apocalypsehowcomm | Log: A (dusty) new arrival

Entry tags:

Log: A (dusty) new arrival

Who: Steve Rogers and OTA (including roomies in apartment B4)
When: March 14th-ish, upon arrival
Where: ADI and ADI housing
Summary: Steve arrives at ADI, bangs around in an air duct and collects lots of dust, then gets briefed and takes a look around, ultimately making it to his new living quarters
Warnings: None yet, will update/warn in threads if needed.

Arrival via air duct
Steve Rogers is not a complete stranger to suddenly finding himself in places he hadn't expected to be.

But it's always unsettling, and this time maybe even more so than any others. He'd been in Asgard one minute, and the next — Well. It's a good thing he doesn't have asthma anymore. Because wherever he is, it's dark, cramped, and full of dust.

He also feels… kind of like shit. Weak. Disoriented. Actually, a lot like the old asthma attacks, just with (fortunately) less gasping and choking. Okay, some minor gasping and choking. It's really dusty in here.

Where he'd normally just consider breaking through the damn side of the duct — because yeah, okay, this is an air duct, he's pretty sure — he both feels unsteady enough not to try and unsure enough of where he is that he… probably shouldn't? Not until he knows more. Which has him crawling forward, Mjolnir's strap looped around one wrist, until he spots a vent up ahead. Plan A, then: Kick it in and get the hell out of here. And hope for the best.

(Hope he fits through the vent, in the first place.)

Looking around, settling in
Steve Rogers is also not unaccustomed to the idea of preventing the apocalypse. What he is unaccustomed to is the idea that using any of the abilities the serum grants him requires terrorizing and murdering people. That's just —

Well. He's lived more of his life without superhuman abilities than not. He'll just… not use them, for now.

It is frustrating. He was in the middle of mission. It was, you know, kind of important. But he's still got the soul stone tucked safely away, even if his quantum suit seems to have disappeared (collapsed into the watch, he has to assume, but he can't reactivate it), and if he's needed here, then he supposes he can afford the pit stop. Technically, he's got all the time in the world. Right?

So, he decides to take a look around ADI, still in his dusty Captain America uniform as he walks the halls and pokes his head into offices, the gym, the canteen, and the library. He maybe pokes around for something to eat in the canteen (he's... very hungry) and then stops to study the local maps and directories in the library, committing them to memory.

He finally makes it to the apartments. By the time he shows up at the right door — B4 — he's at least wearing jeans and a hoodie, although his hair is a still bit dusty and there's still that hefty warhammer in one hand. He figures he might as well knock instead of just walking in. It might be his place, now, but it seems like a little politeness is the safer option when meeting potentially apocalypse-averting teammates.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"No. No, you can't." That's the thing, isn't it. Nobody leaves, unless they-- well, nobody knows what happens to the disappeared, do they? But they're all pretty sure nobody goes home.

He makes a frustrated kind of noise, almost a growl, doesn't answer the question, and says instead, "Get down from there. I've got to. I've got to take you to the people in charge. You'll need to get. Get. Filled in."

He pauses, scrubs at his face with the flesh hand, and adds, "This isn't your world anymore. Our world. If we even come from the same--" He breaks off with another frustrated noise. He wants to yell and maybe hit something. The stupid former target-- Steve-- Captain-- Steve-- should not be here.

"I can," Steve argues - he at least thinks he can - but then he's distracted away from that argument by the command. Maybe there's a part of his brain that's just hardwired to at least consider things that Bucky says, when issued in that tone of voice.

If nothing else, it's probably a lot of fun ("fun") to watch him drop a hammer down first, carefully aiming for not where Bucky is standing, then wiggle and worm and work his way out of the duct through the open vent, possibly bringing half the dust that had been in there with him.

By the time he's out, he glances up and says, unhelpfully, "What do you mean? Not Earth? How did you get here?"

"Different Earth," Winter grunts at him. "And same way you did. Which means, nobody fucking knows. I didn't appear in an air vent, though."

