sixthiterationlogs | Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

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Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

WHO: Steve Rogers
WHERE: Fountain, Inn
WHEN: June 19 - 20
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None yet, but will update

[ Fountain ]

[ It's over. Right? It's definitely over. A letter has been sent, friends are rescued, some of the dust is settling. Steve can sit down and take one damn minute to catch a figurative breath. To get his head together, so he can figure out what to do next. Oh, there will be a next. There's always a next. He settles down on a bench in an otherwise empty hallway in Wakanda's palace, grateful for the lack of company. That won't last, of course. Someone will come to fetch him soon but, for now, solitude.

It's great. He hunches his shoulders, elbows braced on his knees and heaves a tired sigh.

Then, abruptly, there's a lot of water surrounding him and when the hell did he fall asleep? Where the hell did he fall asleep? For a moment, there's panic and sputtering, and then Steve's instincts take over. Kick down, swim up, head for what looks like the light. It seems a long way off, though, which means he has to keep reminding himself not to take a breath and risk drowning.

He surfaces in a fountain, throwing one arm over the edge, and takes a couple of seconds to just breath. Before completing the task of hauling himself out and rolling onto the ground in a heap. And stays there, too, for ... he's not sure how long, actually. A minute, maybe two. Maybe even three. Whatever. He takes stock without moving: wet clothing, wet boots, there's something lying against his back, but he's going to have to wait until the disorientation fades. The air doesn't smell stale or like medicine, so this probably isn't a medical facility. No giant tank of icy water and god knows what else, no artificial voice offering stilted reassurances while he endures a panic attack. No hint of the needles-and-pins sensation that comes with being defrosted.

Steve takes a shaky breath. The lack of a frozen, watery tomb is. Good. Very good. Eventually, sitting up seems like a good idea, so Steve follows that instinct too, shoving hair (and water) out of his eyes and peers down at the white, wet scrubs he's currently decked out in. The heck? Then he looks up and around, blinking in confusion. There's a .. little square with a fountain behind him, and a whole lot of bushes. And trees. But not the kind of trees found in Africa.

Which means this isn't Wakanda. Well, shit. ]

[ Inn ]

[ Later, when he's has had a little time to adjust to the idea of a brand new set of omniscient beings deciding to screw around with his life (protip: he hasn't actually adjusted yet), Steve decides to do a little scouting. Of the informational variety. There are also some sketchy plans to wander around and see what can be seen and learn the layout of the immediate area. Then learn the layout of the not-so-immediate area. Here's hoping he'll only be here a couple of days. There are people, back home, who are counting on him and Steve doesn't intend to let them down.

But first, something to eat. He chooses a seat near the wall, where he can see the exits and probably anyone trying to sneak up on him for nefarious purposes. Because people don't sneak around for non-nefarious purposes in his experience. He hunches his shoulders a little, to try and negate some of the space his body takes up, and starts watching other patrons. Best way to figure out local customs, also in his experience.

And locate someone who looks like a waiter. Or who can point him in the right direction. ]

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[ Bucky's made it a habit to pass by the fountain since he got here. He goes out of his way to do it, after errands or on walks. It's not that he thinks he's the best welcome wagon this place has to offer, not by any means, it's just that he's waiting for someone. The days have ticked by, though, and the frequency at which he passed by dwindled from multiple times a day to usually just the once, an absent habit that he no longer holds much optimism for.

Today when he passes by it's after chopping an inordinate amount of wood. He wears scrubs for that because he thinks they're disposable and light, he's ripped one of the sleeves off of it and sweated clean through a good ninety percent of it. What hair he doesn't have up falls lankly and messily into his face, and wood shavings cover his person intermittently. So busy is he trying to wipe the sweat and dust from his eyes that, at first, he doesn't realize the fountain has a population.

As his vision clears his footsteps falter. His lips part for a second as his mind works to accept what they're seeing.

Peggy was right. Where Bucky was, Steve wasn't far behind.

He moves quietly, silently, to stand above his friend and offer a hand out, lips quirking up into an amused sort of smirk. ]

What is it with you almost drowning and me having to save your ass, huh?

