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AUGUST TDM.
● ● ● T D M . 0 3
… What are you willing to do to erase your regret from existence?
The words, when they die out, leave you in emptiness — despairing, all-consuming, the kind that invites only the worst thoughts. What have you done? What have you agreed to do?
But then, from the emptiness, a golden light shines, and as you reach for it —
you wake up.
1.0 Perhaps it was less the golden light in your dream and more the insistent feeling of something metallic poking your side repeatedly, making beeping noises… wait, beeping noises?
When you look down, you’ll see a small robot staring at you and looking less than happy (maybe it has something to do with your disheveled state, maybe it's still mad about having to clean up after a certain pizza-induced mess). When you get up, it unleashes a series of beeps — and then furiously starts to scrub the floor.
Yes, the floor — instead of waking up in a bed, you find yourself lying on a hallway, white walls and white floor surrounding you. You don’t have long to stare at the minimalistic look of everything around you before the little bot starts poking you again, the word MOVE blinking across its visor.
So better get out of its way! Perhaps you’re on the hallway on your own and leave on your own… or perhaps there’s someone else, sleeping near you. Maybe do them the courtesy of waking them up before this little angry bot does! Or perhaps you’re the poor soul still sleeping and needing a rescue before the beeps make it to you.
2.0 If you need a visit to the infirmary, the situation may be more dire — perhaps there’s blood on the wall that you wake up against, your clothes may be dirty or ragged… whatever it is that has happened to you before waking here and has left you injured, it sure doesn’t create a reassuring sight. Best get to the infirmary as soon as possible.... with some assistance, perhaps.
Once upright, you may notice there’s something in your ear: an earpiece that, when you become aware of it, quickly runs you through the instructions for how to use the network, a recorded message by a female voice that explains exactly why you’re here… and leaves you with a map of the station.
So what else is there to do but to explore? Best get to know what is now your new home.
3.0 The most pressing question that you might ask yourself is: but where will I stay? The question is answered once you walk through the winding white corridors to the common area. Behind it, there are three types of rooms: those with one bed, two beds and four beds. The rooms are clinical yet clean, and sparsely-furnished — and most importantly, most are occupied. So be prepared to get some roomies!
4.0 You may find your way to the armory, where you can try to work the machine there to make yourself a weapon — perhaps to replace one that didn’t come with you to the station… or maybe you want to be prepared for the future. The recently-returned team members will surely recommend having a functional weapon with you.
And speaking of weapons: to put it to good use, head to the training room, where the entire purpose is to provide you with a space to spar and train to your heart’s content!
5.0 After you’ve exhausted yourself training, it’s time to grab a bite. For that, you should head to the kitchen, which… seems to be filled with a lot of leftovers: takeout boxes with an assorted collection of pizza slices, kung pao chicken, lamb curry... not to mention the entire tray of chocolate brownies. Feel free to eat your fill — or if takeout isn’t your cup of tea, open one of the large fridges to pick fresh ingredients and make your own lunch.
6.0 A welcome reprieve to the cold, dark space that surrounds the characters can be found in the sunlight room. A skillful illusion surrounds anyone who steps inside the room: you can hear the trilling of birds, feel a light breeze caress your skin as you walk through a grass field. A new addition is a flower garden where there once was a meadow — now, roses, camellias, lilies and dozens of other flowers sway in the wind, all varieties in their own flower beds, with a winding path of stones leading through them. The path leads to where a bridge rises over a sparkling, babbling brook.
Here, it is easy to forget you are in space at all. Perhaps that gives you comfort, or just makes you miss the real nature all the more.
7.0 If you’d rather choose tinkering over nature, the lab is guaranteed to provide you with some entertainment. Glass vials and jars of chemicals sit on shelves in a surprisingly beautiful display of colour on one side of the room, while the other side of the room contains stacks of boxes containing assorted equipment: cords, bolts, panels, buttons, gears, gadgets, gizmos, and thingamabobs. The downside is that the parts available seem to have no apparent method to their sorting. So get digging, and you may just find exactly what you need to make what you’ve always wanted to make!
8.0 If it’s items you’re lacking, though, some time after your arrival, the earpiece alerts you to a new message.
Indeed, the platform near the personal quarters is still whirring with power, and new items form neat piles on it. There’s clothes, shoes, dishware, skincare, books… even a couple of CDs, and a few cute stuffed animals. So sort through what there is and grab what you want, before someone else does!
