EVENT #010

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam and any other megacity the Displaced happen to be in/travel to!
WHEN: May 28, 2512
WHAT: Golden-eyed monsters stream into New Amsterdam and other megacities the world over.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Violence, death, body horror, mind control, and transformation.

> EVENT #010

It starts in the middle of the night, when most everyone should be fast asleep in their beds, whether they're still taking up a cot in the safehouse or staying in their own apartment. One moment it's quiet, with most of the rest of the city having also turned in for the night, and then in the next? It isn't.

There will be mass confusion as the scope of the situation becomes clear. Monsters stream out onto the streets, thundering up the stairs of a train station, skittering out of construction sites, or climbing up the walls. Some of them fly. Others slither. Others run, loping forward with only one goal in mind: to find something to sink their teeth or claws into and to leave destruction in their wake at every turn. They are a horde, a swarm, a teeming mass of creatures that have no intention of stopping. All of them have eyes or bodies that shine gold and wherever they go, they seem to leave decay. Concrete turns black and porous where they step; plants wither and die.

There is no real preparing for an attack of this scale. New Amsterdam will awaken as the sound of these monsters crashing down on cars or bursting through storefronts or into homes forces people to run screaming from their dwellings or places of work. There is no discrimination in who these beasts might target, and no discernable pattern in where they go.

All that one can really tell is that they seem to want to spread out. They're constantly on the move, leaping from victim to victim, and they're relentless. No one knows why they've come, where they're come from, or what will make them stop. At least for now, the only option seems to be to cut down their numbers. It's time to fight the horde.

The first night will be utter chaos as everyone reacts to the monsters' sudden appearance, but by the morning hours news reports will start streaming in. This is not only happening in New Amsterdam, or wherever else a Displaced might be staying, but seemingly everywhere. Some cities seem harder hit than others, but practically every megacity is overrun with the creatures.

With no way of knowing who might have unleashed the monsters, all of these cities have essentially been turned into battlefields. Not many civilians are prepared to fight for their lives, and it will take a mobilization effort from the police, Morningstar, the Displaced, and anyone else who's willing to take up arms in order to survive.

◉ As a note, this attack starts simultaneously in multiple cities. While it's the middle of the night in New Amsterdam, the monsters will appear at other times of the day in other parts of the world depending on the timezone!

> BESTIARY

So as to not make this post overly long, we have compiled all of the monster descriptions into a Google doc here for everyone's reference!

> (NOT SO) SAFEHOUSE

For those Displaced who stay at (or spend any time in) the safehouse under the hoverbike shop or the Red Wings bar, they may become aware of the presence of the monsters sooner than others, due to the fact that at least a few of the giant mole monsters will end up burrowing up through the concrete basements to wreak havoc. The screeching noise of steel claws tearing through the floor will be sure to wake up even the deepest of sleepers.

This won't just be an occurrence on the first night of the attack, either. Unless something is done to deter them, tunnels leading straight into the safehouses will continue to be created, allowing even other types of monsters to find their way through (the smaller ones, that is). Where exactly they're coming from won't be entirely clear, though it's a safe bet to assume that they must have originated in the cave system somehow.

Suffice to say that El won't be happy about the safehouse being compromised in this way, though this isn't a possibility that ze or anyone else could have really prepared for. While ze can't do much to physically help with containing the invasion of the monsters, ze will offer whatever resources ze can—though Morningstar is going to be busy in plenty of other locations, as well, and they only have so many resources.

The Red Wings, being a Displaced-operated location, will also be in need of assistance, especially if it's meant to be a point of safety and a hub for handing out supplies. Speaking of—

> RED WINGS HQ

As things begin to deteriorate, Clarke Griffin and Stephen Strange sink their resources into Red Wings, adapting it into a base of operations for the Displaced. Clarke also called in PRESERVE to set up a checkpoint here, too, and anyone—from the Displaced to civilians—will be able to seek aid here. (Of course, Red Wings will be just one of a few locations throughout the city where they attempt to set up shop, but Red Wings may prove to be more fortified thanks to the talents of the Displaced.) Civilians will not have access to Red Wings' safehouse, however. That's still something that Clarke and Stephen want to keep under wraps, for now.