No, he appeared in a maintenance closet, which may or may not be why he tends to duck into them for his panic attacks. One of which he is not having right now, dammit, he doesn't have that kind of time. He also doesn't try to pick up the hammer; it's Steve's. He's not going to touch Steve's stuff. That might make this more real, somehow.

"When are you from?" is the next thing he asks. "Later than 2014?" He's going to guess so, since everyone else has been.

Good call specifying - Steve might have been about to ask if it had literally been in the air vent. Now, he'll just nod and try to get some of that air vent off his uniform. It maybe works. A little.

The answers help as much as they don't - they at least tell him something, which is that he's probably not going to mess up some timeline, if that's what he would have chosen to care about, by saying, "Uh. 2023. Technically."

He'd actually just been in 2013, but he doesn't think that answer is going to help the situation any. So instead he asks, "Who are the people in charge?"

Bucky had mentioned getting him filled in, after all.

Just like Strange, Wanda, and Yelena, then. "It's 2022 here," Winter comments. "I'm from 2014. I walked away from you on the bank. Collapsed somewhere to recover. Woke up in a closet with brooms."

He steps back, giving Steve more room, and maybe subtly suggest Steve get moving. "Apocalypse Disruption Initiative. That's where we are. That's who I work for now." He pauses, then adds, "They're better than HYDRA. I'm pretty sure."

"Huh," is the sound Steve makes, but he's taking that all in. Filing it away. Trying to make sense of it, really, but there's only so much sense he can make.

Including, "They're bringing people here. To work for them?"

Admittedly, for better or for worse, Bucky being at least pretty sure they're better than HYDRA is a mark in favor of them in Steve's book.

"To... disrupt an apocalypse?" he guesses. Jesus. How many apocalypses is one guy supposed to be able to take, one after another.

"They're not doing it." They've verified that with truth magic now, however that works. "They don't know who is doing it, but it's probably the entities who want the apocalypse. Or their avatars."

Winter eyes Steve's broad chest and well-muscled arms and decides to warn him, "Your strength won't work like it does at home. Unless you scare people. And you shouldn't scare people."

That's... interesting. "If they want the apocalypse, they should've avoided kidnapping me," Steve points out wryly.

But any hint of humor disappears a second later. "What?" What does Bucky mean - "I don't want to scare people. What do you mean?"

The problem is, even as he's asking - he has a bad feeling that whatever it is, it's why he feels... off. Because he definitely feels off. And then some.

"I don't want to scare people either. It still happened." He starts down the hall, slow, looking over his shoulder for Steve to follow. He feels like he's reeling inside, focusing on moving, explaining, and not freaking out. He can freak out later. (He's definitely going to freak out later.)

Maybe throwing horrible things at Steve to keep him from asking too many questions is a little bit on purpose, too.

"All powers here. Anything not standard human. Is tied to these things. Monsters. Gods. Fears. For powers to work you have to feed one. And you feed them by scaring people. Otherwise you're just normal." He gives Steve's shoulders another narrow look. "Well. You're going to be big no matter what. But not more than that."

Steve very magnanimously does not point out that maybe if Bucky didn't go around wearing that mask, it might help. That seems like a very sensitive subject, particularly at this point in time, and then there's the fact that even thinking about joking about it unleashes a cascade of guilt that he's got to quash down quickly, because he's already dealing with enough.

So he grabs the hammer and followed Bucky down the hall, because obviously he's not going to let him just walk away. Never.

Steve maybe sort of glances down at himself, when Bucky gives him that look, points out he's going to be big. (Points out indirectly that it's not normal. Not for Steve.)

He is indeed still big. And the insinuation, whether he'd meant it that way or not, actually stings in this weird way that Steve had foolishly thought was long healed over. But what he tries to focus on instead is, "So I don't have to scare people. Okay." He can work with that. Not that he has any idea what normal is when he's big, having shot from one end of the spectrum to the other, but hey. He's adaptable. He can learn. And Mjolnir, at least, still feels the same - a hefty, solid weight, yes, but not unmanageable. "I think I'd rather just be a regular Joe than make some monster happy so I can lift a car."

