El!
El has been with the site for nearly two years now and has continued to prove her value. Currently, she is heading up our site event, Battle for Liberterram, on top of keeping up with her own personal plots.
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Peggy Carter!
Lux's posts are all wonderful to read. She has done a wonderful job of grasping the new universe and incorporating Peggy into it.
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Peter Parker!
It's good to see Spidey back on the site. Watching him deal with the universe shift in his own snarky way has been nothing short of entertaining.
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Eight O'Clock on the Dot!
El and Lux are making magic in this thread. Straight up fireworks, and the way they've played with drawing out the reveal is top class.
Post by Steve Rogers on Sept 10, 2015 22:48:48 GMT
He knew he had to bring it down. There was no question, it was what needed to be done, and it needed to be somewhere where no one would get hurt. And he was okay with that. He was okay with dying. But he didn't know how afraid he was of it until he was here, knowing that there was no possible escape. This was it. This was the end. And... everything that he was going to miss out on. His dance with Peggy, seeing the end of this awful war. Children... a family. He'd never have any of it.
And the thought tore him up inside. Regardless of whether or not this was the right thing, some selfish part of him remained. He didn't want to die.
There was a moment of free fall after the plane hit the water. He lifted in his seat, and he was aware of everything around him. The adrenaline honed his senses even as his heart hammered so hard and fast in his chest that he could feel it smashing against the inside of his throat, making it hard to breathe. His skin felt the wave of the concussive force as the last of the windows went out and the whole of the hull lurched forward with a groan of metal and a scream of steel. Shards flew past him, some of it lodging into his skin, but he could barely feel it as he lifted, higher and higher, as if floating. The spray of the sea was next. The water was cold enough that the mist of it chilled him to the bone.
And then he stopped. The harness brought him back down, slamming him against the seat and all he could feel was desperation as the water rushed in to fill the void. The sunlight was already fading fast with the front end of the plane facing the water. First he fumbled with the seat belt after the first wave of water washed over him. But it wouldn't come up. He didn't know why, his fingers worked over the bits of metal over and over, groping desperately in the cold, but the release didn't work. His heartbeat strangled him, and then he remembered the knife.
It was dark, now. Too dark to see, but he found the blade and belt around, cutting at the straps until he was free. The cold made his body slower, even as the adrenaline urged it on the opposite end. He swam fast enough to find the small air bubble that remained, dragging a few desperate, greedy breaths into his lungs. He breathed as much and as deep as possible, attempting to flood his blood with oxygen through hyperventilation, so he could hold his breath longer.
He didn't know why he was fighting it. But it was there. His body needed to survive. It didn't matter if he was going to crawl out onto a deserted continent and freeze to death. He could be here. He could die like this, alone, and in the dark. He just wanted to see the sun again.
Going back down into the depths, he swam desperately. But the light was gone, and he kept bouncing off of the walls as he tried to find one of the windows. He couldn't orient himself at this angle, not while it was sinking, not while he was so desperate. Clenching his eyes shut, he tried to remember the layout and swam harder, smashing and kicking against more walls. His lungs were burning, his head growing heavy from lack of oxygen as he clawed at the walls, trying to find a shape he could remember so he could get out. But he could feel the plane sinking, more and more, and it was taking him with it.
He hit another wall and couldn't take it anymore. His chest burst and the cold sea flooded into him. His lungs seized around the invading fluid, and he thrashed, wretching and gasping and drowning himself further. And then... cold... cold, still, quiet. His body stopped fighting moments before his mind faded as he sank. No light. No sun. No breeze. No one.
When he woke up, it was with a jolt, it was always with a jolt as if he was coming to the surface. His gasp was violent and ragged, body shuddering uncontrollably and slick with a layer of sweat. He'd drenched the muscle shirt he slept in, his boxers, and the sheets around him, and he was cold. Violently cold, as though his body was attempting to recreate the very thing of his nightmares. Unable to even deal with the illusion of suffocation, he tore off the blankets and sat upright, burying his face into his palms as he tried to remind himself that he needed to breathe.