In the bar proper, there will be medical aid, supplies, and even weapons for those who can use them. During rare moments of downtime, the gang at Red Wings will also work on reconnaissance missions to find safe spots throughout the city to provide much needed protection and safety for the people of New Amsterdam. This task may be much easier said than done. Gathering intel on the monsters is a high priority, too, and for anyone who tries to capture a monster to learn more about them, the basement might be a good place to hold them. If the Displaced are going to be able to fight back, they need to know exactly what it is they're fighting.

However, the truth of the matter is that this attack happened quickly, and in the middle of the night to boot. As much as the group at Red Wings tries, resources are stretched thin, and they didn't have time to prepare as much as they wanted to. Supplies need to be rationed, bandages and stitches used for wounds that really need them, and if you're not a great shot, it might be best to let someone with more training take that gun you're eyeing.

More than anything, despite the difficulty, this is a way for the Displaced to help out as many people as they can, and a way for them to cement their humanitarian efforts and affect the population's opinion of them. The citizens of New Amsterdam are sick of this cycle of destruction, and are just waiting to be empowered. Now's the time to teach them to fight back and help them protect their city.

Red Wings' safehouse underground will be damaged by burrowing monsters as well, and will need protection. The bar itself will escape relatively unscathed.

> INVESTIGATING / GATES

Maybe the best way of dealing with the monsters isn't violence at all. Maybe there's a more strategic way to deal with this.

The monsters will be moving from city to city via the gates, just like the Displaced do. There might be a way to keep them from spreading, or at least slow them down, by shutting down the gate network. Of course, with the mag trains shutting down, getting back home could be an issue. One option is the delivery network of hover trucks. They'll still be running to get supplies from city to city, but their batteries don't run indefinitely, so these will be relatively local trips only. No getting from New Tokyo back to New Amsterdam with this method, unfortunately, and convincing a driver to let you hitch a ride might be a challenge, but it's doable.

Of course, there's also the question of where these things are coming from. Intrepid characters might be able to track them back to their nests, which are tucked away in wildly different places depending on the city. In New Amsterdam, they might be in the caves below the city. In other places, they might not be in the city proper at all, but just outside of it. It's important to keep in mind that the nests are far away from any of the action taking place elsewhere. Tracking these origin points may provide some answers, but the cost would be less involvement in the crisis taking place.

And then there's the matter of the monsters themselves. How can you fight an enemy you know nothing about? For those determined or crafty enough, capturing them might be an option, although this will take some creativity. Once these creatures are captured, they'll need to be kept contained, and kept alive. Just because they're monstrous doesn't mean they don't have to eat, after all, and some will need special environmental considerations as well, such as the mind control slugs.

What happens after that is up to the Displaced. Is dissecting them the best bet? Their internal anatomy won't be wildly different from most "normal" animals, with the exception of some creatures who have strange appendages or the like. Still, this might give the Displaced a better idea of how they operate and what their weak spots are. Sending samples to a lab is another possibility, if the Displaced can figure out how to safely store those samples. After all, the world is in a crisis, and no one is running tests at the moment.

All monsters, though, seem drawn to the blue light. When a Displaced uses a power or activates the empathy bond, the creatures will lock onto it, utterly transfixed, and if this is done enough times, that gold glow of theirs will intensify. What does it all mean? Maybe figuring that out will be a pathway to stopping their attacks.

> PITCHING IN

While all of this is going on, it certainly won't be just the Displaced who are heading out into the streets to try and stem the flow of the monster attack. These creatures are certainly not holding back, and no matter how much work might be put in, their numbers are overwhelming. Plenty of people will end up dead as a result, ripped to shreds or dragged off somewhere to be eaten. Yet, for some reason, these monsters are not as vicious toward the Displaced. They'll engage them in a fight and injure them, but they never go so far as dealing a fatal blow.

Seeing how that's not the case for the rest of the populace throughout the world, however, some groups and organizations will be rising up to do their part.

