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.

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Yelena's expression is as innocent as freshly driven snow. Which is probably a good sign that she's being perhaps a tiny bit hyperbolic.

"It's usually the best way to make them like you," she says. "Especially in a small town. I don't think I would be sending this many people straight in, if I was running the mission."

Steve shakes his head. "No. I wouldn't, either. Which means if they are - there's a reason."

He doesn't know if it's a good reason, but there must be a reason.

He sighs, and then turns the topic toward something it feels like they might actually have a little control over. Emphasis on little, though. "Have you checked on Winter recently?"

By recently, he means the past few hours. Steve's been trying to keep an eye on the guy without being annoyingly in his face and giving him some modicum of privacy. It's hard, when he doesn't want to leave him alone.

She nods, lips compressing in a thin line. "I checked on him a couple of hours after the blackout," she says. "Stayed with him for a while. I don't think I've seen him this upset since the quarantine after-- Well, one of our more disgusting missions."

And that, she'd at least known to anticipate. Winter's antipathy towards doctors in general and the medical wing of ADI in particular had been no secret, even before their shared nightmares had given her incredibly personal insight into part of what shapes it.

Steve nods, expression clearly unhappy. "I know sometimes the only way out is through, but this time, it felt... unnecessary."

He would've stayed behind with Winter, had wanted to offer it. But at the same time, he knows Winter wanted to do this, even for as much as he hadn't wanted to do it, either. "Thank you. For looking out for him, too. I think - it's probably a lot easier for him to be around people that aren't me." At least, based on his own experience back home. Based on the way Bucky hadn't come back to him, so much as Steve had simply kept chasing him until he'd had no other choice but to let him in. And that hadn't exactly gone well. "I don't know how much you know, but I missed - I couldn't be there for a lot of... this part. He didn't want me there."

It feels like admitting a lot, like giving her a lot of very personal information, but maybe she does know already. And besides, maybe it will help Winter. That's what matters. Not Steve's pride. Or his privacy.

"I don't know much," she admits. "Mostly what I could piece together from news, and from the information that was leaked when SHIELD was exposed. Winter - when I met him here, he told me he had less than a day of memory before ADI."

She's silent for a moment, watching him, then adds, "You're important to him. He remembers that in here-" she taps two fingers against her chest, over her heart "-even if the reason isn't all there. But he's worried you'll want him to be the person you remember. Either version of the person you remember."

Steve nods. That tracks, at least. Less than a day of memory. He has to work not to dig his fingers into the armrests - and really, that's just a force of habit. He won't crush them even if he does, right now, he supposes.

Of course, the rest of what she says isn't exactly easy to hear. At the same time, though, he can appreciate that she's direct enough to say it. "I don't - I don't want him to feel pressured," he says, changing course mid-sentence, then going back to add, by way of explanation: "But I can't guarantee I won't make him feel that way on accident. I - have a lot of memories. Of him." Frankly, he still has trouble thinking of him as Winter and not Bucky. The wrong name has nearly come out of his mouth... a lot.

But that's on him. "I don't know how to make him feel less pressured without walking on eggshells around him. And - I'm really bad at eggshells." He doesn't think it will help, either. But maybe, if Yelena does, he could try. Try to learn, at least.

"You can't completely," she says. "Even if you try to hide it - people tend to underestimate him because he isn't good at crowds, or social niceties, but he is very skilled at reading people. He can even read me, and I'm really good at eggshells."

She pauses, then smiles a little wryly. "When I want to be."

When it's a useful approach. It just isn't one that seems particularly useful here.

"Don't try to not be you. Just give him room to retreat if he needs it, and don't press his boundaries. He's still getting used to being allowed to have those - to being allowed to make choices at all. And that's a very hard thing to do when you're used to having everything chosen for you."

"He always was," Steve admits. And maybe that's the thing - Winter might not think he's Bucky, might not want to be Bucky, but there are parts of him that are still Bucky. Steve can see it, and maybe that's exactly why he can't step back as clear of this as he should. "He was good with people. Good at reading them, good at working with them."