Edited 2018-06-20 15:28 (UTC)

[ He's been sitting there long enough to start feeling like a chump, but other than standing up, wandering around, and potentially getting lost or in trouble (of which the latter is more likely), Steve isn't sure exactly what to do. The whole point of hiding out before he got here was to get his head back in the game.

So that's kind of what he's doing now. Just staring at the ground and keeping an ear out for anyone approaching. And, predictably, that means he does notice the meandering of one James Barnes, although he's not really looking at the guy full-on until his face is visible.

Steve blinks, more than likely looking just as gape-jawed, head tilting back until Bucky is looming over him. Holding out a hand. Of which he has two. Which is ... huh. He doesn't know quite what to think. In lieu of that, he reaches out in return and lets his best friend haul him to his feet. ]

Uh, I'd say coincidence, but it's only happened twice.

[ If they're just counting post-Project Rebirth. And now he's flailing around for something intelligent to say, feeling a little like Lewis Carroll's Alice might have. Eventually, he opts for: ]

Hey, Buck.

[ He pulls Steve to his feet with a bit more effort than he really ought to have had to put in; Steve will soon find exactly what Bucky found pretty quick: no serum. No super strength, just regular ol' great physiques. It explains the sweat soaking him, once Steve's in a place in his mind to start connecting those dots.

To further add to his sense of displacement, Bucky doesn't just end with the pull like he might have if they'd seen each other as recently as Steve thinks. He surges forward beyond that, wrapping his other arm around Steve's shoulders and pulling him into a solid embrace. God damn is he glad you're here, and he expresses it in the sureness of his grip, the way fingers dig a little into Steve's soaked scrubs.

A few other things may stand out, tiny details that add up to a bigger picture: longer hair, a five o'clock shadow much more filled out than what he'd been sporting in the Wakandan Freezer. All of it apparent when he pulls back, settling a hand on Steve's sopping shoulder. ]

Better late than never.

[ That is not quite the welcome Steve expected, judging by the startled wheeze he emits when Bucky's arms just crowd around his shoulders, steady and larger than life and goddammit, it's been years since anyone's bothered with something as mundane as a hug. (Other than Natasha, and that was special circumstances.) The contact feels wonderful, to be quite honest, even though it takes more time than strictly necessary before he gets with the program and echoes the gesture.

He isn't completely sure how long the hug lasts, but Bucky pulls away and his brain suddenly remembers it exists. And that it can do things, like rearrange the little oddities into something resembling a picture. This time, though, it's not like Fury deliberately put him in a room where those oddities were starkly wrong for the era Steve lived through. This time, it takes leaning back and watching. Calculating up each hiccup that composes what Bucky looks like, and smells like, now. Also, two working arms is a dead giveaway that something has happened. ]

Who says I'm late, pal.

[ Steve ducks his head for a moment to compose himself. The gesture Bucky's making, hand pressed against his shoulder, is an old one. The last thing he needs right now is to even consider getting overly emotional. Or overtly emotional. Whatever, it's basically the same thing. And something to keep in check. ]

Edited 2018-06-21 07:33 (UTC)

[ One of his functioning arms is still most definitely metal, but it's still better than the one armed situation Steve left tucked into a Wakandan freezer. It hangs by his side now as he favors the right, favors the real sensation of touch and the point of connection between the two of them. Stark all but destroyed the last one, and the one he wears now practically oozes Wakandan technology. Another piece, should Steve want to insert it into his puzzle.

Bucky huffs at the question, and as Steve ducks his head, he finally lets his hand drop. Lets the touch go, and decides he probably better catch his friend up to speed on the here and now. ]

I do. [ He answers flatly, wryly. ] Been here for nearly a month, walking by this fountain waiting for your train to come in. Wasn't sure you were gonna show.

[ Which is ridiculous, all of it is. There was never any guarantee that anyone was ever going to wind up here, much less Steve. It was only the ominous statement from Peggy that had him hoping, the fact that they seemed to come in pairs, the fact that both of them had been here before a few times in tandem. It was a hope based in nothing concrete, but that's all it typically takes to tether them together isn't it? Hope? ]

Oh, in that case. You'll just have to forgive me for being late.

