bakerstreet | the i n s o m n i a meme

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the i n s o m n i a meme

the i n s o m n i a meme

It happens to everyone - sometimes, you have nights where you just can't fall asleep, no matter what you do. It could be for a number of reasons, or no reason at all. And this is what's happened now: you've been laying in bed for what feels like hours, just tossing and turning, and nothing seems to help. So what's left to do? Get out of bed and go wake someone else up, of course. If you're not getting any sleep, then why should they?

i n s t r u c t i o n s

• Post with your character (note the name and fandom in the subject).
• Other people reply to you by generating a number from 1 to 10.
• Have fun!

o p t i o n s

01 • FEAR. Maybe you're hearing strange, indeterminable noises; maybe there's a severe storm happening outside; maybe you watched a scary movie before bed? Whatever the reason, you're terrified and it's keeping you awake. You just want to wake someone else up so they can protect you from the monster in your closet.
02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops.
03 • PAIN. Your body is completely worn out, be it from exercise, battle, sickness, or what have you. Either way you're in enough pain to keep you from sleeping, so maybe someone else has a home remedy or something, or can at least help you take your mind off of it.
04 • SOLITUDE. For some reason, your bed just feels so empty at the moment. You're feeling terribly lonely and really just want someone to keep you company for a while. Maybe it'd be easier to fall asleep if you're with them...
05 • DISCOMFORT. Your room is an oven. Either that or a freezer. Or maybe this bed is just really uncomfortable? Who knows why you can't get to sleep, it feels like it could be anything. Why even bother trying? Maybe someone else can preoccupy you until you feel tired enough to ignore your discomfort.
06 • PENSIVE. Something's on your mind, and no matter how hard you try to focus elsewhere, it's just not going to work. Your body may be tired, but your mind is incredibly busy and it's virtually impossible to get to sleep. Surely, talking it out with someone else will help?
07 • SADNESS. Something terrible has happened that day, perhaps; or you could just be severely depressed. Either way you're trying your hardest not to cry yourself to sleep, and it's not working at all. Better find a way to get it out of your system somehow; you need a shoulder to cry on.
08 • ANGER. You are just... fuming. Who knows why - that annoying dog is barking again, or maybe the people next door are getting busy and keeping you awake. Whatever the reason for your ire is, you'd better put an end to it so you can get some damn rest already! Go wake up a friend so you can complain to them.
09 • RESTLESS. You're far too energetic to sleep right now. Maybe you're just trying to do so out of necessity - you have to be up early tomorrow! But you just don't think you'll be able to fall asleep for a while now, so why waste the time trying to sleep when you could be doing something else? Namely bothering someone else - you're totally jealous because they're getting more sleep than you.
10 • WILDCARD. Choose one of the options above, or make up your own scenario.

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Well that was.

Odd.

He squints, eyes locked on that withdrawn left hand even as he uses the right to haul himself up, staggering under the swinging weight of his messenger bag but it's fine? He's fine. He can steady himself before he tips over (again), and thank his luck that the thermos held rather than popping open to soak them both with black coffee. "Relax."

Offhand and only a little irritated as he reaches for the guy's left hand without asking- the pull and wince were noticeable and he can't help the details his mind picks up. "This is...shitty work. Seriously, I'm offended, they have you walking around on campus with this bullshit when- yeah, no, this? This isn't going to stand. I help you, you help me, we both walk away happy. Right?"

Not that he's explaining his thought process as he starts to all but drag Mr. Muscles in the direction he'd been walking.

"Yeah," he replies, "sure." Because relaxing is simple as pie, easy as anything. At least the guy doesn't seem too worse for wear from the collision-and-fall; the last thing he needs is some kind of complaint to his superior officer. The colonel's cantankerous attitude may be nearly legendary, but Bucky's nerves are too thin to want to deal with more of it than necessary.

He's probably already going to be in trouble for being out and about, never mind accosting a student. Man he hopes this isn't going to blow up in his face.

So distracted is he that he doesn't notice the shift in attention until fingers move his arm; he looks down at the limb, then lets his eyes trail up to the guy's face. And wow, cute. And hyper focused on Bucky's arm, apparently. He can feel the back of his neck heating up as he's examined and found, well, lacking. He's used to that part of things, but the rest of what comes out of the guy's mouth surprises Bucky.

