[There is a big book placed in the mailbox. It has no pictures, and it seems to be about complicated historical wars and stuff and science at the same time, with Egypt and mummies too. The contents of it are specifically tailored to everything Flynn likes, mysteriously enough.
Peter hides behind some bushes, hoping to see Flynn check his mail so he can see his reaction. He just hopes he doesn't have to wait hours and hours, but the excitement keeps him there for now, plus he can listen to his ipod as he sits and waits.
The bushes occasionally wiggle with stifled giggles.]
When Flynn gets back home he spots it immediately and pauses, confused, then curious, then excited. A new book! One that he hasn't read yet, like all the ones that arrived here from his own home, one that he has never heard of before which seems so impossible and he pulls it out eagerly. Where did it come from? Who put it there?
He flips through the pages to see what it's about but soon stops to read it for real, his face slack with awe. It's-- it's wonderful. It's like it's been written just for him and he can't tear his eyes away. It's a wonder that he doesn't faceplant into the ground when he starts walking and reading at the same time, making it as far as his front door steps. But then the faint giggles reach him and he looks up.]
Is someone there?
[His eyes move back towards the pages before he even waits for an answer.]
[The bushes shudder again and there's a snort as Peter can't help it anymore. He pops up from behind them, pulling his earphones out of his ears, his face lit up with excitement, waving his hands out in exuberance.]
[Flynn looks up again, blinks at him, looks down at the bushes, back up at him. Huh. Was he there the whole time? How long... how long was he hiding there?]
You... wished that up? For me?
[For a moment he's torn because he doesn't trust these wishes but... this is the first real book that's his since before Norfinbury, the first book in his possession since his now tattered and torn guide to the Black Forest, and it's so incredibly thoughtful. He clutches the book to his chest and beams back at him.]
You really like it? That's awesome, man, I'm super glad, I took a look through it and it was--uh, a little hard to understand which means it's probably just right for you, but anyway Zeph did a great job, I was hoping it would be cool...
[Which probably means it's peak nerd and yeah. Just right for him.
Flynn reaches out to pluck some leaves and branches off of Peter's jacket. He can't stop smiling, a dumb, boyish grin because somehow Peter being all confused by the book makes it even better. It just emphasizes how he picked something he thinks Flynn would like and got it exactly right and it's just... heartwarming.]
I can't wait to see what a wish book comes up with, I mean, which school of thought will it follow, are the facts going to be accurate, will there be some revolutionary new-- [He trails off when he realizes he's babbling and grins.] I really, really like it.
[It's been quite a long time since he's seen Flynn out and about, or heard his ridiculously enthusiastic voice rhapsodising about something weird. Bucky doesn't know him that well, but he did in Norfinbury (apparently), and he was starting to like him here too, so he's a little concerned.
Enough that he trudges through the snow to Flynn's house and raps sharply on the door, looking a bit forbidding as he waits for an answer.]
Even Flynn is aware of that, he's not stupid. He knows that he's not okay and maybe he will never be quite okay again but he's fine with that. He doesn't think he should be okay, considering.
Every step outside reminds him of Mycroft, that awful anomaly, even colder than Norfinbury itself, not only freezing his body to death but freezing his soul, too. So no. He is not going outside. Not until the last bit of that icy hellish landscape has been burned away by the returning spring sun.
And then Peter.
Peter had been a loud and energetic constant from day one he set foot into Norfinbury and he misses him in a way that's hard to explain and even harder to bear. Insufferable, exasperating, immature to a point where Flynn often had to be the one to step up (how did that happen, when did that happen, he doesn't remember), intrinsically linked to all the horrors but also to... making it through the horrors.
Now Peter is gone and it feels colder in Flynn's soul again.
He looks, quite frankly, like a mess. Disheveled, bleary-eyed, underfed – at least he's clean, though, taking regular, long and hot showers to make sure there is no trace of snow or ice anywhere on his body.
At the rapping, he looks up from his book but doesn't quite move to open it.]
[Flynn gets up and puts the book away, moving over to the door. He stops, hesitates, it always takes him a while to actually reach out and turn the handle.
But he's pretty sure that if he doesn't open up, Bucky will find another way to break this door down and he does not want this door broken as long as Winter still reigns.]
Flynn looks like crap. It's not a good day when Bucky is the more put-together looking of any gathering, and the sight of the other man makes Bucky's usual stoic expression furrow into a full on frown.