That he was breathing.
That he wasn't drowning in the Antarctic in a nightmare... or memory that he wasn't sure had actually happened. And God, did he not want to know. He didn't. Every now and again he thought that maybe... maybe if he knew that it was an actual memory, something he suppressed in his subconscious... maybe that would make it easier. Maybe he could put it to bed and work it out. But knowing... actually knowing it... rather than having his memories end with the windows went out and the plane lurched forward... he wasn't sure he could bear it.
It was better than he went unconscious. Hitting his head against the seat back was far a far end thing than... than that.
He reached blindly for the light, hands shaking and searching desperately for the switch on the nightstand. When he found it, it barely helped. It rarely did. Seeing the lavish hotel room--the suite, lit up just seemed alien. He never would be able to afford something like this. And it felt more like a dream than reality. A lot of his days felt like that. False. As though he were still in the ice, and this was all the construct of a mind that didn't want to die.
Heaving a shaky breath, he ran his other hand up into his slick hair, still racked with fear and dread, anxiety and adrenaline, and tension enough that he was spasming. It was when his hand was fully removed that he noticed the man standing a body length away from him. Tony. "Oh... ... god, no." He didn't want anyone to see this. Especially not one of the Avengers. He was the leader. He was supposed to have his life together. He was supposed to be the one that people could rely on and go to for guidance.
That wasn't going to be the case if people realized how twisted he really was.
Burying his face back into his hands, he kept himself there, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows propped against his knees as he desperately tried to steady his breathing. "I didn't want any of you to see me like this."
Notes: TONY CAN BE A GOOD FRIEND Tagged: steveypoo
Tony jumped back slightly when Steve catapulted awake, but it was clear to him that the other man hadn't even registered that he was there yet. Tony slipped into the bathroom and filled a glass with water, knowing that it wasn't much, but it would offer at least a little help. He inched back towards the bed, taking in Steve's ragged breathing. Now that the light was on - Steve must have turned it on - he could see that Steve looked pale. Almost cold. The man was absolutely covered in sweat, which was familiar enough to Tony, as he woke up from his dreams of the Void or of his captivity often the same.
Holding the glass of water in both hands, he moved back to the edge of the bed, about to speak when Steve finally noticed him. His face, already in a frown, fell a bit more at Steve's reaction. He understood not wanting to be seen in a place of vulnerability, of course, but sometimes he needed someone to talk him through things in order to come out of his nightmares right. Most of the time that person was JARVIS, but it always felt better for him to have a human presence.
He sighed a bit, moving to sit on the bed next to Steve. "It's June, 2015. You're in Washington, DC. You're not drowning," he replied calmly, unsure if he should reach out to touch Steve in order to comfort him the way Pepper sometimes did for Tony. "That's what its about, right?" He supposed that there were a lot of things a man that had lived through World War II could be dreaming about that would have him waking up in a cold sweat, but the shortness of breath - the gasping for air that your brain didn't think you had any of - that he recognized from his dreams of the Void, so he figured that it was the likliest culprit in the moment.
Tentatively, he reached a hand out and placed it on Steve's back, rubbing in time with his ragged breaths at first before beginning to steady the up and down motions, in the hopes that Steve's breathing would follow. He held the glass of water out in front of Steve. "Here, drink a bit of water. It'll help," he instructed. It tended to help force someone to slow their breathing when they had to focus on drinking water as well, which would hopefully help bring the man back to reality.
Post by Steve Rogers on Sept 12, 2015 23:22:49 GMT
Steve wanted to blink his eyes and dismiss this all. He wanted to waking nightmare to be gone, both the terror that clung to him and the vivid feelings that came with the hyper realistic dream... and Tony. Sitting on the edge of the bed, drenched in sweat, breathing ragged little breaths as he trembled... Tony wasn't an idiot. He didn't always think things through, and wasn't always the most empathetic man in the room, but there was no dismissing what he was seeing. There was no mistaking a normal nightmare for one that left the sheets drenched in sweat.