Police departments will be mobilizing in every megacity to put the monsters down, and while they are armed, it's not on the same level as the UNA. They also don't have any sort of training that's prepared them to fight monsters, but they'll still be putting their lives on the line to put a dent in the monsters' onslaught. When it comes to enforcing regular law and order, they certainly won't have the bandwidth for anything like that. Then again, most people won't be in any position to take advantage and commit crimes either, given the chaos that will be a constant everywhere.

Morningstar will also be jumping into action around the world. The New Amsterdam branch will be most likely to work alongside the Displaced and share some of their resources, particularly with those who are signed up as official agents or those who've supported them in the past. In cities like New Prague and New Beijing where the Displaced have made some contact with Morningstar before, they'll also be open to working with the Displaced. However, their resources are by no means robust. Morningstar is an organized rebel group, but they're hardly an official army in any sense of the word. They might be able to hand out a weapon here or there and they have a safehouse set up in almost every city, but beyond that, they'll mainly be getting boots on the ground to help with the fighting.

UNA soldiers who have been left without any sort of purpose or guidance will now have an opportunity to put some of that training to use. Their involvement will be much more scattered, though in some cases small groups of these soldiers who used to work in units together will reconnect in their effort to fight off the horde. However, having been cut off from the UNA in an official capacity, they won't have much in the way of gear or weapons. They're still formidable fighters, though, and now might be the perfect time to reach out and make a connection with some of them.

Mercenaries belonging to various different outfits, depending on what city they're based in, will also be joining the cause. Whether they're acting out of a basic desire to survive the attacks or if they're actually being paid by someone to go out there and risk their lives will be less clear, but they're some of the best-equipped fighters (other than the police). They also won't really find much reason to protest any of the Displaced pitching in to fight with them. The more firepower, the better, right?

A group of regulars from the New Amsterdam fighting rings will be rising up to add their fuel to the monster-fighting fire, as encouraged by Hawke and whoever else might know them well enough to reach out. Given that some of these people have illegal mods to enhance their strength or cybernetic attachments that can do impressive amounts of damage, some of them might hold their own against the monsters. Hell, some of them might even ask the Displaced to demonstrate some of their powers if they end up fighting together, as word of their abilities has become more known among their ranks. Either way, they'll be jumping into the fray with quite a bit of gusto.

PRESERVE will be involved on the other end of these efforts and will be doing their best to tend to the wounded and the dead, along with finding shelter and safe spots for people to barricade themselves from the attacks. It's not like the grand majority of civilians could stand a chance against these monsters, after all, yet not all of them can rely on their homes to be safe enough to stay in. They'll be quick to accept an offer of Displaced help, as they'll be doing their best to try and drag the recently dead to hospitals to get them put into medi-units before they're too late. Along with what's set up at Red Wings, they'll also be cobbling together other relief spots throughout the city for taking care of wounded and offering up what supplies they have (food and water, medical supplies, etc).

And what are the corporations doing in all of this? Well, suffice to say, mainly just panicking. Unsurprisingly, they're not much help during a crisis like this, with most of the super-rich opting to hide away in whatever highly secure bunkers they might have. Too bad that these bunkers might not prove so secure in the face of these attacks. Could that prove to be an opportunity if someone went looking?

> FINAL OOC NOES

Please refer to the OOC EVENT POST for all OOC info, including suggestions for directions on how to engage with the event. Given the spread out nature of this event, as well as the amount of additional details provided here, please direct all questions to our QUESTIONS thread below. This is, naturally, a huge event in terms of scale, and so we're certain there are aspects of it we haven't covered and questions that have yet to be answered. We do encourage that all of our players use the event planning post for any additional ideas and for touching base!

Please do not begin to thread out any aftermath until AUGUST 8, 2020, which is when we will put up the aftermath log and OOC post. If this date changes, we will provide a gamewide update as needed! As a note, the August calendar will be posted alongside the aftermath!

As a reminder, there is one power level up available for this event, granted for a thread of at least 5 log/action comments containing your character utilizing their power in some way during the event itself. They will need to reach the 5 comments required by SEPTEMBER 11, 2020 to be eligible. Submission will be handled on the wrap up post.

Our Activity Check will be posted AUGUST 1 at 12 AM UTC. It will run for seven days and close on AUGUST 8 at 12 AM UTC.