But he does step inside relatively quickly, shutting the door behind him.]
[He's observant enough to catch the way Flynn relaxes when the door is shut, and it doesn't take a genius to make the connection to the snow. Not for someone else from Norfinbury, anyway.]
[He should probably tell Flynn that he can't hide inside all winter, but that seems kind of hypocritical considering that he never listens to the people who tell him where to go and what to do.
As long as the man isn't having some prolonged episode of not knowing where he is, then he's free to hibernate inside as far as Bucky is concerned.]
[And suddenly the reason he looks so bad becomes clear. Just the snow wasn't a good enough reason, not with him having a clearly defined way to hide from it, but losing a friend--
Bucky's scowl gets a bit deeper, and then he just turns on his heel and leaves the house.
He'll be gone for about half an hour, before there's a thudding on the door again, this time as if someone is kicking it instead of knocking. Which is exactly what's happening because Bucky's only hand is occupied right now.]
[Luckily for giving away food at short notice, Bucky is a pretty prolific hunter and so he has plenty of supplies to spare. He has three rabbits, one pheasant, several cuts of deer meat, and a bag of vegetables precariously balanced and tied to his one arm.]
Yeah.
[Of course it's him, who else would it be? Clearly he was going to fetch food, right?]
I can't open the door, so are you gonna let me in?
[Well-- he could open the door, but it would involve a boot and the door no longer being attached to its hinges, which probably wouldn't go down well.]
[There's a pause there and for a moment, everything isn't quite as cold. Flynn smiles, rubbing the back of his neck, then shuffles past him to lead the way to the kitchen.]
Uh. Sure. Sure, that would be, that would be great?
[What has he been up to? Tearing himself apart about Renart, worrying over a potentially stupid wish he made, generally trying to find better hiding places to help him feel at least a little secure here...]
Nothing much.
[Honest. He takes a sip of his coffee and that tiny smile gets a bit bigger.]
I missed coffee in Norfinbury. Didn't miss a whole lot, but I sure missed coffee.
[Flynn's smile brightens in return when he's starting to relax a little more.]
I made myself so sick in my first week here? I just kept eating and drinking everything I could get my hands on. It's a wonder my metabolism didn't just kill me on the spot.
I've done that before, took about a month before I dared try pie again after how sick I got when I first had it.
[He doesn't mean here. He means after escaping being the Soldier and having the freedom to try things that weren't just nutritionally complete and safe to be in his system during cryogenic freezing.]
But, you know? I kinda think the pie was worth being sick.
[Bucky sits on the couch, though he doesn't relax back into the cushions. Even at his most relaxed, he never really lets go of the tension in his body, always ready for the fight that might be coming.]
I haven't taken anything from that. It belongs to Holmes, right? I don't want to run into him.
[He has literally never met anyone except John who has a good reaction to Holmes, it solidifies avoiding him as an excellent life decision.]
...you never bothered to find out who owned the tree you were taking food from? Did you always have bad self preservation, or did that just start recently?
We knew who owned those, or as close as matters, it was the Admin. And food was in shorter supply, you took what you could wherever it came from. You should be more careful in a place where anyone can wish for pretty much anything.
That's not the point. People might not wish for something to harm you, but you never know who might get offended you're taking something they wished for, or who might notice where you're getting your food and use that to get at you.
[He just understands being careful, it's not paranoia. It makes him itch under his skin to imagine being so carefree as to not pay close attention to every little detail like that. He even hunts for his food in different parts of the Meadous at random to throw off anyone who might be watching, instincts that'll probably never die.]
[That pulls him up short, mostly because he's not sure what exactly Flynn means when he says he doesn't care. Is it just that he isn't that worried about it, or is it that he's sunk deep enough that he doesn't care if someone does hurt him?]
Because it doesn't... matter? It doesn't change anything. About me, about this place.
[He sighs but it's more disillusioned than heartbroken.]
Look, I'm not looking for a fight and I don't wanna die, I really don't, but... if someone wants to come after me, I'll just have to deal with that when it happens. I can't worry about all the bad things that might happen when I'm so busy with the ones that actually do.
[That's probably a healthy way of looking at things, and a small part of him can appreciate that. But it's so alien to him to not always be preparing... what must it be like to look at the things that could go wrong and choose not to worry about them?