[ Steve isn't sure where the sass comes from, honestly. It's like something deep inside cracked open, or warmed up, and continues to thaw. It's an ache he hasn't felt for a long time and doesn't even consciously recognize, but there all the same. And he feels the loss of that clasp of fingers, but it is probably better to remain silent on that. The last thing he wants to do is inflict his own foibles on Bucky.

So, with that in mind: ]

The beard... thing looks good, pal. Covers your ugly face nicely.

[ Because Steve Rogers may be Captain America, an embodiment of the American spirit, and occasional hope-bringer. But he is also sometimes an asshole. An observant asshole. All those little tidbits are rattling around, arranging themselves to form a conclusion, including the arm he needs to take a better look at. But that can wait a little longer. ]

[ At the commentary on his facial hair a hand comes up, a real one, and absently grazes across his mouth. Truth be told it wasn't an intentional beard so much as he hasn't seen a god damn razor since he got here, and grooming has taken a back seat to adjusting. At least it's not a depression beard, so that's nice.

Once he finishes feeling up his own scruff he scoffs. ]

How about you save the criticism for when you're dry, huh?

[ Is his exasperated retort, and he nudges Steve into motion with an elbow. ]

C'mon. I'll take you somewhere you can change.

Hey, I can stand here soaking wet and admire your facial hair at the same time. I'm multi-talented.

[ Another tiny, until now un-noticed band inside of his chest eases. This is familiar, this banter is old, from a time before their lives flipped upside down. Whatever this place is, however he got here, Steve is grateful for this at least. Not a week ago he'd stared at Bucky's face inside a glass tube, unsure of how long the separation would be this time. ]

But I suppose I can do that with warm clothes too. Lead on, I'll follow.

[ Steve took the shortcut while Bucky took the long way round, and it's probably better that way. Better that Steve doesn't have to spend years agonizing over whether or not Bucky will be able to get his shit together, whether he'll ever be pronounced a functioning member of society or if he'll always be a ticking time bomb waiting for the wrong words to become a threat again.

He can't help the incredulous laugh, he really can't, and he shoves his hands in his pockets as he leads the way toward the inn where he's been holed up. Most people have houses, but he just couldn't seem to wrap his head around making a home by himself. Something about the upkeep, the normalcy, the mowing of the lawn and the sweeping for nobody but himself seemed...

At any rate, he's got a room and it's been good enough so far. ]

You keep firing off pot-shots and I'm gonna shave your eyebrows in your sleep. [ He warns. Then they'll see who's laughing over who's facial hair. ]

Edited 2018-06-23 06:18 (UTC)

[ All of those worries are well and good, and rational, and have a place in the weight that Steve carries around with him. It would be nice to know Bucky's not vulnerable to that damn book, that he can gather his wits again to live somewhere in the world -- even if its Romania again -- and that society might accept him again. However, even if none of that happens, Steve will still be at his side come hell or high water.

If he has to be Bucky's shield this time around, so be it. If Bucky didn't remember anything but they once knew each other, so be it. Steve will just learn who the new personality is and do his best to build a friendship. (That said, it'd be nice if someone remembers him as Steve, and not just Captain America.)]

You say that like I won't hear you coming. [ He says, unaware of what the lack of serum really means for his serum-enhanced abilities. ] Maybe I should find a tree to sleep in. Hard to climb with a razor.

[ Anyone thinking Steve is talking shit to cover his own nerves would be ... absolutely right. Probably. ]

[ They tread onward, a well-worn path that Bucky has traveled daily since he arrived. It's clear by his lack of paranoia and his general comfort level that he's been here a while, that this place has fewer threats than Romania or even Wakanda. He doesn't glance over his shoulder or speak quietly, he doesn't worry quite so much, even though his paranoia will never entirely fade it does seem to be far more dormant now. It makes him seem and feel like practically a whole different person, a calmer one, an easier one.

Not saying he wouldn't go back and pick up the arms he dropped, go back to the fight against Thanos in a heartbeat if it was possible and if Steve asked him to, but the change of pace is nice. He's starting to feel a sense of belonging, and it's probably mostly just because he hasn't killed a single person in this world, nor the family or friends of anyone either.

