#acsenal

   “Hey. Lookin’ good, Red.”

“  we need to talk.  ”  roy william was more than aware that roy,  the real roy,  was avoiding him,  and he had finally managed to corner him because the other harper had said less than 10 words to him since he was taken off ice.  shit had hit the fan pretty shortly after and there hadn’t been a lot of time to talk between stopping the kid from killing lex luthor and saving the fucking world,  but will was stubborn,  and this wasn’t something he was willing to let go. 

“  i’m uh.  i’m going by william for confusion sake if nothing else.  ”  he started,  clearing his throat awkwardly.  “  i figure it’ll make things easier going forward,  since whether you like it or not i’m not going anywhere and since we share a fucking genetic code and 16 years of memories our paths are inevitably going to cross.  ”  and can you blame a clone for wanting to know the person he was created from in a desperate attempt to learn if there was anything about himself that was original or unique.

   Damn, Roy really put this room through the punches.

   Honestly, Bucky’s a tiny bit impressed.

   He picks his way carefully across the room, stepping over a shattered drawer, and crouches himself down close beside Roy, giving him just enough space that if he lashes out, Bucky will have time to duck.

          ⸻  this is the  LAST TIME.  the  last time  roy gets used as bait.  the  last time  richard isn’t there to keep him from getting his  ASS KICKED.  the  last time  he has to run in five seconds from  too late. 

         richard takes a bit more of roy’s weight,  securing an arm around his waist with care to avoid what he’s sure are  AT MINIMUM  bruised ribs.  it’s not  too far  from home,  but it’ll be slow going with roy in such rough shape.  even worse with richard so anxious to get a better look at just how  bad  of shape he’s really in. 

        “ don’t  TEMPT ME. ”  if he thought it’d help,  he’d do it in a heartbeat.  “ just a little longer,  princess.  get you all fixed up.  maybe some  hot chocolate  and a fluffy unicorn plush. ” 

this is hours old but goddang it hawky

   Bucky feels for the kid, he really does — but mandated therapy sessions does not a therapist make. He knows his own shit because he forces himself to talk about it, all at once in minutes, or tiny details stretched out over the course of months. He knows how it works, his burden.

   Roy? 

   Roy’s got a completely different animal.

   “You seem pretty bearable to me,” Bucky murmurs, his voice a soft counterbalance to Roy’s as he quietly sits across from him, body bowing forward into his space.