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
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.