"Um," he starts, rather inauspiciously as he's all but dragged along, too shocked to dig in and try to resist. "Where are we going?"

"Robotics lab. Give me a few hours and I'll have something better for you." He doesn't slow down despite having gotten knocked on his ass earlier, if anything he's putting more speed into his stride. Doubly inspired and, well. Dum-E's code can wait a little while longer. "A friend of mine doesn't want me working in the lab alone, if you're there, I'm not alone."

Nevermind he doesn't expect the guy to do much of anything but still. Warm human body (he tried arguing Dum-E was another person, Rhodey shot it down) in the room with him, ergo- not breaking his promise to Rhodey and not subject to lectures or the disappointed face of Doom (tm).

"Robotics lab?" He stops in his tracks, which means he gets a little tripped up because the guy doesn't stop so Bucky's got this little hop-skip thing to catch himself up; fortunately he's got a bit of height on the guy and a few long strides have him finding his footing again. "No shit, really?"

Talk about a dream come true! So many neat things come out of the MIT robotics labs, and Bucky's going to actually get to see one? He's so wrapped up in that, that he misses the second part of the declaration and his brain has to backtrack it for a moment. "Wait... what do you mean a few hours? That's not possible."

It'd taken weeks for the team of doctors to decide what to do with him, and how, and then all the measurements and tests for the experimental surgeries. It's part of why he's even up in this area of the country, needing to stay close to the doctor's preferred hospital. The guy must be joking with him, there's no other explanation.

"I'm Tony Stark-" He rolls his eyes and keeps hauling, like that will ge them to the lab faster. "You say I can't, I say I can, and I'm the one that's got a full ride here so-"

He's the genius, he knows what he's talking about. More than a little as he tugs and pulls and bullies his way into the lab, punching in the keycode, swiping a card with a muffled swear before hauling Mr. Muscles right in. "You wanna help, start a pot of coffee and lose the shirt. I need to see what I'm working with."

Bag on one worktable, the rest? Covered in tools, coiled wires, and the odd dimly glowing screen. Working through various projects in a way hat makes sense to no one but him-

But he's the only one that needs to get it.

"Wait, you're—" But Tony's off again and Bucky needs another hop-skip to catch him up and then, then they're swiping and key-coding their way into the building, apparently no one around to stop Tony or care who he's got with him. Bucky's not exactly going to advertise that he's somewhere he doesn't belong either, instead peering through the few windows they pass to see anything he can see.

He loses his breath entirely when they enter the new lab, lost in the way Tony saunters through it, seemingly at home amidst the wondrous chaos. It's better than he ever could have imagined and he's actually here.

(Or maybe he did take a pain pill and this is all a hallucination. If so, well, he kind of doesn't want it to end too soon.)

Finally wandering away from the door he tries to parse everything that's spilled out of Tony's mouth since introducing himself. "Are you really, actually Tony Stark?"

"No, I like impersonating him to get into people's pants-" Not that he looks entirely old enough for those tricks, he's almost seventeen, it's not that difficult to imagine is it? "Yes, I'm the real Tony Stark. C'mon, Muscles. Coffee, shirt, in that order-"

As he flicks switches and pulls scanners and screens into place, light and life filling the dark lab. Off to one side, under a tarp in time out? Dum-E. Or.

What will be Dum-E when he's finished but right now that's on the backburner while Tony shrugs out of his coat, sets his walkman next to the speaker rig and plugs it in, a low crackle kicking off instead of the usual music. "Well shit- hang on."

Must've landed badly when he fell, it's fine, he can fix it. Pops off the back to squint at the connectors and start twisting things back into place. "One day I'll have my own lab with a Soundsystem built into the walls and won't have to deal with this mass-produced bullshit-"

"I, uh, met your father once." Met is a strong word for a man who'd breezed in and out for some kind of demo; Bucky had only been there for the sheer dumb luck of being in the right place at the right time and being a good shot besides. "You seem like a lot more fun than he was."

