westfallcorndog | Magic Lessons for Steve and Verity

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Magic Lessons for Steve and Verity

At the truly, rudely, ridiculously early hour of 3:30 in the morning Harrowheart sent the following texts:

To Steve:

"Steve; Borrowed a phone to let you know we will meet in 11 and 1/2 hours for magic lessons. Eat lunch first but there will be food. See you then! – Harrow"

To Verity:
"Verity; Borrowed a phone to let you know we will meet in 12 hours for magic lessons. Eat lunch first but there will be food. See you then! – Harrow"
A quick follow-up text reads: "Do not text this number back. Tell that Steve person the same thing."

The texts each accompany a photo of a hand-drawn map with instructions to a place on the far, far outskirts of the Parklands.

* * *

Eleven and a half hours later, Harrowheart is exactly where he said he'd be. The destination is a large area of tall grass surrounded on all sides by woodland that remains leafy despite whatever season it may be on other worlds. The whole area is surrounded by a wooden fence of aged split logs. On one side, nearest the path that leads up to the clearance, is an old picnic bench. Laid out on the table are two thick quilts, two pies under glass covers, a sizable trunk, and one lidded black cauldron sitting above a candle that keeps it warm.

Sitting there at the seat of the bench is Harrowheart. He's dressed much differently today than usual, all done up in a heavy-looking suit of blue armor with a red cape on his back that flows down between his spread legs. His hands are attached to his wrists inside a set of gauntlets. A pair of icy blue axes sit against the bench at awkward angles, their handles attached to the belt of his outfit. He pats his thighs anxiously and often looks to the pathway while he waits for Steve to show up.

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A hard break for Steve. He at least earns himself a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, man. Both of you get to keep the wands. They're not exactly powerful, but you can practice all you want in your free time. Like I said before, wands are just one way of realizing your potential. What we're really gonna work on is doing magic with your hands and body." That sentence should have to come with some romantic jazz. It's a good thing Harrowheart hasn't learned about stereos yet.

He steps backwards and looks between Verity (the winner) and Steve (the Steve.)

"We're gonna do a couple of mindfulness exercises here, and then we're gonna see if you can use that mindfulness to channel some magic. When you two are both ready, I want you to close your eyes. When you've got 'em closed I want you to imagine – or remember – being cold. Cold, and it feels like there's no way around it. Whatever that means to you, I want you to picture it as clear as you can. Think about how it felt physically and emotionally. And don't open your eyes. Not yet."

Edited 2015-11-30 16:34 (UTC)

Verity watches Steve, her expression barely shifting in the face of his disappointment. "Hey. Magic's been in my life since I was a baby. I'm just more used to it, that's all." True or not, he needs the confidence boost if this is going to work.

"Thank you, Harrowheart." Another something to hide from her host. This is getting complicated. What isn't complicated is that anyone who thinks too much about her hands and body is likely to be disappointed.

Cold is no stranger to Verity Willis and she has no trouble remembering what it feels like. New York can be damn cold in the winter with the streets turning into iced-over wind tunnels, with the sun distant and rarely glimpsed between buildings of steel and glass that might as well have been ice, with snow banks so deep that cars get lost...

But the painful cold is the loneliness. The empty places and jagged edges in her heart where none dare enter. The father who left because she was the living reminder of his failing her, the mother who rightfully blamed her for the end of a marriage. A lifetime of isolating herself until one good friend shook her up and made her see that so much more was possible, but who left her to--

She'd better put that wand down before she hurts somebody.

"No, I can do it." Steve gives Verity a small smile. "It's not worth doing if it's too easy, right? I'll try more." But maybe not this second. Harrowheart wants to move on to more hands on skills.

Cold?

Cold like when they's run home from the art classes, shaking so bad Steve thought he'd be sick because he couldn't stop shivering. When breathing stings the lungs and hurts down to your core and any exposed skin feels like it's being jabbed with needles.

Cold.

Verity told him once. He and Bucky went down together. Into the ice. Could he even imagine that? That same needle jabbing over his whole body, both of them shaking so bad, struggling to breathe while they sink into the darkness. And when he breathes in it's water. Freezing water and his lungs are burning, freezing from the inside out.

