never speak to you again.

[He stands as still as he can while John gets himself sorted, braced against the coming weight, but even then he doesn't quite manage to bear it without any sort of reaction. He doesn't have the serum any more, he's not eaten much in the last few days, and he just had major surgery. Two backpacks and a whole human being is a little more than his body wants to carry.

Teeth grit together to keep silent, he nevertheless can't help the sweat break out across his forehead as he wraps his good arm around John's back to support his weight. After a second or two while he steadies himself and is sure he's not just going to fall over, he finally takes a couple of steps closer to the counter so John can grab his umbrella.]

That's your breaking point?

[He raises an eyebrow, half amused.]

I won't tell anyone about this.

[Other things, yes. He will not be telling rubbish static anomaly or falling aquarium stories.]

[John is acutely aware of how Bucky sways and the way he moves. His immediate instinct is to call it off, tell Bucky to just head north on his own. But John knows he'd worry terribly, as much for anyone Bucky encounters as for Bucky, himself. The near dust-up with Charles is proof enough that the man isn't ready to be on his own.]

Every man has one. [Said with a sniff as he carefully unlocks an arm and grabs the umbrella. John just wedges it between his legs before grabbing onto Bucky's neck again. This shifting around isn't terribly good for his ribs, but once he settles again, it's easier. John looks up at Bucky to gauge how he's doing before resting his head against the other man's shoulder.]

We'll get to the hospital today. Don't care if the weather's perfect for travel. We're stopping there. Understand?

[He's pretty worried about John, all things considered. His ribs could so easily shift and cause internal damage that could be fatal, his leg stops him from walking well, any of his open wounds could get infected here. He's half inclined to call for another doctor to take care of this doctor, but that would require trusting one of them and he just doesn't.

This will just have to do, he'll have to try and not jostle John as much as possible. Maybe he's overly concerned, but he's acutely aware that all of these injuries are his fault. A visible mark of just how much he's slipped.]

Fine.

[That, at least, he's not going to argue about. Not wanting to waste any more time, he's moving through the aquarium and out into the cold. It cuts through like knives after days in the relative warmth, and he staggers a few steps before righting himself again.]

I guess I shouldn't take a video of this for future blackmail then?

[Awkward attempts at a joke will diffuse this tension and distract from how much more this hurts than he expected it to, right?]

I hate you.

[John goes with the awkward attempt at humor and just tries not to shift or move or breathe too much. He's a little worried that Bucky's just going to outright topple over as they step outside.]

If you take a picture of me, I swear I'll take a picture back and turn you into the next Norfinbury meme.

[For just a second there's a tightening of his expression as the paranoia whispers that John might actually do it, that his picture might get out there, but even he can see how ridiculous that is. Even in his private notes, he still respected Bucky's wish for anonymity.

So he relaxes back into a smile that's only spoiled slightly by the sweat pouring down a pale face, even in the cold.]

Why would I be ashamed of that? I look strong here, you're the dame being swept up.

[Dame. God, it's easy to forget what era Bucky's from until he uses words like that.]

Tch! I'd wait until I got down. And then get you while you're brushing your teeth or something tonight. All foamy and mussed hair.

I don't own a toothbrush.

[That's the important take away from this, right?]

Besides, I assume your tablet is in your pack, I can just hold it to ransom.

You don't... Jesus, Bucky! [Enjoy your lecturing dad tone now.]

I've got an extra tube of toothpaste. You're using that tonight. Next you'll be telling me you haven't washed your hair since you got here.

[There's a moment of silence, and then all of a sudden Bucky starts to laugh. It has the hoarse sound of a man who hasn't done it much or often, but he can't help it.

It's just so absurd.

He's carrying a man he thinks of as a friend that he injured severely, and he's being lectured about brushing his teeth. BRUSHING HIS TEETH.]

--no, I haven't.

[He can't stop laughing, which isn't great because it hurts his shoulder and doesn't make his balance any better.]

More important things to do.

[Bucky laughing sets John to grinning, he can't help it. He does try to tamp down on his own urge to chuckle, just knowing how much that's going to hurt. He puts on his most mock-severe expression.]

Bucky Barnes, you will wash your hair and brush your teeth tonight. I'm not running around with a bloke who doesn't put any sort of care into his hair or teeth. Cavities are real, and the greaser look went out of fashion a few decades ago.

Edited 2016-10-02 22:00 (UTC)

[He stumbles a step from laughing too hard, and that cuts off the merriment pretty quickly as he jars everything just keeping upright. Pain is pretty good for stopping laughter, apparently. But he doesn't lose his smile altogether, even if it's pinched around the edges.]

You have some weird priorities.

[Seriously, man.]

I don't think I can wash my hair.

Luckily, you're walking with someone who has the benefit of two hands and supplies that include soap.

[Dish soap, but it'll do in a pinch.]

And the way you avoid getting sick is good hygiene, mate.

[Or infections from stab wounds. Not mentioning this.]

You can trust me. I'm a doctor.

You're not washing my hair.

[They've done some out there things in the last couple of days, but that's one step too far, thanks.]

And I'm not about to get sick, you can stop trying to doctor me.

So it's settled. You'll be washing it yourself. Good man.

[Thank you for agreeing to this, Bucky.]

[He just snorts quietly.]

You don't know when to give up, do you?

You Yanks might lay claim to it, but no one does stubborn like the British, mate. Reckon we taught you everything you know, anyway.

[He just glances down at John, eyebrow raised.]

You clearly haven't met Steve Rogers if you think anyone can out stubborn him.

[It both hurts and feels oddly like a relief to mention Steve, to even associate himself with knowing and remembering the other man.]

[John tuts.]

Well, he's not fair. And mind you, you haven't met Sherlock Holmes. I'm pretty sure he'll be out-stubborning God himself up in Heaven, demanding a good murder at the pearly gates to stop him being bored.

[Talking about Sherlock like this always hurts a little, but it's getting... easier? That's not quite the right word for it. But the stab in his chest isn't as sharp.]

[He snorts quietly.

The terrain really isn't easy to traverse with a man strapped to his front, but he's falling into a steady rhythm now, going as fast as he can push himself without jolting John too much.]

Plenty of people been murdered up there, I'm sure he has a lot to do.

Only if they don't know how they were murdered. [There's a hint of exasperation in his tone, but he's still smiling.] Or they only give him the clues and make him figure it out. It's about the game for him, the puzzle. If he were here...

[John rolls his eyes.]

Well, he might get us out by driving everyone up the ice walls. But he'd be handy for sorting out some of the things we've found here, even if he was an absolute git about it.

He doesn't sound like the kind of man you'd be friends with.

[So says the mass murdering ex assassin friend.

He doesn't remember much about the books, he slogged through one in high school, but from what he knows of John he seems-- well, a nice guy. Not the sort to hang around with someone that much of an ass.]

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