He weighs up what he wants his answer to be, how much he trusts Flynn to reveal the more vulnerable bits of himself or if he should just change the subject. Eventually, the reply is only one very softly spoken word.]
With my brain. With my skills, with my experience. Librarians fight with their heads. ... Well, and sometimes their fists or stakes when you happen to come across vampires, but, you know, generally speaking, in the grand scheme of things...
Thing is, I've been in a lot of tight spots over the years and so far, it always worked out. And if not...
[His voice trails off for a moment and he sips his coffee thoughtfully.]
When the Librarian dies, another takes over. Most don't last longer than a year or two, so every mission really could be my last. I already made it three years before I got to Norfinbury so I guess I got that going for me?
[He glances over.]
Don't you trust yourself? To be able to handle yourself in a crisis?
Bucky has technically lived over a hundred years now, even if he only has about four years of solid memories and then a whole lot of badness before it, and three years is a terrifyingly short amount of time. He frowns, concerned about the idea of someone he's coming to care about going back to a job that's likely to kill them.
But then Flynn turns it around on him, and the frown is smoothed away into a small but visible expression of surprise.]
No.
[It's a sad truth he's accustomed to by now.]
I know that I can't trust myself. Maybe if I knew it was just me at risk, but it's not.
[Flynn thinks about that for a moment. He gets scared a lot, he screws up sometimes, he might not be the strongest or a very good fighter... but at least he has that? That trust, that conviction that he'll be able to act, to handle himself.]
Is that why you're trying to plan for all eventualities? Why you think everything could be dangerous?
[He hesitates a moment, never good at opening up about things in his past, but Flynn has earned these small bits of trust.]
When I was the Soldier they implanted me with things, control words, trigger phrases, that sort of thing. I don't know what all of them are, I don't know what could set me off, so I have to be careful.
[He's known about the Soldier, of course, he has very vivid memories of that dram interaction... but he can't imagine what that must be like, being so afraid all the time.]
I had my head messed with by Norfinbury once. ... I mean, probably everybody did at some point, I know, but... I remember that, thinking it might come back and trying to keep a distance from people.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Peter hides behind some bushes, hoping to see Flynn check his mail so he can see his reaction. He just hopes he doesn't have to wait hours and hours, but the excitement keeps him there for now, plus he can listen to his ipod as he sits and waits.
The bushes occasionally wiggle with stifled giggles.]
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When Flynn gets back home he spots it immediately and pauses, confused, then curious, then excited. A new book! One that he hasn't read yet, like all the ones that arrived here from his own home, one that he has never heard of before which seems so impossible and he pulls it out eagerly. Where did it come from? Who put it there?
He flips through the pages to see what it's about but soon stops to read it for real, his face slack with awe. It's-- it's wonderful. It's like it's been written just for him and he can't tear his eyes away. It's a wonder that he doesn't faceplant into the ground when he starts walking and reading at the same time, making it as far as his front door steps. But then the faint giggles reach him and he looks up.]
Is someone there?
[His eyes move back towards the pages before he even waits for an answer.]
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Surprise!
[He beams, pointing at the book.]
I wished that up for you, d'you like it?
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[Flynn looks up again, blinks at him, looks down at the bushes, back up at him. Huh. Was he there the whole time? How long... how long was he hiding there?]
You... wished that up? For me?
[For a moment he's torn because he doesn't trust these wishes but... this is the first real book that's his since before Norfinbury, the first book in his possession since his now tattered and torn guide to the Black Forest, and it's so incredibly thoughtful. He clutches the book to his chest and beams back at him.]
It's wonderful!
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[He grins, stumbling out of the bushes.
Long enough for a couple of albums...]
You really like it? That's awesome, man, I'm super glad, I took a look through it and it was--uh, a little hard to understand which means it's probably just right for you, but anyway Zeph did a great job, I was hoping it would be cool...
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[Which probably means it's peak nerd and yeah. Just right for him.
Flynn reaches out to pluck some leaves and branches off of Peter's jacket. He can't stop smiling, a dumb, boyish grin because somehow Peter being all confused by the book makes it even better. It just emphasizes how he picked something he thinks Flynn would like and got it exactly right and it's just... heartwarming.]
I can't wait to see what a wish book comes up with, I mean, which school of thought will it follow, are the facts going to be accurate, will there be some revolutionary new-- [He trails off when he realizes he's babbling and grins.] I really, really like it.
