apocalypsehowcomm | Log: Early days of May

Entry tags:

Log: Early days of May

Who: Steve Rogers and OTA
When: First half of May
Where: Prompts include Dogtown (Rivertouched), a random bar/the streets of Gloucester, and the train,. You can also catch him at ADI or in his apartment/around the ADI housing building, or hit me up if you have other ideas!
Summary: Steve has been here for a month and still feels like he's a little adrift. He doesn't like it. He takes the mission in Dogtown, then "investigates" some local haunts (i.e., bars) to try to relax, and boards the train with the rest of his colleagues for whatever lies ahead.
Warnings: supernatural compulsion, hallucination, suicidal ideation and drowning (past and potentially present) drinking/drunkenness, nyctophobia, burns/dead bodies

It's better than the Arctic
His conversation with Yelena shortly after arriving had piqued Steve's interest in Dogtown, so when the opportunity arises to check it out for himself, he takes it. Sure, he's got the ADI-issued GPS in his pocket, but he sure as hell doesn't plan on using it. (Maybe he'll change his mind. We'll see.)

All he's got to record with is his phone and he knows how to use it, but frankly he's more interested in simply finding out what's up with this place than actually documenting anything or earning any reward. He won't outright abandon his partner, of course, but they must have taken different paths back at the fork, because now he's standing at the edge of a river that he doesn't… think was on the map he'd looked up, but hadn't Yelena said something about maps being unreliable? He's much less interested in the why and much more interested in crouching down and running his hand through the water. It's warm. Nothing at all like the icy Arctic waters that had closed in over his head. That had been terrifying. He'd felt so desperate. This doesn't feel like that at all — and of course, why would it? It's just a river.

A pretty inviting river. And he's tired. He's tired, because he's stuck here, in a place where Tony is alive and where Bucky doesn't want to be Bucky, where the people he knows are different and he feels out of step, like he's been given a second chance but he's still out of sync with it. He still feels very alone. But that's how it's supposed to be, right? He always ends up alone.

At least this time, the water's warm, he thinks, as he leans closer, and closer. It's really so inviting. He could just… slip in. Then he wouldn't have to think about apocalypses or infinity stones or Natasha or Tony or…

I need a goddamn drink
After Dogtown, Steve does something… well. It's not stupid, really. It's normal to want a drink right? And hey, drinks even work on him these days, supposedly. So he's just going to test it. For science.

And maybe to forget that awful river. And the Arctic. And - everything. Just a little. Just bury it under a buzz. Just for a little while.

He finds a bar — something the locals seem to favor, something casual and laid-back and where his limited budget (and palate) is well suited. He orders a couple drinks. And then he orders a few more.

When he finally steps out the door, headed for home, it's late and he's definitely the floaty kind of buzzed. Not falling-down drunk — apparently his big-but-not-enhanced physique can hold its liquor like a true Irishman — but he feels… good. Ish. Better? Kind of. Good enough that it takes him a while to actually make his way back, to the ADI housing, to get up the stairs, to fumble with his keys outside his door. He's still a respectful roommate, somehow, beelining for his room and maybe only hits his shin once or twice if the apartment is dark. The cursing will be quiet.

Time for a train ride
Steve shows up at the station as requested, bag slung over his shoulder. When they get on board, he takes a seat by the window and plunks the bag down by his feet (it makes an odd, heavy, almost metallic sound when he does). He mostly spends the trip alternately watching the landscape go by and checking on Winter, sometimes getting snacks from the dining car for one or both of them. Anyone seated near him might get offered a bite or two, if they look interested.

While he doesn't manage to get caught between the cars, he's definitely by the window when they go through the tunnel. When the tapping starts, he tries to get closer, not back away (like a reasonable person). Still, he can't make anything out by the time the lights flicker back on.

His seat means he also sees the burned bodies; he doesn't know what to think about that, but anyone sitting next to him will get a nudge as he asks, "Do you see that?" Of course, when you look… there's nothing to see. And when he looks back, it's gone.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Winter scowls down at him, though Steve will probably recognize the scowl as a worried, angry-you-almost-died scowl, more than a you-used-the-wrong-name scowl. "You got separated from your partner. And you almost drowned yourself."

Steve looks back at the muddy river, and down at his clothes. He frowns. Had he...?

"I - " Guess he did. That's... not great. That's really not great.

His (admittedly rusty) panic response kicks in right about then, his heart triple-speeding in his chest as he scrambles back a little, wanting to sit down but not sure where it's safe. Wanting to get Winter away from the water, too, scrabbling at his sleeve.

Winter is perfectly happy to get further away from that river. He drags Steve further back, bodily, even though it hurts. His leg isn't healed yet. He's only here out of that fierce need to make sure Steve doesn't do something stupid.

