juststeverogers | Evening of the First Night--- for heirtothearcane and westfallcorndog

It's smaller, much smaller. And everything is done in cream and brown hues. Steve steps aside and pulls Harrow in after a moment.

"Come on, I'll show ya around here first, before we head out. My ma's place was a little bigger, but not much. I couldn't afford it after she passed on." There's hooks up behind the door covered in suit coats and hats, and a narrow hallway that leads to a tiny kitchenette slash bedroom, with an itty bitty bathroom off around the corner. The place is cramped but homey, obviously well lived in. And at the end of the bed, jammed up along the wall next to a dresser is a small writing desk, with a couple of Steve's sketchbooks sitting on it.

"Eh? Not bad for a coupla bachelors doing odd jobs day to day, right?"

Inside of an Earth home. Steve's Earth home. This is an exotic place to be sure, no matter how familiar the setting may seem after some of the things Harrow's seen in the Nexus. He wanders through the dreamscape behind Steve, mindful not to touch anything as he absorbs the memory of this place. What he sees as he looks around brings a soft smile to his face. It is a nice place for two bachelors, he thinks, and though he doesn't appear to open his mouth to say those words Steve ought to be fully aware of this opinion.

He lingers curiously near the sketchbooks but doesn't attempt to touch them, then returns to quietly examining the room. The sight of the bed makes him smile, and though again he doesn't open his mouth he seems to be laughing. Without speaking he thinks aloud "I wanted to make a joke that sharing a bed wouldn't be strange if you imagined it was like back home, but I'd be the Steve and you'd be the Bucky. I didn't realize you only had one bed."

Harrow looks around, suddenly very conscious that someone else does live here. Where is he? Will he arrive?

"Hm? Oh, the bed. It used to be a couple of cots, but it got so damn cold in the winter that we ended up shoving them together anyway. Bucky's mom was getting rid of some old stuff, so we decided it'd be easier to just toss them and put a bed in there." Steve shrugs, easy as can be. With space a premium, it ended up being more efficient that way, and it's not like Steve ever had to worry about bringing a dame home.

The expectation of another person washes over Steve, and he turns to look out the window. It'd be nice if it wasn't...it's not winter outside. The leaves are all shades of yellow and orange. A smile breaks out across Steve's face.

"Come on. It's not far, I'll show you where I go to school and we can see if Buck's done at the factory yet or not."

Factory. Harrow doesn't understand, but he doesn't ask. If he's going to see it soon he doesn't matter that he knows what that word means now. He smiles too at the sight of the warm-colored leaves. It's a city, sure, but the colors remind him of home. He hold out a hand for Steve to guide him by. He's full of all Steve's energy to see the school – a place that might as well be as foreign as a factory to him.

"I've never gone to school," he says-thinks. Under normal circumstances he might be ashamed of that, but somehow here he doesn't feel that way. This is a pleasant place and it fills him with honesty and positivity. "Will you tell me what you study?"

The details aren't quite right, but for the moment Steve doesn't question it. Dreams are never exactly right. They're outside almost instantly, walking down the busy sidewalks past cars as big as boats. Harrow will smell popcorn on the brisk autumn breeze, and more than a couple people say hello to Steve and harrow as they pass by.

And really, the most odd remark they give Harrow is that he ought to get a coat. But all in jest. All friendly. That's admittedly some wishful thinking on Steve's part. He likes the camaraderie of the Nexus. Wishes it was more like that back home. The nondescript brick building Steve points out a few blocks down from them yet looks empty today.

"I take art classes there. Every other evening cept' Sunday." It's taken him longer to get a degree since he can only attend classes when they have the money to spare for tuition. But Steve is all smiles as he leads Harrow down another street. The gridlike pattern of New York city is easy to navigate. "I haven't seen how much the city has changed since I lived here." Steve admits as they walk. "I hope it still has the charm of this one."

So much warmth and goodness in this place. Brooklyn is a city of peace and prosperity for sure. Every sight and smell conjures up implications of things he can't see and fills Harrow's unaware mind with a vivid sense of depth of reality in this dream. He smiles at people in kind as they smile at him, but for the most part keeps his hands to himself and follows Steve, mindful not to bump into anyone or anything.

And there's the art building! He nods seriously but doesn't feel very serious as he does it. His thoughts are occupied with a desire to see the place, though the scenery changes quickly and he forgets that small wish as soon as the dream shifts around him.

"I think any place you go will be charming and friendly. You have that effect on people," Harrow think-says with a bright smile.

A thought occurs to Steve as the shifting autumn sky sends leaves blowing around their feet. They make a rustling that seems to echo off the tall buildings that are reaching up to the sky. But not in Azerothian smooth towers and spirals. Blocky buildings of brick and metal.

