Steve Rogers ☆ Captain America (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
punched_hitler) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
apocalypsehowcomm2022-03-14 10:54 pm
punched_hitler) wrote in apocalypsehowcomm2022-03-14 10:54 pm
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.
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.
no subject
[The dismissal is clear. And maybe that's what finally jolts Steve's brain into actually analyzing the situation, past the relief and guilt and everything else at seeing Tony again. Past the grasping for what he'd lost.
Because he can put two and two together. The way he looks. The way he sounds. The way he moves. Everything he's saying without saying anything at all.
Steve is an idiot.]
When are you from? What year is it, for you? [he asks, voice quiet. Not demanding. Not pleading, either. Just... asking, like he probably should have right off the bat.]
no subject
Instead he briefly glances behind himself, where he'd just left, at the short expanse he'd walked to go and do he-doesn't-remember-what, then peers up again at Steve in an uncharacteristically tentative way. Look, he's tired of standing out in the hallway, okay? That's a perfectly good
excusereason for what he's about to ask. ]You got somewhere you need to be? 'Cause I got coffee, back at, you know. [ He jabs his thumb at that short expanse, in the direction of his apartment. Hopes the shaking of his limbs isn't too obvious. ] If you wanna.
no subject
Nope. Nowhere to be. I'd love some coffee.
[It... might even work on him, now? Well. Clearly that's an experiment that needs to be run. So - two birds, one stone. Seems like Tony would approve.]
Lead on. [He'll follow.]
no subject
Anyway they're both thankfully spared a stretch of awkward silence as they walk, as Tony's apartment is literally right there, and once they arrive Tony pushes the door open without preamble. And right away, despite the place clearly presenting an almost comically extreme downgrade from the sort of dwelling the man usually calls home, Steve will be able to see how Tony has nonetheless managed to make the space thoroughly his own.
There are a few untouched spots inside that definitely seem to be the jurisdiction of others, but practically every inch of apartment that isn't has been converted into what is obviously Tony's attempt at a makeshift workshop. The Iron Man suit is immediately recognizable, standing tall near the back of the living area, clearly in mid-repair as its surroundings spill over with tools and gadgets that Tony seems to have jury-rigged together from any piece of scrap he has managed to get his hands on. It would look like a veritable junkyard if not for the way Tony seems to infuse a sense of elegance into everything he makes, from a glue gun that seems to be in the process of becoming a working firearm to a motherboard that's been attached to what looks like the inside of an empty milk crate. The story it all tells is abundantly clear: you can take away Tony's billions and nerf his tech to hell and back, but he'll still manage to build and create and invent and there's nothing you can goddamn do about it.
It does make for kind of a tight space, though.
Tony manages to maneuver through the maze just fine, skinny bastard that he is, but Steve might have as tricky a time as Jaeger does getting around the piles of scrap metal and half-finished projects on his way to the kitchen area. He might be better off just hunkering down on the couch, as Tony gestures for him to do before he shuffles toward the coffee maker, kicking what looks like a trash can lid out of the way as he goes. ]
Afraid it's the cheap stuff. Not that I think you'd care or anything, I just feel the need to denounce bad coffee lest my reputation as a connoisseur be irreversibly tarnished. [ See? Jokes! Things are going well. So far. ]
no subject
He manages to cover it (he thinks) pretty well as a moment to just look around and find the path of least resistance, because it's very Tony Stark in a lot of ways, including the extremely precise and exact path you have to take in order not to quite literally shoot yourself in the foot with a laser rifle or something.
He does get as far as the couch and decides that yes, this is where he is best suited to stay. He's more than used to his big body by now, but it's still a little off putting sometimes, when he's faced with a situation that makes him realize all over again just how big he is. This is one of those situations.
He just waves a hand a bit at Tony's back as he settles onto the couch.] I haven't met bad coffee yet that I won't drink anyway. But I promise, I won't hold you accountable either way.
[His eyes flick over the array of... everything, and he finds himself saying,] I hope you have very limber roommates.
[It... seems like there's at least one roommate, but it is hard to tell.]
no subject
In for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. Imagine a box in your head. Yadda yadda. Oh shit, Steve said something. ]
Not particularly, but they cope. They know it's all for a good cause.
[ A few things happen in rapid succession following that statement. The snap back to reality that conversation necessitates has Tony finally paying attention to what he's doing, which in turn makes him suddenly realize that he's fixing Steve's coffee exactly how he likes it, which then makes him frown, because that definitely shouldn't be muscle memory--and it's this weird weird moment, for some bizarre reason, that makes him want to finally rip this Band-Aid off already. ]
So. [ Tony emerges from the kitchenette with two mugs in hand and passes Steve's over quickly, ensuring that there'll be only one casualty should another mug-throwing incident occur. He's just covering his bases, okay. ] Answering your question from before. I came here right after we lost, Cap. On Titan. You know, that fight I had to swing on my own, because you weren't there? When I lost the kid.
