sixthiterationlogs | all it takes is a snap

WHO: Bruce Banner
WHERE: Steve's House (closed), Schoolhouse (open)
WHEN: December 20th-21st
OPEN TO: Steve Rogers; OTA
WARNINGS: Spoilers for Infinity War, if you want your character to see this, now is the time!

HOUSE 18, closed to Steve Rogers

Bruce is in a good mood. His birthday went well, hey he survived another year, and he's been surrounded by friends, both new and old. The Hulk is still no where to be seen. Things could be a lot worse. He currently is focused on several projects, spinning around his brain, but he went by Steve's house just to check in on him. And honestly, sometimes he needs a distraction from his own mind. They're in the house amiably chatting about nothing in particular when suddenly a ping is on his wrist band. Bruce only glances that way in case it's an important message, but then his eyebrows furrow as it's not something he's seen before. "That's odd." There's a countdown to calendar date. "Weird. Steve, look at this, has this happened before?" He is about to ask more when a video begins to play. Bruce is confused at first, but unfortunately the moment when he realizes what is happening, it's too late. Bucky is already turning to dust before their eyes when he quickly jerks his hand away from Steve and take several steps away. He's white as a ghost, the memory washing over him all over again.

SCHOOLHOUSE, later that day and the 21st Bruce is holed up at a corner of the schoolhouse with several journals in front of him. They are the ones that are filled from cover to cover, the most integral of his notes, and he's filling in the last of one now with the most recent situation. The wristbands had a countdown, pointed toward what he believes is January 10th, and it comes accompanied with a memory. For him, it's like a cold bucket of water has not only been poured over his head, but also jammed down his throat to the point where all he feels is the ice in his veins. He can't seem to get warm. Maybe it was because the first time he was in shock and it was right after a battle, but now he seems to really be taking in the reality. The snap. His hands shake as they write and occasionally he'll stop and watch the video again. To see how realistic it is, he'll argue, but also, because he wants to know why this and why it stops there. The meanings are going to burn him in the end. He's still there the next day, looking more haggard than before, and no closer to answers.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Steve is in a better mood than he has been lately. Maybe it's just a concerted effort on his part to shake off some of the melancholy, maybe it's hanging around with people like Bruce, who care about Steve more than they ever did Captain America. Maybe it's just a nice, cold day. And good conversation. Stupid, silly, good conversation, back and forth banter about the holidays.

He's not paying attention to the band, not at first. He's trying to come up with a decent comeback when it pings, but dutifully peers down to look at the numbers when Bruce shoves his arm in Steve's face. Except, by the time he looks, it isn't numbers. No, no, numbers would be a relief. And safe. So, so safe.

Because what Steve is seeing instead is his best friend turning to dust, right in front of -- "Oh my god." He reaches out when Bruce tries to withdraw, fingers intending to wrap around his wrist in what might be an iron grip. Buck is dying, Buck is gone, and Steve's forgotten how to breath.

Steve is still faster than he is so his wrist is successfully grabbed. He's also not moving as quickly as he'd like, startled into revealing too much. As if he could forget the question, the dread of that moment, the helplessness that they all felt as they watched people die and waited to see if they were one of them. Bruce isn't sure how he survived, but it was a 50-50 shot, and he is a survivor through and through. That's not always a kindness.

The video stopped by then, but either from cruelty or a finger touches it by accident, it plays again. Bruce gets frantic and tries to pull away. "Steve, no. I'm sorry. I didn't know that it would...." Do that. Obviously he would never do it on purpose. He's shaking with the newly ignited memories of that terrible day. "I'm sorry." That is not what he ever wanted him to see. Telling it is hard enough. Seeing it is traumatizing. He knows that much.

It loops. Of course it loops. Steve is still trying to process what he's seeing. Only he's already processed the images in that tiny part of his brain that expects these things. That braces for the worst every time the phone rings, or a text comes through, or someone says we need to talk. It's a survival mechanism from a long time ago.

And it takes a supreme level of concentration to accept, on some level, what he's seeing, and then stuff it down into the deep, dark recesses of his soul. Down somewhere that won't be a problem in the short term. "When?" Steve is proud of the way his voice doesn't crack. Especially when he finally pulls himself back, chin set at a familiar angle (i'm totally fine, fuck off guys), and takes in Bruce. Who is not fine.

He reaches to the side and pulls out a chair. "It's not your fault, Bruce. Here sit down."

Edited 2018-12-21 15:31 (UTC)

The problem with being excellent at repressing trauma was that eventually it came back. Bruce has a long list of things that has happened to him that he mostly pushes to the side. There's only so much that the human brain, especially his, can take in at once. "Thor said it was years after Ultron, which I missed when stuck as the Hulk." Another thing locked away, missing years stuck in a monster. He had no idea it was many more years on Sakaar than he's aware of. It was best that way. "I think someone said it'd been two years since the Avengers broke up when Thanos came to earth." Time was a bit confusing.

Bruce takes a seat and looks up at Steve, shaking his head. "You should be sitting down too. We lost. Half of the universe is gone. Some of our other people are gone too." It is a cruel, disturbing truth. Before he couldn't fathom that type of loss, it was too much. But now he did. "We were trying to keep it from people who didn't live it." It seems like the kindest route, but now that's shot to shit. "Tony's lost in space. Asgard's destroyed. It's like we're living in the darkest timeline." It feels like confession, and it is one.

Anne received her own video blissfully alone, but it soon became apparent that she wasn't the only one, and that not everyone could bite down the emotions that were raised.

She's at the schoolhouse as part of her daily routine, but she's also taking stock of the people she meets as she does so.

This guy certainly looked worse for wear, and she approaches slowly, clearing her throat to get his attention.

"Hey. You look like you could use some company."

Bruce practically jumps out of his skin when she speaks, because he's been absorbed in notes and questions, but he has no concept of how much time has passed. He blinks up at her, his eyes feeling a little bleary, and has to close the notebook for now or he's going to lose his mind.

"Uh ... just been a long day." A horrible day. For all his good moments in this place, he had the nearly dying and now what appears to be psychological torture. Overall it's still better to be here than in his own world, but he could do without the video reminder of what they have to fix if/when they go back. "Our captors are taking a new approach to testing us."

all it takes is a snap

House of Pain

no subject

no subject

no subject

Schoolhouse

no subject