logsinthenight | Making the Rounds [Closed prompts + Wildcard OTA]

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Making the Rounds [Closed prompts + Wildcard OTA]

characters: Bucky and Various (Closed prompts + Wildcard OTA)
location: Around Beacon
date/time: October 19 - 29
content: Catch-all for Bucky stuff
warnings: Just the usual occasional disassociation, swearing, and bickering with himself

I. Closed to Matt

The Soldier stops by the general store once a week to check the level of supplies and, on rare occasions, actually pick something up that someone in the house needs. The remains of the costumes are still strewn about, some on display, some just a mess in the boxes. The Soldier eyes them thoughtfully, something prodding at the back of its brain about scraps and raw materials, but fuck if it can work out what to do with that.

So it's there, picking restlessly at costumes with all the metal-scent and quiet mechanical arm-noises that entails, when Matt comes in.

II. Closed to Daylight

The Soldier has more than once spied Daylight visiting with spirits, and, thinking about its own spirit-friend, approached (somewhat nervously) to offer to see if any of Daylight's friends know Morse Code, in order to perhaps translate more phrases in their musical language to something the residents of Beacon can be taught to understand.

So here it is, following Daylight to the woods, bearing a pot of coffee securely in its metal hand (which can't feel the heat of the pot as "pain") and a bunch of very small cups and dishes it scrounged up, to see if these spirits appreciate its favorite drink. Always best to bring a little peace offering when planning to ask anyone to work on something, right?

III. Closed to Aziraphale

It takes a while to work up the bravery to come to Aziraphale with the request. But the Sergeant swore up and down that Aziraphale had offered, and seemed earnest about it. Seemed like he wouldn't mess with anything they didn't want him to. Like he would be polite and helpful and above all careful.

So one day when Crowley is out of the house and Aziraphale is finishing puttering around the kitchen, the Soldier sidles up a little and says, carefully not actually looking at him, "The Sergeant said. You could see happy memories."

Sucks to have the actual Soldier back, in some ways, don't it, Aziraphale?

IV. Closed to Bruce

There are a lot of odd people around Beacon, for a given value of "odd". Some of them are odd because they aren't human, or have obvious trauma, or particular reasons that they're obvious about telegraphing. The sneaky young man who avoids contact most of the time and visits the general store and Invincible when he seems to think no one else will be around doesn't fit into any of those categories. He hides and avoids people, he moves like he's more well-trained than he should be, and the Soldier is having a hard time pinning down just how old he actually is. He reminds it a little of Eleven, which makes it worry.

So the Soldier keeps a distant eye on him for a few days, or tries to. Occasionally it loses track, but always manages to pick it up again eventually. At least it does work out where the young man is staying, so it waits outside one late morning (ish; for a given value of "morning" in a place with no sun) to intercept him on his way out for the "day" at the time he usually appears. It doesn't do casual well, so it's just sitting on a tree stump within view, obviously waiting and watching the door.

V. Wildcard!

Got something you wanna say to the Soldier? Want to come to one of its classes at the gym? Got some other idea based on his daily routine? Just hit me up here!

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"Hard to keep from remembering things when your brain isn't being scrambled every few days," the Soldier points out, and it's tone is very nearly dry. Actual inflection can at least sometimes be a thing. "And I have people here who make me ask for things and want me to look at them. Those same people who ask me if I'm okay." Bringing this whole accidental conversational branch back to the point, there.

It's just going to leave the name bit alone. It would have to want a name in order to get past that particular block, but like with Eleven, it can't quite bring itself to admit that to Bruce. These dumb, brave kids would probably never really understand, and it does still want to have a little respect out of them.

Better, in this case, mostly just means "not as awful as usual". And not having a name, not being a person, is safer and easier right now.

People who make me ask for things, he says. Who ask me if I'm okay.

All change requires a period of adjustment, but that he frames it in this way, describes the relationships around him with these words, speaks volumes about how he perceives them. Bruce wonders not for the first time, if he made the decision to pursue personal growth in this way or if it's happened organically. If he made the decision at all or if instead it was a manifestation of human nature- the desire of others to help.

It's a comforting reminder, especially here, in this supposed afterlife.

"As you've done for me."

But as the soldier brings them back to the point it also brings them to this strange impasse. Bruce appreciates that people try to take care of one another, that they want to help where they can. He likes that there are people who make others ask for the things they need and who want to make sure that those around them are safe and whole. But he is not a person who wants to answer. People, as a whole, don't like to be lied to; and Bruce knows that he lies. That he has lied. That he will again. His privacy is very important to him and he cultivates it carefully- not just by finding a home for himself relatively removed from all others, but by making his identity itself a pile of shifting sand. It doesn't matter than he wants to be known, because what he wants is irrelevant. There are other, bigger and more important calls to answer.