And now he comes around to, "How long have you been here?" And then there's a horrified, "Not eight years?" He'd said he was from 2014. And it's 2022 now. But people are clearly coming in - being kidnapped - from different times, so maybe it doesn't mean anything -

There is indeed a part of Winter that's struggling with the size. Big Steve means Target. But he keeps doing and saying little things, now that they're not fighting and he's got more going on in his head than their last meeting, that make him want to double-take. That tell him no, this is wrong, Steve should be Small. It's disturbing, one more thing to add to his pile of freaking out for as soon as he's deposited Steve with the higher-ups.

Very few of his regained memories so far have centered on before-HYDRA times. There hasn't been much to remind him. That's... clearly about to change.

"No," he says, focusing on the question, on making that look of horror go away. Because apparently that matters. "Six months, a little more. Times are different. Universes are different. There's people here not even from Earth. Originally. We had one guy who was a rat, for a while."

"I mean, I've met a talking raccoon and a talking tree," Steve allows, and has definitely decided by this point that things are So Off The Rails that saying things like that doesn't matter. He is relieved to hear that Bucky hasn't been here for years. And he's also determined that this is not the normal timeline, so it's really not like he can mess it up further. "So, a rat sounds reasonable."

Plus, Bucky seems willing to answer questions. So Steve opts next for, "How has it been, here? How have you been?"

Sorry, but better than HYDRA is still a pretty low bar to clear. He'd like more information, please. On you.

"It's." How do you describe ADI and this world they're in? "Not boring. Mostly. The fear-entities and their avatars. Others who get a lot of power in return for spreading fear. They attack a lot. In weird ways. We fight them off, or don't. And then in between attacks we do patrols and paperwork."

Like any other job, really. Not that Winter has much experience with that. Nobody made him file paperwork with HYDRA.

"Last month we were snowed for a week while something attacked ADI. Except we're pretty sure the snow was an illusion. None of us could dig through it, not even if we tried. For hours."

Not boring. Mostly. Steve almost snorts a little at that, but he doesn't think Bucky means it as a joke. And when he goes on, it sounds - well. It does sound a little mundane. Or, at least, slow. Drawn out. Maybe almost painfully so, if there really is literally some kind of apocalypse to avert.

But isn't that how things happen? Slowly, building over time, until they're right in your face and you realize you haven't done nearly enough to stop them.

"So we're on the defensive," Steve hazards, and it's not a position he likes being in. If Bucky can remember anything, he'll probably remember that.

But - maybe he doesn't. And Steve still hasn't gotten an answer to his question. Not really. He has noticed that. "And you're doing all right?" he presses. If this is six months out from the helicarriers... shit. "I guess I can see why you're not happy to have me here."

It was maybe a little bit of a joke.

And when one of the avatars attack, it won't feel mundane. Just for somebody more used to avoiding all the in-between stuff, it's a little strange being part of it now.

Winter shrugs awkwardly, not looking at him, prowling down the hall. "I don't. Really remember you much. I haven't tried to." And the pieces he does remember hurt. He continues, though, almost against his will, teeth ground tight. "But I don't. Want you. To have to deal with this place. It's. Sometimes it's awful."

Steve's lips twitch up into a smile that's maybe a little weak, but he is trying - and he is genuine when he says, "It's okay. I can - try to steer clear."

He will not like it, and he will probably be bad at it. But he can try. Bucky had fallen off the map for years for a reason, he knows. And maybe Steve's never gotten over how that made him feel, but that's his own damn problem, isn't it. Now he's forcing Bucky's hand - well, whoever brought him here is forcing Bucky's hand - and it's more than a little cruel, and maybe he shouldn't be surprised, given the givens. But he can try not to make it worse.

"Sometimes life is awful," Steve admits, voice quiet. "I understand that. I accept that. But I understand," he adds, "because I could say the same thing about you, you know."

He'd never wanted Bucky to have to deal with awful things. Look how well that had turned out.

