It had taken a couple of towels and a half-hour in a healing trance, but the back of Anakin's hand was scar-free. If their little arrangement stopped That Woman from touching another student, it was a deal at twice the price
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After pummelling his punching bag into submission (he was going to need a new one, actually), Steve emerged from his basement to find Anakin on the sofa. "Oh," he said. "Hello. Do you...live here?" He totally failed at being social.
Steve couldn't remember anyone getting turned into an animal in his experience, but it certainly wasn't the strangest thing he'd heard of. "These things happen. And yes, I teach art. Or, well, I teach patriotism right now."
Anakin held up his hands. "I'm not saying it's not, given the right instructor. Instilling pride in where you come from is important. But patriotism tends to go with 'and that's why you're wrong and I'm not so let me oppress you' a lot of the time."
Steve considered how to answer that for a long moment. "I certainly hope that's not what I'm teaching my students. Although, I consider myself a patriot, and just before I came here I was arrested for treason and assassinated on my way to trial, so my stance is kind of unusual to start with."
"Apparently I was only dead for a few minutes," Steve said with a shrug. "These things happen." If it hadn't been that, he was sure he would have come back some other way.
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