Have fun and fight some monsters! Or … whatever else you might do with them. 😉😏 Your secret's safe with us. 😙

> NAVIGATION

Comments

[freightcars]

[ They sit a while, Bucky's hand absently petting and Steve's tails serving as a sentry behind his back. Adamant as he might've been about needing to get stuff done, about how a twenty minute rest wouldn't do anything to ease the ache, he takes it anyway.

Just twenty, though, because he's got things he's gotta do to make this safe. Make it less miserable. He's gone for about an hour and a half, a rifle slung over his back while he blacks out windows with whatever he finds around. Paper or blood or soot. He heads back to that PRESERVE set-up to pack up something to make a couple bedrolls.

Gets twice what he might normally bring Steve to eat, because whatever species he is right now is goddamn large.

A box of checkers, because why the hell not?

Still puzzling out the logistics of how in the hell he's gonna drink, but they'll cross that bridge when they come to it.

He sets up camp in the furthest corner from that door with broken glass. Tops it off with a small battery powered lantern, and there's no denying the setup's better than some of the ones they've had in the past. Maybe some of the ones they've had this week, considering the lack of a dozen muttering, nervous people.

Sometime after sundown when he's run out of quips like think they make collars your size, after they've eaten and the sounds off distant chaos drifting over the building tops has decreased with nightfall, he settles up against the wall with his left arm propped up on his knee again.

It's quiet.

He searches through the implant for news, updates, anything relevant. Doesn't look much better now than it did two days ago. ]

[fossils]

[ He takes the time alone to sulk in private. Get that out of his system before Bucky returns. Redundantly checks the perimeter of the garden, the windows and doors. It's not enough to keep his mind busy, though.

He can, at least, help set up the bedding when Bucky returns with supplies. With his maw he can gently grab the edges, and his strange forepaws can sort of smooth it all out. When they're not in contact his body language consists mainly of his tails flicking back and forth when focused or interested, his responses limited to low growls and that chuffing sound that can either be amusement or exasperation.

Sometimes he lifts his head and goes still, listening to some noise in the far distance that only he can hear. When his tails flick then, it's in agitation, until he drops his head again.

The brief moments of contact consist of that same low key agitation, sometimes anxiety, but he seems to calm quickly each time.

Tends not to drift far out of sight. In the quiet after sundown he's pacing again. His steps are beginning to noticeably flatten the grass in a wide circle around the camp, and more than once he stops with his ears pricked up, listening, then starts all over again. ]

[freightcars]

[ Hilariously, those indecipherable chuffing noises really aren't all that different from the sounds he'd be making with his actual mouth, Bucky thinks. The same kind of half-laugh half-annoyed scoffing sound that communicates plenty clearly without the empathy bond.

It takes a little bit for Bucky to notice the anxious energy picking up. Those first couple of german shepherd-like moments where he stills and his ears perk up go observed but unacknowledged, because being alert during a time like this isn't even remotely questionable.

After half a dozen times, it starts to bring an uptick to one eyebrow.

And then there's the pacing. The wearing a hole in grass and stone. Finally, exasperated, he calls over. ]

Steve.

[ Come on, man. You're gonna hear everything just as clearly sitting still and calming down. ]

[fossils]

[ His voice and that tone both give him pause, one forepaw lifted and frozen in the step he's about to take, his strange, indiscernible features turned toward Bucky. Sets that raised foot to the ground after a second, though his face is no more readable, even with the maw closed and his face definable as cat-like. His posture gives more away, the tension he holds himself with.]

[freightcars]

[ There's nothing funny about the situation, not one single goddamn thing despite the potshots Bucky's been taking. This though, that movement for some reason just... it brings a subtle amusement to his features that doesn't last very long in the face of his exasperation. ]

Could you do me a favor? At least pretend you're gonna try to sleep.

[ Said with a pointed look at the bedroll, because if there are any notions of... laying out in the grass or something like an actual goddamn cat, he's gonna shoot those down.

He's gotta be exhausted, he has to. They were both running on cereal bars and spite before Steve's entire body rearranged itself into this. Beyond that, the physical toll stress can take... This isn't sustainable. ]

[fossils]

[ Tails flick as he stands in place for another few seconds, just staring straight on at Bucky with that same inscrutable, unblinking stare before shaking his head-- or shaking most of his upper body, as the action ripples from head to tails.