He huffs a laugh. ]

You'd be surprised. [ Is his mock-ominous reply. He's going to have to be the one to explain this place. That they don't come here how they left back home, that eventually the serum might come back just like Benedict's eyes or Sam's vampirism. That there are people from all over the timeline back home, and people from all over the multiverse here not even from Earth. That they're trapped.

He's going to have to ask about Thanos, about what Steve remembers, and he's going to have to feel uncomfortable as hell when he realizes Steve doesn't know anything about it at all yet. He's going to have to decide whether or not to even tell Steve because at this point it wouldn't do him any good, he'd just obsess over something he couldn't help right now.

But for now, they just walk, and they coexist, and they take five minutes to be who they once were for a change, and that's...

Damn fine. ]

Is that one of your many skills, Buck? Climbing trees in the middle of the night with a razor, lurking in forests in order to stalk innocent Army captains and shave their eyebrows?

[ That is going to be an interesting talk. It'll probably break Steve's brain a little, but considering all the shit he's either been party to, or endured, over the course of his life, an island somewhere in the world -- a hidden world -- that takes people from a multiverse of realities, including theirs, isn't the weirdest thing he's ever heard. Or ever will hear, if one takes Thanos into account.

Who he has definitely not met in person, but will be quietly, selfishly gratified to hear he manages to hold back for a whole thirty seconds.

He'll want to know what Bucky's been up to, if he's doing alright, and what Steve can do to make his life a little easier here. Until that talk comes, however, he is content to walk alongside his oldest friend as they head toward wherever it is Bucky is leading, and only flicking water in the direction of said friend's face every twenty paces.

Because Steve will forever be a little punk. And this is the closest to the old days he's been in decades. It's fucking great. ]

Winter Soldier 101.

[ He agrees wryly, nodding.

They arrive at the inn, Bucky tugs the door open and nods Steve in. They pass through a merry room of wooden tables and pleasant company, through faces Steve may find familiar or that may be total strangers, it's hard to anticipate the population at any given time.

Bucky doesn't give him time to parse it out, and leads his friend around a corner toward room 2. His room, evidently, judging by the familiarity he exhibits in it and the few artifacts strewn around. Books and clothes, a knife tucked away and barely visible but easily accessible. He doesn't own a lot, but what he does he displays with a certain sort of pride. Like it makes him human to have personal property.

From the dresser he digs out a change of clothes, they're close in size, he figures they'll do. Passes them over wordlessly. ]

Paintball players must hate you.

[ Because that's the first non-lethal sport he can think of where participants hang around in pseudo-military garb. Not that he's biased against stupid people wandering around with realistic looking guns shooting other people with realistic-looking guns. At least, not unless they're obnoxious.

And he's clearly overthinking all of it because they're at the inn in what feels like a surprisingly short time. And the two of them are moving fast enough for him to garner more than a glimpse of the common area on the ground floor. Steve makes a note to investigate later.

Investigating Bucky's room is a lot more pressing once they get there. First, though, he accepts the change of clothing gratefully -- with a quiet 'thank you', even -- and spends a couple of minutes divesting the wet ones in exchange for wonderfully dry ones. And then he might snoop around a little, mostly interested in what Bucky is reading.

The weaponry won't bother him overly much. It's not like Steve didn't carry around a huge, frequently dangerous shield until very recently. ]

This is nice.

[ The books aren't necessarily what he would have chosen himself; the supply room had an extreme limit on literature, and if more books exist elsewhere he hasn't found them yet. Right now he's got a survival manual that seems to be U.S. army issued, and a book on David Copperfield. Not exactly one of his driving interests, but it's better than oppressive boredom right before bed. Helps his mind relax, helps him calm down enough to sleep sometimes.

Steve starts to change, and Bucky glances at him only for a moment before turning his back quietly, modestly dropping his eyes to the wood panels that make up his door. ]

The clothes or the room? [ He asks, not having sight of Steve's eye line to fill in the answer himself. ]

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Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

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