He was weak. It had been years and the nightmares persisted. Even as he clambered through the normal day and adjusted to the new world he found himself in, his subconscious mind kept bringing him back to the same points over and over and over again like a tongue worrying at a loose tooth. Why wasn't he over it already? He couldn't keep having this happen. Things were already hard enough, and now... now one of his fears was realized, and Tony knew.
And Tony didn't owe him anything. They weren't close. This wasn't the kind of thing that you let slip by. This was the kind of thing that had you question just how stable someone else was. Whether or not it was really safe to let them shoulder as much responsibility as they did. Whether or not one day they were going to crack under the pressure and get everyone else killed. And that was Steve's greatest fear of all. That one day, he just wouldn't rise to the challenge. That he'd be too slow, too compromised, too... something. And instead of Bucky, he'd lose a whole team.
Maybe it would be for the best if Tony questioned him. Maybe Tony should tell Fury. Maybe...
He buried his face even deeper into his hands, feeling like he should just curl up in on himself. It was so much easier when there was no one else around. No one else to see it. Now he just felt exposed... like everything he'd done was a lie and he was a fraud. A failure that didn't even deserve half of the amount of respect that he got. A stronger person would've been over it by now. All of it.
"It sure feels like it." He tried to inject some levity, but his muffled voice cracked instead, unable to get enough air or find enough light in the situation to sound anything other than broken. He was drowning in the last nearly five years. When Tony asked whether or not he hit the mark, Steve just nodded into his hands, sucking in more air as best he could. "It isn't the worst one." But it was the scariest.
Suddenly, there was contact on his back and Rogers almost couldn't take it. It was cold and slightly damp and felt like the metal of a wall. He lurched forward with a gasp, pulling his hands from his face to look around at the room he was now standing in. It was still the suite. He was still in the room. But part of him wasn't convinced at all. Reaching out, he left his fingers slide over the surface of the nightstand. It felt like finished wood... but everything felt so distant that it was the dream.
Keeping his back to Tony for a minute, he put both hands on the end table to brace himself and take a few more breaths. Okay. He could be functional. If... if Tony told anyone... that was fine. He understood. But he didn't want the man to think he was going into shock. And he didn't want him anymore concerned than he already was. After a few more moments, he steadied his breathing enough that he could turn back around and move, gently taking the water glass into his hands with a shaky grip. "Thank you." He muttered softly and took to nursing from the glass slowly. Carefully.
Having it in his mouth was reminiscent of the final part of the dream, but with a blink he managed to make it go into his stomach rather than into his lungs, and that helped a little more.
Tony frowned a bit as he watched Steve. It was clear to him that he'd not gotten help for this particular issue. Of course, Tony hadn't either, at least not in any official capacity, so getting on him about it would be a bit pot-and-kettle at this point. He wondered why, for a moment, but he felt like he probably knew. Steve had so much to lose if people thought that he was weak. And Steve would think that his nightmares were the quickest way to get people to believe that.
He wasn't really good at the whole interpersonal communication thing, but Tony did know his way around panic attacks and PTSD-induced nightmares. Maybe he could help the other man, at least a little. Or maybe he'd just make a fool of himself. Only time would tell.
"Every one's the worst one," Tony replied quietly, watching as Steve jerked away from him and reached for the nightstand. Probably needed confirmation that it was real. So he was still having issues with deciding that this was reality. Tony wasn't really sure how to fix that one, so he simply waited for Steve to take the water from his hand.
"You didn't want us to know," he observed, "You don't want anyone to know." He paused for a moment, not quite sure what else he could say or do. "Steve..." He stopped and sighed. There really wasn't anything else for him to say, so he fell quiet, simply looking at the other man.