When he walks over to where Bucky's seated his gait slow and has an unintentional saunter. He settles half on the bedroll, half off, his flank close to Bucky's side. Always lies down the same way so far, pointed straight, his 'chin' resting on his forepaws. It makes him look unintentionally dramatic and depressed, which has probably been pointed out a few times by now, but it keeps all the sharp bits pointed toward the ground.

Even without contact he's radiating some kind of anxious energy that's been building the longer they're stuck here like this, overriding exhaustion from the transformation and the days of running supplies and rescues.

The muscles under his skin twitch.

It's not obstinance. It's his brain and his body at odds on multiple fronts. Probably would've paced a small ditch into the dirt if Bucky hadn't stopped him. ]

[freightcars]

[ Can't help but shake his head, because even as a giant snarling half-hairless cat he still seems so goddamn Steve it would be annoying if he weren't equal parts fond and concerned. That probably comes through when he reaches out to settle a hand on Steve's back, somewhere over his spine. ]

It's gonna be alright, you know?

[ He's serious this time. It's reassuring, but it's also honest. ]

It's one day, it's not permanent. It's almost half way over.

[fossils]

[ His anxiety spikes through the contact, smoothed over by the concern that meets him halfway. The tension's been growing steadily each time, as though getting closer to the end of the twenty-four hours is the end of a timer on a bomb than a finish line.

But he's got no way to explain that. Not the same way he can ask for food, or cobble together memories to make suggestions or attempt to joke. All that reads is anxious frustration, slowly calming from the longer Bucky's hand remains resting against his back. That effect's been a constant all day, at least.

He'd rather have the connection than the claustrophobic isolation.

See? Not always a masochist. ]

[freightcars]

[ There's a shock. Remind him to jot it down in his mental record-keeping book. The day Steve Rogers didn't make himself do the painful thing because asking for relief would only help him, not anyone else.

Maybe that's not explicitly true, having that gauge on Steve's emotional state helps Bucky navigate this whole thing too.

Like before, his fingers find a patch of fur to thread through and smooth down again. A predictable, thoughtless pattern. What he's more focused on is trying to push through that reassurance, that confidence he feels, the calm it brings with him. ]

Before you tracked me down...

[ He starts, slowly and carefully like he's measuring his words and still on the fence about deciding to say them. ]

Back near the beginning, I felt like I was gonna crawl out of my own skin most days. Like I was always late for something, but I never knew what it was. Just ansty, agitated that I couldn't get there and get it over with, because I never stopped being late.

[ Maybe that doesn't make sense. It was a near-constant state of urgency, anxiety, nervous energy. Dread.

He doesn't feel any of that right now, only the vague discomfort that comes with talking about it at all.

Just wants to make it clear he can relate. That he kind of gets it. ]

[fossils]

[ His focus is on the absent motion of his touch, the soft reassurance tempering his restlessness, smoothing it down like unruly strands of hair on his head.

Before you tracked me down...

He listens, quietly, in part because he can't add much else, his attention fixed on his voice. Gentle, attentive surprise. Understanding. Faint regret. It makes sense. Woulda made sense if you'd told him earlier too. There was a cabin. A place the agency took him to, in their words, help you adjust. There's enough space between then and now that he hasn't thought about it in a long, long time. Hasn't ever told anyone except Sam.

He doesn't try to relay it now. Not the time. Doesn't hold a candle to what he went through, either-- the ways they entered the 21st century. What he's feeling is what he's feeling, and as much as a moment ago he'd been frustrated by his lack of speech, he'd much rather listen.

You don't often talk about any of it. Not with him. ]

[freightcars]

[ There's a kind of detachment here between what he feels now and what he's talking about. Any emotion surrounding that time is dim and distant, foggy, deliberately sealed behind walls not just from Steve, but from himself. It isn't much to give away, it doesn't cost him anything, it's just... one of those things that's better left alone and in the past, tucked away.

He tries not to dwell on it. It's just that it's relevant here.