An understatement for sure: everyone touted Howard as a genius, and he was; the military certainly had the best guns and bombs and missiles. But Bucky'd come home missing a good portion of himself and he's no longer sure that's such a genius thing after all. Better this collection of screens and wires and cables, a few stools by workbenches and Tony already flittering around the room. Bucky watches a little dumbfounded as he pops the walkman open like it's nothing, bing bang boom and it's fixed almost faster than he can blink.

He finally wanders a little farther into the lab, shedding his jacket carefully and locating the coffee maker off to the side. Next to it, supplies: filters and grounds and a mug that looks clean, that'll do for one cup and he can maybe find — ah, there! Two more, probably need to be rinsed at the least but he should be able to manage that one-handed in the little sink while the coffee percolates.

It takes him a little longer than he'd like but he's able to pour two cups without spilling, able to use his right hand to settle the first carefully into his left before picking up the second. By then the music is going and he tries to be careful in stepping up to near Tony's elbow, carefully nudging the cup into what looks like a safe spot on the counter. "I hope black's okay, I didn't see anything to put in it..."

"So you're familiar with the Stark Show? Well. His version." Tony snorts derisively- weapons. Bombs. That is not the way of the future, that is not what's going to propel the world forward in the long run. "Mine is a lot less exploady."

More wires and coding and- ha- he pulls out the 3d hand scanner with a little 'hup' of triumph. "Black's fine, keeping sugar in the lab is how you get ants and there aren't any fridges or food allowed. something else I'll have made different in my own lab. Right, shirt off, let me see what I'm working with."

Like it's a normal thing, asking a stranger to strip as he hops up onto a counter, sipping his coffee. It's hot and strong and caffinated and that, truly, is all he needs in the moment. The guy's sheer awe isn't that hard to mistake either, this isn't where he figured he'd be at the ass end of the morning but, well. Tony tends to happen to people.

"Thank goodness." It slips out before he can censor himself, and Bucky peers sidelong at Tony. But it seems on first impression that Tony has no interest in weapons or war stories, and that suits him just fine. He's got no desire to talk about what happened to him over there, and he really hopes that Tony won't ask.

Still, he can't help but hesitate when Tony asks, again, for him to strip. The Army might have killed any of Bucky's remaining body shyness but his injury certainly brought it all back. He raises his own mug instead, then has to jockey it when his left hand spasms, mostly catching it with his right and hissing as hot coffee sloshes over the rim and onto his flesh-and-blood fingers. "Stupid thing," he murmurs, annoyed at himself, embarrassed at his clumsiness in front of this guy.

He shouldn't even be here, he knows, and he's really not sure how he allowed himself to be dragged all this way. But he's also somewhat reluctant to leave, because the only thing waiting for him is another long night of keeping the nightmares at bay. "Let me clean this up."

"Faulty wiring?" His head swings around as his eyes narrow with laserlike focus on that twitch of the fake hand. Generally? That's not supposed to happen. Something's either fucked in the hardware or the wetware-

Worst comes to worst he can email Banner, see what he thinks, or Cho and get their feedback on that half of the equation. The software and neural relay, that he can swing easy.

Maybe.

Possibly.

This might take more than one session but the design phase will be easy enough. "Don't worry about it-"

Tony wheels himself over with a push, settled in a rolling stool. Practice has him weaving around wires with a little drag of the foot here, a shove of his elbow there, pausing to pull something out of a drawer and crack it, shaking, until he's at his impromptu lab partner's side, reaching over to collect the mug of coffee and set it aside. In its place he slaps down a cooling pack, the chemical reaction chilling the scald easily enough. "I burn myself all the time, these work a treat. Now how often would you say a glitch like that happens?"

"No, I— I just have to get used to it." Or so the doctor says. Bucky has his exercises and his physical therapy and he does them the way he's supposed to but Dr. Zola say he's clearly not working hard enough if he's still having so much trouble. He must be lying about his dedication to his therapy routine because there's no fault in the mechanical parts at all; clearly, it must be Bucky.

And the doctor knows best, after all.

He presses the cold pack to his stinging palm, his fingertips, feels the nerves go a little numb in relief. He still has complicated feelings about the cold, about snow and ice especially, but the plastic package is nothing like laying on the snowy ground and that helps. Leaning back against the workbench he considers the man (boy, almost, unless he just looks really young) in front of him carefully. He doesn't look at all like he belongs in such a place.