(CW: POTENTIAL BODY MODIFICATION)
Whether you’re a quick study and you’ve become settled into life on the station, or you want to get the full lay of the land (in a manner of speaking) first, if you decide to explore the hall past the control room, you’ll eventually come across the simulation room.
Step past the threshold and the doors will slide shut with a quiet woosh. Nothing suspicious; nothing to worry about. But before you can really get a sense of your environment (a grey, large-ish empty room, no furniture, no discernable objects to provide markers), the room goes dark, and then … there’s really no other way to describe it: the room transforms.
You find yourself in a club. The music is upbeat, loud, but not too loud. Down a short flight of steps flanking the bar and seating is the open floor with more tables and booths bathed in a warm, dim glow of light, and at the very end of the room is a stage with its bright spotlight showcasing its performers — though, at the moment, the stage is empty.
9.0 When you take a step forward, you’ll feel a presence gently push at your chest or your shoulder — a tall and jovial man resembling a well-dressed bartender from the top up (the rest of him appears to move along wheels) approaches with a tall flute glass in hand. Its contents are sparkly and blue.
Will you proceed? Please respond ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.”
There’s something a little strange about his voice, a cadence that doesn’t sound quite natural even when the simulation is so realistic otherwise. Once you’ve given your consent, the bartender continues.
10.0 It seems the bartender wasn’t lying. Once you’ve allowed the drink (tasty, sweet-but-not-too-sweet, effervescent, with light notes of your fondest childhood memory) to settle in your stomach you might experience a myriad of effects on your body, ranging from a change in skin colour (pink? green? blue with spots?), an additional limb or two (or three), a tail or wings, or cybernetic parts such as lie-detecting eyes or a tongue that can uncover truths and lies in others. If you happen to find another Orber within the room and both of you have consumed the offered drink, you might find yourself experiencing a full bodyswap.
None of the changes are painful; if anything, they might not even be noticeable until you look into a mirror, look down at your limb-in-question, or your companion points it out.
11.0 The moment you approach the stage, a performer will appear as if out of thin air and begin to sing, her voice strong and smoky and melodic. Her enthralling performance could put you into a trance, but you have an orb to find and a personal task to accomplish, so it’s time to put your best foot forward and do a little investigating.
Talking to some of the patrons might prove fruitful as some of them are convinced that the stage has never sounded or looked so good, like there’s something giving performers that extra oomph that no one can explain. It might be wise to wait until that last performance before you sneak up there — or maybe you want to do a little snooping around now, you know, while everyone’s distracted. Strategize with your fellow Orbers and uncover the location of this hidden orb.
● ● ●
N O T E: The effects of the drink and the level of changes your character experiences is entirely up to you. Patrons of this fine club won’t bat an eye if you look a little like them.
Additionally, there are three personal tasks provided to each character as they enter the simulation. In-game, each character will be given one task. For the purposes of the test drive, we’re leaving it to players to pick a task for their character and run with it.
A If you’ve been given a particular body change that might aid you in this mission, do not use it to your advantage.
B Team up with a fellow Orber to uncover the hidden location.
C Get up on stage and put on a performance during the simulation. Your song choice will determine the outcome of success in your investigation.
F Y I
• TDM threads can be used as samples for apps. In fact, we encourage it!
• Reserves are currently open!
• Apps open August 27.
• For any questions regarding TDM, please direct them here. For questions about the game, please refer to the FAQ.
FOR SOME FUN:
Have a listen for some clues about the second mission.
(Hint: there are four clues in total.)
cw: burns
It's because he grew up with bad influences, ( he tells him confidently, and though he can't lift his arm from its sling, Tony gives the impression of sweeping his hand out in a broad gesture anyway, ) DUM-E rats out U all the time.
( The light conversation bolsters him later, when he's resting back in bed, blankets dragged to the waist, going sober at Sam's question. He takes his time answering him, undoing fastenings on the sling, resting his bandaged arm out at his side. A fist-sized splotch of pink and yellow serum mar the dressings at his wrist, and Sam will find the new skin beneath it fragile, thinner than a bible page and showing the various new tissues beneath, at a stark contrast with Tony's usual deep, healthy tan.