Steve whimpers, crouching down on the ground and wrapping his arms around himself tightly. It must have been so lonely, so terrifying, so painful....How could anyone be sane after living through that? He needs a blanket, needs his inhaler. Something. It hurts and he Can't. Stop. Shivering.

Looking at Verity is enough to make him frown. She's feeling things he doesn't know but thinks he understands. There's bitterness and loneliness in her expression that he hadn't expected to see from her. For a moment he thinks he ought to stop...

But who ever said magic would be easy?

He digs his heavy plate boots into the ground and braces himself for the magic he's about to conjure. One hand in the air to channel, the other at his side to guide the swirling tempest of biting winter wind as bitter as Verity's memories.

The ice gusts hardly cycle twice around him before he notices Steve suddenly crouches down, and for a second more he's torn. Steve hasn't told him to stop, and those were the rules. We stop when someone asks. He'd hate to cut it short this early, hate to treat him like a child...

But magic doesn't need to be this hard. The icy wind that accompanies their memories stops as soon as he reaches back to unclip the cape from his back. Sure, there are perfectly serviceable quilts right there on the table, but there's something empowering about wearing a cape. Harrow steps forward and clips it around Steve's neck, then swings the bulk of it around to drape over him like a poncho. It's about as heavy as a piece of clothing can be, but it traps the heat extremely well.

"Open your eyes, you two," he says in a hurry. He pats Steve worriedly and looks up to Verity for advice. What does he know about fixing frozen humans? Unfreezing the living is the opposite of his job description.

Edited 2015-11-30 22:59 (UTC)

The biting wind Harrowheart's conjuring makes Verity flinch away, and she's vaguely aware of the sounds Steve is making, but she doesn't stop until Harrowheart speaks up. She blinks, looks around, and doesn't even need that prompting look from Harrowheart when she sees Steve. She moves fast when she's got a good reason, and this is a good reason. First, she rests a hand on Steve's shoulder as she sinks onto the ground in front of him. A physical reminder that she's there. Second, she wraps her arms around him and draws him into her lap. Third, she offers quiet reassurances.

"It's okay, Steve. It's okay. You're safe, you're with friends, it's okay now. Listen to me, Steve. I'm here. Harrowheart is here. Wherever you went in your head, that wasn't real. That wasn't now. We're safe. You're okay." She can keep that up forever if necessary, but she hopes it isn't.

"...!" Steve opens his mouth and makes a choking sort of noise, but no real sound escapes. His eyes are wide and for a moment unseeing. Just the dead stare of the Winter Soldier. The eyes he has nightmares about, asking him why. Why didn't he do something? Why did you abandon him, Steve?

Why?

"...Nnngh! Nnn.." It's not cold. He's warm, wrapped in something heavy. There's body warmth all around him, and familiar voices calling out. The world comes back into focus and Steve seems surprised to be sitting in verity's lap, with Harrowheart's cape around him and both peering down at him. his cheeks flush uncontrollably with shame and he scrambles to get to his feet. Weak. Always so...

"...S...sorry. Uhm. A..about that."

The look in Steve's eyes for a moment there are too familiar to him. Steve said he'd never been to war, and yet?...

Life in Brooklyn must be hard.

Harrow presses his hands heavily against Steve's shoulders to push him back down to a seated position with Verity. "Don't stand. And don't apologize." His tone is a little harsher than perhaps he means it to be, but the residual worry in his system is just enough to make him terse.

Unsure of what he ought to do, Harrowheart chooses to ladle a bowl of warm soup for Steve, if not to drink then at least to hold. Something good to distract him with. He offers it when he takes a seat himself, unhindered by his armor.

It's hard to look at his friends knowing he's the source of this discomfort, even obliquely. Harrow focuses on the grass, eyebrows lowered.

"It's different in the Nexus, huh? Imagining things. You both looked... So intense..."

He hesitantly puts a hand on Steve's shoulder again, this time without so much pressure.

"You should talk about it. Both of you. If. If you want. That is."

There are wars against others, and wars against the self. They all leave scars.