But then again, neither does Bucky.

And, now that he's looking for it, he can see something of a resemblance to Howard Stark. Maybe this really, honestly is his son.

"Bucky," he says, looking over Tony's shoulder more than at his face, bracing himself for the laugh. Maybe the nickname is childish but he's not quite ready to let it go, and he's still got a whole week of Sergeant James Barnes, dress uniform and crisp salutes ahead of him. "Figured you should prob'ly know my name, if you're askin' me to take my clothes off."

"Bucky?" Thre' no laugh, just a soft huff and a 'huh' before Tony shakes his head, focusing on the casing that he can see. It's-

Something else. Something not entirely meant to be smooth or simple or ergonomic in the slightest, it can't possibly be comfortable. "I'll buy you breakfast."

They'll be here that long, easily enough. "Look. They wouldn't put you stateside with this if you weren't at a point in your recovery where it works like it should. If it was giving you trouble, fuckup is on them. And just looking at what I can see of this? It's- badly designed."

He wouldn't say it's deliberate but damn if it isn't an impressive shade off fuckery from the wrist and palm he's turning around in his calloused, ink and grease stained hands. "So lose the shirt and let me build you a new one. How often do those little blips happen, does this thing cause you pain, how long have you had it, data, Bucky, I need data. Can't build something from nothing."

"Yeah," he says, "sure. But not... not breakfast, I can't be here that late, I gotta get back to my hotel before my C.O. gets up, showered and shaved and passing muster." Or else he'll likely hear it and worse, get in trouble for it. He's already thinking he'll have to make it through the day without sleeping but he's done that before, it's just like being back on active duty. He'll be fine. "But I'm good for a few hours."

He doesn't want to leave just yet. And while he still doesn't quite believe that Tony can do all he claims to be able to do, he's also got nowhere else to be and this is a nice departure from his usual nightly routine. Plus, privately, he can't help but wonder that Tony's assessment of the design is right and that—

Well, that could change things.

"What are you even getting out of this," he tries, setting the ice pack down and figuring to use the distraction of conversation so that he doesn't hyper focus on his own semi-nakedness. Fingertips twist at tug at the hem of his tee before grasping it a little more firmly and all but yanking it off. Bad decision as the fabric catches on the shoulder joint and he's left a little tangled; a tiny pained groan escapes him. "...Help?"

"...if you can't get in and out of clothes easily, the design is shit. This whole thing offends me. What I get is fixing this-" He mutters, reaching up to gently untangle man and limb and worn shirt, focused more on the joint and the rippling plating before he snorts under his breath. "Yeah this was not designed for civilian use. or even military use. It's chrome, for fuck's sake-"

How is any military operative meant to use it without being noticed? And the plating-

Tony mutters under his breath, veering in and out of mathematical equations for precisely how fucked the entire mechanism is, especially when he gets a better look at Bucky's shoulder. "If you tell me this thing is bolted to your ribs, I might sue. This is insane. Who designed this fucking thing?"

"I'm usually a lot smoother than this." Or more accurately, he tends for tanks with more generous armholes, and hoodies that zip up the front. He'd grabbed the tee because it looks good with his favorite jacket and because he'd been trying to look like a college student, not a former soldier.

He's pretty sure he looks more like a fool right now than anything. "And I'm not exactly active duty any more."

Useless, he knows. Too clumsy with the new arm to put back in the field; it's not like the army needs canon fodder.

"Where else would they bolt it?" He reaches for his coffee, tries to drown the secondhand embarrassment in the rich flavor. It's actually pretty good coffee, much better than what he usually drinks, and Bucky savors the flavor while he considers Tony. Of course the whole procedure had been recorded; he'd needed to sign consent forms for that, and there are likely detailed notes on the design and attachment, but he has no idea how to get his hands on any of it. Instead he takes Tony's hand, presses it to his side and stretches a little away from him, causing skin and muscle to pull tight. "Some of the attachments should be easy to feel."