Tony doesn't look at it, just keeps his gaze on the ceiling and sighs through his nose. )
The fancy med-tech here grows tissue. Pretty cool, honestly- you should look in on Dr. Cho when you get back, this is like, her baby- ( delay delay delay, quiet and thoughtful, an easy distance if he's talking about it like it's happening to someone else. ) I don't know if it's- damage from the stones maybe, long term. Blood vessels aren't bringing enough oxygen in, nerves are dying almost as fast as the technology can rebuild them. Body's not doing that great of a job holding onto it, up to-
( his good hand slides to the middle of his bicep, the straight line of his hand like a knife, and that is when he looks at Sam. )
no subject
I don't gotta tell you this ain't looking good. Might not get better either.
[ If necrosis sets in...
Sam's careful when cleaning the area, touches tentative and light. Everything about the wound is delicate. His dark eyes meet Tony's, serious and brief, before dropping down to the task at hand. Sam's nothing if not professional about that - and Tony knows he can trust him not to bullshit on this either. Sam's not the kinda guy who will downplay anything but his own hurt. ]
Where does feeling start?
[ 'Cause he winced when he sat back against his hurt shoulder, but not when he rubbed his wrist. And Sam has seen enough horrors on battlefields, worked on enough of them, to know where this might well be headed. ]
no subject
At the same time... he knows. And so does Sam.
Without a word, Tony swallows, and walks his fingers up to just a handspan's width below his shoulder, where the nerves tingle under that soft pressure. )
cw: mild flashback, mentions of amputation
Lips pressed together, Sam considers the position. Shifts closer, and gently lifts the bandages to look at the marks underneath. ]
Not gonna lie to you, might be too high up for transhumeral. [ Sam indicates the midpoint between elbow and shoulder without touching, where that amputation would work best - further down than Tony indicates. Risky to keep that much of the wound. ] Shoulder disarticulation would be the safer call. [ Sam gently places two fingers further up on the arm than Tony indicated, just where the upper arm bone meets the rest of the shoulder. ] If you need a comparison, the next step would be forequarter. [ He shifts his hand inward, places it diagonal over the joint towards the clavicle. ] That'd be like Bucky.
[ Sam leans back a little, but stays close enough that he can keep his voice down just between the two of them. ]
I'm not saying you gotta make that call now. Just... if we're out in the field...
[ He stops, swallows. Tony's smart enough to follow the thought. Sam's no surgeon - but he's a combat medic. His jaw clenches. ]
I'm saying you gotta tell me if you gonna make the call here, where you can recover safely, or if I'm packing a kit for you just in case next time we get sent out. 'cause in here, it's your call. Out there, I decide for you if I have to.
cw: mentions of amputation
He tries closing his fingers toward his palm and he can't tell if he succeeded or not. His hands are his entire life. Working, drafting, creating, protecting; passing tools to his dad while they worked on the hot rod together; grease-stained while he replaced DUM-E's wheels the night before competition; feverishly drawing those first sketches of the MK I on onionskin while Yinsen hovered at his shoulder. Feeling the hum and shuddering release of a repulsor blast; sliding warm and needy over Pepper's hips; holding Morgan for the first time, for the last time. Tony remembers the way her little fingers nest perfectly inside his palm, even as he can't feel a fucking thing right now.
The horror that Viveca might send them all out, even the wounded, that passes pretty quick. They aren't on Earth; those rules don't apply. Sam's made an offer, and Tony finds that he trusts him. )
Disarticulation.
( He looks up at Sam again, his gaze steady. )
Give me a week, Chief. ( Tony's smile is lopsided, grim. ) Gotta exhaust all my options first.
no subject
Sam is almost relieved that Tony calls for the safe option immediately. A transhumeral amputation might have worked, but Sam doesn't think it worth the risk - might have just been a temporary solutions with necrosis still creeping up through the rest of the arm. And the more they risk that, the higher the risk goes that they have to go forequarter to save Tony's life.
The safer option, then, with some time for Tony to figure out other options - or grow comfortable with this one. That's fair.
Oddly enough, perhaps, Sam drops his gaze. A small smile creeps over his features even below his concerned frown, expression momentarily near bashful. It's not an easy expression to put on his face. ]
Actually, these days it's---.
[ Sam stops himself. Swallows, hard and dry. The frown deepens.
I'm ashamed of you.
They will never let a black man be Captain America.
Good job, Cap.
