silentspringlogs | Part Three: The Drive

"That is not your call to make," he snaps back immediately. "Letting me make my own decisions means giving me the ability to make bad ones, regardless of your opinion of them!"

God knows John had hated him going off on his own course, had more than one pointed out that his stubborn determination bordered on idiocy. But yet. Yet. Every time he would always choose knowing more, no matter what the cost was.

"And if that's not going to work for you, then none of this is going to work at all. We are trying to break into a hospital and ask after a secret fucking murder victim, what part of this strikes you in any way as a safe expedition? If Pollock finds out about any of this we are both getting re-educated!"

You'd think that, after everything Bucky had been through, he would understand better than anyone how important it is to be able to make your own decisions, good or bad, smart or stupid. He should appreciate it - even be honoured that he's being a part of it. Maybe, if he sleeps on this, gives it more thought, he'll come around to seeing it that way. Right now he's-- just thinking it's kind of stupid to be standing here arguing like an old married couple. They're going to get caught like this, and for nothing. They're not even anywhere close to the hospital they needed to get to.

"Well you had a plan. It was going to be discreet." And discreet doesn't mean safe, he knows, but screaming at the obtuse, clueless one-armed guy in the middle of the road is definitely not discreet, and by that token, not safe.

"Can we focus on leaving town now, and argue later."

But Arthur has more argument left in him now.

Still, he can concede that much, and the anger can be tucked neatly back away for later, to tear the throat out of some other unsuspecting bastard.

"Fine. Alright." It's with a heavy sigh, but he tucks the knife into his inside jacket pocket for now, and walks cautiously forward, trying to draw level with Bucky. "Now- what exactly is happening with this- barrier, the town edge. You said you can't cross it, what happens when you try?"

Bucky might be stubborn too, but he is too old and too tired to want to argue, and all things considered he's a fairly well trained pet terrorist. They don't make punching bags to be a lot more patient than they made him. If it gets them out of here, he'll let Arthur tear as many new ones in him as he wants.

"Here." Bucky brushes his hand over Arthur's lower back - he'll get better about warning before touching - and tries to turn him to follow the road straight to the barrier before giving Arthur a nudge to move forward.

"Feel that?" He doesn't expect that Arthur can get more than two steps towards what he assumes to be the edge of town before he starts feeling the physical effects of the barrier keeping them in. Or, actually it feels more like something on the other side pushing them out than something on this side pulling them back in. He's not sure he could break through even with if he was... his usual intact super-self.

The hand on his back makes his skin crawl, which is largely because he has to physically refrain from startling and slapping the hand away, but he'll allow Bucky to turn him in the right direction.

His frown deepens, still feeling like he's being played, but he steps forward cautiously with both hands extended. "Feel..." And his eyes widen, the tension from his anger melting all at once as his entire mood shifts to surprise in an instant. It's kind of hilarious how abrupt the shift is, actually. "Oh, right, I-I feel that."

Nothing physical, but the sense of- of repulsion, like a magnet, metaphorical oil on water because there's nothing to touch but the sensation is very much real. His head tilts, altogether too reminiscent of a dog with a scent, and he leans into pushing against the barrier, gradually putting as much of his meagre weight as he can into pushing before he has to relent, stumbling back a little with the microscopic progress he made.

"...a-and the car- how long were you trying to break through it?" If that much force wasn't able to break it, then...

You'd think after a stern talking to that Bucky would be better about using his words, but. It'll take a few reminders, and likely a few personal experiences, before he gets better about warning before manhandling.

"I didn't floor the pedal. If the engine blows up it'll be a difficult walk back for you." And for Bucky too, actually, but he doesn't yet fully understand the limitations of this body. He's still surprised by how easily he tires himself out, just working in the stables or running himself ragged all day. It'll take him a while to really know his own limits.

"I'm going to scout the perimeter. Can I leave you here or...?" Honestly, Arthur looks stupid shoving at the invisible barrier like a mime on stage, but Bucky manages to sound his usual level of serious-borderline-irritable. Far be it from him to stop him from feeling the air up and putting his back into it.

That gets a slight smirk. He's certainly had a harder walk than a straight road back into town. Hell, if he has his cane he might not even get lost.

--actually.

"Yes, o-of course. Just- can you grab my cane first?" He can't find the car from here without it, and the irony is endlessly frustrating, but at least this way it makes him seem like he's going to stay put.

"Yeah. Wait here." Bucky peels off to go back to the car. He's wondering if it's a good idea to leave it parked far away enough that Arthur might not be able to make a beeline back to it quickly if anything were to happen. But hey, he just went on a huge spiel about knowing the risks and wanting to put himself in danger and whatever. If he won't stay in the car, Bucky will do his best not to lose sleep over whatever happens from this excursion.