Sighing a bit, he pulled away from Steve slightly. "You're not the only one, you know. I'm not sure how many of the others have PTSD-related nightmares, but I wouldn't be surprised if all of us do," he said eventurally.
"No..." Steve replied, chest still rising and falling in breaths that were gradually becoming less shaky, slowly becoming deeper and longer and more even. He felt as if he'd just come down from an asthma attack, and Holy Moses was he continually thankful that he no longer had asthma. The fear and the uncertainty and all of the physical side effects were bad enough on their own. He couldn't imagine how difficult it would be if his own asthma betrayed him, and made the dream... or memory of drowning even more convincing.
"Dying... dying isn't so bad." It was terrifying, it was the most terrifying thing he'd endured. But fear, even choking fear that woke with him and lingered like a bad taste... that was easier. "Seeing other people die is worse." A lot worse. The carnage of a battlefield that was peopled with dead soldiers, every one of which he knew. Every one of which meant something. The smell of burning flesh and blood so pungent in the air that he couldn't breathe. And watching as Bucky fell away from him, over and over and over, a perfect memory of what happened. Those were worse. Dying didn't even come close.
And now he felt almost worse. The fear and anxiety and uncertainty mixed with guilt as he felt over the smooth, finished wood surface over and over, like he was suffering from some kind of tic. He stayed anchored to the night stand as he took long, careful drinks of water, which helped calm his breathing a little more. Each moment of continued touch with the end table felt a little more real than the previous one. And drinking and breathing both came easier, as if the whole world was being shaped around him.
"Yeah." He responded weakly, and stopped drinking with one-third of the water left. Frowning, he set it on the end table and slowly made his way back. The way the bed dipped when he sat down, the feeling of the cloth against the underside of his leg, the way the bed creaked from his weight. All of it was observed and documented with hyperawareness. This was reality. It was. Sometimes it was just harder to convince himself of it.
"You guys need me. Well... most of you." Maybe not Tony. "You need to know you can depend on me, and that I can always make the right calls. It's what I'm here to do. But this..." he gave a half-smile that was completely joyless, still unable to look the other man in the eye. "Will anyone be able to think I'm the man for the job when they see me like this? I'm not even sure I am..."
But he needed to be. That was what he was here for, wasn't it? That was why he was alive. They needed him. And he couldn't disappoint them. He just needed to work through this on his own.
He wasn't sure why Tony was trying to convince him or reassure him of anything. Shouldn't Tony have been back flipping for joy? Heart to hearts weren't exactly his thing. Especially not with a man he barely liked. Yeah, Tony said he was trying to be his friend, but all this in a day? It didn't seem right. And it was hard confiding anything in him. Partly because of his stubborn pride, and partly because he just wasn't sure where he stood with Tony. And why he was trying to convince him that everyone else had the same thing. Maybe they did. Or maybe Steve was just... weak. Maybe he wasn't cut out for the job.
And then he worked over those words again. Did Tony suffer from them, too? "What are you dreams about?" It explained some of how knowledgeable he was.
There really wasn't much that Tony could do aside from talk to Steve, and seeing this kind of thing from the other side made him realize exactly why it was that Pepper hated dealing with him in his post-nightmare state. Why her face was always filled with such helpless worry over him. Sure, he always felt much better just because she was there, but from this side...well he could see how it wouldn't be comforting for all you could do to be sit and talk.
"Well. There you go. Silver lining, I suppose," Tony replied easily, more like a quip than anything. He realized that Steve probably didn't need his special brand of flippancy at the moment and tried to sober himself down again. First things first: fix Steve. Then they could figure out everything else. Well, not that there was something inherently wrong with Steve. Just that he needed to bring himself down from his nightmare and Tony should help him with that.