Tony and Steve were... close in a complicated way, and Sam has no insight into how 5 years after Thanos have shaped them. Can he be proud of the title he's now claimed and earned in the face of the man who grew up with the shadow of a myth and then walked alongside the real deal?
Would Tony see Sam as a knockoff version the same way Sam considered John Walker little more than Walmart Cap? ]
Week sounds good. You gonna let me check up on that regularly to see if it's getting worse?
no subject
"These days it's" what, though? Tony tilts his head, feeling the bandage swathing his neck wrinkle and pucker. Know what folks don't say about Sam, The Falcon? That he's shy. Chewing on that, he nods, understanding. )
That's the idea, right? You know better than I do.
( Then, y'know, he's just gonna barrel right on ahead: )
So what is it, "these days"?
no subject
Anything to steer the conversation away. But Sam doesn't say that
Instead, he finishes the new bandage on Stark's horrific wounds, the best he can do for now, and discords the old ones, moves away from the bed to wash his hands. There's tension in his shoulders. ]
So... Steve retired. Day of the funeral. Went to bring the stones back, never returned the time travelling way. Went back the long way. Married. Wouldn't say to whom, but I mean... what are we, stupid? We know who he went back to and put a ring on, right?
[ Sam throws Tony a look, eyebrows raised. Like they're just gossiping about their team mates while calibrating Redwing. Like no time passed. Two years or seven. Sam sits back down. Leans back after a moment, puts his feet up on the bed next to Stark's legs, careful not to jostle him, but otherwise comfortable to take up the space. As if they're just chatting. As if nothing's amiss. Sam's good at doing that. At honing a mood to put everyone in the room at ease, as much as he can anyway.
Sam's glance lingers on Tony. ]
Do you... wanna know? About the service?
[ Not so much dodging as... trying to find the things that actually matter. Where to start and what to track back to. ]
no subject
( He declares it with a tinge of thoughtfully awed amazement, pausing his efforts to ease himself carefully upright again. The fat, plush unicorn sitting sentinel at the head of his bed is grabbed down and stuffed under his wounded arm in lieu of a pillow, pulled and adjusted by its face while he turns that news over in his head. It's something he's still processing when Sam returns, and eases onto his bed.
Steve Rogers, dropping everything in the future to go back to the past.
Tony lifts his good hand, as if to stop Sam's next question in its tracks. )
No, thank you, ( he admits, and continues, plucking at the sheets and one pink ear of the unicorn, ) Pepper and I have had the details squared away for a while.
( Nothing like his parents' funeral. Small, private, no grandiose speeches or lengthy eulogy, no enormous procession through the streets of D.C. He wouldn't put Pepper and Morgan through that, the public display of grief. Now, Tony points at Sam, and lightly accuses, )
Don't change the subject.
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[ Glib, followed with a flat look. ]
Oh. Yeah. So they called it the Blip.
[ Please judge that moniker accordingly. Half of all life died for five years, and they called it the Blip.
Sam picks at a place on his pants that's not quite threadbare, but could become that if he keeps picking at it. Little use in keeping the story from Tony. Too many people here already know bits and pieces of it. Besides, Sam's gotta work his nerve up to confessing at some point. ]
I put Steve's shield in the museum after a couple months of letting Ross and his people lose their shit over it just sitting in some Louisiana backwater fishing town. [ A wry smile on his lips. Sam, ever willing to go the extra mile to piss of the people in power over him. ] They really didn't like not having it. Day after, they announced the new Captain America. So long story short, that didn't end up working out.
no subject
Resting back, he listens as Sam continues. There's some details he's missing, because the shield he remembers– broken in half by Thanos' double-bladed sword -is the only one that comes to mind. The specifics matter less than Sam's next revelation: they announced the new Captain America.
Of course. Of course Ross would immediately pull a stunt like that, after America lost three Avengers, after Ross had zero issue for years painting Steve Rogers- and the rest of the splintered team -as some sort of treasonous, rogue terrorist. America had to look strong on the world stage, and men like Ross only thought of strength as flaunted power.
Tony surprises himself by how incensed the thought makes him. He blows a breath out through his nose. )
Uh, can I hazard a guess here: blond, lantern-jawed good old boy from the Midwest? Former Special Forces? No ties at all to Steve, to anyone on the team?
no subject
And they called it the Blip.