He considers the offer seriously for a moment, then shakes his head. "If you do that. I'll just find you. And then we'll annoy each other. Just don't. Don't expect me to remember a lot."

He looks back at Steve, almost but not quite managing eye contact, and says, "I'm not that. Person. Here. I'm Winter. Maybe I'm still trying to. To figure out who that is. But I don't think it's who you know."

"I can annoy you just as well if we're not trying to avoid each other," Steve agrees, though there is a hint of careful teasing in his voice.

It's the rest, though, that makes him drop even that small amount of humor when he speaks again. "I would never pressure you into that."

Or, at least, not consciously. Had that been what he'd done to Bucky before? But - Bucky had remembered things. It had been clear. Bucky here and now still remembers who he is. At least superficially.

But in the face of such a clear request, Steve adds, "Okay. I won't expect anything. If I sound like I am - call me on it."

The one thing he does find it at least a little challenging to accept, though, is, "Winter?" Yeah, he can figure out easily where that comes from. But - "You want to be called that?"

"One of the kids started that," Winter says, maybe a little tiny bit defensively. Nobody else actually called him on where the name came from, and he doesn't want Steve thinking-- he just doesn't want Steve thinking it's some HYDRA artifact. "You know. Nobody at HYDRA ever really called me that. It was always. Asset. Soldier. Soldat. Never actually Winter."

He hitches his shoulder in half a shrug, on the right side. "It's a name now. Not a threat."

"I bet they didn't." It admittedly does not seem like shorthand HYDRA would have used.

Steve still isn't sure how he feels about it, though; it's... maybe sort of clear on his face, even if he's trying to be diplomatic when he says, "It's what you want."

Despite being phrased as a statement, it is still a question. Just because some kid started it and it's not a threat does not mean it is actually what he wants to be called. Right?

"Yes," he says deliberately. "It's what I want."

There might wind up being other things he's willing to compromise on, for Steve. Maybe. But his identity, his chosen name-- that's not one of them.

He barrels on. Steve wanted to know about how he's going, does he? "I work security and field ops. We've verified that ADI didn't bring us here and doesn't know how to send us back and they do actually want to stop the apocalypse. To protect people." So that's why he's pretty sure they're better than HYDRA. "I'm staying in the ADI owned apartments. They're clean. We each have our own rooms. My roommates are good people. One of them is from our world. Your world, probably, same year as you."

Well, okay. That's clear, if... still kind of weird. But Steve nods. He'll try. (Old habits might die hard. But he'll try. He can try, for Bucky - Winter - if this is what he wants.)

At least he gets plenty else to chew over in the next minute. That's all valuable intel, really, given that he isn't familiar with anyone or anything here, other than this one man.

Or - maybe not just him. "Oh?" Someone else from their, or his, or whatever, world. "That's - I'm not sure if I want to say 'interesting' or 'not surprising,'" he admits. "Maybe both. Who are they?"

"Yelena Belova. She was with the Red Room. Like Natalia Romanova. Romanoff. The baby Widows." He doesn't really remember his and Steve's first meeting (second to last meeting?) or his fight with Natasha, but he does know she's a known associate of Captain America's. It was part of the briefing, to be on the lookout for her.

But about Yelena: "I helped train Belova when she was eight. Her and a handful of others."

That's... all extremely interesting information. Of course, it makes him wonder if Belova is more like Natasha is - shit. Was. Was. Or if she's still loyal to a the old regime.

He's trying to be tactful, at least, when he asks, "Is it weird for you? To have her here now." It suddenly strikes him how hard it must be for Bu- Winter to have people here from his past that he might or might not remember well, if at all.

"No. It's good." He turns a corner, heading for the stairs up. "It's. She knows me. Sometimes better than I do. She went through a lot of shit. But she got free."

He frowns, mostly to himself, and adds, "It was weirder when Stephen Strange and Wanda Maximoff were here. They're gone now. They were from the same time you and Belova are, and they knew me." Steve he at least has some recollection of, even if the vast majority of that time was spent fighting him and then dragging him out of the river.

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