Log: Losing count

[punched_hitler]

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.

Comments

[worthallthis]

Winter doesn't like that even more. "Steve. You asked me once to stop you if you started doing that," he says, a little less steadily. "Started feeding entities. Scaring people for power. Please don't make me have to do it."

[punched_hitler]

Steve frowns. "I did?" he asks, as if he's having trouble recalling. (Or, really, thinking clearly.)

Had he? It... seems like something he'd have asked, sure, but - "It was when I was still new," he decides.

Before he knew - remembered - how frustrating feeling powerless can be.

[worthallthis]

Winter drops his hand, turning to stare at him. He doesn't even sound like him. The Steve he knows respects people, doesn't value power over others, and while he might feel helpless sometimes, he doesn't brush off Winter's concerns.

"Steve," he says. "I will do it if I have to. I won't like it. I'll hate it. But I will. Do. Not. Choose. The entities. It will only hurt people and make the end of the world come faster."

[punched_hitler]

Only if I do it wrong, is what Steve thinks - but, for better or worse, doesn't say out loud.

There's some part of him that knows if Winter is upset. If Winter is pleading. Then Steve's gone off the rails somewhere. It's just hard to want to listen to that part when so much more of him feels small and stupid and helpless. When there's an answer in front of him, and he believes maybe he can twist it around to make it work, if he's just clever and strong - ha - enough.

"No one's used their own power against them?" he asks, maybe voicing a little of that thought, if in a roundabout way. He at least sounds calmer. Quieter. Thoughtful - whether that's a good thing or not.

[worthallthis]

"No one could. It's made of fear," Winter says, not sure if he's relieved or more worried. At least logically that strategy doesn't make any sense, so he can counter it. "Turning that fear back on it will only make it stronger. And besides. You can't punch something you can't even see." Which is what the serum is good for. Punching things. And surviving things. "Nothing the serum can do will do a damn thing for what's in our heads. That's where fear entities work."

[punched_hitler]

"I refuse to believe they're not afraid of anything," Steve says, quietly. He's not arguing whether fear makes them stronger, but - everything fears something. Even fear entities. They have to fear losing, or ceasing to exist, or - something. There's always something.

And the truth is, Steve has always been better at physical fights than mental ones. He knows that. The entities probably know that, too.

Shit. It's what he's afraid of. And they probably know it, and -

"Shit," he says, out loud, though he doesn't elaborate. This whole situation is just. Fucked up, and he hates it. "How are we ever supposed to trust ourselves, like this."

[worthallthis]

Winter's still for a beat, watching him, but then a little of the tension goes out of him. If Steve is asking that, then he might be listening to reason. "You trust the people around you," he says. "We help each other see what's real." He pauses again, then adds, "It's tough. I know."

But he's never really trusted himself; there's no way he could, with what he's done, and what's been done to him. And trusting other people was a long time coming. Yelena, Kate, Cortana, and Steve. Hopefully Steve.

He offers Steve his hand again. There's still a brownie to split.

[punched_hitler]

Steve might normally make a joke about just how tough he makes things for Winter. But he doesn't feel like it right now. It feels, honestly, like it's taking a lot to accept that answer when - it shouldn't. It should be exactly right. It is exactly right.

It still doesn't feel like enough, but he's at least seeing enough reason not to argue it further.

Well, except, "I want this done with. I want to make them afraid."

It's more just a general statement. Not a call to action. But it's sure how he feels. He should be the bigger man. He doesn't feel bigger in any sense of the word, right now.

But he takes Winter's hand. That's something he always wants to do, even if he still has that very Steve look of deciding he hasn't lost an argument so much as just decided to stop arguing. For now.

wrap this one? or let them be cute together for a while?

[worthallthis]

"Then we do it our way. Not their way." He gives Steve's hand a careful squeeze, not wanting to hurt where he'd pummeled the bag too long and too hard, and tows him gently in the direction of his locker.

He'll take a lack of an argument for now. It's a lot better than nothing.

maybe a feeeeew tags of cute? I feel like they deserve it ;;

[punched_hitler]

That is... actually somewhat comforting to hear. It's not Winter telling him they can't or shouldn't do it. And somehow, that's exactly what it takes to mollify Steve enough that he follows quietly, not minding if Winter's fingers around his cause any discomfort, because it's worth it.

The general feeling of being small, helpless, useless isn't completely gone. But Winter is taking up enough of his perception that he can more easily squash it down for later. "How big is this brownie?" he asks instead, trying to drain the sullenness out of his voice.

you know what, they really do deserve it

[worthallthis]

Winter holds up his free hand, palm flat like he's holding something on it. "Big as my palm. Only a few bites for you, maybe," he adds, almost a tease, though it's sometimes hard to tell. "But rich. Like fudge. Just the way I like them best." Kate has learned by now exactly what Winter's favorite kind of brownie is.

[punched_hitler]

Steve sort of snort-laughs, like maybe he doesn't quite want to laugh because he's got to keep up the act of being sullen, but he also can't quite help it.