It's the kinda joke someone makes to a room full of crickets, just a dry, awkward cough somewhere in the corner as the only reaction before the comedian has to shamefully shuffle off stage. ]
Damn close. John Walker. Blonde, blue-eyed poster boy from Georgia. Former Captain of the 75th Rangers Regiment. Three Medals of Honor for his service in Afghanistan.
[ Sam looks almost unbothered, but there's a certain hardness to his gaze, a subtle tightening in his jaw. It's likely not surprising to anyone who knows Sam's own service history, dedicating two combat tours in Afghanistan to saving people alongside other PJs. You don't see any accolades pinned on his chest, of course. ]
And nah, no ties to anyone. Walked on stage for his press junkets talking 'bout how he considers Steve his brother, though. You can imagine how that sat with Barnes.
[ And how did it sit with Sam? He doesn't mention. Probably doesn't have to, either. He's not ashamed of the fact that he stared at the TV announcement with his eyes full of tears, centuries of history pressing the air out of his lungs. Insult atop injury atop insult atop injury, and a much more personal grief mingled in between. ]
So day after I put the shield in a museum so people can remember Steve's legacy kindly, they introduce the new Captain America with his custom uniform. Day after, we got press tours and posters hanging all over the damn place.
[ Not things that could have happened overnight. Things that had to have been in the works since well before Sam made the choice to put the shield to rest. And Sam leaves no room for the sting he still feels over it all, the pain that threatens to bubble right back up, just soldiers on. ]
Now, world's in chaos right now and nobody with their ass in a government seat considers it their business to help. For five years, you had people free to cross borders and seek different opportunities than they ever been afforded. Then billions appear out of thin air again, and we don't got enough space and resources at hand. Naturally, plenty people wanna shuffle things back the way they were before. So now we got politicians deciding to force people into over crowded refugee camps at gunpoint, and looming deportations all over the place. I got intel on a group calling themselves Flagsmashers, and my contact tells me their leader hits harder than they should. Barnes invites himself along on my op, and Walker and his sidekick roll up, too. Hacked into my government property gear to track us. As you do. And what we find is a buncha kids half my age who steal money, medicine and food for refugees in need, whose entire movement is about the right to stay and keep borders open, and who got themselves some super soldier serum.
no subject
Motherfucker.
It's unfair to this Walker too, he knows. MoHs aren't passed out like Halloween candy; this guy had to be exceptional just to get one, much less three. Probably idolized Captain America, so much he couldn't imagine saying no, and clearly felt it was was his duty to chase after Sam and Bucky.
Tony doesn't ask how Sam felt, because he reads it in his face, in his eyes. Bucky and Steve went back farther than any of them, but Tony would have been blind to miss Sam and Steve's friendship. The regard both men had for one another, the trust. With Steve gone, Sam would be alone.
Did he tell you he was leaving? Tony wonders.
The five year gap wasn't all a world of vast, gleaming opportunity either– he remembers the emptiness of it, most of all, the silence that descended some places and never truly left. The shortages in manpower, in necessities as jobs were left empty, harvests were untended, manufacturing ground to a halt, and all supply chains stuttered and stilled. So many more died that first week alone, as parents, caretakers, doctors and emergency workers were simply gone. Everyone the world over knew someone who vanished, and eventually, that became what united them, forging new connections, driving migrations for work, for better lives than those they had left behind. The world was smaller, quieter, but they survived, they moved on.
Tony had mixed feelings about the mission, and he probably always will. He and Pepper had discussed outcomes before he left for the last time, plans in the event of success- or failure. Stark Relief was meant to assist the displaced, confused, and potential homeless who came back, an organized effort that would hopefully link with other organizations and governments across the globe. They couldn't just snap their fingers and leave people to flounder.
He's still turning that over when Sam wraps, and for a second there Tony thinks he misheard him. Tony straightens, his spine rigid, a cold block of ice settling in his gut. )
Where the Hell did they get that? Who made it?
no subject
[ And this is where Sam stops for a moment, jaw tightening. Then he gets up, arms crossed, walking a few paces. The line of his shoulders is tense. ]
Blood samples. Not Steve's, of course. Nothing based on your father's work either, far as I know. They experimented on a bunch of black soldiers, after Steve. Just guinea pigs, of course. Shit took in one of 'em, so they... [ Sam stops again, takes a deep breath. Isaiah's story isn't an easy one, and he has no desire to share all of it. ] Well, they kept samples of his blood, and erased any trace of the man's existence. The CIA provided Nagel with his blood samples to recreate the serum based on that. He was hovering on a breakthrough. Then Nagel got blipped, came back, found the CIA had terminated their super soldier program. So Nagel gets hired on by the Powerbroker instead, and is able to produce 20 vials of the serum. All of 'em are stolen by the Flagsmashers. The eight members of the inner circle take the serum, hide the remaining vials.