"Is this the first dream you've had since you became an undead?" Because Steve knows they're dreaming, now. It took a while for it to dawn on him, but now that it has he wonders how he missed it, with the way everything is fuzzy around the edges. He concentrates harder, and they're approaching the Brooklyn Bridge from the bank of the East river. Steve points out at it.

"That's the bridge I'm always sketching." Things are shifting, moving around him as Steve thinks. An old movie theater with news reels running updates on the war effort. "Here's the theater I got beat up behind."

Edited 2016-01-30 01:03 (UTC)

Dreaming? This place? Harrow looks around, confused and yet suspiciously content. When his eyes land on Steve again he laughs quietly, and with it comes a casual shrug. "If this was a dream I couldn't be here. You said you'd show me Brooklyn, remember?" He doesn't remember the exact moment Steve said it, of course, but he believes it to be real. It's been too long since he's had to separate dreams and reality, and this is such a pleasant one, no matter which it is.

He marvels quietly at the bridge, hands in his pockets, and spends a breath imagining the smell of the water and the metal and stone and all the people who make up the city. By the end of his breath they're at a movie theatre. It's so well-suited for movies! The seats are all tiered just slightly, the screen is so big. What a wonderful place to enjoy movies. He imagines how it must feel for the room to be full. Strangers all around in the darkness. Would they talk like they do when he shows movies, or would they keep their thoughts to themselves? Hopefully not the latter.

"Those people who hurt you, are they still here? We could get even," he suggests, his tone as friendly as it was before.

"I don't remember what they look like. I got beat up a lot. After a while all bullies start to look the same." Steve dismisses it with a wave of his hand, though for a brief moment--as though he couldn't help but remembering--there's the alley and the trash can lid sitting at their feet like a discarded shield. Steve's nose is bleeding, he's got a black eye. But there's a yell and a holler from the alley entrance.

"Hey, punk! What'd I tell ya about hanging out back here?" There's worry in the man's voice, and as soon as he trots over he gives Harrow a once over. "You're bringin' tourists home now Stevie?" He extents a hand immediately. "James Barnes. You can call me Bucky."

"Or Jerk."

"Stuff it, Rogers."

Steve's hurt? There's a sensation of tension that shakes Harrow into a momentary lucidity, but before he can react the dream is changing again. A man is approaching, and before he even introduces himself Harrow knows who it is. He feels familiar, somehow, like a long lost friend. He's seen him before in Steve's sketchbook on the day they met, but more than that he's aware because Steve is aware. This is Steve's dream, after all, whether Harrow will admit it or not.

"Ha-hey!" Harrow greets, laughing. Something must have changed his perception of himself as a part of his new reality that is Steve's dream; he speaks with his mouth moving and isn't afraid to interact with parts of the world. He swigs his arm wide and comes in for the shake with gusto. "Bucky! Man, how you doin'?"

"I see my reputation precedes me." Bucky's everything Steve isn't at first glance. Tall, broad shouldered and confident. A crooked grin and an easy to get along with persona. "Harrow, right? Steve's told me all about ya. Thanks for lookin' out for the guy. Punk doesn't know how to stay outta trouble."

"...I did, didn't I?" Steve's smile has turned distant. Remembering Bucky in his normal clothes is hard. Not because Steve can't, but here, seeing his lifelong friend...all he can think about is that he's leaving. "When I couldn't go to sleep. I'd tell you all about my friends. About Verity, and Harrow, and Amelia..."

"Me? Look out for him?" Harrow laughs. He claps a hand on Bucky's shoulder and moves to stand beside him with a good view at Steve. "I think it's the other way around. Steve must be making up for his past. He's the one who keeps me good and honest, man. Guy's ten pounds of morals in a five pound bag."

He goes to laugh but to his surprise finds he can't. A pang of sadness that he can't explain hits him in the chest. Suddenly the things he's feeling are conflicting, confusing, overwhelming. Steve has nights where he can't sleep? The friends he's made in the prison dimension he's trapped in are on his mind in those moments? Bucky has to go away soon. He has to go to war.

A heavy realization slowly forces its weight down on his mind. Six years of undreamt thoughts of war come to bear in a single moment and before he can stop himself the words are tumbling out of his mouth.

"I didn't mean to lie to Steve that you wouldn't die. I didn't mean to lie but we'd just met and he cared about you and I think about that shitty lie all the time, Bucky! All the time! He's gonna get back home and find out you got ground up or blown up or shot up and I didn't mean to lie but I couldn't tell him the truth! So just stay here. Just stay here and don't go! Let's all just stay here. Let's just stay here in Brooklyn. Let's just stay here and... Don't go..."