Good at wrangling Steve. Maybe that's what's gone, now. That's the biggest hole. Steve used to know where and how to push. When not to. Now he has no fucking clue. "Well, he said he wouldn't take everything I said as the word of God, so that's - helpful," he says, with a breathless laugh that's more self-deprecating than anything. "I'm a lot better at pushing than I am at stepping back," he adds, with a sigh. "I was stubborn even before I was an old dog."

It doesn't mean he can't learn, but - he's going to mess up. He knows that. "But I don't want to choose for him. I - never did. Not back home. With my Bucky. I won't do it here, either."

"That's the important part. The rest will come with time, and practice. And possibly being punched if you overstep too badly."

She smiles slightly as she says it, but she's not entirely joking.

"If it helps, I think this part of his recovery was probably not as long in your timeline, if he wasn't pulled here. ADI, everything we have been facing - just handling that takes a lot of effort to process."

"Well, I do excel at getting punched." And maybe overstepping, though he'll try not to. But he just - doesn't know that he won't. He's okay with pushback if he does, though, in the form of punching or otherwise.

Hearing the rest... helps and doesn't, at the same time. "This is a lot to deal with," Steve agrees. "It's - not all that different from what he was dealing with." Finding yourself somewhere, being given orders, told not to question them. He doesn't like that part of it at all. Not for Winter, and not for the rest of him. "I know he's handling it well, but - I hate that he has to handle it at all. None of this situation sits well with me." Which she knows, he knows, but sometimes he's just got to say it out loud. "And if it turns into a clusterfuck," he says softly, echoing what she'd said earlier, "my priority is the people being taken advantage of, here." Which means all of them. And the civilians. ADI at its core, last.

"It's good to know we're on the same page there," Yelena says briskly. ADI doesn't have her loyalty; some of the people trapped on this world do.

"And there are are definitely some similarities, with directives to follow, and someone else making the key decisions. But ADI at least doesn't use torture for basic discipline." She pauses, grimacing slightly. "For other things, maybe, but not for that."

Steve won't leave innocent, good people to fend for themselves. But he admittedly isn't sure how much of ADI falls into that category. If it's anything like SHIELD... there are good people. But not all of them.

"Well, when that's the bar you've got to clear," he murmurs, clearly unhappy about it, but also aware that the situation is nothing he can control. "Discipline is the last thing I'm worried about with him. Not right now, especially." He's still falling back on training and routine a lot, and Steve can't blame him. It's comforting, to follow a familiar routine when there's no one to give you the kind of orders you're used to, he imagines. But he can also see Winter has already started to break out of that as well, and that's good. He's proud, in this guilty, quiet sort of way.

"And I want to make sure ADI - or anyone else, honestly - doesn't take advantage of that." Winter is still very mission-focused sometimes, after all. Not a bad thing, but it can be a point of control. "I think you must feel the same way." But of course, it's generally better not to assume.

"Yes," Yelena says, quiet but with a flash of something razor sharp beneath the surface. "Very much so."

She pauses, then utters a quiet, humourless snort of laughter. "It's a little perverse, isn't it - this world is full of living nightmares, but it's still the people who are the biggest danger."

Steve's smile is just as humorless, dry. "I wish I could say that surprised me, but - it doesn't. The big, scary monsters? Have nothing underneath. When you get rid of them, you're rid of them. People? People are a lot more complex. That makes them infinitely worse - but infinitely better, too."

People can be terrible. But they can also be wonderful. And everything in between. "At least we know what to look out for. And I guess, so does he." Because the more Winter remembers, the more horrible it is, sure - but the better he can recognize when it's happening again, and say no.

"Not that the nightmares here aren't something else," he adds, blowing out a breath and sitting back a little. They sure are.

"I will have to take your word on the 'better'," Yelena says, though there's no force behind the skepticism. Her distrust is her own, not a philosophy she aims to spread to those not mired in cynicism.

And it isn't as though she makes no exceptions, lets no individual person close. It's people in aggregate she has a problem with.

"Well, hopefully wait long enough, and you won't have to." It really is something a person has to see for themselves. He gets that. He can only hope that the people here will prove him right; though he's sure that some of them will, if she's willing to see it.

"We're all on this train to help, ideally, at least." So, that's something.

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Log: Early days of May

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