He frowned as Steve confirmed that he had kept this from them on purpose. He'd tried to deal with it alone, much like Tony, because he hadn't wanted to seem weak. He'd wanted to look like he was dependable and perfect, like Captain America was supposed to be. "Steve. No one expects you to be Captain America twenty-four-seven. I mean. That symbol isn't you. There's a man under that mask and you're allowed to be him on occasion. It's healthy, even." Pot, meet kettle. So nice to know that you can tell others the advice that you don't follow yourself.
Steve turned the subject of conversation from himself to Tony with ease, and Tony hesitated to answer for a moment. His dreams weren't really something that he talked about with anyone. He didn't even really explain them to Pepper or Rhodey when they were helping him through things. It was one thing to know that he could trust Steve, intellectually. It was another to actually reach out with that trust and set something so private in his hands.
"The Void," he replied quietly, almost before he'd even realized that he was going to share, "Mostly. Occasionally I still dream about my time captive in the terrorist camp." When it came down to it, he wasn't sure which dreams were the worst.
Post by Steve Rogers on Sept 16, 2015 23:30:07 GMT
"Yeah. Silver lining." Except there wasn't a silver lining. Tony saw him. He knew. And he felt sick. As bad as this normally was, there wasn't any kind of comfort here. He couldn't look around the room, remind himself that this was reality, and start relaxing. Instead now he had to deal with one of his teammates knowing. The teammate that most liked to undermine him and bust his chops. And what that meant for him, for the team, for everything else. It was like another level of stress, and boy was that just what he needed. Especially after today, which just so fantastically stress free.
At least the callus quip seemed more like Tony, though. Old Tony he could deal with. Old Tony was at least a little easier to predict than new Tony that claimed he wanted to be friends. "What are you doing here?" He looked over at the man, but was unable to meet his eyes. Looking at him was too hard; it made him feel more vulnerable than he was. Or maybe as vulnerable as he actually was. "Was I making a lot of noise?" He was surprised that Tony was still here, too, but it was too late for that. Tony caught him at his most vulnerable. Telling him outright to leave wouldn't exactly get the cat in the bag. It was awkward, it was uncomfortable, but the man was sticking around, and Steve couldn't just tell him to leave him alone.
Even if this would be easier to sort through on his own.
"I'm here to be Captain America. Steve Rogers was left in the ice." There was nothing for him here; he was a man out of time. Everyone he knew and loved was gone, everyone but Bucky. And Bucky was... Bucky needed a lot of help and support. Bucky wasn't Bucky, and he wasn't Steve. Too much had happened in Bucky's life to ever return to who he was, and with Steve, nothing happened at all. It was everything else that changed around him.
But he was here for a reason. He genuinely believed it. The world needed him to be Captain America, and that was who he was going to be.
"Besides, it's not like you're the man I should talk to about being mask-free." Steve snorted humorlessly at that. He wasn't even sure who Tony was, and he wasn't sure that Tony knew, either. And vulnerability especially? The man just got angry. Angry or deflected everything with humor. He was at least a little more honest. He was just reserved, and put on a brave face rather than lashing out at everyone around him. Making himself vulnerable to other people... that wasn't so bad. Letting other people be vulnerable to him? Be disappointed by him? That was terrifying.
And it seemed like Tony wasn't exactly addressing his own problems in any sense if he was having dreams. And apparently more than one. Steve frowned... suddenly feeling like a horse's ass. He hadn't really thought that either bothered Tony. He was normally so... blasé. It wasn't like there was a ton of difference between his pre and post Chitauri Invasion behavior, either. He knew Tony was damaged, but he thought most of that had to do with Howard and not trusting anyone. He didn't really strike him as the type to be shaken up over a brush with death.
But maybe he didn't know Tony as well as he thought. Maybe he was vulnerable enough to justify keeping everyone at a distance to some extent.
Frowning, he shifted momentarily. "Does anyone else know about them? Is there anyone to call? I could..." he let himself trail off there. He wasn't sure what help he'd be. He didn't even have them sorted out on his end.