"Don't worry about it, Harrow. I ain't fixing to die that easy." Bucky smiles again before walking over to Steve and putting both hands on the man's slim shoulders.

"Steve. You can't keep doing this to yourself. It ain't healthy. Coming back here all the time, pretending things ain't the way they are...You gotta wake up, Stevie. Now you're bringing folks with you? You gotta live. I know it ain't home, but you can make it one. I don't think Harrow here wants to see how these dreams end." Bucky gives Harrow a sympathetic smile.

"You know you gotta go, right Steve?"

Bucky is so understanding. But of course he is. He's the ideal friend. Steve wouldn't care so much about him if he weren't such a good man. Despite how frantic Harrow had been a moment ago he finds himself pacified by the calm demeanor of the man and the dream around them.

But he doesn't want to go. Someone's finally taken him to see Earth. He's in New York, for Light's sake! Him! And it's so inviting, and the people are so kind. From where he stands he shakes his head at Steve.

"I wanna stay," he says. "Don't go, Steve. But if you do... I'm staying."

"Steve. Stevie." Bucky pulls Steve into a hug, even as the smaller man is withdrawing, holding himself. "It's not your fault. You didn't do this."

There's something off about the voice. All of the light has left it. It's empty. Rough. Tired. The voice of a man who has been through hell. His left arm is entirely gone, replaced by a metal one. His hair is longer and unkempt. His expressions are muted, but he tries to smile at Harrow and Steve. It's a twitch of his lips and nothing more. Weak. Sad.

"...It's not your fault." The Winter Soldier says, letting go of Steve. He gives Harrowheart a long stare. "He needs you. I'm not there. You are."

Okay, things are getting unsettling now. Harrow looks around, worried, but the Bucky he thought he knew is gone. These new eyes that stare at him are as unliving as any corpse's he's seen. This stranger is in Bucky's place, and there's something beneath his hollow surface that raises the hairs on the back of his neck.

Harrow doesn't break eye contact, but instead follows the advice of the dream ghost. He reaches out for Steve and tries to pull him closer. If they have to run from this man he's not leaving Steve behind.

"...It's Bucky, Harrow." Steve says quietly, standing his ground and meeting the Soldier's gaze. "He's not trying to kill me, or blaming me, so this isn't a nightmare." His own eyes are sad, but strong willed as ever.

"Bucky, huh?" The Soldier shakes his head, but he's not fighting or lashing out. Just standing there watching the pair of them. "Maybe. Somewhere deep down. I know you. That's enough, right?"

"Till the end of the line, pal." Steve finishes, taking Harrow's hand and turning to walk away. "Til the end of the line..." New York is fading in a swirling mess of emotions and shapes, unstable and unsteady as Steve begins losing all control of his dream. He hadn't been able to fully control it, allowing memories and emotions to shape it more than he'd meant to. But he's waking up. Stirring, and then clawing himself into a sitting position as he looks around the strange room.

He's not home. He's--and there, sleeping next to him is his own body. Steve reaches up to touch at his face, and sighs deeply, drawing his long legs up and hugging them close to himself.

Harrow's eyes close tighter before they slowly open. For a long while he doesn't move. He stares at the runes on the top of the bed. There are so many thoughts in his head that he can't consider any of them. His mind is blank. After much hesitation he turns to see who's moving beside him.

Viatorus? He's in bed with Viatorus? Before he can process it a deep wave of shame washes over him. He draws the blankets up defensively until they bump his chin, and that's when he notices his hands.

Peach. Warm. Small. Steve. He's Steve. Steve is V. He took a shower. He's in bed now. Time feels like a blur, but... He hadn't fallen asleep. Had he? He'd just been awake! They had their bodies back. Steve found his portal home. They were touring Brooklyn. He saw the river! He saw the bridge! The school, the room, the theatre, the alley... Bucky. And then the man with the metal arm and the wild hair that Steve thought was his friend.

His chest starts to rise and fall too rapidly. He's breathing out of control. He has to get a hold of himself. Just calm down. Count. Breathe. Slowly.

Slowly...

Calm...

Okay.

He stares at Steve-as-Viatorus, eyes wide. His lips part, but it's a while before he can speak. What should he say? What can he say?

Finally he whispers, his voice as small as it can be, "Is everything okay?"

At first Steve tries to play it off, waving his hand in front of his face as though Harrow hadn't just been invited on a tour into Steve Rogers' head.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep, Harrow. Everything's fine." And indeed, compared to Steve's usual dreams, this one was downright pleasant. No one got killed or had to watch someone else get hurt or anything like that. But those dreams are a huge part of Steve's problem. He wants so badly to go home, that he craves being asleep, even when he mostly gets nightmares.