[ There. Subject broached. ] You remember that? You have to have some recollection, since you and everyone else from our world seem to have come here after we won somehow while I did a straight detour from starving to death in the middle of outer space after Thanos punched a hole through my spleen.
[ They're not nice, certainly, but Tony's words lack a certain level of venom that he'd been anticipating. There's no shattered ceramic yet, anyway. ]
no subject
It also leaves Steve momentarily silent, with an awful, ugly feeling of unfairness with an immediate chaser of guilt. But hey, isn't that just how things go: He's here, in this strange place where there's apparently an apocalypse not-so-slowly rolling down the hill, without powers unless he agrees to do something downright horrible for them back. But also Bucky is here and doesn't know him, doesn't even want to be Bucky. And also Tony is here, from a time that, if he's honest, was hell on them both.
And it explains a lot.]
I remember, [is what he finally says, eyes on Tony's, face calm and impassive, which is nothing short of a sheer miracle, given the tumbling storm he can feel going on inside his gut.
He remembers. He remembers losing on Earth, too. And he remembers what Tony was like, when he came back. He was like — well. This.
And it took five years for that to change. The last time around.]
I'm sorry I wasn't there, [he adds.] For what it's worth. Which I know is — pretty much nothing.
[But the truth is, Tony deserves to hear it, anyway. Even if it means nothing. Does nothing.]
But the way you feel isn't nothing. Do you want me to steer clear?
[Nevermind that they're sitting here having coffee. It's the same offer he made to Bucky — shit. Winter.]
no subject
‘Steer clear’? Are you serious right now? No, you keep your star-spangled ass right there, Steve Rogers-- Do you honestly think I'd want you to leave again?
[ Look, Tony's eyes are big and beautiful and probably his best asset looks-wise, but they're shit at betraying his emotions. There's an undeniable shine in them as his expression tilts from anger to hurt, something he doesn't seem to have the strength to prevent. So he turns away for a moment, pacing idly on the spot, anxiety radiating from every action. ]
It's your turn, Cap. Tell me where--when you're from. Tell me what happened.
no subject
[It's true, and it seems worth admitting, if only because - there are a lot of things he'd never said. A lot of things he'd thought he'd never get the chance to say. Steve isn't going to lay his heart bare, but he can at least try to not make all of the same mistakes over again.
He'll try.
Of course, the simple demand that follows is not so simple, really.] It depends - what has everyone else told you?
[Both because he doesn't want to rehash details that don't need rehashing, and because he doesn't know how much to say. We won, and we lost you seems like a shitty thing to throw on top of the pile right now.]
no subject
Strange told me that we won. [ Tony continues pacing as he speaks, still twisting his hands, clearly tiring himself out. ] That he'd returned, along with everyone else who was--who, you know, disappeared. He said he'd arrived here from five years after it had happened. When I asked him how we won, how we got everyone back, he refused to tell me. The kid's been mum about it too.
[ Tony finally stills, turning to face Steve at last, and shrugs in a helpless sort of way. ] So that's it. That's the extent of my knowledge. I kinda feel like I'm the only one in the dark here, but if it's true that we won... I guess I should just be happy, right?
[ Finally, after expelling so much nervous energy that he feels thoroughly exhausted, Tony moves to sit next to Steve on the couch. Immediately he's drawn to the warmth that Steve radiates, that irresistible sense of safety that he always seems to effortlessly project to everyone around him, and realizes (in a somewhat disgruntled manner) that he's been missing it terribly. ]
no subject
He huffs out a breath.] I wouldn't be. [Happy with just being told that they'd won, without knowing the details. He knows he wouldn't be, and he knows Tony isn't, either.]
I'm honestly not sure how much I should say. I don't want to mess something up. We won, [he confirms,] but it was by the skin of our teeth. You know how it is. If I tell you, you're gonna want to win better.
[A pause, as he searches Tony's face - and searches himself. Wonders if that would be such a bad thing. Wonders if they can win better. Wonders if it's right, to keep this from him.
But he can't. He can't tell him, not right now. He can't do that to Tony.] I don't know that it'll help.
[He's not saying it as a finality. He's almost saying it as a question. Does Tony think knowing more will help? For all that it feels like there's a gulf between them all over again, he still trusts Tony's opinion.]
no subject
Tony had reacted rather explosively to Strange's non-answers during that aforementioned mug-throwing meltdown, and he has carried the smoldering embers of that anger within him ever since; he hates feeling talked down to probably more than anything else in the world, after all, and the Doc just had that way about him--that special sense that he's absolutely right, and Tony can't argue with him. And, y'know, Tony fucking hates that too.
But Cap, of course, is different. Because he's always fucking different.