"It shouldn't be so heavy it requires bolting in the first place? We have precedent and procedures for noninvasive prosthetics. As experimental as this is, and I am willing to bet it's very experimental- their math was all off. This is fucking with your spine-" He follows the path of the radiating attachments along Bucky's ribs, lips pressed thin, eyes darkening the more he takes in. "This isn't- there is no way they had a mock up ready for you, or had a plan before putting this together."

This is something people did because they could without any thought to the end product or the man still living with it.

He reaches across to snag his hand scanner, moving it over the arm and Bucky's shoulder in slow passes, eyes narrowed as he inspects every vent, every cable. "This is gonna take more than one night- I'm going to need to make some calls. But this? Yeah. No. I'm not letting you keep this."

Bucky shivers a little as fingers trail across his skin and tries to will the back of his neck not to heat; Tony will probably see it pretty clearly. Nobody's really seen him outside the medical staff and their touches are cold, clinical, and with little care to whether or not it hurts. By contrast Tony's hands are warm but even more than that he's careful; his displeasure seems contained to his expression, rather than expressed through his hands. What a novel concept, that.

"I don't— I don't know if I' allowed to not keep it," he admits quietly. "I know I agreed to stuff, signed my name on a lot of things. I'm not... sure what all of it was." Consent forms, he knows have to be a part of the collection of paperwork. But he really can't remember most of it, lost in a haze of pain and drugs and so many procedures. All he knows is that he has to keep to his regular checkup schedule and has to do everything Dr. Zola says, or he forfeits even more money. Bucky's already drowning in debt for his medical care; he doesn't want to think about adding more expenses on top of it.

"I mean I'm not saying no or anything." He reaches for the ice pack with his right hand, just to have something to fiddle out his nervous energy. "I just. I don't know what I'm saying, I guess."

"...you don't know- okay. Name, rank, serial number, phone number, write it down. I'm making calls in the morning." Because this? this sounds five kinds of fishy and Tony doesn't trust it, doesn't like it, and if Howard will deign to give him the time of day (and he will if he's poking about military anything), they'll get a clear answer, records, and something to help this guy.

"Because I get a feeling you got fucked six ways to Sunday and not in the fun way with whoever did this to you." Not built it for him, not helped him, did this TO him. Beause this? this is an affliction, not a cure.

Scan after scan and he wheels back to a screen laying flat on the table that he double taps and pulls upward- a holographic rendering of the arm and Bucky's torso lifting like it's pulled up by a string. "Rock, hard place, I kind of get it? Not as much as I should, born with silver spoon, yadda yadda, but I can get my head around it. And I'm going to fix it."

"Technically, it's already morning." Already after one, if his watch is accurate. But he prints his information carefully on a page of a notebook. "I'll give you my phone number you won't reach me there for the rest of the week; they put me up in a hotel for the visit. I put the name and my room number down but you'll have to look up the hotel phone in the yellow pages." He thinks the hotel is mostly at the insistence of the colonel but keeps that thought to himself. After all it's a nicer bed than what he has, a roomier shower. An actual tub, not just a stall.

"Just don't get too crazy on me. If I lose my benefits from this, I'm really fucked." And definitely not in the fun way.

Tony finally sets the scanner aside though and Bucky reaches for his tee, ready for the battle if getting dressed. Before he can really start though Tony somehow draws an image up out of his screen and Bucky's jaw drops. "What is that?" he asks, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. "I mean, how did you get from that little scanner to all of this?"

"Fair point, hey J?" The barest beginnings of a learning program, but he knows enough to get this message typed up and sent to the right people. Tony scans the page with a flick of the wrist as a clipped, formal English voice crackles to life from a speaker on the table.

"Sir?"

"We need a deep dive on this file, Military, medical discharge, send Howard the scan I took and tell him something's fishy going on in medical military contracting. I was pretty sure he had that all wrapped up in a neat little bow but this mess isn't his work." Much as he and Howard disagreed on...everything? The man took pride in his products and wouldn't leave a soldier walking around with steel bolted to his ribs. "Also send a primer to Banner and Cho. Poke Pep to poke the Lawyers, too, while we're at it."

"Stirring up trouble again, sir?"

