calling_logs | So when they say 'quiet' they really just mean 'as terribly dangerous as usual'

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So when they say 'quiet' they really just mean 'as terribly dangerous as usual'

Who: Steve and Dejah
What: Continuing from here, Steve and Dejah escape the beasties in a treehouse
When: Mid-afternoon
Where: City of Adventure,
Notes & Warnings: Mentions of blood and poisoning.

Now that the beasties are done with, Steve's going to climb his way up to the treehouse and collapse on the floor. Collapse because that was much harder than he'd expected it would be and while he knows he has some work to do, that he needs to check up on Dejah--

Dammit, he needs to get up and check on Dejah.

It hurts, and he's sore, but he pushes himself up and goes to take a look at her, check her wounds, see if any of them have turned an unsavory color. It's hard to tell, given her red skin and her blue blood, but so far, hopefully, so good.

"Sorry about the toss. I just... I needed to get you up there and I couldn't think of anything else to get you out of harms way. I hope it didn't hurt too much. How we doing?"

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Down below, Steve was sorting through the green to look for broken twigs and dried up flora. It took some looking, since most of the jungle was incredibly green, but once he had at least enough, in his estimation, to get a fire going, he focused on looking for what he could use to make firewood out of. It took almost a quarter of an hour before he found a half-dead tree, and then he was hacking at it with the side of the shield and kicking at the pieces to gather up what he could use. Hopefully, it would be enough.

Eventually, he climbed back up to the treehouse, his findings balanced in one hand in his shield as he moved slowly up the ladder. As soon as he got up there, he looked for Dejah to see how she might be doing.

She was where she'd fallen, the wood floor beneath her hip wet and sticky with blood. Her skin was ashen, and her lips a deep russet, not the same healthy pink he'd seen when she'd first emerged from the jungle.

She blinked, trying to focus on him. Her eyes, previously so deeply blue, are dark grey. "John, is that you?"

"It's Steve," he says, because he doesn't believe in pleasant lies, not like this. For Peggy, maybe, because she won't remember within half an hour. But he fully intends for Dejah to pull through this, which means that he's going to tell her exactly who and what's going on.

"This is Steve and I've got the supplies for the fire for you. We're gonna keep it inside my shield-" and he'd have to repair the straps once he got back to civilization, but needs must. "And we have to be careful with it, but you can heat your-"

He grabbed the knife up.

"Is this what you want to use? This should work. Come on, come on, Dejah. Answer me. This should work?"

"Steve? Oh, yes. Steve."

Her gaze clears and she remembered. John was dead. John had been dead for a hundred years. Her eyes filled with tears, but she forced a smile, regardless.

"Yes, my grandmother's knife. Where did you find it? That will work perfectly."

Her voice was still thin, and it was clear, her grasp of reality was tenuous at best.

"I'm assuming you dropped it," he informs her mildly, carefully, wanting to help her mind to catch without being rough.

"All right, let me get the fire started and you can get that heated up, all right? Are you going to need anything to hold the grip with or will it stay cool enough to touch?"

"Yes, I dropped it. It has a leather grip so it should be fine. Yes. Good. Uh... "

Her words trailed off and she blinked, scrubbed a hand over her eyes. This was not the time to be crying. (He's been dead so long. How does it still feel like yesterday?) She looked to his hands, and then into his face, tears starting to spill down her cheeks.

"Sorry, I lost my train of thought. I have the knife, and you're making fire, which means, I probably intended to cauterize my wounds. How much blood have I lost?"

"Too much for my comfort," he says as he brings out a couple of pieces of flint to spark the moss and dry brush to flame. Then he was adding the other wood, watching her carefully as he works on the fire.

"Unfortunately, I think you lost more while I was looking for supplies. This place is... unnaturally green. I'll have to keep it in mind the next time I decide to camp here." He looks over at her. "The next time we decide to camp here."

His words come from a great distance, and his voice blurred with another in her head. Human. Male. Different. Memory and reality overlay. This is Steve, not John. John is dead. And that's why everything hurts.

If it hurts, you're still alive.

The meaning of his words caught up to her after a breath.

"...wait, 'we'?"

"Of course, we," he says, smiling warmly at her. People need reasons to live. People need to have things to look forward to. It wasn't much, but he wasn't about to leave her with nothing.

"Someone's gotta make sure you don't go pissing off giant snakes next time."

"I didn't piss him off. He tried to eat me!" Somehow the ridiculousness of the situation strikes her, and she laughs through her tears.

It made heart hurt exponentially more, and yet, that's all right. John could always make her laugh, even in the darkest times. Maybe this was his way of watching over her. Sending this man to catch her as she fell.

Her head falls back with a quiet thunk and another wave of laughter takes her, soft as it is. "Bloody hell, let's get this over with."

Edited 2016-05-17 22:23 (UTC)

"Let me," and he offers his hand for her to put the knife in. "You just tell me where it needs to go."

There's something about her that gives him the feeling that she knows her way around this kind of thing. Giving speeches, leading men and women into battle... sure. But this sort of battle was never one he was particularly good at. He'd lived most of his life unable to make his own body behave, let alone someone else's.

"Just need to get it good and hot."

She hands him the knife, makes sure to fold his fingers around it. "You ever done this before?"