He settles back against the wall more comfortably, the crown of his head landing and gently resting. Shoulders propped. Trying to let tension go so he can make Steve let tension go in turn. ]

I used to--

[ A pause, a little self deprecation, aware of how stupid this is gonna sound. ]

Just... count bricks. Not even in that figure of speech way, like watching paint dry. I'd just sit there trying to count them, then lose count and start all over again. Probably, like, a half dozen times before I stopped losing track. Doesn't make any sense, maybe, but it worked. By the time I figured out how many were in the wall across from me, it went away. A little.

[ Not that he's suggesting you spend the next three hours trying to count blades of grass or anything, but you know. The premise is what matters. Finding something to focus on. Something to concentrate on to drown it out until... you don't need to anymore. ]

[fossils]

[ Doesn't sound stupid to him.

His emotions flicker softly. Understanding. Parts of those muddied, churning currents beneath his surface thoughts are a bit less guarded.

A mirror to his self-deprecation.

A pulse of vulnerable admission.

He lifts his head, twists it around the opposite shoulder so that the closed tip of his nose lightly brushes the hand on his back pointedly.

Another flicker of self-awareness, the sense that he's waiting and that the response holds more weight than it ought to.

Not exactly bricks. ]

[freightcars]

[ It isn't really a smile or happiness, per se, that he feels when Steve's understanding filters in. It's less bright and joyful than that, but it's still something good. Whatever it is he feels, something he can't put a name to.

Just a strange kind of relief, or contentment, or some offshoot of one of them somehow. Maybe satisfaction that something is locking into place, another domino knocked down on the way toward something.

And then that nose makes a cameo and he gets a decent idea if what it means. Pauses petting only for a second to re-realize he'd been doing it, then starts back up again a little more aware — some humor lightly trails across the surface layer. Whether Steve's concentrating on it or counting them doesn't really matter. He'll make it a little more deliberate, throw in some fingernails, easier to focus on. ]

You know...

[ He starts in that tone that immediately makes it clear nothing worth hearing is about to come out of his mouth. ]

I always pegged you as one of those yappy dogs. The kind that chase people down the hallway being a pain in the ass. Turns out you really are a god damn cat.

[fossils]

[ Relief's a good word for what flows from his side, faint and tentative, bittersweet...

(the scrape of nails make the hairs at the back of his neck stand up, tingling farther than his reach and making him tense up, then relax, his guard masking his feelings on the sensations from flowing back through the bond)

... quickly followed by a half-hearted, beleaguered sigh he hopes you can imagine in your head if the exact sound can't exist outside of it. He shifts, legs stretching out as he leans on one side, his back pressing against Bucky with most of his weight.

Enjoy your heated bedroll-- it's good that the temperature cools during the night. ]

[freightcars]

[ You know what, he can hear it plain as day. If it weren't for the rows of teeth and the lack of a tongue, he's pretty sure it would come out identical to the one he normally makes. It pleases him in that way only friends giving each other a hard time can be pleased, satisfied with the reaction, content to settle into the weight against his side.

He doesn't have anything else by way of sage wisdom or sarcastic, dry remarks. A comfortable silence settles in, and Bucky goes back to scrolling while petting. Steady and constant, a thrumming calm emanating from him for the next few hours that he spends awake.

Eventually, finally, he settles in beside Steve's radiator of a body to find some of that sleep he's been missing.

It's quieter. More private. He's dog tired. Might be bad to say, but he actually sleeps a little better than any other night this week. ]

[fossils]

[ When the strokes stop he counts breaths, the rise and fall of ribs pressed against his side.

He loses track of time.

The pain creeps in slowly. A twist in his gut like he'd eaten something that disagreed with his stomach, the midday light a few shades brighter, making him squint.

Easy enough to ignore at first, but after about ten minutes of waiting for it to pass he's stopped his pacing again, slinking toward the shadows and cool dirt beneath the shrubbery where Bucky had found him the first time, his joints screaming with every impacting step. ]

[freightcars]

[ It's not necessarily the movement that wakes him so much as the absence. A change in the environment, the vacating of heat. It isn't the type of wake-up call that has him startling, which is a nice change of pace. It's a slow ascent in the way that he used to wake up back before it all. Reluctantly, peacefully, and content to stare up at the shapes in the ceiling for a while until synapses started kicking into gear.

