[ an ordinary fellow in a uniform I love; ] [ closed log ]
WHO: shieldborn and an energyrazors
WHAT: Captain America 1.0 meets Tony Stark 0.5
WHERE: Truth or Consequences
WHEN: This morning, 10/07/10
WARNINGS: none that I can foresee
SUMMARY: Steve wanders out of the lab, bloodied-up, handcuffed, and very confused. He meets an old friend sans goatee. What is this place, even.
For the second time in his exceptionally long life, Steve Rogers woke up cold and disoriented. The first time, he'd woken up with a gaggle of Avengers over him, faces seized up in awe like children come Christmas morning. He'd come to with a hoarse shout of "Bucky!", an exclamation that'd been frozen in his lungs for decades. His warning shout had gone under the ocean with him and Bucky had died; the Avengers helped him defrost and welcomed him into the future.
This time, he woke up alone. It was a different kind of cold that made him shudder in the glass tube; shock and blood-loss left him shaking visibly. He'd been shot twice, and though the wounds were gone he had lost a good deal of blood.
Like any soldier who woke in a new environment, Steve took stock. He was dizzy---weirdly so. Shoulder and gut still held a phantom ache, though a new pinch in his wrist spoke of an invasion he'd slept through. His shield was with him, propped against his thigh. It rolled out of the tube on its edge when the vacuum seal broke and he was released.
Steve's usual grace and balance had been left on the courthouse steps. He tried to put his arms out to catch himself as he fell, but they were still handcuffed behind him. He hit the ground hard, the room spinning around him in a seasick fashion, and allowed himself a few minutes to breathe, collect his wits, and assure himself that he wasn't dead.
He was still breathing. Still had the shield.
He'd figure out the rest.
WHAT: Captain America 1.0 meets Tony Stark 0.5
WHERE: Truth or Consequences
WHEN: This morning, 10/07/10
WARNINGS: none that I can foresee
SUMMARY: Steve wanders out of the lab, bloodied-up, handcuffed, and very confused. He meets an old friend sans goatee. What is this place, even.
For the second time in his exceptionally long life, Steve Rogers woke up cold and disoriented. The first time, he'd woken up with a gaggle of Avengers over him, faces seized up in awe like children come Christmas morning. He'd come to with a hoarse shout of "Bucky!", an exclamation that'd been frozen in his lungs for decades. His warning shout had gone under the ocean with him and Bucky had died; the Avengers helped him defrost and welcomed him into the future.
This time, he woke up alone. It was a different kind of cold that made him shudder in the glass tube; shock and blood-loss left him shaking visibly. He'd been shot twice, and though the wounds were gone he had lost a good deal of blood.
Like any soldier who woke in a new environment, Steve took stock. He was dizzy---weirdly so. Shoulder and gut still held a phantom ache, though a new pinch in his wrist spoke of an invasion he'd slept through. His shield was with him, propped against his thigh. It rolled out of the tube on its edge when the vacuum seal broke and he was released.
Steve's usual grace and balance had been left on the courthouse steps. He tried to put his arms out to catch himself as he fell, but they were still handcuffed behind him. He hit the ground hard, the room spinning around him in a seasick fashion, and allowed himself a few minutes to breathe, collect his wits, and assure himself that he wasn't dead.
He was still breathing. Still had the shield.
He'd figure out the rest.