"You're just as big as I am," he points out, leaning in a little to nudge Winter's shoulder with his own, because that seems like an okay kind of touch. It's familiar, too. Comforting. "Who's your supplier?"

[worthallthis]

"I know how to savor things," Winter counters, which is only about half true. He, too, can scarf down half a brownie in three bites when the mood takes him. "This batch is from Kate. She makes the best brownies." Well. Of the people remaining, anyway.

He pushes open the door to the locker room and beelines for his own locker.

[punched_hitler]

"Hey, so do I," Steve points out; it's still got a little tinge of sullenness, but there's this gentleness creeping into his voice he can't quite quash, either, eyes on Winter's face as he follows him through the door, not really paying attention to where they're going because Winter is so conveniently tugging him along.

"She's a good person to know, then," he murmurs, waiting for Winter to actually get said brownie out of his locker. "You have good friends."

It's a good thing. He's glad to see it. Even when it makes him feel an awful, twisted kind of jealous on days like these, where he feels good for nothing, he's still glad to see Winter with good people at his back, too.

[worthallthis]

"I do. My team is a good one." He glances back, at his hand in Steve's, and adds, "They're your friends, too, some of them. Belova considers you family. Kate likes you. Rue definitely likes you." He doesn't know Cortana's take on Steve, but he's sure she'd like him if she knew him.

He feels like he used to have more people. Most of the people here now aren't on his team. It kind of sucks.

[punched_hitler]

Steve nods - agreeing with both, really. They're not the team he left, but they're still a team. And they are a good one.

He can recognize that even when he feels shitty about needing the backup. Or, well, he can recognize it now that Winter's talked him down.

"Let's go sit outside," he decides, once Winter's done rummaging through the locker. "I want to be outside."

It's still early spring, but the weather is mild enough, and he suddenly doesn't want the trappings of the gym. Or any part of the building.

[worthallthis]

"Okay," Winter says readily, after shedding his tac vest and a couple of his knives, swapping them for a hoodie and the brownie. He still has a couple knives on him, but they're not his work-knives. They can just go home, after this, he thinks. Not give Steve the temptation of more time to punch things.

He offers Steve his free hand again, for the walk out. "There's a bunch of birds in the courtyard. Not-scary birds who don't stare at you. Their singing is nice."

[punched_hitler]

The gesture is simple, but it's also touching. It soothes some raw part of Steve that's been getting rawer all day, the more he's whaled on the bag. It also tells him that this is the right move; a big part of him wants to wallow, wants to lash out, but he's still slowly recognizing that he... shouldn't.

Not anymore. Not today, at least.

"Okay," he agrees. Well, and also: "I'm glad the other ones are gone. Feels like the whole damn world is out to get us sometimes." Sometimes, it feels like there's no escape. But right now, it feels like Winter's showing him a way out, even if it might only be temporary.

He trails alongside Winter, and adds, "You're good. At talking people down. Or - at least me." That's always been true, even if Winter doesn't remember.

[worthallthis]

Winter shoots him a clearly skeptical look, though he keeps that hand, holding as tightly as he can get away with, without hurting. "I think you're the only person I've ever tried to talk down." He pauses. "I argued with one guy once, but I don't think I changed his mind. ... He's gone now."

[punched_hitler]

"Even if I'm the only person - this isn't the only time. You, uh. You know me."

Which sounds - well, it doesn't come out the first time Steve had said it to this man, desperate and pleading. It's just... the truth. It always has been. "I think you might be the only person left who does."

[worthallthis]

That's a little alarming, given: "Steve. I hardly remember anything from before HYDRA." Hell, he only remembers pieces of HYDRA itself. If he is what Steve's got, then-- he feels really bad for Steve.

[punched_hitler]

Steve shrugs one shoulder. "I know," he says, because he does. He can accept that, but even so, "It doesn't mean there aren't still parts of you that are the same. That are you, no matter what you remember, or who you are now."

Maybe that isn't the best thing to say, but it's true, all the same.

[worthallthis]

Winter chews on that for a minute, right up until he pushes open the door out of the building. He finally asks, somewhere between curious and a little worried-sounding, "What's the same? Between then and now."

[punched_hitler]

"Well, your unerring ability to take care of me when I least want it," is the immediate, and maybe easiest, answer.

Although, really, that's part of the bigger: "Your heart. The way you care about people. The way you're curious about things and you do things even when they scare you."

Steve shrugs a little, again. "It's hard to put everything into words. But I can see it. Who you are is... still who you are, even though yeah, you're different. That's okay. People change." How can they not, after being through hell?

Well - that brings out one more thing. "You came out the other side. You're... strong."

[worthallthis]

Some of that is hard to argue with. He does do things that scare him, a lot, but he still does them because he has. He does care about people and he is curious about things. The fact that those were all traits of the... person Steve knew before HYDRA is-- strange. A little disturbing. He wants to be himself. He thought he'd worked hard at building himself, but it sounds like he built himself into someone else. Is that self being like someone he doesn't remember a good thing? Or a bad thing?

"What's different, then?" he asks finally, crossing the courtyard towards the bit of lawn and bench outside the building.