The car door opens and closes, and he returns with the cane promptly. The handle is nudged into Arthur's free hand, and Bucky lingers for a few moments before going back to the snooping around he was doing. Mostly he's crouching down and examining any sort of ground covering - rocks or unusually tall tufts of grass or anything that might be able to conceal a device or any traces of a magic spell or ingredients or something. Hard to know what to look for like this, but he's never had any problems finding trouble wherever he goes, so he's pretty sure he'll know what he's looking for when he sees it.

He takes the cane with a small "Thanks." as he straps it back to his wrist - and then almost as soon as he hears Bucky walking away in one direction for his own investigation, he walks in the other, one hand outstretched to maintain his presence against the boundary, the other using his cane to make sure the path is clear for him.

Look, he just wants to see how far this strange limitation goes. And if he has to hop a fence by the side of the road to do it - well, he's not quiet, about the way he grunts and lifts himself with surprising speed over the much more real and interactable barrier, and keeps following it.

Well, Bucky wasn't exactly expecting Arthur to just stand there patiently and wait for him. Not after that-- meltdown. Explosive outburst. Or whatever that was. At least Bucky doesn't hover or tut disapprovingly while Arthur wanders off. He will try to work as quickly as he can without cutting corners or being careless and hope he can get back to Arthur before any unfortunate disaster befalls them.

He can't see any devices or what he would think would be signs of magical interference with their movements. He's not even sure what he's supposed to be looking for to be honest. He's thinking the kind of stuff he reads in fantasy novels, you know? Little leather pouches with weird-- animal bits inside or whatever. Or something that might look like it could have belonged to Wanda or Doctor Strange before.

It takes him a little bit of staring around the ground and toeing a few rocks and tall blades of grass away before he notices first the trail of ants that are also avoiding the barrier. Then he sees the birds.

"...hm." Don't worry Arthur, he'll tell you about it when he's done noseying around.

At least to Arthur's partial credit, he hasn't stormed off for no reason. Certainly a part of it is working out the energy still buzzing through him about the fact he did end up screaming at someone, and that was frankly fucking embarrassing on his behalf to just lose it on someone like that, but...

Well, he just thinks better in motion.

And that means he's already fully aware of the fact that, if there is some way through the barrier, it almost certainly won't be close to the road enough to be visible. Even if he can't tell exactly what he is looking for, but if he hits something interesting it might well be related.

Though he's surprised, actually - he does have some experience with forests, in his life, thanks to the Boys Brigade, though he can't say he's spent much there recently that wasn't running for his life. But it's almost peaceful, in how quiet it is, almost completely silent as a breeze wraps around his shoulders - not even birds or any animals in the undergrowth, startled by a blind limey bastard stomping through the place. And so far, while he's definitely found a few roots or divots on the uneven ground, he hasn't passed through any trees when he stays close to the barrier, or any stumps.

It's all... strange. Surreal in a subtle way you'd have to know to notice.

But his cane doesn't give him any particularly useful feedback, when the ground is so uneven with sludgy grass and muddy snow. So it's a surprise to Arthur when he steps into a deep enough divot that it catches his ankle, and he goes down with a yelp of surprise to slap into the half-melted dirt.

If it's of any consolation, Bucky didn't take it to heart. He'll mull over it more when he's back home, alone, going through the motions of what's left of the day, but for now he's trying to hopefully get on with their excursion.

Eventually when the car is about the size of a toy over his shoulder, Bucky decides he shouldn't venture any further. Especially when he can't see an equivalent lego figurine-sized Arthur anywhere in sight. Maybe he would have heard something if he still had his enhanced, well. Enhanced everything, just about. But Arthur had started in the opposite direction, and Bucky is still oblivious as he closes the distance between himself and the car.

"Arthur?" he calls out once, scanning their surroundings, immediately assuming the worst. Bucky's pretty sure the chances of Arthur keeping a handgun in the glove compartment is next to none and he's not confident he can take on anything more than human. Still, he checks the car, peeks into the window and then makes his way towards the barrier again, scanning the floor for any evidence. Torn fabric, blood, cane, knife, large intestines, small intestines, Asgardian symbols, dinosaur prints--

Or you know. Just normal shoeprints, beyond the gravel where the not-quite-mud-yet starts. Bucky follows the trail at a light jog until he stumbles upon Arthur, clothes a little messed up, just starting to recover from his fall.

"You okay?" Squinting, keeping a safe distance away. He wants to swoop in and help, sure, but he's been rebuked once already. "...what's our codeword?"