[ Sam falls silent for a moment. It was a mess, the entire situation - and thinking about it makes everything ache all over again. The generational trauma on the one side, and the impossible complicated situation with Karli on the other. The overlap and differences. He shakes his head. ]
They were just kids tryna help people.
[ And perhaps, just maybe, Sam sounds defensive on that note. As if he expects Tony to judge these kids, and makes it clear that he's gonna go to bat for them. And then, with a small frown: ]
Don't worry, Nagel's dead. We wrecked the lab, too. The remaining 12 vials were destroyed - except Walker got his hands on one. He didn't take it when he offered to throw down with me, but he definitely took it after the Dora Milaje wiped the floor with him. Guy was already losing it big time, serum didn't help matters. So
his partner dies in a fight with the Flagsmashers, and Walker goes ballistic. Has one of the Flagsmashers yielding and begging for his life. Uses the shield to cave the kids' chest in. Broad daylight, plenty witnesses. Plenty cameras. Wouldn't stand down after, either, so we fight him. Long story short, he got a big ol' slap on the wrist and was stripped of the title.
no subject
There are so many questions he has, many more he wants to ask but can't, won't. Learning your parents truly died for nothing, that their deaths were just the beginning of more cruelty, and worse crimes against innocent black men... it prompts in him a queasy kind of grief. Makes his eyes sting for the umpteenth time this week, his jaw clenched, right up until "Uses the shield to cave the kid's chest in" and Tony can't help it, the way seven years later the image of Steve still arises in his mind's eye, lifting the shield over his head.
He flinches, his breath locking in his throat, and unconsciously slides his good hand over his chest, turning his gaze to the sheets. He was lucky enough-- Steve was merciful enough --to limp away with broken ribs and bruises, and that hairline fracture in his arm. )
Why- ( A pause, while he wets his lips and finds his voice, peeling himself out of the sticky morass of complicated memories and emotions, ) Why didn't Steve ask you?
( It's pointed, but not at Sam, because there's no blame to assign; honest, almost naive bafflement rides high in Tony's voice, as he leaves behind all other lines of inquiry for this. He looks back at Sam with too-bright eyes, and susses it out- or thinks he has, anyway -tilting his head. )
Or did he? ( He lets that sit for a sec, as worry and concern gentle his tone, ) Sam...
no subject
Yeah, Sam doesn't think that's just grief over a symbol tainted.
Still, he reels compassion and empathy in, because he's been here before - with Bucky, even with Rhodey. Everyone has an opinion on him and the shield, and the choices he made. Sam leans his hips against a counter, crosses his arms. It doesn't tend to be a defensive gesture with him - more times than not, Sam crosses his arms when he's thinking and doesn't want to fidget, or make big gestures that will make him look angry during a discussion. Now the gesture reads purely defensive though. Something closes in his face, carefully and deliberately - and practiced, too. He didn't cry at the Smithsonian until Rhodey left the exhibit. He didn't cry over the bloody shield until Bucky left the room. Sam knows how to stay carefully detached and blank, safe for the tension in his jawline.
It's not anger. He holds himself like someone fully expecting a blow, bracing for it. ]
Yes and no. Steve didn't ask. But he didgive me the shield, said it was mine, then left into retirement.
[ That still stings as hard as it did on the day. The knowledge that Steve talked to Bucky, said his goodbyes to Bucky and informed Bucky of this plan while blindsiding Sam with both of these monumental bombs to drop... Sam had still been reeling from having lost five years, from two back to back massive battles (well, back to back for him anyway), from watching Tony die, from learning about Natasha's death... and then Steve had walked backwards in time without so much as a good-bye, and thrust the shield into Sam's arms without asking if he wanted to bear that burden.