It's as his father had said, you can't have both happiness and the truth.
Bruce has made his choice.

"I appreciate the gesture. But there's no need to check on me again."

That was, of course, a possible response. A refusal of further contact, of help. It's not a surprising response, given Bruce's actions so far, even if it's disappointing. The Soldier isn't quite ready to give up, though. Arguing isn't its strongest point yet (it'll get there; stubbornness is in fact a trait it has, just sublimates into things other than arguing), but patience is.

"No need," it agrees mildly. "But may I do so anyway?" It also adds, an offer, "You don't have to talk. I know that's hard sometimes." Probably for different reasons for Bruce than the Soldier, but his reasons don't matter so much as the outcome in this case.

He anticipates the beat of resistance- after all, he'd had similar interactions with others through the years. Not simply Jim Gordon and Alfred, who had been powerful influences in his most formative years. But in Selina, who he had turned away a number of times, who he has hurt and been hurt by in turn. And by Dr Thompkins, who had tried to be kind and who had worried about his safety, but who Bruce would never truly be honest with.

It is, he finds, another thoughtful offer; you don't have to talk. And it's well noted, Bruce is very good at conversation, but mostly that means he's very good at directing it. At deciding where it goes, about talking without answering. He hinges however, on a more immediate concern. The trouble is whether or not he chooses to address it- because there's a degree of vulnerability that comes in acknowledging a weakness. A point at which this other person, a stranger, for all intents and purposes, already as the advantage. It is not in Bruce's nature to roll over, not for the sake of pride, but for sheer stubbornness.

In examining his alternatives however, what else is there?
Bruce hesitates, it's a visible tell and yet very small all the same. His eyes flick briefly to one side, to the lines of trees that separate them from everyone else in town, in the homes. Then they come back.

"I don't want anyone to know where I am."

Is that seriously his only concern. Honestly, Bruce, have you no faith in the assassin that you hadn't caught tracking you for the past week? The Soldier blinks once, slowly, expression quite bland. It says, "I have been hiding the way you hide for a very long time. I am well-trained and I am always vigilant. No one will see me come here." Then, since privacy is a thing it does understand to some extent, it adds another offer, "Or you can show yourself to me somewhere else, if there is another place you go regularly."

Bruce doesn't need to consider it to see the truth of it, he is a talented tracker. He's uncomfortable enough with the situation that he intends to lay traps of a kind in the morning- not to harm anyone on their way to the museum, but to give himself advance warning of the approach. He dislikes the unknown the way he dislikes anything beyond his control.

"You've also been quite candid in disclosing personal," he means dangerous, potentially dangerous, "information in our conversation." Bruce watches his face. His own expression is not bland, he does not blink slowly. If he resembles anything at all perhaps it is a wild cat, watching everything. Seeing everything.

"Trusting you with my secrecy is something I have to do whether I accept the terms or not."

That would be a fair point, for anyone else. The Soldier looks past Bruce's shoulder again, the steady gaze registering, and considers for a long moment whether to give him a real, true out. It would show Bruce that the Soldier meant to be an ally, perhaps, but it could also dangerous. It doesn't think Bruce is particularly interested in gaining power over people, or he wouldn't be hiding like this all the time, and nothing about the boy's demeanor or actions here suggest he's particularly sadistic-- but it could be wrong. Trust is hard when you've been literal property for a lifetime.

After that moment, still not looking him in the face, it finally makes the admission. "You don't have to. Technically. You aren't a handler. But I do still take orders from other people. If you order me not to come here again, and not to tell anyone you live here, I won't." It won't be the steel-clad obedience of a handler's orders, but it'd be enough, combined with the certainty that Bruce wanted nothing to do with it, to keep the Soldier quiet and out of Bruce's way.

And now they find out just how much Bruce values his secrecy: enough to breach the Soldier's (admittedly limited) sense of free will, or not?

The difficulty is in naming the feeling that follows- because Bruce can't deny that there's a part of him that immediately recoils at the concept- the idea that he could have some kind of ultimate say over another person's life, choices, behavior. But there is another part of him, a darkness that Bruce has recognized for many years now, that tries again and again to control the uncontrollable. To account for every possibility- to prepare, for everything. By that measure the offer he makes isn't appealing or unappealing. It's both.

Bruce feels his spine want to stiffen, to draw up straight, the way he might prepare for a punch. For an uncomfortably long moment, it's quiet. He doesn't speak, the soldier doesn't speak, and there are no chirping crickets or calling birds.

When he takes the last step forward it's just enough to bring his face into the light of the other man's lantern. The removing of a mask. Bruce's eyebrow is split. There are stitches there and over the bridge of his nose. The entire left side of his face is mottled with heavy bruising and his lip is swollen- so too is his right hand. Two of the bones had been broken, he's wearing a homemade splint.