"Probably." Tony sets the page aside and squints at the arm's design, pulling up a blank mockup without next to it. "Right, first thing- the core is too heavy for your bones. There are standards weights and materials for a reason, your spine is one of them-"

Like an artist he pulls out and slides into place hollow bones of polycarbon, something strong and light that will do the job without twisting everything around. "Huh, this? Holographic drafting table, high fidelity handheld 3d scanner, it's pretty basic stuff-"

For his lab, at least.

Bucky actually jumps when he hears the new voice, looking around for anyone else in the lab. He'd thought that they were alone and now he's worried about what might have been overheard. But then he realizes that the voice is coming from a speaker; that Tony is, actually, talking to one of his computers. It's like something out of Star Trek and Bucky can't keep the amazement off his face. He's starting to wonder if he really did fall down some kind of rabbit hole, if this is his Wonderland even more than he could have possibly dreamed.

"It's amazing," he breathes; this is far, far above any of the technology that Bucky's ever actually had in his own hands. He's kind of forgotten about the shirt, lost in the way Tony so easily manipulates the diagram, how he pulls and twists and manipulates, easy as breathing. "You're amazing. You're some kind of miracle, aren't you?"

Tony's also someone that, if he can do even a fraction of what he thinks he can, Bucky knows he'll never be able to pay back. Part of this all still feels like a dream and he's holding onto those good feelings, not wanting to let go of the illusion too soon.

"You know, no one else has said so? But I'm glad finally someone recognizes my worth-" Tony spins a spanner in one hand, drawing and drafting and designing with an eye for the problems he's seen so far and a few that he can anticipate. "Since this isn't a pop off, replace, pop on job- it's not going to be ready tonight. But I can tune up your arm a little."

Keep the spasms to a minimum. It looks rushed and- a better peek at the interior would tell him everything the scans couldn't. "Right. Sit, hold your arm on the table and, I don't know, talk baseball at me or something."

Not that he gives a flying fuck about baseball but it'll keep him calm while he starts picking the vents apart and peering at the inside of his arm. "Trust me, buddy, getting you an arm that's not gonna suck will take a miracle, this is a hack job. I'm offended on your behalf, here."

"You should hear it more often, then. You can... call me, or something. If you need to hear it." The back of his neck heats again and Bucky ends up mumbling the last part of it while looking at his own feet. He's a little shaken by Tony's confidence, not only in his proposed redesign but the way he seems to feel that he'll be able to handle all the logistics around, well, everything. He's even offering a tune up and Bucky sits on a stool, a little apprehensive as he lifts his arm up onto the workbench, palm up and shoulder turned out a little bit for Tony to see as much of it as possible.

"Can you just, I don't know, talk robotics to me instead?" Sure, Bucky could make conversation but for some reason — and he can't put his finger on it — that seems wrong. He's supposed to be quiet, he thinks, supposed to let the doctors work. Any talking they have to do, they do amongst themselves, not to him. "You know, I had a dream once, ages ago. Wanted to go to MIT myself, be an engineer. I think a part of me always knew it wouldn't happen, so even just seeing this lab is blowing my mind right now."

He can't help the twitches and flinches here and there as Tony starts manipulating vents and peering inside access ports. "I know I'm lucky to have something this advanced at all. I mean, I'm a one-armed vet, but at least I'm still alive."

"Robotics? Sure, that's my specialty, thesis, and the bulk of my work right now. That and the AI development to run them- not programmed personalities, I mean real learning systems. But they need a solid chassis. Right now I'm working on an engineering assistant so they have to be able to carry things that are heavy and be relatively explosion-proof while also having sensitive grips and a delicate touch. So finding just the right balance is taking a bit. Second stage is making it affordable-" Tony is happy to ramble about Robotics, the strives he's made forward, the few problems that pop up around torque and axels for maneuverability that won't wreck feet or wires. Treds were the first thought but, well, cables are a thing.

On and on he goes, stopping for a breath before quirking a brow at Bucky. "Come over whenever you want. This is my private space and Rhodey likes it when I've got someone in here to remind me not to blow myself up."

And to sleep on occasion, but that's not happening right now.

"Look, you have a mind for it? There are grants, even military ones, pretty sure there's something for vets? I'll as Rhodey, he'll know better than I would and- can you feel this?" He pokes a wire, squinting at the cables inside the arm.

the i n s o m n i a meme

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