emptynesters | 50 years later meme

50 years later meme

Fast forward into the future of Station 72 where your character has been a part of the Hive for however many years. Are they still themselves? Have they integrated fully with the symbiote? Are they the only ones left of their brood? Have they formed other connections in their brood's absence? Do they remember anything of their life before the station? How do they relate to the other Hosts still around, or to new ones who have come in since others have fallen? What else can you come up with?

HOW TO PLAY
STEP ONE: POST WITH YOUR CHARACTER

STEP TWO: Either set up the scene or give some info of what your character is like X years down the line.

STEP THREE: TAG OTHER PEOPLE'S CHARACTERS

STEP FOUR ?????

STEP FIVE: PROFIT

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For all that Sam is Sam, Bucky is less Bucky every day. Waking up is more like starting a new life again and again. He forgets who he is on almost a daily basis, forgets about HYDRA, forgets about everything before the Station and the Nest. Some days, he doesn't say anything at all, choosing instead to only listen to the comforting hum of voices in his head. Those are his good days. On his bad days, he disappears in the deep of the ship, answering a call only a few seem to hear. For all of the new blood that arrives on the Station, the Hive is aging, growing old and grey like Bucky and Sam, and someone has to care for her.

Might as well be the man who has nearly forgotten himself entirely. Every time he comes back, he's more tired than before and he's not sure if he will come back the next time.

This morning, he hears the call again, the low hum pulling at the back of his mind. It had been quiet for too long, he supposes as he shifts in the bunk beside Sam. Long limbs tangled together.

It'd bothered Sam, once, when he could feel Bucky becoming more and more in tune with his symbiote, more and more a part of the Nest. When he'd felt like he was losing his friend, when he wanted to fight it - but he hadn't been losing him, not really. The more Bucky became a part of the Nest - the more both of them became a part of the Nest - the more they became a part of each other.

He'd never really known Bucky before the Station, and he still remembers his determination to help Bucky figure out who he is. Often he doesn't remember why, but he still remembers what they found, and he holds onto it. It doesn't matter if it's him or Bucky, not really. As long as it's still there, it's still a part of both of them.

Sam stirs when he feels Bucky shift against him. Bucky's waking mind pulls at his, making it difficult to hold onto sleep, but he doesn't mind. His legs slide against Bucky's as he shifts as well, and he hooks his ankle around Bucky's as a sleepy stream of affection flows across their bond.

He doesn't ask where Bucky goes when he disappears. He knows, more or less, the same way that some part of him knows everything that goes on with Bucky. The same way Bucky likely knows everything that goes on with him. He's never asked to go with him, either, but today...

His fingertips press gently to Bucky's temple, as though he could actually hears what calls Bucky for himself, instead of picking up the echoes from Bucky's mind. A wordless question forms between them - will Bucky go today, or will he wait until the voices of the Nest grow louder?

The ankle curled around his own is met with a soft chuckle and he stretches, arms--- two now, one flesh and bone and the other a hi-tech collection of wires that works just like the real one--- as he drapes himself over Sam. For now, the call is a distant song, a collar around his neck just a touch too tight. Eventually, the lariat will tighten, the single soprano will crescendo into a choir, but for now he's content to laze with his broodmate and dearest friend. He presses a gentle kiss to Sam's cheek. It's fine, he doesn't need to say or form into words in his mind. It's okay for now. Just woke me up.

It's ungodly nice to snooze and recuperate after a mission. He's not as young as he used to be, soldier or not, and there's only so much an aging body can take before fatigue devours everything else. Though, that might also be due to the withering of the Nest as well. That, he can feel deep in his chest, as ready and apparent as the warmth for the man sharing his bunk.

Sam relaxes again, sliding a hand up Bucky's side as he stretches, walking his fingers over Bucky's back to tug playfully at one of his braids.

( You're heavy. ) But he only says it because he knows the feeling in his mind isn't a complaint at all, because both of them know that the press of Bucky's weight over his chest is comforting. It was hard for Sam to sleep on his own even when he first got here; now it's impossible. He tips his head, presses a kiss to the hollow of Bucky's throat in return.

It worries Sam sometimes, too. He can steal pieces of lifeforce from the people on the missions they go on to keep himself and his broodmate alive, to keep his other nestmates alive, but his ability won't work on the Nest itself. They need more freshly hatched ducklings, they need to keep the ones they have alive longer. Awake longer.

They need what Bucky does, when he disappears deep into the Station. One day, Sam'll ask if he can go with him, if he can help. When the fear that Bucky won't come back from it grows stronger than Sam's certainty that he will. For now, they have the space between missions, when they can be together like this. When Sam can look after the ducklings, work to help them adjust more, connect with their symbiote better.

Reminded, Sam hums another question as he combs his fingers through the pieces of Bucky's hair that've come loose. He has no desire to move yet, with nothing pressing happening, but he'll go see the ducklings later if Bucky wants to come.

Bucky huffs against Sam's cheek and rolls more of his weight onto Sam, just because he can, because they have this time. Today, he doesn't remember life before the Nest, doesn't remember not knowing Sam as intimately as himself, not constantly being in each other's heads. He doesn't remember having other broodmates, but their absences remain in the holes in his mind, a constant reminder of how many Hosts have come and gone, lived and died.

But he does remember that they got a couple teenagers the other day, young things that don't know anything of war, and nor should they have to. Still, two kids aren't enough to sustain the Nest, not in the slightest. To him, it makes sense that the call comes today, a week after their newest hatch. The Nest needs him and he needs it as much as he needs Sam and as much as he needs a heart and lungs.