"That's too much responsibility for me. If you can give me your word, I'll take it."

It isn't, of course, that simple. But Bruce is hiding two people inside the museum at his back and it's in his best interest to keep the area clear, and quiet. Besides, this isn't a kind of power he can be trusted with. He knows himself well enough to know that.

Congratulations, Bruce, you're a halfway-decent person. Temptation given, and then resisted. The Soldier is quietly pleased (and relieved; it really hadn't wanted to be be ordered today, and it's also good to know it hasn't misjudged someone). "You have it. No one will know you're here from me."

No one has said anything further about checking in, though, so guess what: it's going to still do that until told otherwise.

It regards Bruce's damaged face without much surprise. Look, even without much light, even without being super obvious about it, it's been watching Bruce closely for the past ten minutes. It's not easy to completely hide that much swelling and a splint on one hand, when it has in fact seen Bruce's face once or twice before and knows what it's supposed to look like. How that got there isn't its business, though. All it says, after taking in the extent of the pummeling Bruce must have taken, is: "Perfectly functional, huh?"

That doesn't look like perfectly functional, buddy.

"I can keep going."

If he were anyone else perhaps, Bruce might have the decency to look caught out by the lie. But he's been learning a great deal in the last few years, about how best to angle a situation so that the outcome is what he wants it to be- in this case it's a matter of technicality. He would argue that it depends on where you place the emphasis, on 'perfect' or 'functional.'

This is not the worst state he's ever been in. It wasn't the most difficult fight, or the most outnumbered, or the most desperate. He's still standing; has done more than stand, as it happens.

He doesn't gesture with his hands, but there's a small tilt of his head that might suggest that he's sharing a private smile.

"I've been told that I'm very tenacious."

Tenacious. Heh. Probably another thing they share. But Bruce doesn't have the kind of healing the Soldier has, and so is going to be sporting that look for quite a while. "I believe it," the Soldier says solemnly, which is half its way of sharing the joke. Its sense of humor tends towards dry.

One more offer before it lets Bruce have his privacy again: "Do you want me to splint that a little better, before I go?" Making a splint one-handed is not exactly easy, which is what the Soldier expected Bruce did, and hands are important to make sure they heal right. It's expecting a hard no, but there's no harm in offering. Bruce has already proven he's at least not going to hurt it, and it's pretty sure Bruce got the message loud and clear that it's got no interest in hurting him.

It would be an easy offer to take at face value, if he were any good at it.

Bruce knows that his splint isn't very good- it isn't tight enough and doesn't follow the shape of his fingers well, the support and stabilization it offers is inadequate. Riku can't yet be trusted without physical restraints and Bruce doesn't relish another sprint into the woods to keep him from recklessly endangering himself. And once Vanitas regains consciousness he'll be nursing his very first hangover. There are some things Bruce has practiced left-handed, first aid, it would seem, still needs work.

The trouble is that by either nature or nurture, Bruce is always reading into things. Trying to discern where each route and each new decision might lead, the possible outcomes branching off, the motives that propelled them to this point to begin with.

The options weigh themselves.
On the hard no end of the spectrum, Bruce is unwilling to go inside or to allow anyone else in either. He's worked too hard and sacrificed too much. He is not, as Alfred has reminded him, very good at compromise. But he can try. Bruce hesitates, visibly considers the offer. And instead of answering with any pretty turn of phrase, he lifts his arm into the space between them, carefully tugging up the sleeve. This might make someone, anyone, look more vulnerable. On another face this gesture might convey the narrowest lowering of one's defenses. It doesn't look that way on Bruce.

Pleasantly surprised at the assent, wordless or not, the Soldier immediately and equally wordlessly gets to work, first unwrapping the current splint and examining the fingers to make sure they're set properly. It's a good thing that after shooting Scarlett it's started carrying around a few basic medical supplies in one of its many pockets; it has better tape for wrapping this.

Provided no rebreaking or even regular setting is required here, it gives the splint pieces a dubious look, then a knife materializes from a pocket sheath to whittle the wood to a slightly more useful shape. Don't panic at the weapon, Bruce; the Soldier's attention is clearly on the wood bits and not on stabbing you. It only takes a few strokes for each splint piece. "These will be a little more delicate, but I can wrap it tighter to compensate," it says absently, eying it's work briefly before putting the knife away again. "And I can leave you some fresh ones later that will be stronger."

Edited (Damn phone tagging putting the post button too close...) 2019-11-13 19:46 (UTC)

There's always some measure of discomfort to be found- not just in re-bandaging injuries, but in allowing himself to be handled by another person. Even Alfred, who Bruce has always had, has always trusted, has always loved-

He wanted to be able to do things on his own.