Like this.

"You never leave your partner in Dogwood," he growls, giving Steve a little shake, worry making itself known in the eerily familiar scolding. "They can stop you from getting into illusion shit like this. Or call help. Or you can stop them. Didn't anyone tell you about this place?"

It's weirdly comforting to essentially be hauled away from that damn river; for a second, Steve feels much younger, much less equipped to handle... everything.

He looks away from the water quickly. It's far easier (for many, many reasons) to focus on the unhappy face in front of him.

"Yes," he says, after a second, because - yes. Yelena had told him a little. She'd also said not to go alone. And he hadn't. "I was here with -"

He blinks. "I don't know how long we've been separated." And then he starts to try to stand. "We need to find -"

His mind is still fuzzy. Who was he with? It had been someone else from ADI. They'd mostly just exchanged names and gotten on with it.

"I know who you're here with. I know which way he went. He might not still be there, knowing Dogwood." He adds his own strength to haul Steve to his feet, then gives him a little shake, as if trying to shake some sense into him, or maybe just remind himself that Steve's solid and there to get shaken. Probably both.

Then he pushes Steve ahead of him, into the trees, away from the river that probably isn't even really a river. "We'll find out together. I'm not leaving you alone in here."

Steve's honestly pretty easy to manhandle right now. He's confused and not actually handling this as well as he'd like to pretend he is - plus, he does actually want to go find his partner. So it's good that somebody knows who that is, and at least where to start looking for them.

"Thank you," he finds himself mumbling, trying to wipe mud off himself and put one foot in front of the other, not at all unhappy to put that river behind them. Far, far behind them. Even now, part of him still wants to turn around, look back, get closer, and he does his best to smother it.

Of course, that's when he maybe realizes - "Were you following me?"

It's not coincidence that keeps Winter firmly between Steve and the site if his near-drowning, even as the trees close around them to block out the sight and sound of water. "Of course I was following you. You went into Dogwood. You think I'm going to let this place eat you?"

There's a part of Steve that suddenly feels very young, like they're back in Brooklyn and Bucky's just pulled him out of another fight. This is definitely not that, in so many ways, but he can't help the feeling when it wells up, anyway.

"I can take care of myself," is what comes out of his mouth, automatic, even though it's clearly not true (and wasn't then, either). He blows out a frustrated breath. Bullies were one thing. This - whatever this is, he knows it's another.

"But there never was anyone else I'd rather have watch my back," he adds, suddenly very interested in wiping at some of the mud that's... basically everywhere by now.

Winter actually stumbles at those words catching himself against the nearest tree. He knows them. He's. Steve's said them before. They're part of the first shattered, painful memory he ever got back.

For a beat he's back on the helicarrier, head full of the white noise of fear and anger and confusion, the crash of the thing falling apart around them, and Steve's broken face looking blearily up at him. Til the end of the line, he'd said.

"No," he says, struggling back to the present. "No, you are. Terrible at taking care of yourself. You always were? You always were. So I had to. I had to follow you then, too. Didn't I? Did I?" He hasn't gotten much back from before HYDRA. But the feeling is powerful. It's why he dove back down into the river to get him. Because somebody had to protect that asshole.

Steve didn't quite expect the stumble; he reaches out, uncoordinated himself, and doesn't quite catch Winter's sleeve before the guy has already caught himself, which leaves Steve standing a bit awkwardly, peering at him with no small amount of concern on his face.

"You did," he confirms, quietly. "But I was, you know. Smaller. I've gotten better."

(No, he's gotten bigger. Admittedly less destructible - until recently.)

"But I guess not better enough," he adds, because okay. Clearly he'd needed Winter just now. "But it's not fair to you. To have to follow me - or anyone - around."

"I want to." He pushes up from the tree, shakes his head hard like a dog trying to shake off water. "I protect people now. It's better than killing them." Even if occasionally he has to protect people by killing someone. Better him than someone else who isn't as used to it. "And you're important. So I want to."

Either oblivious to or pointedly ignoring how Steve might react to hearing he's important, Winter presses a palm to his temple. Now he has a headache, wonderful. "Sorry. Memory. Sometimes it hits hard."

It's probably sad, really, that I want to and I protect people now seem like far more reasonable explanations than You're important. Mostly because Steve still isn't sure what Winter remembers, how much, and whether he just thinks Steve is important because he's got some vague sense of things, rather than actual knowledge.

He should probably take what he can get and be glad for it, but somehow, he can't quite.

He is at least momentarily distracted by Winter's clear discomfort. "Like a two-by-four, it looks like." He stumbles a little closer, practically reaches out before he gets his hands back at his sides. "Are you okay?"

Winter is never okay, Steve, c'mon.