Notes: he';s trying to bond, dammit. Tagged: star spangled cuddlebear
Tony could tell that this conversation really wasn't helping Steve much, and that thought frustrated him to no end. Over the past week he'd realized that he actually kinda liked Steve, and he did want to try the whole friendship angle with the man. But now that he'd finally gotten on board, it seemed that Steve had abandoned ship. He didn't really know how to fix that, at all, and that made him want to pull at his hair just a bit. Or drink a bottle of whiskey.
"You actually weren't really making any noise," Tony replied easily, not letting his confusion show, "I woke up on the couch and wanted to move to the bed, but I noticed you were in nightmare-land when I came in." It had been a bit disconcerting at first, but Tony knew that surviving the kinds of things he'd heard about from the War could give anyone nightmares. Especially a guy like Steve, who took things a bit harder than most on the emotional range.
Tony rolled his eyes a bit at Steve's insistence that he was only Captain America. "No offence, Steve, but that's a load of bullshit," he replied, "Captain America might be the symbol that everyone knows, but those of us that actually spend time with you in and out of the mask know the difference between the two. And you're allowed to just sit back and be Steve sometimes." He knew that the man was having trouble adjusting to waking up and having his whole world be gone still, but this was just a bit depressing. Tony should look into trying to make it easier for the guy.
He shrugged a shoulder as Steve mentioned that Tony wasn't exactly following his own advice. "I'm terrible at letting people see the real me. But that doesn't mean you should follow my lead," he agreed, "I know that I hide behind a series of complicated personas, Steve. But that doesn't mean that you need to do the same thing. Take it from me; it's exhausting. It leads to very few personal connections and even fewer reasons to stay connected to the world. Don't go down the same road I did."
Shaking his head at Steve's question, he glanced away. "I mean, Pepper does. Clearly. And Rhodey knows a little bit. But, uh, I kinda keep those cards close to the chest," he replied, "I usually have JARVIS talk me through things. Human connection is better, but JARVIS feels less terrifying." The idea hit him then that his AI could probably help Steve as well.
"If you want we can program him to help wake you up and get you calmed down when you have an episode?" he offered, "That way no one else has to know, unless something seriously bad happens or something."
Steve's brow bunched up in confusion for a second. If he wasn't making any noise, how was it that Tony heard him? And then the explanation came, and Steve's jaw set as his molars ground into one another. "Damn it, Tony!" He hissed. "I told you sharing the bunk was a no go. Not without some kind of divider in place! What the hell coulda happened if you'd next to me when all of this started going down?!" Shaking his head, he balled his fist and exhaled sharply through his nose. "I've heard of some vets hitting people in their sleep before. And worse..." Some that strangled. And some of the ones that kept weapons near their beds doing worse even then that, while their were unconscious or still asleep enough that they didn't recognize friend from foe.
And... he didn't know. He'd never had anyone even nearby since the nightmares began. What if...? The thought made him run a clammy hand through his damp hair. Another reason he was so grateful that he didn't have a love life to speak of. He couldn't imagine exposing his wife to such a risk regularly.
The side of blonde's mouth twitched and his brow furrowed, as a thousand words flashed behind his eyes but went unspoken. "Maybe." Was all he replied as his face quickly took on the inscrutable, reserved quality it usually got when he was in the middle of a mission. It was better than saying anything. As bad as things were now, he didn't think he could go and spill more of his guts in front of Tony. The genius saw a glimpse, and that was plenty horrible enough. He already felt like he was a let down. A shiny veneer over a dulled surface, and he didn't want anyone to dig any deeper than that. Surface was what he needed to be and become, inside and out. No failed expectations. Just strength and certainty and guidance.