The man before him works in short, practiced maneuvers; Bruce's gaze follows despite his outward stillness. A small knife is produced and he doesn't flinch, it'd be a stretch to say he even batted an eyelash. After all, if this man had come here to hurt him, or kill him, an attempt would have been made long before this moment. A knife changes nothing. The pieces he offers for the split feel fragile, but once the tape has been reapplied he considers that fragile is perhaps the wrong word. They're more flexible. They better follow the shape of his fingers and don't add weight. They won't slow him down.

"Thank you."

It's a very good lesson.
Once he no longer needs them, Bruce will keep the pieces and attempt to duplicate them. To learn.

"You're welcome." While Bruce is close enough, the Soldier also gives his face a critical once-over, tilting its head one way and the other to catch the light better. The stitches it deems adequate, even if not great-- not bad if Bruce did them, himself. Not much to be done about the bruising.

Except prevent it, next time. "Are you trained in fighting?" The Soldier assumes "yes", given the way Bruce moves and the sweat he smells of right now, but that doesn't mean he's necessarily trained well.

If this conversation was happening with someone else, Bruce might laugh lazily and say he's got a regular appointment with booty bootcamp. But they're past the point of dismissive excuses here. There are only so many ways he can explain the injuries across his face, the bruises and broken bones.

Bruce has been trained to fight, as it happens. By a few different tutors and in a few different styles. He isn't satisfied only because there's still plenty to learn, but perhaps also because it was never going to be in his nature to let something like the presumption of death stop him from self-development. The trouble is that if he wanted to diversify his skillset, he'd need to find people here capable of teaching him, untroubled by the thought of injuring someone they perceive to be a child, and capable of discretion. Thus far, he's found it to be a very small sampling. Bruce watches him, the careful once-over he's given, and considers his options. The best answers, he's found, give no more and no less than exactly what's necessary.

"Some."

No more or less than what the Soldier had already assumed, but confirmation is better than nothing. It's not as if it expected a lengthy response. It's a lead-in to the final offer it's going to make, anyway.

Looking back over Bruce's shoulder, now, it says, "If you want more, let me know. I am programmed with several hand-to-hand techniques. Tumbling and gymnastics for dodging, falling, and turning blows away. In case you don't want to get your face bashed in again." Pretty sure all that happened during the hallucinations, given the coloring of the bruising and the state of the stitches, probably at the tail end. And Bruce already turned down the biggest temptation it could give, so probably isn't going to go around abusing people with what the Soldier can teach him. (And if it start to look like that might be the case, it will stop.)

But Bruce might not agree, and that's all right, too.

"My southpaw stance needs some fine tuning. It's a little slow."

He's less concerned with getting his face bashed in, as the soldier puts it, than he is with remaining well rounded. So long as he chose not to operate inside a suit of armor, that he fought people with weapons who had every intention of maiming or killing him, some degree of collateral damage would always occur.

There's no arch of his brow as he comments, or lift of his chin. This isn't a challenge, after all. If he's going to make this offer, then Bruce prefers to be direct about his interests. The injuries he's sustained had little to do with training and everything to do with preparation.

"Though if you know any Jeet Kune Do techniques I would find them beneficial."

The Soldier's programming and training mostly occurred before Bruce Lee was even born, let alone designing martial arts, so it shakes its head regretfully. "I have never heard of that. I know Sambo, Judo, a few styles of Jujitsu, Eskrima, and American wrestling and boxing. Among others." Those are just the ones it knows the names of. There's other things in there, but their names... escape it, right now. If it ever even actually knew them to begin with, which isn't even a certainty.

That's unfortunate. Bruce has been exploring styles that focus on the economy of movement, largely because he knows that despite the discipline and technique he's learned through judo, jujitsu, boxing, and eskrima- there's still room to grow. He can't hope to win through strength alone, not every time. He'd like to learn more about redirecting momentum and maximizing his own body's effectiveness. "I see."

Bruce nods, a small thing. Expansion aside, he would benefit from having a partner to train with, and enough of their schools of study line up. Maybe once his body has repaired itself a little more. "Thank you, I'll keep that in mind."

And that's the best the Soldier could really hope for. It offered, the offer will be considered. It nods, say simply, "Okay." It doesn't bother to share its network username with him; given the list of designations it gave Bruce, Bruce can work that out on his own, it's sure. Bruce can find it if he chooses to.

And the Soldier can find Bruce, and it fully intends to, even if it doesn't actually bother the boy again. "Go on and do whatever you were coming out to do. I'll get back to my patrols."

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Making the Rounds [Closed prompts + Wildcard OTA]

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