notworthallthis | (no subject)

[An incident. That feels like coached language, an attempt at somehow softening the tragedy of her stepbrother's death, as though it being tragic, sudden, unexpected, and unavoidable somehow makes the fact that it happened at all any easier to hold. It doesn't, of course. How could it?

He just isn't sure if it's Max being coached by someone else, or if she's trying to do the coaching, so maybe he doesn't push her about it.

This is... a really hard line to toe against. How does he keep the conversation going, without stepping too far and making her slam the door shut again?]

Like... the kind of incidents The Avengers stop or more like...crazy guy on the subway's got a gun kinda incident?

How are you taking it? [It feels awful to ask, but he does genuinely want to know, if she'll tell him.]

[Some of it's definitely coached language. She'd been forced to sign no less than a dozen NDA's just to get to go home after things at Starcourt Mall had gone pear-shaped. But some of it's also her, afraid to say too much and possibly get her friends in trouble.

But the question there is -- difficult, too. Because of said NDA's and fears.]

The official word was a fire. [Her voice is hushed, but he can probably guess what she means from that alone, so she'll leave it there.]

Everything's been pretty shitty since then.

[She's not even sure how to answer it, all the way, in any sort of coherent way.]

He hated me. And - I didn't hate him, exactly, but we weren't close. I guess when our parents got married neither of us was what the other wanted in a sibling.

In my experience, the official word is usually a pretty far cry from the truth. [He casts a glance over at her before turning his attention back to the road.]

At home, or in general?

[He considers that for a moment before he finally settles on: ] You know... it's okay to miss him, to... mourn him, even if you weren't close. And there's not a right or wrong way to grieve, I don't care what anybody tells you, okay? Shut yourself down for the next year. Scream at the top of your lungs at midnight in the middle of a field. That grief is yours, and it can be as big and loud or small and quiet as you want it to be.

Sounds about right.

[A fire couldn't be farther from the truth of what happened. But the government can't have word getting out about monsters. At least not since the Avengers weren't involved in that one.]

Both, really.

[Home has been particularly awful, the fights between her mom and Neil getting worse every day, which is why she hadn't really hesitated when he'd offered for her to come along on this little field trip.]

It has to be quiet. [And hers. No one else cared about Billy. Even his dad had treated him horribly and her mom had ignored all of it, every time Neil had gone after him.] No one else would understand. He -- no one really liked him. He was --

[She's not sure what word is really appropriate.]

Like a stick of lit dynamite.

Wanna talk about any of that? [He’s not sure which might feel easier to divulge— home life or everything else. He’s open to listening, regardless, though.]

Why do you say that? [The rest is… rough. But even harsh and brash people can be grieved and mourned. Someone cares about them, somewhere. ]

Some people are like that… sometimes it gets better with time or age. Growing up and growth are not mutually exclusive.

[She lays her head back against the headrest.]

Billy had a way of tormenting people. Me. My friends. [She still can't hardly think about what he'd done to Steve that night. If she hadn't intervened -- Billy might have been in jail and Steve might have been dead. Probably would have been, given the beating her stepbrother had dealt out.]

It wasn't really his fault. I mean, it was but...he was just doing what he knew to do.

Tormenting how, exactly? [Not that any style of torment is good or even necessarily one better than the other. But knowing whether he was taunting and teasing, or if he got particularly physical provides a certain sort of context to the bigger picture.

Still. He hedges the question carefully, because he knows this is not an easy topic. She barely knows him and she has no reason to tell him any of this, despite any potential familial relationship that may technically exist between them.]

It’s a really simplistic statement for something much more complicated, and it doesn’t excuse anyone’s action but… hurt people hurt people. It says a lot about you that you understand that perspective, even though you were also one of his targets.

Depended on his mood. [She paused, exhaling.] He liked to yell. And break my things if I pissed him off. Sometimes he'd drive too fast to scare me. Or -- pretend like he was going to run people over, run them off the road. [She grew quiet for a long moment.] Sometimes it was worse. He went after this guy I liked -- and when another friend intervened, he beat the hell out of him. Almost killed him.

[Her relationship with Billy had been complicated until that night, never knowing what might set him off and cause him to fly into a rage. When she'd ended up threatening him with a nail bat to his balls, though, he'd kept a healthy respect for her after that, mostly.]

But...he cooled down a bit after that. Not that he wasn't still an asshole -- but he didn't really mess with me or my friends anymore. [Until he'd gotten possessed by the Mind Flayer, of course. But that hadn't been Billy at all.]

But...yeah. You're right. [Her voice is hushed. Hurt people hurt people had been Billy in a nutshell.]

[There's a softly muttered, 'Jesus Christ' under his breath as she explains it. Almost textbook abuse, really. And more than he would have expected for her to hand him, but maybe once she started, it was just easier to keep going. Maybe it's because she doesn't know him it's easier to talk to him.]

That's one helluva a household you're coming from. [Abusive step-dad, abusive step-brother, negligent mother... It's way more than one kid should have to be dealing with.]

[It's the most she's talked about Billy with anyone, really. She tended to bottle things up and keep quiet. Maybe it really is easier to talk to someone she doesn't know very well. The soft Jesus Christ, though, makes her tear up for some stupid reason. She holds her breath for a moment, blinking a few times to try and hold them back instead of letting them fall.]

Yeah. Still sure you want to be part of the family?

[There's no bite to her tone, just...flatness. Because she won't blame him if he decides that nope, this life is not for him. She's not sure this life is for her most of the time anymore.]

[Bucky can tell she's trying not to cry, but he pretends not to notice, eyes focused on the road in front of him.

When she speaks, he does glance back over at her, manages a small smile.]

Every family has its problems, some just have more or bigger ones than others.

[She appreciates that he doesn't call her out on the tears. But she raises her eyebrows when he says that.]

Well. We definitely weren't the Brady Bunch, that's for sure.

I don't think anyone's family is like that. [He snorts softly.]

Oh, I don't know. I have a friend whose family that's pretty close. Only two kids though, not six.

Yeah? [He smirks slightly. At least she’s talking again.] Well, they’re one in a million, then, maybe.

Yeah, maybe. [She considers for a long moment, then glances at him sideways.]

What was it like? For you, I mean. Growing up.

I was the oldest of four, and we moved a lot cause our Dad was in the Army.

[Packing everything up to head to another base on the whim of the government was… not the best way to live, but Bucky had borderline idolized his dad back then. He wanted to be just like him.]

He died in an accident during a training exercise… mom didn’t last long after losing him, either. My siblings went with family, and Sarah Rogers kinda unofficially adopted me.