Hearing the insistence that he needed to be Steve just had him shake his head bitterly and stare towards the wall, throat tightening as his jaw clenched hard enough he could hear his bones creak. And then, unbidden the words came bubbling to the surface in a quiet and strained voice as he balled his fist. "I don't know if I can be Steve anymore. Part of me didn't make the trip." He didn't know what had gone away, or why, but it was there. An unmistakable absence that made it hard to get as close as he once was able to. Hard to relax or smile or laugh. It was easier on the field, giving orders, being the job. Off the field? It was like he didn't know how to be a real person anymore, and was a doll going through the motions.
"Mary, mother of God," he swallowed the hard lump in his throat, managing a half, joyless smile when he shook his head. "I did not want to have this conversation with you. Just..." forget what he said? Tony wasn't going to. If Tony was even thinking rationally this was all going to be in a report on Fury's desk by the next morning. There was no way he was going to be allowed to keep leading the team after all of these revelations. There wasn't a damn chance. He was going to be benched and have some kind of psych analysis for six months. As much as Fury had gleaned already by sending him to Miss James, Tony's report was going to really underline every little fault, every little lie he'd kept going for the last four years.
"No." He sighed, his voice a little less tight, but his expression more distant, body language more guarded as he continued after a moment's thought on Tony's offer. "If you're anything to go by, having anything or anyone around just... makes it worse. And I don't mean that against you." He honestly didn't. Even though Tony was probably one of the worst people to find out didn't mean that he'd have that much of an easier time if Nat did. In fact, his closeness to her... he was pretty sure he'd feel even more vulnerable. "I think some things I just need to work out on my own."
Notes: why don't you like me steeeeve? Tagged: steeeeeve
Tony couldn't help but roll his eyes at the man's outburst. "Okay, its not like I actually crawled into the bed with you. And also. I'm pretty sure that I can take care of myself. Plus, how was I supposed to know you were using the bed without checking, hm?" he pointed out, helpfully, he thought. Plus he was pretty sure that Steve wouldn't hurt him. Steve was the kind of guy that would somehow manage to avoid even subconsciously lashing out at people while asleep.
He frowned a bit as Steve seemed to shut down even further, even with Tony attempting to be encouraging. There wasn't much that he could do with that. After all, he wasn't trained with psychological trauma. He really only knew things from experience, and he hadn't lived the same things Steve had. He had no idea what the man was thinking and feeling. Of course, it helped that Steve finally spit out a little bit of what was bothering him.
It hurt a bit that Steve didn't seem to trust him with this secret feeling of his, but at the same time it wasn't like Tony had been attempting to be friendly before now. Plus, he understood not wanting to talk about that kind of thing. After all... well, he had experience with it.
"Look. I know it won't help, and I know its not the same, but I felt the same way after returning from Afghanistan. Three months in captivity have a way of changing things. Like, a lot," he heaved a deep sigh, hoping to even out the tremor that his voice still got when he talked about the things that had happened back then. This was why he didn't talk about them. But if anyone needed to hear about them, it was Steve in this moment. "I felt like a part of me was stuck in that cave and that I'd never get it back. Then I realized that it wasn't that I'd left it behind. It was that I'd grown past it being relevant. We all grow up, Steve. You were displaced completely. You were forced to grow far too fast. You're disconnected. But those parts of you aren't gone. You just need to reconnect to them. I dunno. Go to a ball game. Do things that you remember loving. Don't just give up."
Well that was plenty of attempts at being a real human to last forever.
He shrugged a bit as the man refused JARVIS' help. "Just talk to JARVIS if you decide you'd like him to do anything. He won't tell anyone else about it if you ask him not to." It was better to leave the offer open; just in case he decided later that it was a good idea.
Post by Steve Rogers on Sept 21, 2015 21:12:02 GMT
"Well," the blonde began, sharply. "Since you were occupying the couch, it hardly seemed necessary for me to be in the bath tub, something I'm pretty sure you knew. And even if your brain was only half functional, you could have checked the bathroom first since that's the only other place I'd be. Instead, funny enough, you start to do exactly what you kept trying to insist on."
