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)
apocalypsehowcomm2023-04-09 09:03 pm
punched_hitler) wrote in apocalypsehowcomm2023-04-09 09:03 pm
Log: Losing count
Who: Steve Rogers and you!
When: Throughout April
Where: During the Leviathan mission, the gym, Alden Pond Burial Ground, ADI/apartments
Summary: Steve goes on the Leviathan mission and follows it up by wearing himself out at the gym. He later investigates the Alden Pond Burial Ground and has some unsettling visions. Feel free to happen upon him at any point!
Warnings: Visions of death, suicidal ideation
Steve volunteers for the Leviathan mission, because of course he does. He's big and strong (mostly; the dizziness and achey joints from using Mjolnir most recently seems to have worn off) and he's on Security. He really ought to go.
And for the most part, the mission goes fine. Better than expected, in some ways — it's not a giant, hulking monster the size of a city block, though it is a very big lobster.
But the thing is… Steve of course has to think about it. Has to be weirdly impressed by the size of the thing. By how it's survived. And even by the way these people have deluded themselves.
He's no stranger to feeling small and insignificant. But it stirs something inside him that's already been roiling after recent events, and he spends the next afternoon and evening in the gym, going at the heavy bag like it's insulted his mother. Except the longer he goes, the more (naturally) tired he gets. The slower and less coordinated his punches become, the angrier and more frustrated he feels. Sometimes it feels like frustration is such a big part of him, these days. He spends far longer than he should at the bag, giving anyone who looks like they might even want a turn a flat glare that says Don't even try it. The few — very few — times he pauses for a drink of water and someone might head in the bag's direction, he snaps, "Hey. I'm using that."
He finally shuffles back into the apartments minutes before curfew takes effect. He's sweaty and dragging and unhappy, and keeps his head down in the hallways. His hands are red, the white electrical burn scars spiderwebbed over them standing out angrily against the skin. He might quite literally bump into someone if he's not careful.
Despite the lingering feelings of physical inadequacy, Steve is, naturally, curious about anything graveyard related these days. After the bread in October and then the fire two months ago, he's maybe seeing connections that aren't there… or is he? It feels like it's worth following up.
So, sometime in early April, after the lobster-related smash-and-grab, he catches the bus to the park. Alone, because he's still bad at requesting backup, and he honestly isn't sure he's going to find — or see — anything, anyway.
But he does. And while he doesn't think there's anyone on the stairs with him at the time, there certainly might be.
He's quiet on the bus ride home. And through the next day. And the next. So that's what he'd given up and then decided to chase, before he ended up here and everything changed.
Well. The best way to stop thinking about things he doesn't want to think about is to keep busy. And those stairs still need investigating.
So he goes back to the burial ground. Back to the stairs. And a few days later, he does it again. Then, again. It's like he can't get enough of seeking out what it might or might not show him. He might miss a few days of work, or skip out early, or not show up when he said he might meet someone somewhere. He might be a little obsessed.
He can't always make sense of what he sees. Usually it's a battle with someone or something he doesn't know. Once, he's the monster, an angry, raging thing almost like the Hulk used to be, tearing Gloucester apart until people like Winter, like Yelena, take him down. Once, he's an old man dying in his bed.
He frankly isn't sure which of those last two bothers him more. Or how many steps he counted that day, dammit. They're all starting to blur together.
He even gets knocked down once or twice. Those days, he doesn't approach the steps; on one occasion, he ends up sneaking back toward the apartment with a very impressive shiner forming around his left eye.
When: Throughout April
Where: During the Leviathan mission, the gym, Alden Pond Burial Ground, ADI/apartments
Summary: Steve goes on the Leviathan mission and follows it up by wearing himself out at the gym. He later investigates the Alden Pond Burial Ground and has some unsettling visions. Feel free to happen upon him at any point!
Warnings: Visions of death, suicidal ideation
Steve volunteers for the Leviathan mission, because of course he does. He's big and strong (mostly; the dizziness and achey joints from using Mjolnir most recently seems to have worn off) and he's on Security. He really ought to go.
And for the most part, the mission goes fine. Better than expected, in some ways — it's not a giant, hulking monster the size of a city block, though it is a very big lobster.