It's not paranoia if there are shapeshifting aliens out there.

Frankly it's a miracle he didn't impale himself on the knife in his jacket, but when he hears heavy footsteps stomping towards him he reaches for it automatically, one slipping into his jacket as he pushes himself to his knees - not much of a surprise attack, if it comes to it, but still better than his bare hands - but when he hears Bucky his tension settles a little.

"Purple mermaids," he echoes obediently, and his hand comes back from his jacket empty, so he can pat the area around him warily for his cane. "I'm fine, I just- turned my ankle."

And he's definitely leaning a little more heavily on the cane than is probably advised, his steps careful with a slight limp to them. "I'm going to assume you didn't find anything in your end of things, either?"

Maybe he should give the knife back before he hurts himself...

"You don't look fine," Bucky points out quietly, and he watches Arthur move for a bit before relenting on his compulsive need to step in and help. He'll have to remind himself that Arthur doesn't need it. And eventually he'll figure out exactly when is a good time to lend assistance and when it might be too much smothering or not enough concern.

"No. Well. It's definitely a barrier or shield of some sort, and not something they-- implanted in us or cast on us to stop us from leaving when they brought us here. Unless they got every ant, bird, fish, whatever." Highly unlikely, considering the effort required to maintain that.

"We should head back. Maybe there's something in the local hospital... and maybe you want to. Get changed. Check your ankle." Is this an allowable level of concern?

See, that's a much better description of events! Arthur even manages to look pleased for a moment before he actually thinks about the implications of that.

"That... might actually lend credence to the idea we're trapped somewhere outside of time, a-at least in the sense of this specific place being the sixties."

He doesn't acknowledge the comment to his ankle at all, just limping on with care, trying to stay pressed to the barrier to guide him. His expression doesn't give any indication the pain is even registering; it'll only be later when he's still aware of the pain how badly he stacked it.

"It might even make sense as to how so many people from such different times were able to be collected and reduced in their abilities, but... to what end? Why the sixties?"

"What's wrong with the 60s." Bucky wasn't exactly-- fully there when he lived through this time period, but. He didn't think this was a particularly bad time period. It surely beats the 30s and the 40s. Things were really starting to pick up again after the war.

"You know the doctor's not-- entirely wrong. It's a nice town. Nice people." Bucky frowns and lowers his gaze. He'd hate for Arthur to think that the propaganda got to him, but. Look, he can agree that what's happened to them is wrong. They don't belong here. Somebody's probably got some nefarious shit planned for them and this idyllic life they've been plonked down into won't last forever.

Having had 'captivity = bad' drilled into him for all these years, he's hesitant to speak his mind, so he toes the line with some perceptible reluctance. Is it so bad though? If they could have been beamed anywhere they could have been flung into the middle of an intergalactic conflict with no means to fend for themselves. Or in the middle of a genocide, with no food to eat, and no shelter, disease and destitution everywhere they go.

Of course, just because he's been treated so poorly before doesn't mean that anybody gets free rein to do this kind of thing - to anyone. But as far as captors go, whoever's taken them is actually-- not so bad.

Arthur actually stops, and looks towards the sound of Bucky's voice with an expression of - it would be generous not to call it disgust, but that's more of the undertone to the disbelief and indignation that are much more surface level.

"Bucky, these people live under constant surveillance," he says, his tone once more explanatory but this time imploring him to examine why this is a Bad Thing. "If what we experience ourselves is any indication, these people also face the same threats we do, that if they don't perform to the demand this place expects of them that they too will get tortured into compliance. This threat of- war, of immanent destruction is being used to inspire fear, to cause horrible damage to the reputation of anyone who acts differently, to encourage the notion that reporting these people is the best option, that being complicit in their fucking torture makes you a good person."

The venom is back in his tone despite himself as the bullshit of this place gets to him. "The only reason this place is nice is because it's built on the bones of terror, on obedience on pain of death or worse. And we are trapped here at the whims of this fucking cult unless and until we can find some way to either undermine it or destroy it."

Edited 2024-03-24 01:00 (UTC)

It's hard not to be defensive when Arthur is making that face. Also, Bucky can't help but be a little miffed that some British guy, going by his accent, is preaching to him of all people about freedom. The same kind of freedom that gets pedaled to all these stars and stripes folks that he's apparently concerned about on a regular basis. The same kind of freedom that Bucky had fought and for all intents and purposes died for. That does not exist. That has never existed.

That Sweetwater is the kind of place HYDRA always wanted to build using the same mechanisms that HYDRA knew best how to manipulate doesn't escape his notice. He doesn't want to defend them, but. That doesn't mean he can't see that not all the outcomes are bad.

