[for Steve] make a man out of you

[daretodo]

He tells me to meet him in a clearing. It's secluded, far from any dwellings, abandoned or otherwise. Not the kind of place a person's just going to stumble across in the middle of the day, basically. Were it anyone else, I might suspect I was walking into a trap -- and honestly, there's a moment or two, as I cross through some of the denser

Comments

[onlyforthedream]

When Peter came to me with the request to train him, on the heels of what was effectively taking a shot (whether he did it consciously or not), I was surprised. Peter is a loner who's been in the vigilante game longer than most but happens to be younger. He didn't learn with a team. I'm not sure if he learned from anyone.

I raise my hand briefly in reply, and nod to him.

"Afternoon, Peter. Ready to work?"

What Peter may have assumed, but I haven't told him, is that I've fought him recently, back home. That Peter Parker was in a very different place, however- powered, wearing a suit of Stark's design, and not run down from weeks of depression and self destructive behavior.

[onlyforthedream]

It's true, he may, but not much more. I don't tell him those are three of the more important factors he needs- like he said, he's not stupid, and I don't aim to treat him as such. The facts line up with what I know about Spider-Man, but for all of his bad press, a lot of what he's talking about wasn't necessarily publicized, at least not accurately

[daretodo]

Well, that's not cryptic at all. I mean, I have a few ideas for what kind of interactions he might be referring to, but I'm in no mood to ask for clarification; I don't need to be running off right now, not when we've barely started. Staring at him a moment, I nod, slightly.

"Alright," I say, crossing my arms. "Then what do you know so far, based on the past five minutes?"

If I can assess him, it figures he can do the same; it's part of the business. I once told Mary Jane -- the one at home -- that I knew how to take out the Hulk if it came right down to it, and I wasn't just being facetious. Threat analysis is important, and he's a soldier; I trust he knows what the heck he's talking about.

[onlyforthedream]

"You favor your left side," I tell him.

"Your instinct is to talk while you're fighting, until you get angry and then you really focus and drop the banter. What you're focusing on, exactly, I can't tell yet, but your form gets a little wild. Messy. It's good that you're smart, it's good that you're looking ahead, but you may be getting in your own way with it. I need to see more of your defense."

I drop down a little, squaring off sidelong to where he stands.

[daretodo]

The good news is, it's nothing I don't already know, except for the first part, which gives me pause; in retrospect, I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense. Between the dislocated shoulder and the broken leg last year, my right side's taken a hell of a beating lately, and I don't heal as well as I used to. With a nod, I take note of the information, though I'm admittedly not sure what to do with it yet. That much, hopefully, will come in time.

Eying him warily as he gets into position, I nod again, and do the same. If nothing else, I'm more acquainted with being on this side of things, especially since I've gone and lost my powers. That doesn't mean I'm looking forward to it. Even so, I can't help but reclaim some of my earlier attitude, mimicking the pose he used to start us off when I gesture for him to get over here, pointedly using my right hand.

"Well, whatcha waiting for?"

[onlyforthedream]

That's the spirit, Pete. I move forward, not keeping him boxed in, just keeping him moving again. When we started, I had drawn him forward, given him no choice but to press the attack to see where his mind went. This is no different, though I'm more familiar with watching him on the defensive. Still, most of what I would consider to be his key moves aren't presently options for him, so what he does instead is going to say a lot.

[daretodo]

"You don't talk much," I note, weaving out of his reach. His fists aren't closed, thankfully, but I don't relish the idea of getting struck, anyway, even if this is just a warm up. Arms held in front of me, I keep on the balls of my feet, muscle memory too ingrained to not be at the ready for anything he might throw at me. Without my spider-sense, predicting his next move is a lot more complicated than it used to be, especially since he's not exactly broadcasting where he's gonna come from.

"I mean, you give good speech, don't get me wrong -- you're a speechy kinda guy -- but--" I duck down to dodge a strike, and use the opportunity to sweep my leg under his feet. "--you're quiet."

[onlyforthedream]

"I found out pretty quickly that unless you've got something to say," I reply, starting to branch out, bring my feet into the equation, along with a greater reach, "it's usually more useful to listen."

[daretodo]

"Wow, that's deep," I say, and let out a breathless woah when his size twenty foot comes within inches of my face. My body twists under the stretch of his leg, bringing me up behind him, and though I'm ostensibly on the defense for this round of the warm up, I aim a kick his way, anyway. "No, seriously. You could find that in a fortune cookie."

[onlyforthedream]

"If you can distract someone with words," I say, falling forward to miss the kick and pushing off of my hands to sweep whichever leg he's coming down on, "all the better, but I generally leave the banter to someone else."

[daretodo]

What Steve apparently doesn't know is that the banter's for my benefit more so than anyone else's; it's to distract me, to keep my mind off how nervous I am, or how scared. If it happens to bug the ever-loving heck out of the guy I'm fighting, that's just an added bonus.

I launch myself into an aerial to bypass his leg, but my landing's not the greatest; my ankle rolls from the angle, and I manage to stay on my feet through stubbornness alone. Biting back a wince, I waste no time in going at him again; it hurts, but I can deal with it.

"Yeah, well," I say, "I'm a professional."

[onlyforthedream]

I frown, slipping easily into the defensive, watching the shift as he presses forward, the choices he's making. As I do all this, I also ask, "Is that ankle okay?"

This isn't a fight. Needless injury isn't a desired result of the exercise. Putting him into worse shape is hardly the goal.

[daretodo]

"What?" I ask, surprised enough by the question that I drop form entirely, cutting a combination short, and stare up at him in wide-eyed disbelief. In my defense, it's not a question I've been asked very often, not in these kinds of circumstances.

Startled more so than confused, though, I nod, sharply, and add on an exhale of laughter, "Yeah, it's fine. I mean, it twinges a bit, sure, but it's not sprained or anything."

[onlyforthedream]

"Good," I say, puzzling silently, internally over his reaction to the question. That's as telling as putting him on the attack, in its own way.

"Don't push it to the point of injury if it keeps twinging at you. Was it the landing?"

[daretodo]

"Yeah," I say, a little uncomfortable in admitting as much, but not enough so to prompt me to lie. Given how lousy a liar I am, anyway, this is probably for the best. "Uneven ground plus depressingly Average Joe balance occasionally equals a few rolled ankles."

[onlyforthedream]

There was a time in my life when being anything close to an Average Joe would have felt like being a king among men. I can understand the frustration.

It was the first thing I noticed, his balance, and this cements it for me. Balance will be our lynchpin- the strength will come back, but he's going to have to find a new way to balance himself, and that won't be easy.

"Well, we can't fix the ground, but the rest of it we can manage. We'll start with balance."