Even Steve Rogers has weaknesses aside from his body.

Harrow frowns deeply. Firstly, he can tell that's a lie, but secondly... Light, he really wants to believe it. He rolls over with his back to Steve, but he can't close his eyes. How could he go to sleep now? An uncomfortable sense of longing sits deep in his chest. Frustrated, he breaches the sheets like a whale from the sea and flops back down onto the bed facing Steve.

Ugh. That doesn't help. He doesn't know what to say, how to express himself. He's not even sure what just happened. And it's not like Steve would know. It wasn't like he was actually there. Steve probably had a strange dream in Viatorus's body and they woke up at the same time, he wagers. He's in Steve's body, so of course he's having his dreams... but would it be right to tell him about it? Taking a shower in someone else's body is one thing, but invading a man's inner thoughts is another.

He kicks off the blankets and rolls out of bed.

"I'm gonna go get some coffee or somethin'," he says groggily. "I'm just gonna stay up all night 'cause I'm havin' some weird, sad dreams and I ain't about that shit. You want anything while I'm out?"

Wait.

"You did, too?" Steve rubs at his eyes and then moves to get out of bed and follow Harrow. The poor neglected tea is long since cold and Steve doesn't pay it any mind as he follows Harrow out of the bedroom. "I...I'm sorry. Your first dream since...and it wasn't good? That's unfortunate."

You can't keep doing this to yerself, Stevie.

He shudders and hurries to catch up.

"Let's get Viatorus and see if he's found anything while reading? I think that's what he said he was going to do...." But Viatorus isn't in the apartment. No matter how hard they look he's definitely not there. Or in the trash can why would you even look there. He's not in the pristine and clearly never been used oven, either. What is wrong with you two?

Harrow spends a while getting dressed due to the grogginess, but even when he's ready he doesn't go on the hunt for V like Steve does. Instead he takes a seat in one of the chairs in the living room and gets out his phone to send a text to Viatorus.

Where you at? You OK? Steve and I had bad dreams. Come tell us a bedtime story.

Light, that felt like effort. Being tired is ass. He slips his phone back into his pocket and sighs deeply while staring at the ceiling.

"Is it weird to you how rich V is? Like. This is just one of his houses, and that bed and shower were... Whoof. Kinda made me feel small and worthless since we got here. Or... Maybe it's just on my mind 'cause bein' poor was part of my dream. There was this... This tiny little apartment with one hand-me-down bed for two grown men. Everything felt so close. Kinda makes this place feel too big, y'know?"

Viatorus can't help but sigh when he sees the text. It seems like everyone is having bad dreams tonight... But, wait... Steve drank the tea... he shouldn't have had any dreams at all. Unless... he didn't drink the tea.

Instantly, he feels a rush of panic and hastily types back: I'll be there soon. Stay awake until I get there.

He definitely won't be too long with these long, strong legs.

"...You..had the same dream I did?" Steve stops pacing the apartment and slowly takes a seat on the couch on the other end from Harrowheart. "If I'm being honest, that was one of the better dreams I've had in a long time, if not somewhat sad at the end."

Still, he feels bad for dragging Harrowheart through his dreams unintentionally.

"...I'm glad I was able to show you around, at any rate. It's my home, you know?"

"The sa–..." Wait a minute. "DREAMWALKER! So that's what it means!"

Somehow all of that is a huge relief. He laughs, and he's grateful for the way it washes away some of the tension and frustration inside. The back of his hand wipes away imagined sweat from his brow and he takes a moment to breathe.

"Shoot, Steve. It's still kinda weird. We were in the same damn dream... And all that stuff with Bucky, and – Ah, shoot... The stuff I said there at the end about..." A heavy sigh. "Shoot."

Time to turn the tables here. He's got to put the burden of shame on someone other than himself.

"Why do you imagine him like a sad jungle man with a metal arm? Not that I got anything against folks with metal arms. My brother's got one. Lost it in a harvest golem accident. But I don't figure you see a lot of folks losin' limbs in farmin' accidents in Brooklyn..."

Evening of the First Night--- for heirtothearcane and westfallcorndog

http://static01.nyt.com/images/2012/01/01/realestate/01STREETS2/01STREETS2-popup.jpg

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I love that Steve exclusively uses the word Dame to refer to ladies.

It's the first word he thinks of, yes.

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The man, the myth, the legend

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Steve played Pokemon, now he's gotta check all garbage cans

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Steve's read Narnia he's not taking any chances with potential magic doors.

Steve actually came to the Nexus after some bullies dunked him in a trash can