Sam doesn't begrudge Steve his happy ending, doesn't hate the man for this mess - but he can't help but resent the way Steve chose to put this on him. How in the end, Sam wasn't worth a heads up or the courtesy of his own choice.
Sam takes a slow, deep breath. Releases it very deliberately, because he has no interest in losing his cool - his frustration isn't with Tony, but Sam has no desire to step back into the sorts of arguments he had with Bucky about this matter. ]
I thought I was doing the right thing, putting it to rest in the Smithsonian. Preserve that legacy as it was for better or worse. History of that shield is... complicated. It ain't that kinda symbol for a lotta people.
[ He leaves it at that - either Tony gets it or he doesn't, but Sam doesn't owe him any more of a history lesson than he did Bucky. The chances that Tony, for all his privilege, gets it are at least a little higher than they were with Bucky before he came around.
Sam drops his gaze, frowns at the pure white floor under his feet. Lightly scuffs his shoe against the pristine surface, knows any mark he leaves will be cleaned by the tiny angry robot later. ]
So... yeah. Steve didn't ask. He chose it for me, and I put it away. After Walker, I took it back. Only now the mantle's my own choice. No matter who approves or disapproves.
[ Sam looks back up. So - yeah. The joke was that it's not 'Chief' these days. These days... it's Captain America.
And Sam might look calmly defensive about it, but there's something more apprehensive lying under that. Tony's got history with this shield, and Tony's got history with Steve. Compared to that, Tony barely knows Sam - who is, end of the day, just a dude in a jetpack.
So Sam's braced to pretend like the disapproval he expects wouldn't cut. ]
no subject
It's facing an America, one their ancestors had no choice in building, that all too often made them feel like unwelcome strangers. The stars 'n stripes, patriotic symbols to Tony and Steve, don't necessarily mean the same thing to Sam.
Tony knows what kind of privileges he's been afforded in his life, what he and Pepper will have to teach Morgan about when she's old enough to understand. He knows they'll both try to teach her how to listen. )
Sam, please. ( Tony tries again, his hand up briefly before letting it fall into his lap. It isn't his place to interpret or defend the actions of Steve Rogers (Christ, he'd be here all goddamn week if that were the case), so he doesn't. He did what he thought was right, and it had unintended consequences- including hurting a teammate. Maybe that's what Tony sees in Sam, radiating a quiet hurt, but not anger, not hatred. )
You don't owe me any explanation, and if I've made you feel like you should, I'm sorry.
( He chews his lower lip, continuing smoothly, )
...and if you think I'm gonna say you're the wrong man for the job, you're absolutely out of your mind. ( So there. )
Look, could you maybe, come back over here, because I've kinda been told by Captain America not to leave my bed, and he seems to know what he's talking about.
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Sam's gaze doesn't drop, but he had to let it dart away for a moment, has to blink hard a few times on a shuddering intake of breath. It's not that he needs anyone's approval, or Tony Stark's in particular. Yet still... He was gearing up for Tony to feel at least conflicted, same as he initially thought Bucky cared more about the shield than the man behind it with Steve gone, or that Natasha would find it weird given her own close friendship with Steve.
None of their approval or disapproval would fundamentally change his choice, and it doesn't matter the same way the input of the people he's hoping to shield with the mantle does.
And yet.
For a moment, Sam can only stand there and let it sit. The fact that Tony apologizes immediately for the possibility of having made Sam feel defensive and like he had to explain himself even without Sam voicing anything to strictly necessitate that. The fact that this easy approval comes not just from Tony, but from people Sam cared about who he never thought he'd see again...
Sam swallows, then nods and silently pushes off the counter, folds himself back into the chair by Tony's bedside, where he is silent for a moment longer. The thick and sudden emotion ebbs slowly, until finally Sam breaks the other way, ducks his head and smiles, soft and honest, quietly pleased and relieved even while he has to put a joke on it so he doesn't choke on his emotions. 'I'm ashamed of you' still rings in his ears. But then again, so do other voices. ]
You sure you wanna be that easy on this? I was all prepared to show you how I can currently win arguments by walking away from you at moderate speed...
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Tony cracks a smile. )
I think I can be easy about this.
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Maybe once all this is over and he's back home, he should make a few calls. Get some people together. Some assembly required and all that noise. Maybe.
For now, he settles on very lightly shoving against Tony's shoulder. ]
Well. Thanks, man. Appreciate it.