When Steve gets home from this, Winter is leaning on the wall next to his apartment door. Mostly he's here to say hi because he was restless and he hadn't seen Steve yet today, and there is a thermos of cocoa on the floor next to his feet, but he straightens and frowns when he spots Steve. "What happened."
Steve is... not in terrible shape. Okay, his hands are cracked and bloody, given that he'd just used barely healed knuckles to punch people. His nose has clearly been bleeding but does not appear broken, and there are a few bruises, a bit of dirt, but apparently even when you're a normal human guy up against several guys roughly your size, previous fighting experience and just general Steve-ness - plus Peter Parker - count for something.
He feels himself go a little sheepish like a kneejerk reaction when he spots Winter - and spots that frown. He almost almost finds himself saying Hey, Buck, but manages to stop at the last second and switch tacks to actually answer the question: "Nothing big. Just some guys being jerks, chasing somebody who didn't deserve it."
He... actually has no idea why they were chasing Peter. But it probably wasn't a great reason.
"Steve," Winter says with utter exasperation-- fond exasperation, but still-- and it's so familiar a feeling, so familiar a tone coming out of his mouth, that for a moment he blinks, reeling a little with a not-quite-memory, just a sense that he's said that more times than he could possibly count.
He shakes himself. There's work to do, Steve's practically dripping on the floor. He can have a small crisis about it later. "Get inside. I'll wrap you up. You busted your hands open again, you can't do it."
Yeah, not helping with the nostalgia any, Winter; Steve doesn't mind, though. Even with that sheepishness bleeding through, there's still a tiny hit of that adrenaline left. Of doing something, of doing a good thing and helping someone out. And then there's that fond exasperation in Winter's tone, and Steve's mouth twitches into a smile - even if it makes him wince when it reminds him his nose is just barely done bleeding. And there's probably a split lip brewing if he's not careful.
"C'mon, I can't imagine that's how you want to spend your evening," he says, but that's honestly about as much argument as he can muster, digging out his key. It's fine, these jeans already need washing.
This is a familiar argument, at least for Steve. He knows how it's going to end. "And probably not what you were waiting for," he adds, admittedly curious, as he carefully turns the key in the lock, knuckles throbbing.
"I was waiting for you. If you comes with rebandaging hands. And icing faces. I'll manage," Winter sniffs, bending to pick up the thermos on the floor by his feet before following Steve inside. "Though not sure you deserve my cocoa, now."
"Wait, you brought cocoa?" Steve asks, flipping on the lights with his elbow (he's experienced, okay). It looks like his roommates aren't here, which is probably just as good as he leads the way to his room. He was the last one to move in here so his room is the one off by itself on the side, but at least it's got a decent-sized bathroom. Which is where he's headed now, if there's going to be rinsing off and bandaging of things. At least he has some supplies in the little cabinet under his sink.
"That surprises you?" Winter stops off in the kitchen to see about the ice, because Steve's definitely going to need ice. He fills a whole bowl with it, and sets the freezer to make more. "I bring cocoa to just about everybody when I visit, if I think I'll be staying a while. Everyone seems to love it."
"We'll see," Winter says sternly, bringing the bowl back into Steve's space. "I might be able to be convinced. Sit. And tell me where you got hit." He can see some places, but there might be places he can't see that he'll have to check. If Steve busted any ribs, there will definitely not be cocoa. (Who's he kidding, there will be cocoa regardless.)
Fortunately for everyone, Steve actually fared pretty all right, simply by virtue of being big and muscled (if maybe slightly less muscled than when he got here). So, there was plenty of padding to protect his ribs, even as he frowns and tugs up his (admittedly already stained) shirt to see if he's bruising where he thinks he is.
He is. He'd definitely gotten kicked and hit in both sides and the back more than anywhere else. "Just here." No cuts there, though - that's all his hands and forearms, because the healing skin just couldn't take the beating he'd put it through. "And the face," he adds. But he'd figured the remnants of the bloody nose were probably evidence enough.
Winter makes a little noise of distress. Annoyed distress. He sets the bowl of ice aside and start prodding-- gently-- at those bruises. Feeling for any kind of cracks, any wincing worse than what somebody would feel if it were just a bruise.
Steve rolls his eyes at that sound - it's sort of just a kneejerk reaction, at this point. "I'm fine," he insists, even as he does wince every so often when those fingers hit a particularly tender spot. But he's not wincing too badly - there's nothing broken.
"It wast just a bunch of guys using their size. They didn't really know how to fight."
Granted, Steve was mostly using his size, too. But at least he's got experience.