The pacing's a standard enough thing that he doesn't bother addressing it.

It takes him too long to realize it's missing. When he does, he finally deigns to sit up -- sore, but well rested. It takes a little extra effort to push on all the way to his feet, and he meanders a few tentative steps into the grass before he calls out. ]

Steve?

[ Steady, but also very aware that this is mirroring the first time almost exactly.

Please don't make him fight you all over again within the first half hour of waking up... ]

[fossils]

[ He's crouched as flat as he can make himself, tails thrashing into the bushes, snapping branches. He half whines, half growls, baring his neverending rows of teeth in warning--

Something cracks. One shoulder seems to collapse in on itself.

His howl is miserable as the effect shudders throughout his body and he twists at the spine, panting and curling up into a ball beneath the shredded branches. ]

[freightcars]

Jesus-

[ There'd been a nervous split-second there at the sight of bared teeth that had him backpedaling, but that bone-snapping crack stops him cold. It's brutal, he's heard it before. Collarbone, probably, or whatever Steve's equivalent is.

Breaking like a twig. He can barely make Steve's form out through the leaves, not the finer details, though the contorting of his body is discernible enough.

He's got the impulse to go help. Who the hell wouldn't? It drives him as far as two or three more feet before he falters and stills again, lips parting, stuck because--

What the hell is he gonna do to help this, exactly? Not a goddamn thing, he doesn't have the power or the painkillers for it.

That howl of pain goes straight down his own spine, feet planted, useless. When it tapers off, when the pained noises start to falter and fall, he edges forward enough to touch leaves and branches.

If you jump out at me right now I swear to god... ]

[fossils]

[ He's in no state to jump.

In the chamber, that big metal capsule shooting vita-rays through him, he'd felt his bones forced growth, his muscles strain and do the same.

It'd been excruciating. Worst pain he'd felt in his life up until then-- and up until yesterday.

At least it'd been over quick.

At least that change had been within the same species.

Lying on his side in the dirt his upper half seems to be changing back at a faster rate. In painful starts and stops, cracking bones and the crashing of waves in his ears. One arm is already human-like again by the time Bucky parts the branches and leaves. He can't see straight. His skull feels like its splitting in two, the world a blur of light and shadow as his eyes transform within their sockets.

They flash blue and panicked, locked on Bucky's face.

Fingers dig into the dirt that cakes into his nails, his lower body still mostly cat-like and his tails thrashing in every direction as they shrink, vertebrae dissolving. He cries out again, the sound more and more alarmingly human, the muscles of his throat and jaw contracting as they reshape around the wordless, mournful noise. ]

[freightcars]

[ His faltering quickly becomes less about not knowing what to do and more about the sight before him. His knees lock up, eyes wide, churning at his core.

Frozen, right up until Steve's eyes shoot up and meet his, and he snaps himself out of it.

His knees hit the dirt, and as he reaches in sticks and branches snag on his clothes, scratch at his skin. They go largely ignored in favor of getting his hand on the side of Steve's freshly (mostly) human neck. ]

Alright, alright- okay- come on-

[ Those somewhat breathless platitudes that are given to people in pain when you have nothing better to offer. Maybe it's not the best time to be laying on hands, considering the onslaught of absolute pain Steve passes to him and the torrent of concern-horror, the helpless need to reassure he passes back.

Maybe it'll help to replace some of that hurt with anything, no matter the alternative. Who knows? In any case, just sitting back without lifting a finger didn't feel right somewhere deep in him. ]

[fossils]

[ --PAIN-- bright, hot and cold, blinding and sharp, a tiny sliver of apology, like a single bead of sweat dripping down his back, insignificant against the spikes of agony.

Was trying to warn him off. Hoped for a brief minute you might've slept through this--

He gasps and pants and cries out again as his hips snap, the crown of his head pushing into Bucky's shoulder and his eyes closed tight. The horn's gone from his head, his ears melting back into place, a tufts of blonde hair-- not fur, crowding out of his scalp.

