They seem to settle into one another comfortably. Steve takes to the group like a missing puzzle piece, that nice gap-bridging persona that hovers the line between 'reasonable' and 'troll', it appeals to both sides of the crew. Wilson takes to it with particular enthusiasm, which is nice because he'd been getting real sick of Lang's shit. Rhodey's always been too impartial and Barton's a loose cannon, so it's nice to give him a little bit of back-up.
At night they take to their bunks with casual conversation and a little laughter. They talk about whatever either of them happens to be reading that night, or speculate on the state of affairs of the people around them. They joke about the five-star aspects of prison like they both haven't been somewhere a million times worse.
Bucky still doesn't know what he's in for, or how long. That's the kind of deep question you only bring up when the timing is right, and so far he thinks it hasn't been. They've been surface level and not a foot beyond.
Until tonight, apparently, when the gentle shaking of his bunk wakes him. Steve murmurs into the dark and - yeah, he can spot a nightmare from a mile away. He gets them himself sometimes, he imagines Rhodey and Wilson do too but they don't talk about it. They don't have Vet Group here, after all, this is god damn prison.
Barnes shifts, curls over the edge of the bunk with his left harm holding tight against the frame to keep himself from spilling over.
"Steve," he mutters, and only once he's said it does he realize it probably isn't enough to wake anyone. He tries again a little louder, conscious of the people in the cell on either side of them. "Steve."
no subject
At night they take to their bunks with casual conversation and a little laughter. They talk about whatever either of them happens to be reading that night, or speculate on the state of affairs of the people around them. They joke about the five-star aspects of prison like they both haven't been somewhere a million times worse.
Bucky still doesn't know what he's in for, or how long. That's the kind of deep question you only bring up when the timing is right, and so far he thinks it hasn't been. They've been surface level and not a foot beyond.
Until tonight, apparently, when the gentle shaking of his bunk wakes him. Steve murmurs into the dark and - yeah, he can spot a nightmare from a mile away. He gets them himself sometimes, he imagines Rhodey and Wilson do too but they don't talk about it. They don't have Vet Group here, after all, this is god damn prison.
Barnes shifts, curls over the edge of the bunk with his left harm holding tight against the frame to keep himself from spilling over.
"Steve," he mutters, and only once he's said it does he realize it probably isn't enough to wake anyone. He tries again a little louder, conscious of the people in the cell on either side of them. "Steve."