"Well, your ribs aren't broken, anyway. Don't know if you're okay." He stops prodding at the ribs and takes one of the hand towels to wrap some ice in, holding it up to Steve's nose first so it doesn't swell more. Then he takes Steve's least-damaged hand and lifts it to hold the ice pack into place without words.
As he sets about wetting a washcloth to clean the remaining hand, he adds, "You've lost some muscle definition, though." How exactly he knows that, he doesn't know, but he feels like he knows what Steve used to look like without his shirt on-- accompanied by the smell of a campfire and unwashed bodies, a snatch of someone singing in French-- and this isn't quite it.
But he does not remember being here before. It is a worry of mine, but I am choosing to look to the positive, because he is here and he is safe. Everything else is second to that.
You always can. It is such a strange sentence to say, I would be very happy to introduce you to my Knickolas. Again.
I am, but I promise that I am never too busy to spend time with you. Hob is still adjusting himself and I'm trying to give him his space as well. I've been honest about our situation and I truly do not want to put my expectations for the former onto him so unfairly.
It really is a balance. It's unfair to expect things, but impossible not to, even if you never say it out loud.
But he's still the same person, underneath. Even if he becomes a completely different person from the one you knew. I don't know if that even makes sense, but it's true.
I've known him my whole life, but he doesn't remember most of it. And now he's a different person, his own person, except there are things they still have in common.
So if anyone will know what it's like from the inside, he will.
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punched_hitler) wrote2022-03-13 06:12 pm
After the brawl with Peter
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He feels himself go a little sheepish like a kneejerk reaction when he spots Winter - and spots that frown. He almost almost finds himself saying Hey, Buck, but manages to stop at the last second and switch tacks to actually answer the question: "Nothing big. Just some guys being jerks, chasing somebody who didn't deserve it."
He... actually has no idea why they were chasing Peter. But it probably wasn't a great reason.
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He shakes himself. There's work to do, Steve's practically dripping on the floor. He can have a small crisis about it later. "Get inside. I'll wrap you up. You busted your hands open again, you can't do it."
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"C'mon, I can't imagine that's how you want to spend your evening," he says, but that's honestly about as much argument as he can muster, digging out his key. It's fine, these jeans already need washing.
This is a familiar argument, at least for Steve. He knows how it's going to end. "And probably not what you were waiting for," he adds, admittedly curious, as he carefully turns the key in the lock, knuckles throbbing.
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Of course, after a moment's thought, "No, actually. Not really." The actual gesture might be a little different, but the general idea of it? No.
"If I sit still for you, can I still try some?"
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He is. He'd definitely gotten kicked and hit in both sides and the back more than anywhere else. "Just here." No cuts there, though - that's all his hands and forearms, because the healing skin just couldn't take the beating he'd put it through. "And the face," he adds. But he'd figured the remnants of the bloody nose were probably evidence enough.
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"It wast just a bunch of guys using their size. They didn't really know how to fight."
Granted, Steve was mostly using his size, too. But at least he's got experience.
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As he sets about wetting a washcloth to clean the remaining hand, he adds, "You've lost some muscle definition, though." How exactly he knows that, he doesn't know, but he feels like he knows what Steve used to look like without his shirt on-- accompanied by the smell of a campfire and unwashed bodies, a snatch of someone singing in French-- and this isn't quite it.
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lol I didn't remember he had the thermos either, I had to go back and check
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[text, un: rue]
[simple and to the point]
[text]
Rue, that's - wonderful.
Is he okay? Are you okay? Does he remember anything?
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But he does not remember being here before. It is a worry of mine, but I am choosing to look to the positive, because he is here and he is safe. Everything else is second to that.
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It's hard when someone you love doesn't remember the same things you do. But you're right - he's here, and he's fine, and those are good things.
But be kind to yourself, too, if it's hard.
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To hold such memories alone is difficult though.
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Then it won't just be you that remembers.
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I would like that. Thank you, Steve.
For this and for everything.
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Of course, Rue.
[He wishes he could help more, but if he can do this - then this is what he'll do.]
Next time I come visit. It's still okay if I do that, right? I imagine you're a bit busier now.
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I am, but I promise that I am never too busy to spend time with you. Hob is still adjusting himself and I'm trying to give him his space as well. I've been honest about our situation and I truly do not want to put my expectations for the former onto him so unfairly.
It is a balance. One I am trying to figure out.
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It really is a balance. It's unfair to expect things, but impossible not to, even if you never say it out loud.
But he's still the same person, underneath. Even if he becomes a completely different person from the one you knew. I don't know if that even makes sense, but it's true.
You should talk to Winter.
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Has he been through something similar?
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I've known him my whole life, but he doesn't remember most of it. And now he's a different person, his own person, except there are things they still have in common.
So if anyone will know what it's like from the inside, he will.
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