Her chest rises and falls in shudders, maybe from the tears, maybe from the venom. She has to peel back the quick patch job he'd done earlier. She also has to tear the hole in her skirts larger, until the fabric parts and she can expose both fang marks. The wounds are angry looking, seeping greenish fluid along with blood now.

"I'm going to scream. But don't stop until the flesh stops smoking, all right?"

He shook his head, because while he'd seen it be done, he'd never done it himself. But as she gave the instructions, he settled himself on the ground and straightened his spine and nodded to what she'd said. He'd done a lot of unpleasant things over his lifetime. This was at least one that would hopefully save a life instead of ending any.

He put the knife to the flame, waited until he could see the heat and the char on the metal, and finally pulled it away and pressed it to the wound.

...there was nothing like that smell, that sound, and he did not look forward to doing it again but he had to hope.

Her flesh sizzled and spit under the white hot metal. She gritted her teeth for the first few seconds, held onto his wrist like her life depended on it.

Then the pain took over and a scream tore its way up and out of her throat, part animal cry, part raw anguish. Pain meant you were still alive, but this was something else. The second one hurt even more and there was no escaping it. Her mouth twisted in agony, and it felt like something shattered deep in her chest.

The man whose wrist she was holding onto, he was rock solid, steady and calm in the face of battle. His movements now were deliberate and gentle. Something about him made her feel safe. Safe enough to let go.

John was dead. She was alive. Nothing she could ever do or say would change that. For the first time in a hundred years, she couldn't run from that truth. For the first time in a hundred years, she didn't want to. She let it come, let the pain draw it out of her like the venom from the wound.

When he was done, she sagged, eyes rolling back in her head, breathing shallow and hard.

"Water."

The knife was tossed to the corner of the room and his hand was put to the important task of stroking her hair and giving her what she'd asked for.

"You did great," he assured her, remembering those words from his own care. "You did so great, so good. You're all right, Dejah. You're going to be all right, okay?"

She had to let him lift her, support her head while she drank. She tasted cool water on her lips, struggled to swallow it. Just a handful. Just enough to wash the blood out of her mouth.

That done, she leaned into his touch, one last half sob catching her by surprise. Maybe it was the fire that cleansed her. Maybe it was the pain alone. But his touch soothed both body and spirit. Her eyes closed and she focused on just that. The warmth of his hand on her head.

"Stay with me. Just till morning."

"I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

And he was very careful to hold her gently, enough so that she could feel it without squeezing anything tender.

"I'm not going anywhere at all."

She drifts in and out of sleep, the fever spiking and then dwindling again. She's so very thirsty, and he's there every time she opens her eyes.

Sometime before dawn, she wakes again, her lips parched but her mind far more clear. She cranes her head, one hand dropping to her side. The green tinge has receded considerably.

"Issus be praised." Her head falls back to rest on something soft. His shoulder. "I owe you a great debt, Captain Rogers."

He startles up out of sleep, eyes darting around the room for a moment before he sinks back down to look over at her. Once he realizes, he settles back down and looks over at her to check her over. He'd been meaning to stay up and watch her, but after the fights he'd had to deal with and the energy he'd needed to use up to heal his own, lesser, wounds, he'd ended up passing out.

He was relieved to see that she looked much better. Much much better.

"Steve, please," he says with a breath out. "And if you call me Steve, the debt is repaid."

"Steve," she echoes, a touch of warmth in her voice. "I shall call you Steve, but I am still in your debt."

She's still weak, but she tries to sit up regardless. "It has been a long time since I've needed rescuing, and I am not in the habit of letting such an act of valor go unremarked, much less unheralded."

Her hand reaches up to touch the freshly healed skin on his shoulder. "Goddess, how long was I out?"

He waves that off too.

"Nonsense," he says with a huff of a breath. "I did what I did because I wanted to. That means you don't owe me anything. Just... put your energy into watching those wounds, all right?"

He swiped at his forehead and ruffled his own hair; he really wished he could go back to the waterfall about now.

"Sorry. Not sure how long you were out, mostly because I'm not sure how long I was out."

"So possibly not more than a few hours. You've healed so quickly."

She struggles to sit up and this time, she manages. One hand gropes around her on the floor.

"...my sword."

His eye went to the door as he tried to remember if she'd had her sword when they'd been running. The details just hadn't seemed pertinent at the time.

"Knife's in the corner, but the sword..." he shakes his head, "I'm not sure on the sword. Had, uh, bigger priorities, not to be rude. I'm sure we can go back and grab it-"

He looks her up and down just the once before.

"Correction, I can go back to the waterfall and grab it."

"It's all right. We can retrieve it later. Besides, I could use a chance to rinse off."

She rests a hand on his arm, like she needs to know where he is. That he's real and not some figment of her imagination.

"Do we have provisions?"

He looks startled a the random touch, and, to some degree, at her need for it. Whatever else has happened over the last day or so, he hadn't done anything all that extraordinary.

Well, the fighting, sure, but that was just what he could do. That touch seemed to hold more that he isn't sure he's earned.

He glances back and looks at his pack, considering what he still had in there. Honestly, most of the damn thing is full of provisions, some of them obtained at the Outpost, but also a few from the City of Tomorrow. Apparently, tech even extended into camping food.

"I've got some things. We'll, uh, we can probably just eat some of the dried stuff for the moment, but I'll go and get us some more water after that so we can actually make some soup. I'm sure your insides could do with a little soup."

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