When he speaks, Tony wants to trust, a habit that he's frustrated to find is still insistently present even after that trust was betrayed (or so he thought) so horribly and completely. It's not an entirely unreasonable one, though; if there's anything that can be definitively said about Steve Rogers, it's that there's a good fucking reason for everything he says and does. He wouldn't just say this shit to Tony to string him along. And there's that tone, the sound of Tony hearing his own trust echoed back at him--and then Steve is putting it in his hands, even after everything, even against his better judgment.
So. All of this is making Tony doubt absolutely fucking everything. ]
We lost people, then. [ It's the only conclusion he can vocalize while his too-fast brain wars with itself at lightning speed. ]
no subject
So I know you would, too.
[His mouth twists, and he takes a sip of coffee because there is a momentary feeling that if he doesn't occupy his mouth with something, it might open and spill out everything, no matter how much he isn't sure whether he should. No matter how much he... has some ideas about winning better. Some ideas that he could be very, very tempted to talk out with Tony.
This place seems to be as much about temptation to do what you shouldn't as the potential ending of the world, if Winter is to be believed.]
I can't imagine me sitting here and telling you nothing is going to really make us closer friends, though, [he finally admits, glancing up at Tony, tone trying for something... if not exactly wry, joking, than approaching it sideways. Maybe. How else do you get through the end of the world, but by joking about it, at least a little?]
Sorry for the wait! <3
He'd wanted answers so badly he'd lost his mind before. Just a second ago he'd nearly shouted to get them. Now, he can't think of anything in the entire universe that he wants less than to know what they'd lost on that battlefield to win.
So he's much more grateful than he wants to admit when Steve kind-of sort-of changes the subject, attempting to tug this dire mood upward somehow, however lamely. And yeah, it's a lame attempt, and Steve is lame, but Tony is so grateful he could cry. Because he doesn't want to know who they lost. Doesn't, doesn't, doesn't. ]
You say that like it's something you want. [ Oof. That should have been a joke right back, but Tony's too raw apparently. It comes out far more vulnerable than he wants it to. ]
Not at alllll <3
I think it is.
[He glances at Tony, though, and amends:] It is.
[God, he misses Tony. He really does. He's missed him for years, honestly, and he's no small amount of grateful they managed to get past it in the end, but there was nothing past that because it was the end, and now -
Now, it feels like he has a second chance. He doesn't want to waste it. And he can't tell Tony any of that.]
But that's the kinda thing that has to be mutual, [he admits, one corner of his mouth quirking up, before he hides it in a slow sip.
He wants to say he'll respect if it's not, but Tony's reaction to Steve saying he'd steer clear was pretty, well. Clear, too.]
We could start fresh. Or you could tell me exactly everything you hate about how I've handled the situation, first. Either way.
[He actually means that. This is an olive branch. If Tony is too close to it, still. If he needs to get it off his chest, lay into Steve will take his lumps.]
no subject
Still. He has no idea how to respond.
There's very little Tony's big expressive eyes can hide, and he's very aware of that unfortunate fact, so he has been determinedly looking at everything in the apartment but Steve this entire time--and he keeps them fixed on the ground for a while, for as long a pause as he can get away with. In the end they up having a mind of their own, though, and at last lift up and blink over at the man next to him in all their soulful, puppy-dog glory.
And, well, shit. He's got to be honest now. ]
The worst thing is that you left. It always was.
no subject
I thought it was the best thing I can do, [he offers, softly, turning the mug around and around in his hands for a moment. He's not ashamed of the decision. But he understands, now, that it might have been necessary. But maybe it wasn't the best.]
When Buck and I used to fight, [he starts, a moment later, voice still quiet, eyes still on the mug, trying to give them both a little mental space while he tries to figure out how to explain.] We'd get real heated up about it. Usually the only way out was to walk it off. We weren't ever gonna see eye to eye, change each other's minds about the important stuff. So we had to just walk away, and know we'd come back.
[He glances up at Tony.] I'm sorry. If I ever made you think that I would walk away and never come back.
[Because that had never been the plan. But he can see, with the benefit of hindsight, that it probably really, really looked that way.]
no subject
You told me you'd come if I needed you. You said we'd beat Thanos together, I said we'd lose, and you said we'll do that together too. Don't you get it? We lost, and you weren't there.
[ Tony's eyes prickle so he quickly looks away again, hand moving to hold his temple and hide whatever is trying to happen there. He's so tired all of a sudden. ]
I needed you, and you weren't there.
no subject
But I was there. I was left behind. Just like you.
[He will never, ever forget the sight of Bucky crumbling away before his eyes. The sound of his voice. Yeah, yeah, eidetic memory and all, but... it haunts him. Just like the memory of watching Bucky fall from that train.
Honestly, a little like the memory of watching Stark fall from a hole in the sky over New York in 2012. More so, maybe of watching him snap his fingers on a battlefield.]
I lost, too, [he admits, quietly.] Even if you weren't there to see it.
[But - shit. Shit. That sounds selfish and cruel. It's an excuse.] I can't take it back. I don't know if I can make it right. Maybe I can't.