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[He's not exactly sure what thought schools are but it sounds pretty important.
But Flynn really likes it and that's the most important thing.]
I'm glad you like it, man.
[And he goes in for a hug because that's what the occasion calls for.]
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Do you want to come in? I can make some tea or maybe hot chocolate?
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Enough that he trudges through the snow to Flynn's house and raps sharply on the door, looking a bit forbidding as he waits for an answer.]
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Even Flynn is aware of that, he's not stupid. He knows that he's not okay and maybe he will never be quite okay again but he's fine with that. He doesn't think he should be okay, considering.
Every step outside reminds him of Mycroft, that awful anomaly, even colder than Norfinbury itself, not only freezing his body to death but freezing his soul, too. So no. He is not going outside. Not until the last bit of that icy hellish landscape has been burned away by the returning spring sun.
And then Peter.
Peter had been a loud and energetic constant from day one he set foot into Norfinbury and he misses him in a way that's hard to explain and even harder to bear. Insufferable, exasperating, immature to a point where Flynn often had to be the one to step up (how did that happen, when did that happen, he doesn't remember), intrinsically linked to all the horrors but also to... making it through the horrors.
Now Peter is gone and it feels colder in Flynn's soul again.
He looks, quite frankly, like a mess. Disheveled, bleary-eyed, underfed – at least he's clean, though, taking regular, long and hot showers to make sure there is no trace of snow or ice anywhere on his body.
At the rapping, he looks up from his book but doesn't quite move to open it.]
Who's there?
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That Flynn calls out says that he's not dead, at least.]
It's Bucky. Open the door.
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Uh... yeah, just a sec!
[Flynn gets up and puts the book away, moving over to the door. He stops, hesitates, it always takes him a while to actually reach out and turn the handle.
But he's pretty sure that if he doesn't open up, Bucky will find another way to break this door down and he does not want this door broken as long as Winter still reigns.]
Hey. Hi. Come on in.
[And hurry if it's all the same to you.]
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Flynn looks like crap. It's not a good day when Bucky is the more put-together looking of any gathering, and the sight of the other man makes Bucky's usual stoic expression furrow into a full on frown.
But he does step inside relatively quickly, shutting the door behind him.]
You look like hell.
[Hi to you too.]
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Thanks.
[It's dry, on the verge of sardonic but there's no real aggression behind it.]
Coffee?
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No.
[He's not here for coffee, pal.]
You know it's not Norfinbury out there.
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[It's what Peter has been telling him. It's what he has been telling himself.
It doesn't help.]
Still not terribly eager to build a snowman.
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As long as the man isn't having some prolonged episode of not knowing where he is, then he's free to hibernate inside as far as Bucky is concerned.]
Sure.
[Makes sense.]
How're you getting food?
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[He suddenly falters, a shadow crossing his face.]
Peter would bring me food.
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Bucky's scowl gets a bit deeper, and then he just turns on his heel and leaves the house.
He'll be gone for about half an hour, before there's a thudding on the door again, this time as if someone is kicking it instead of knocking. Which is exactly what's happening because Bucky's only hand is occupied right now.]
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[Flynn trails off when Bucky goes and... does that and frowns, too.]
Well. Clearly you agree.
[Alright? Back to hermiting it is.
At least for half an hour when the unmistakable kicking-knocking interrupts him again. What? What is going on with this day? This is stressful?!]
Who is it? Bucky? Is that you?
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Yeah.
[Of course it's him, who else would it be? Clearly he was going to fetch food, right?]
I can't open the door, so are you gonna let me in?
[Well-- he could open the door, but it would involve a boot and the door no longer being attached to its hinges, which probably wouldn't go down well.]
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[Please have mercy on his poor door and his strongly linked peace of mind, he appreciates it.
Flynn moves over to the door again and opens it, blinking at all the...]
Oh.
[He stares, partly baffled, partly touched when he realizes what's happening here.]
... Thank you.
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He just shrugs the thanks off a bit awkwardly, moving on after a moment of hesitation.]
I can bring more if you tell me how often you need it.
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Uh. Sure. Sure, that would be, that would be great?
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Didn't know what you liked, so you've just got what I already had. It's a couple of days old, but it's been packed in the ice.
[He follows to the kitchen, and will dump his burdens on the nearest counter available.]