But it was hard to stay mad when he said what he least wanted to say to anyone... ever. And it was hard to stay mad when Tony tried to open up to him, and talked about something he'd never heard him talk about, and actually showed... human feelings. Like fear and discomfort and pain. In enough quantity for Steve to forget about how frustrated he was with the guy, how little he liked him in general and even forget about how much he hated this situation to reach out without a second thought. His arm wrapped around Tony's back until his hand clasped the guy's shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze.
Listening to what Tony had to say, Steve gave the wall another thousand-yard stare.
'Don't give up,' Tony said. But giving up sounded so... appealing. If he didn't hate the idea of being a quitter, he probably would have a long time ago. Some days it took all of his willpower to push back the covers, get dressed and eat something. It only got better when he stepped out the door and had to put on a brave face so others didn't see how rattled he was. Sometimes the lie of certainty managed to convince him too. Fake it 'til you make it. That's what some people said, and some of the times it worked.
Maybe he just needed to try harder. Lie to himself more consistently. It was easier when he was busy, when he didn't have time to think or question. Question why a soldier was taken out of his war and put into one with a lot less action. Question why he was here, what his purpose was, and why he needed to be so far removed from home to do it. If he could just find more ways to occupy his time, something to make him feel useful, something to make him feel needed, something where he had less time to struggle at being a man that died, a man he didn't know how to be anymore. Maybe that would help.
"I'm not sure I can. Or if I can, not in the same way. Too much has changed around me, like a rug's been snatched out under my feet and I'm not standing on the same ground anymore." He certainly didn't have access to the same people that made it easy to just... be himself. Be Steve. "And it's too hard to let people close enough to try. I don't want to let anyone down." The blonde sighed, and despite sounding tired, he sounded less broken, less melancholy. Like somehow reassuring Tony reassured himself in the process.
"But if I keep busy and ignore what I've been missing... I think something else will come and fill its place. And maybe I won't be the same, but I won't feel like such a fraud trying to be a dead man."
When the offer was kept open for JARVIS, the Captain just nodded his head. "Right, thanks." He still didn't think he was going to take him up on the offer. The more he thought about it, the more he knew that this was something he needed to get over on his own. He didn't have the support network for anyone else, and he didn't want to burden the few people he might be close enough to talk to.
Notes: he hugged me he's mine now Tagged: steeeeeve
Tony really wasn't bothered by Steve's sharp tone. One, he was used to Steve speaking to him like that. Two, the man was a bit stressed at this exact moment due to the situation he was in. Three, well, he really didn't care how mad Steve was. Tony wasn't going to sleep on a couch when there was a perfectly good bed in the other room. Even if that bed was occupied by a grumpy supersoldier.
He was a little shocked at the feel of the other man's arm wrapping around his shoulders and giving a light squeeze, and to his horror he leaned into the embrace for a few moments until Steve was done with the contact. It had actually been... nice. And usually he wasn't all that fond of people invading his personal space while he was emotionally vulnerable without his express permission.
It was a bit depressing to hear Steve reason his way out of allowing himself to be a person again instead of a defrosted symbol. Poor guy didn't seem to have a sense of direction in his life, and that was a situation that Tony was intimately familiar with.
"Look, things will never be exactly the same as they were. You're right about that. And you're never going to be exactly the same either. But that doesn't mean that you can't be human every once in a while," Tony reasoned easily, "Keeping busy only helps so much. Eventually you'll wear yourself thin. Supersoldier or not. So take time to find things to enjoy now." He knew what could happen when you waited too long on that one.
"Besides," he added with a smirk, "I can't date someone who's as bad a workaholic as I am. Who will take care of my 'bots?" Well, he would. Clearly. But it was a joke and he really hoped that Cap had a good sense of humor.
Shifting a little, he nudged Cap's shoulder with his own gently. "You need anything else before you pass out again? Or are you gonna go for a run or something?" With Steve it seemed like he exercised more than he slept, so who knew.