He rolls himself off the other way after a satisfying moment or two of squishing Sam underneath him and he's once again quite grateful they broke into a lieutenant's quarters for the sake of a larger bed.

( You're light. )

Sam's laughter sparks between them, warm and unhampered by Bucky settling more on top of him - for all that he makes some exaggerated noises like the air's being knocked out of him. It's definitely a good thing they commandeered these quarters for themselves, because he's pretty sure it would echo in the small pods of the standard living quarters.

Light blooms across their minds, streaming through the feathers that surround them both, glinting off wisps of snow that still linger.

( Nah. That's you, sunshine. )

But if Sam's so light, then obviously Bucky won't mind him rolling closer, sprawling himself over Bucky. He doesn't remember what it feels like not to be in damn near constant physical contact with Bucky. Years ago, he'd done it for more than just because he liked it, because he knew that Bucky hadn't had a whole lot of physical contact like that, the kind that was gentle - or at least affectionate. He'd wanted to give Bucky as much of it as Bucky would let him.

Now it just doesn't feel right, to be in the same room as Bucky and not be in contact with him. Even among the new Hosts - he shield his thoughts from them, shield the strength of his connection with Bucky, but he never hides the way he gravitates towards Bucky.

His palm rests on Bucky's chest, fingers tracing idle patterns over his heart.

Bucky drinks in the sound of Sam's laughter. There's not enough of it these days, or the light that blossoms across the shared space between their minds. They don't hide the natural gravity pulling them together, but they do try to shield the strength and vibrance from the other Hosts. Once upon a time, Bucky would've shied away from the affection, whether in private or public, but after years he's grown used to it, familiar and comfortable, and seeks out Sam when he walks into a room. He curls one arm lazily around Sam, brushing his knuckles along his broodmate's skin. Each pass of his fingers sends a gentle pulse of comfort up his arm, soothing the shrill cry of the Nest.

Burying his face into the crown of Sam's head, he breathes in deep musk that has become comforting in its own way. He remembers once being separated on a mission and how finding rags of Sam's pack kept him going for what felt like an eternity. Or how when they finally reunited how he refused to let go of Sam for days on end.

( You sleep okay? ) He already knows the answer, but he still likes to ask.

His eyes slide shut again at Bucky's touch, enjoying the lazy sparks that buzz across his skin as well as the feedback from Bucky's side of their connection. It really isn't too uncommon for them to get to have moments almost like this - even when they're on a mission they're almost always together, and Sam carves out time for them - but it's rare that they aren't focused on the current mission or the next, rare that they have nothing on their minds other than teaching new Hosts and the survival of the Nest.

Sam smiles, nuzzling into Bucky's neck a little and pressing another kiss against his skin. ( Always, with you. ) He doesn't have nightmares anymore, not the way he did when he first arrived - or even a while after, when their minds began to mingle together every time they slept and their dreams were just as tangled. They'd learned to soothe each other even back then, to move freely between each other's minds for protection and support.

He remembers that mission as Bucky does, remembers fighting every minute to get back to him. Sam's unhappy enough with them being separated when they choose to do so - briefly - for it to happen by force, well. Bucky wasn't the only one who hadn't wanted to let go. Just the memory tempts Sam to hole up with Bucky for the day, to let one of the other Hosts tend to the new ducklings for a bit.

( You hungry? ) He also knows the likely answer, is already contemplating leaning over for the stash of candy bars he keeps, but he still likes to ask, too.

With a hum of contentment, Bucky continues to brush his knuckles against Sam's arm. He used to have nightmares before they began sleeping in the same bed regularly, usually of the faces of his victims. Eventually, it became easier to sleep beside each other after so many nights of seeking Sam out after a bad dream. Then it became natural to tangle themselves up at night and now here they are in their jailbroken quarters, curled around each other. Like Sam, Bucky wants nothing more than to stay here for the next while, but the Nest's call grows louder with each passing moment. She's not patient today.

His stomach growls as Sam leans over for the stash and he slowly starts to disentangle himself to sit up. He stretches his arms overhead, feathers from his long braids brushing over his shoulder blades. There's no need to separate entirely, so he keeps his knee pressed against Sam's thigh.

( Sure. ) He runs a hand over his chin and the stubble there, wondering if he should shave before he heeds the Nest's call. One one occasion, he came back with a full beard, speckled with the same gray lining his temples. ( You have training today? )

Edited 2017-05-20 23:54 (UTC)

There's nothing that Sam likes more than making Bucky happy, and not only because he can feel the contentment echoing across their connection. He forgets, sometimes, what it was like not to share a bed with Bucky every night, but he still remembers there was a time when sleep didn't come as easily and mostly unbroken to either of them.

When every time he made Bucky smile was something to hold onto, and even if he can't remember why, he still values it above everything else.

He unwraps the candy bar halfway before passing it over, resting his hand on Bucky's knee. His mind flows through their brood bond, chasing the echoes of the call that pulls at Bucky, head tilted as he listens for it himself.

( I want to go with you. )

The call is different this time, more demanding and shrill than before, like a child calling out in the night. What was a single soprano voice when he woke up has already grown to a small chorus. Bucky's own hunger fades in the echo of the Nest's. Bucky drops the candy bar as it passes into his fingers, mind growing distant. He hears Sam but from far off, feels his broodmate's pull at his own head, brushing away the snares.

Blinking, he doesn't quite turn toward Sam.

( With me? )

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50 years later meme

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