But the thing is… Steve of course has to think about it. Has to be weirdly impressed by the size of the thing. By how it's survived. And even by the way these people have deluded themselves.
He's no stranger to feeling small and insignificant. But it stirs something inside him that's already been roiling after recent events, and he spends the next afternoon and evening in the gym, going at the heavy bag like it's insulted his mother. Except the longer he goes, the more (naturally) tired he gets. The slower and less coordinated his punches become, the angrier and more frustrated he feels. Sometimes it feels like frustration is such a big part of him, these days. He spends far longer than he should at the bag, giving anyone who looks like they might even want a turn a flat glare that says Don't even try it. The few — very few — times he pauses for a drink of water and someone might head in the bag's direction, he snaps, "Hey. I'm using that."
He finally shuffles back into the apartments minutes before curfew takes effect. He's sweaty and dragging and unhappy, and keeps his head down in the hallways. His hands are red, the white electrical burn scars spiderwebbed over them standing out angrily against the skin. He might quite literally bump into someone if he's not careful.
Despite the lingering feelings of physical inadequacy, Steve is, naturally, curious about anything graveyard related these days. After the bread in October and then the fire two months ago, he's maybe seeing connections that aren't there… or is he? It feels like it's worth following up.
So, sometime in early April, after the lobster-related smash-and-grab, he catches the bus to the park. Alone, because he's still bad at requesting backup, and he honestly isn't sure he's going to find — or see — anything, anyway.
But he does. And while he doesn't think there's anyone on the stairs with him at the time, there certainly might be.
He's quiet on the bus ride home. And through the next day. And the next. So that's what he'd given up and then decided to chase, before he ended up here and everything changed.
Well. The best way to stop thinking about things he doesn't want to think about is to keep busy. And those stairs still need investigating.
So he goes back to the burial ground. Back to the stairs. And a few days later, he does it again. Then, again. It's like he can't get enough of seeking out what it might or might not show him. He might miss a few days of work, or skip out early, or not show up when he said he might meet someone somewhere. He might be a little obsessed.
He can't always make sense of what he sees. Usually it's a battle with someone or something he doesn't know. Once, he's the monster, an angry, raging thing almost like the Hulk used to be, tearing Gloucester apart until people like Winter, like Yelena, take him down. Once, he's an old man dying in his bed.
He frankly isn't sure which of those last two bothers him more. Or how many steps he counted that day, dammit. They're all starting to blur together.
He even gets knocked down once or twice. Those days, he doesn't approach the steps; on one occasion, he ends up sneaking back toward the apartment with a very impressive shiner forming around his left eye.
no subject
Steve lets out a breath, because he wants to argue. He wants to insist. But that's just being a jerk. What he does know is that regardless of who takes those stairs again, he's not about to let her walk up there alone. That much he is very sure of.
He doesn't want to let her do it, but if she's going to, then someone should watch her back.
"Then let's get going," he says, with a little gesture, like, after you.
no subject
Frowning intently up at the stairs, she takes Steve's invitation and puts her foot on the first step. She's clenching her fists hard enough that she can feel her fingernails digging painfully into her palm. It's the only way she can stop herself shaking.
The first step is hard, but the second is easier, and before she knows it she's at the top, and she hears a familiar voice.
Make her go away. Send her on her way and you can have Powder back. And this time Vi doesn't say no. Caitlyn wants to scream, plead, anything, but her hands are bound and her mouth is covered and there's nothing she can do but watch Vi grab the gun, aim it at her head, and pull the trigger.
She's halfway back down the stairs before she remembers that she ought to count them. She leans over, bracing her hands on her knees for a moment before straightening up and looking for Steve.
no subject
His head is spinning with a vision of someone he doesn't know, of dying by gunshot, and it's disorienting, like when a blow comes and you expect it to hurt, and it doesn't quite feel like what you were bracing for.