The reassurance flowing toward him dissipates like steam as soon as it hits the fiery wall. His hand grasps around a metal forearm, bumping around the mangled plates. ]

Buck--

[ His lungs convulse and shrink back to normal size, his organs rearranging. The pain comes and goes in short waves: brief moments of relief flowing and ebbing, giving way to another convulsion. ]

[freightcars]

[ There have only been a handful of times Steve's said his name quite like this, and an even fewer number where he felt absolutely powerless to do anything about it. Put this one on the list, up there with the flu that almost took him out when they were both too young and stupid for it. Somewhere above that time he fell off a goddamn train, because really he was a little more preoccupied with himself at the time.

There's really nothing quite like watching a loved one suffer to such a degree that you're half convinced it's going to kill them. He knows better, he knows, everything they've heard says they change back and then it's over. No reports of anyone dying during it, at least nothing caused by the transformation. The vulnerable state they're in to both other monsters and other people is a different matter.

Steve grabs at him and wilds against his chest, and all he can really do is grab back. He presses his forearm across the span of Steve's chest like a safety bar, because the only goddamn thing he can offer is to keep him from smacking his head on a stone, or to keep a wayward branch from digging into eye, mouth, nose during all the thrashing. ]

Alright, I got you.

[ Even though it's a veritable onslaught of Steve practically clawing at him emotionally, nails on a chalkboard, fingers in pressure points, pain in ways he can't even properly explain because it's not even physical.

It's killing him, not being able to take this away. He knows what the guy can handle without making much of a sound at all. The noises he's making now... ]

Come on, come on, you gotta breathe-

[fossils]

[ His chest raises and falls against the forearm holding him in place, and he doesn't try to force another word out. His fingers grip reflexively, hard enough to have left bruising marks if there was anything by metal beneath them.

He breathes.

He doesn't know how much time passes. Feels like it could be hours, but the sun's still passing through the leaves above them when he realizes the pain ebbs more than it flows, that the burning heat is replaced by a slight chill everywhere except where they're pressed together. He's soaked in his own sweat, naked and exhausted and half covered in dirt. But the pain's not blinding anymore, his mind's not a maelstrom of feverish desperation and agony. He's still, except for his ragged breaths that are beginning to calm, and his grip's no longer as tight.

The tails are gone. The maw. There's no trace of the creature, melted away beneath his skin.

(he doesn't remember most of it, that one year with the flu when out of nowhere that his fever spiked so bad he could even see the worry through his ma's schooled features

he remembers after, when you'd been given permission to visit regularly again, when you came over almost every day to sit with him)

If it were anyone else right now he'd feel at least some modicum of embarrassment. But it's just you, and he needs a second, guard down (obliterated, truth be told).

He'd say they'd seen each other worse before, except if he were to have the mind to think about it-- that's probably not true anymore.

Every kinda milestone, huh? ]

[freightcars]

[ It passes so slowly and so subtly it's hard to tell at first that he isn't just trying to convince himself. When he was younger, his mother used to tell him to count the seconds between lightning and thunder to see if the storm was getting closer or moving away. It's the same premise here, he thinks, and tick by tick the seconds stretch out farther until they seem to stop entirely.

Helps that relief starts to spread a little more deeply than the pain. Some of his own starts to mirror it.

It wouldn't be remotely true to say he feels as exhausted as Steve does afterward, but he feels a portion of it. Feels a little stripped out, too long under water and finally able to breathe again. Parts of him slump, too — from standing on his knees to lowering down and sitting on his calves, shoulders dropping, his head rolling back and face pointed toward the sky for a few long seconds.

Concern dies down, but doesn't leave entirely.
Horror fades out, flickers, dies when a glance at Steve's body reveals all parts human and no swishing tails.
Borrowed pain lowers to an ache, and he doesn't really know if that's coming from him or Steve anymore.
There's a kind of fierce protectiveness in the background that would probably surprise not a single soul who knew them.
Overshadowing it all, though, is that heavy, oppressive relief.
He's not rushing it. Not a bit. He'll sit here with his arm around Steve's chest propping him up for as long is it takes, because...

God, he's never him scream like that before. Not even when he took a couple bullets and had Bucky on his chest beating the literal life out of him.

(If he'd been in the room when they stuffed him in that vita-ray coffin, hard telling who he might've clocked back then.) ]