[ Everything goes dark when she pulls the blindfold over her eyes. The eyes she opens instead are not on her body, not technically, although the Void still manifests her in her body. Her bare feet barely sink into the liquid ground, and everything is black and empty. She looks around, until she sees the bed.
It's late, of course, so this makes sense. Eleven approaches without worry. There are two bodies in the bed. Bucky, and his friend Sam. Curled together as they always are in this place. Eleven watches them sometimes. Just to make sure they're alright. They're not the only people she checks up on, but Bucky's special. He gave her clothes. He's a friend, and Eleven protects him.
This time, he's not as still as his friend. Tonight, he twists and turns. She can't see the room around them. It's Bucky she's spying on, and her senses of his surroundings are limited. She doesn't wonder long if she should disturb his sleep, sees the way nightmares make him squirm, furrow his brows, and she makes the choice to interrupt the dreams. Reaches out and curls a hand over his arm, and lets the current of his mind pull her inwards. She doesn't mean to fall inwards quite as far, truth be told - only intended to find him, to reach him, and pull. Instead, because she has not done this often, Eleven sinks into the dream with him... ]
[He can count the number of times he's slept through the night without nightmares chasing him on one hand. Sometimes, they're mild enough that he's able to sleep right through them. Able to bear the weight of those memories long enough to get a few solid hours in.
But more often, they're the kind that leave him twisting and turning. The kind that drags his mind back to a dark place. To a time he wishes he could forget but knows he doesn't deserve to. Deaths are relived. Blood and viscera flowing through all of them. But it's the faces that hit hardest. The lives taken, innocent, but marked as guilty by the one who unleashed him. By Hydra, and their ongoing agenda.
It's the pain he causes. The type that lasts. That lives on in the ones left behind. Those are the ones that sit with him the most. A son, a father, a wife. A leader. A president. Anybody who stood in their way, and all of those who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But over the past month...
It's a familiar face begging for his life. For a wife to be left alone. For a son to not be left an orphan. There's a car, the hood crumpled, steam rising into the chilled air. And there's Bucky- No, the asset. The Winter Soldier, staring down at the man kneeling before him.
There's metal fingers curled around a pale throat. But there's grey hair still black. Wrinkles erased, and a body still young. It's metal turned flesh. Black leather is a blue jacket. And yet the fingers only tighten. Turn white in the power behind that grip. As the words begin to taper off, and white slowly begins to stain themselves red again.
The serum only enhances what's already there. Maybe the codewords were just an excuse.]
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Void/Mindspace/Nightmare as discussed
It's late, of course, so this makes sense. Eleven approaches without worry. There are two bodies in the bed. Bucky, and his friend Sam. Curled together as they always are in this place. Eleven watches them sometimes. Just to make sure they're alright. They're not the only people she checks up on, but Bucky's special. He gave her clothes. He's a friend, and Eleven protects him.
This time, he's not as still as his friend. Tonight, he twists and turns. She can't see the room around them. It's Bucky she's spying on, and her senses of his surroundings are limited. She doesn't wonder long if she should disturb his sleep, sees the way nightmares make him squirm, furrow his brows, and she makes the choice to interrupt the dreams. Reaches out and curls a hand over his arm, and lets the current of his mind pull her inwards. She doesn't mean to fall inwards quite as far, truth be told - only intended to find him, to reach him, and pull. Instead, because she has not done this often, Eleven sinks into the dream with him... ]
no subject
But more often, they're the kind that leave him twisting and turning. The kind that drags his mind back to a dark place. To a time he wishes he could forget but knows he doesn't deserve to. Deaths are relived. Blood and viscera flowing through all of them. But it's the faces that hit hardest. The lives taken, innocent, but marked as guilty by the one who unleashed him. By Hydra, and their ongoing agenda.
It's the pain he causes. The type that lasts. That lives on in the ones left behind. Those are the ones that sit with him the most. A son, a father, a wife. A leader. A president. Anybody who stood in their way, and all of those who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But over the past month...
It's a familiar face begging for his life. For a wife to be left alone. For a son to not be left an orphan. There's a car, the hood crumpled, steam rising into the chilled air. And there's Bucky- No, the asset. The Winter Soldier, staring down at the man kneeling before him.
There's metal fingers curled around a pale throat. But there's grey hair still black. Wrinkles erased, and a body still young. It's metal turned flesh. Black leather is a blue jacket. And yet the fingers only tighten. Turn white in the power behind that grip. As the words begin to taper off, and white slowly begins to stain themselves red again.
The serum only enhances what's already there. Maybe the codewords were just an excuse.]