It's still not pleasant. He still wants to raise a hand to his own head to make sure it won't come away bloody. He still wishes his stomach didn't feel like a pit of lead. "I saw - did you see? Something?" he asks, quietly. "Someone with a gun?"
no subject
"Yes. Did you--" She hears the gunshot again, but this time it isn't a magical vision shown to her by the stairs, it's just in her head. Make her go away. Head ringing, she leans over again, hands braced on her knees, fingers gripping the fabric of her trousers so hard it hurts. "Did you see the same thing I did?"
That's interesting, if he did. It's useful. It's something to focus on other than--
"Was it a red-haired woman with a gun?"
no subject
He winces a little.
"Never been shot in the head like that before. I don't think I'd like to try it out anytime soon, either."
His voice is sympathetic. He hesitates a moment, then rests one hand on her shoulder. Lightly. Carefully. He doesn't want to overstep, but sometimes, after a... a bad moment, some grounding helps.
no subject
She doesn't mind the hand on her shoulder. In fact, she finds it comforting. But she hardly wants to admit that she could use some comfort.
"That's another data point to suggest that the stairs show us things that really happened." She refuses to think about what happened. She has to focus on what it means.
"Or nearly really happened. They seem to be able to access our memories and extrapolate likely potential deaths from them."
no subject
He'd been sure he was going to die, when he'd crashed that plane. And yet somehow, he'd felt even more sure, when he'd walked down the stairs a few minutes ago.
"Something like that nearly happened to you, then?"
no subject
It's important that he know that Vi didn't really shoot her. That Vi wouldn't have shot her. Even though Vi is in a different world, maybe dead, Caitlyn feels the need to defend her.
no subject
He doesn't know if this is like his own experiences, but still - he's faced off against people that mean a lot to him. It's never easy. But he can certainly understand wanting the record to stay as straight as possible.
"Was it different this time? What you saw?"
no subject
In response to his second question, she nods. "Yes. It was an explosion, the first time." So the stairs don't show the same vision every time. That feels important.
no subject
But it does seem the point of these stairs, if there is a point, is to show you all the possible ways you could have died. Have it all come roaring back to the forefront of your mind.
He considers the staircase. "I wonder if it only works if you've almost died a couple of times." Of course, he adds, wryly, "I'm not the person to test that, though. It seems like maybe you aren't, either?" Apparently they've both led dangerous live - before ADI, even.
no subject
As a teenager, Caitlyn had desperately pined for adventure, and that teenage girl would certainly be excited to know her future held a lot of fighting and explosions. But most of those near-death experiences were actually... rather upsetting. She wouldn't want to go back to being that lonely, stifled girl, but she also isn't enjoying reliving every instance in which she could have been killed.
"I suppose not. Perhaps we should ask someone who's never nearly died?" If that's incorrect, though, if the stairs can fabricate scenarios even for people who have led perfectly uninteresting, safe lives, they might end up putting someone through quite a lot of trauma.
no subject
Granted, the types of people who would've come all might be the kind of have near-death experiences at the ready, but it seems like a better option than grabbing someone off the street to test it out with.
"D'you think if we roped it off in the meantime, it'd do any good?"
no subject
She finally fully straightens up and starts moving - awkwardly shuffling, really - around him to get down off the stairs.
"If anything, I suspect it would make people more likely to want to climb them. Unless someone were standing here on guard."
no subject
Once she starts moving, though, he follows, glancing back at the steps set into the ground. "Figures." He sighs. "If this goes on much longer, we might want to. Volunteers and ADI staff who know to expect weirdness like this are one thing. Civilians who are just doing it on a dare are another." And he'd still like to protect people from it if he can. Feeling yourself die, even if you've got the experience of it almost happening once or more, is no picnic. He wouldn't wish it on anyone, least of all some kid doing it to show off.
"Maybe I'll start taking more walks in the park," he says, by way of not-quite-saying he'll do a few patrols. Try to keep people away if he can. It's something. Better than nothing, if not enough. "How're you feeling?"
no subject
She frowns down at the stairs as she steps down onto the ground. She didn't count. Again. "Better."
no subject
Still, "Good," he says. "I think we should walk back together. Just in case." It seems the polite - and reasonable - thing to do.
no subject
no subject
He motions in the direction of the park's exit. "You know, I always though parks were supposed to be relaxing," he points out, definitely ruefully.