Well, rarely, anyway. But right now he's still recovering from the fight with Penny, Steve almost drowned himself, and he just got walloped by his own brain. Life sucks, in this particular moment.

"Fine," he says, and makes himself drop his hand. Then he has to complain: "It wasn't even a new one. Just a. Goddamn replay of the last mission."

Fine, fine. Okayer than the guy who did just try to drown himself, maybe.

"The last - the helicarriers?" Steve hazards. And then, "I mean, I guess that is how your brain works. It likes to replay things you already know."

Sometimes ad nauseam. Usually the worst things, in that case. Not that the helicarriers were a great time or anything, but - they hadn't been so bad. Not in the end. Not with how things had turned out.

"Yes. Usually it's one I didn't remember before, though." Winter gives his head another sharp shake, then starts walking again, giving Steve's shoulder a push, too, so he knows to walk, too. "Usually it's pretty awful, either way."

This one was no exception. Even if he already knew it, that sure was a very awful moment. He's glad, looking at Steve now, that it happened and he didn't kill him. But it was still awful.

Well, that sounds - awful.

"You only get the bad ones?" Steve asks, at least adequately distracted from what had happened a few minutes ago as Winter pushes at him and he gets moving again.

He genuinely doesn't know how the memories had come back - in what order, or with what intensity - so he feels a little lost, and a lot guilty. But hey, that's familiar and comfortable, at least.

"Even the. Not horrific ones. Are awful in other ways. Remembering training Belova and the girls was nice-- but it was me being another tool to control them. Because I didn't hurt them. They. Wanted to please me, because I wasn't as bad as the handlers." So even something that was pleasant in and of itself, his rapport with those little kids, hurts to remember.

And his memories of Steve so far are still... mostly non-visual, non-specific, which means they're confusing and frustrating, rather than good.

Cue more frowning. "So nothing - from before," he hazards, which is mostly what he'd been asking before, but clearly in too roundabout a way. "Not your family, or - anything like that."

He doesn't sound disappointed. Just curious. Calm - well. As calm as he can sound right now, rattled to his core for other reasons. But it's weirdly calming to focus on something else, even if he's maybe latched onto an uncomfortable topic.

Winter falters again. "Family," he repeats.

He can't even imagine it. Family. He's not-- he used to be a person. He's acknowledged that. A real, proper person. People have families. That's a normal thing for a person to have. But somehow it never even occurred to him to think about it. That the person he used to be, that "Bucky Barnes" person, had a family.

Hell, he's only barely managed to think about how that person had a friend, and that friend is right in front of him now.

"I guess that answers that," Steve says, softly. Winter wouldn't sound like that if he'd remembered them.

"Yeah," he adds. "Your family. Or - I mean. You had friends, too. A job. Lots of things. There are good things to remember, too."

"I don't remember," he says blankly, but it's the kind of blank that Steve can probably tell by now is hiding distress rather than disinterest. "I don't. All I know for sure is you, and HYDRA. And not much of you."

Yeah, Steve's getting that. He's getting that Winter doesn't remember much at all. And what he does remember is probably shit Steve doesn't even know.

At least this conversation is distracting him from, you know. The river situation.

"Well, there wasn't much of me, before," he offers - a lame joke, okay, and he realizes not long after that it probably needs an explanation: "I was smaller. A lot smaller. So. Less of me. To remember."

"Yes. I know. I." He forces his head back up, and holds up a hand-- too low for even Steve's previous height, actually, and from the echo of an expression he did that on purpose. "This high. I remember that."

He looks down at his hand, turns it over, and says, "It was the first thing I remembered. When you said those words."

Steve's eyebrows rise - that's the first thing he remembered? But maybe he's a little more focused on that not-quite-an expression, because it feels like something precious.

He tries for a smile thats maybe a little shakier than he'd like, and raises his own hand - a little higher. "Come on. At least this high."

He hopes that's not the wrong move.

He'd also really like to stop second-guessing himself around this man, but that doesn't seem likely anytime soon.

Winter snorts at that, a sound with some actual humor to it. "Maybe that high," he agrees.

Then a pause. "Unless I got bigger. Did I get bigger?" He looks between himself and Steve with a sudden frown.

Technically, he is bigger, but not in height. As a soldier and then the actual fist of HYDRA he'd been half-starved all the time, and before the serum and the war he'd not been as bulky as he is now, with proper feeding and frankly obsessive levels of exercise.

Log: Early days of May

the Arctic didn't have tormenting evil fear gods in it

that you know of

seems like a thing you'd remember, Steve

:|

oh my god where did this notif go

<333 there are so many threads XD

I think I thought it was on my post, and I could tag it from the other notifs...

A reasonable thought!!

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