"This war is real. I was there. I'm not saying that being Big Brother's toys is good for anybody. But you're not doing anyone any favours by coming in with your ideals and 'liberating' this place."

"The only people I want to liberate are our own," he says coldly. "And I'm not so naive as to think we have even a chance of saving the locals. You can only help people that want to be helped, and these people have proven that they are too far gone, time and time again."

If they're so stupid as to let themselves be taken in by this fucking cult, if they weren't strong enough in their resolve to keep trying no matter what, then they deserve whatever the fuck happened to them. But Arthur refuses to let himself be manipulated like that.

"I'm not just going to sit here and let Pollock fucking torture us into compliance." It's a dark, furious mutter as he keeps walking, but it's more of a declaration to himself than a snarl at Bucky. "I am the captain of my soul. No one else."

"It's not so simple," Bucky says quietly. If Steve had just given up on him the way Arthur's giving up on everyone here, Bucky wouldn't be here today. Granted not everybody has the patience nor the personal investment nor the determination to take on this Sisyphean effort and push this insurmountable boulder over the hill. But someone has to try to at least get these people to wake up and want something better for themselves, even if there's no point trying to free them, or save them.

He's spent many years with several men like Pollock - not that he wants to talk about it, at all - but. It's not about resolve. Even the coldest, hardest, strongest, most battle-tested and defiant bed of rock gets worn down by that steady trickle of water in the end. He watches Arthur storm away, silently following. In time maybe he'll come to understand. Bucky didn't hate every single moment of his time with men like Pollock. And he's not weak or delusional or stupid for it.

Or, well. Who knows. Maybe Arthur's right. Maybe Bucky wasn't strong enough after all. If that's the case, they have nothing to worry about then.

"Regardless." They have better things to worry about than what the locals were getting up to behind closed doors, how they were letting themselves be sucked into this bullshit.

Arthur wasn't going to let himself be that stupid. Not now, not ever again.

"We ought to get someone to check the whole perimeter at some point. There might well be something off the main paths that we didn't travel far out enough to find. It would make more sense to stay as far from the roads as possible if someone wanted to set up an exit through this thing."

Bucky grunts. Regardless of whoever that 'someone' is - even if Bucky were to go himself, which he likely would, perhaps tomorrow, although he's not sure if he could cover it in a day - he's pretty sure Arthur won't be satisfied with whatever report he got back without checking it out himself.

"I'll need one of those gas station maps. And a pen." It's a little old-school, but. Old school just happens to be the school Bucky comes from. At least they're not making plans holding the map down on the bonnet of a jeep while getting shot at.

It's how Arthur would have done it, even disregarding the technological options available. He always found it easier having things laid out physically in front of him.

"Good idea. It'll help us lay out where exactly the edges are, how tight the area truly is that we're stuck in."

It's not small enough to feel trapped, given the drive out here, but it didn't feel good to know they didn't have the option of leaving.

"I'll leave that to you, then, at your leisure." Now that they've hit a wall, for the moment, now that he's injured and two rows into this with Bucky, he's finding his energy flagging into exhaustion. Not resignation, but there's a fine line between giving up for today and giving up for good, and he needs to rest before he steps over it without realising.

"Can I take you home, or?" He's not being deliberately obtuse - he genuinely doesn't know if making such a suggestion would be perceived as being-- patronising or whatever. Of course he's not going to make Arthur limp home, but he's not sure if he's supposed to stand around waiting until Arthur has felt like he's proven whatever it is he feels the need to prove and keels over in pain, exhaustion, frustration, some combination of the three, or if he's allowed to suggest that maybe it's not such a great idea to keep going.

"I haven't--... I've been living under a rock, alone, for eighty years." Would it be funnier if he faked a laugh or if he just left it like that with his deadpan delivery? "This would be easier if you just. Told me what you want me to do." Waiting for Bucky to learn how to pick up on all these social cues, one would be waiting a very long time.

"That's probably for the best." He can acknowledge his limits (under duress, apparently, but still), and that he's definitely burned some sort of bridge with Bucky in all this.

When Bucky continues, though, he pauses to listen, give it his whole and genuine consideration. Because...

He presses his mouth, but the expression is decidedly more self-admonishing than outward anger.

"I..." the words get stuck in his throat for a moment, but finally he swallows and sighs. "You're right. I'm- I am treating you like you're being deliberately obtuse, but I- I'm the one who is causing this strife. I..." He lifts his hand to run through his hair, doing nothing to settle it from his fall. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't realise how much my circumstances have come to frustrate me, it wasn't fair to lash out at you for it."

Part Three: The Drive

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CW ptsd flashback

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