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[In fact he's eyeing the food with a bit of a greedy look in his eyes.]
... You want some coffee now? Maybe... stay around for dinner?
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Figure you owe me dinner, since you've got all my food now.
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[He'll start with the coffee, pouring two cups and handing one over before taking out some pots and pans.]
So what have you been up to lately? Haven't seen you around in a while.
[Not that he has seen... anyone around in a while safe for his network interactions.]
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Nothing much.
[Honest. He takes a sip of his coffee and that tiny smile gets a bit bigger.]
I missed coffee in Norfinbury. Didn't miss a whole lot, but I sure missed coffee.
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[Flynn's smile brightens in return when he's starting to relax a little more.]
I made myself so sick in my first week here? I just kept eating and drinking everything I could get my hands on. It's a wonder my metabolism didn't just kill me on the spot.
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[He doesn't mean here. He means after escaping being the Soldier and having the freedom to try things that weren't just nutritionally complete and safe to be in his system during cryogenic freezing.]
But, you know? I kinda think the pie was worth being sick.
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[He makes an inviting gesture for the couch. It's nice and cozy here, close to the fire.]
Don't even get me started on the take out tree.
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I haven't taken anything from that. It belongs to Holmes, right? I don't want to run into him.
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[He didn't know that. He wishes he didn't know that.]
Maybe it's time to eat more healthy.
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...you never bothered to find out who owned the tree you were taking food from? Did you always have bad self preservation, or did that just start recently?
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I thought it was just part of the Meadous? Isn't everyone eating from that? It's not like I bothered who owned the Norfinbury vending machines either.
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[Seriously, Flynn.]
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[He shrugs, a little listlessly, sipping on his coffee.]
In a place where anyone can wish for pretty much anything they don't need a tree to harm you.
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[He just understands being careful, it's not paranoia. It makes him itch under his skin to imagine being so carefree as to not pay close attention to every little detail like that. He even hunts for his food in different parts of the Meadous at random to throw off anyone who might be watching, instincts that'll probably never die.]
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But I don't care.
[It's strange, he realizes that really doesn't. He rubs his disheveled head, glancing over into the flames.]
I just, I really don't, Bucky?
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Why not?
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[He sighs but it's more disillusioned than heartbroken.]
Look, I'm not looking for a fight and I don't wanna die, I really don't, but... if someone wants to come after me, I'll just have to deal with that when it happens. I can't worry about all the bad things that might happen when I'm so busy with the ones that actually do.
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He weighs up what he wants his answer to be, how much he trusts Flynn to reveal the more vulnerable bits of himself or if he should just change the subject. Eventually, the reply is only one very softly spoken word.]
How?
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Thing is, I've been in a lot of tight spots over the years and so far, it always worked out. And if not...
[His voice trails off for a moment and he sips his coffee thoughtfully.]
When the Librarian dies, another takes over. Most don't last longer than a year or two, so every mission really could be my last. I already made it three years before I got to Norfinbury so I guess I got that going for me?
[He glances over.]
Don't you trust yourself? To be able to handle yourself in a crisis?
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Bucky has technically lived over a hundred years now, even if he only has about four years of solid memories and then a whole lot of badness before it, and three years is a terrifyingly short amount of time. He frowns, concerned about the idea of someone he's coming to care about going back to a job that's likely to kill them.
But then Flynn turns it around on him, and the frown is smoothed away into a small but visible expression of surprise.]
No.
[It's a sad truth he's accustomed to by now.]
I know that I can't trust myself. Maybe if I knew it was just me at risk, but it's not.
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[Flynn thinks about that for a moment. He gets scared a lot, he screws up sometimes, he might not be the strongest or a very good fighter... but at least he has that? That trust, that conviction that he'll be able to act, to handle himself.]
Is that why you're trying to plan for all eventualities? Why you think everything could be dangerous?
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[He hesitates a moment, never good at opening up about things in his past, but Flynn has earned these small bits of trust.]
When I was the Soldier they implanted me with things, control words, trigger phrases, that sort of thing. I don't know what all of them are, I don't know what could set me off, so I have to be careful.
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[He's known about the Soldier, of course, he has very vivid memories of that dram interaction... but he can't imagine what that must be like, being so afraid all the time.]
I had my head messed with by Norfinbury once. ... I mean, probably everybody did at some point, I know, but... I remember that, thinking it might come back and trying to keep a distance from people.