Verity doesn't try to force Steve to stay down, but when Harrow pushes she slides an arm around Steve again. She can be strong and supportive for him physically as well as emotionally. It's friendly, comfortable, all gin and platonic. Nothing to get upset about.

"Changing circumstances make old defenses weak. The shock of coming here, of being confronted with so many possibilities and futures when everything used to be so certain... nobody gets out unchanged." Her tone is patient and gentle. "It's nothing to apologize about. We all go through it, then help other people go through it."

She shifts her hand down from Steve's shoulder when Harrow wants in on this comforting action. Steve's not so tiny they can't both pet him. "If this is turning into a group therapy session, I guess I have to go first, on account of having done this before." Sigh.

"I've spent most of my life alone. Being the girl who couldn't play, who didn't understand games or stories, who argued with every authority figure... well. I wasn't popular. The only person who knew anything about my curse left when I was seven. Most of my life, nobody really believed it was a curse. I didn't get rate pity. I was just... odd, and easily forgotten. I never blamed them. I know I'm not a good person."

Steve just sits and listens. He doesn't know why he froze up, doesn't know why he was so intensely able to imaging drowning in freezing water. Only that he did, and that it changed Bucky, somehow. A Bucky, anyway. Steve would never mistake him for anyone else after seeing his face.

Verity's life has been so much harder than his. And she's taking it so much better than he is. Steve should be supporting her. He wants to.

But he keeps coming back to that dead eyed stare. And Steve feels small, helpless, and alone when he sees it. Snap out of it, Steve, your friends need you. You can do this. Put on a brave face. Smile through the confusion and the pain.

"You've got friends now." He murmurs quietly. "The past is behind you."

Harrow nods encouragingly with Steve's words, for both his friends' sakes.

"He's right," he says, and with it a small smile. "Things were hard for you because you grew up in a place you didn't fit in, but... I don't see how that makes you a bad person. I can't imagine you've done anything so bad that you're worth forgetting, Verity. You seem good to me. I bet Steve thinks you're good."

Sorry, Steve, you don't get an opinion of your own. Or maybe Harrow's just saving you from having to speak? He pats Steve on the arm with one hand while the other fidgets with the cape wrapped around him.

Verity would argue that Steve had the harder life. She at least always had warm clothes and enough to eat, and all the medical care a lower-middle-class single mom could afford. However emotionally difficult her life was, physically, she was always safe. As safe as anyone in Manhattan can be.

"It's not..." She sighs, looking away for a moment before deciding if she's in for a penny she might as well go in for a pound. "I could have done more, to help people. But I didn't. I just kept my head down, even when that meant going along with things I knew were wrong. Because I was scared."

"So make up for it now. Harrowheart's done stuff he's not proud of either. We all have. use it as motivation to be a better you tomorrow. Believe in what you can be if you don't like who you are. I do."

It's easier to shove his own problems aside to focus on Verity's. Encouraging her comes easier. And Steve feels like he has big shoes he needs to fill. He needs to be there for people the way the Steve they expect would be. He wants to be as reliable as that Steve. For his friends.

"Everyone's got the potential to change. And harrow's right. I believe in you."

"Yeah, Verity, weren't you the one over there lecturin' me on anyone bein' able to change? You said gods can change. You're beatin' yourself up over maybe not bein' the best You that you coulda been. But it's not like you were the worst You, right?"

He laughs quietly and hesitantly offers, "I bet there's a universe out there with a worse Verity. And so what if there's a better one? You're our Verity. You're the one who's best in our book."

And it's not even a lie.

Oh man, they're being so sweet, she might cry. She's not crying, it remains entirely conjecture and possibility at this point, and she's wiping her eyes for completely non-crying-related reasons. "It is so much easier to give good advice than take it," she admits with a shake of her head and a sigh.

"This is the better me." This is her making an effort. Compared with what 'making an effort' can look like where she's from, it's pretty sad, and she doesn't think she's doing a great job of it.

Superheroes give people issues.

"Okay. Let's shoot for the best, then." Something something everyone can change. Everyone can come around. That's what the older Steve said, right? Okay, Steve has to believe he's right then. Embrace his future-advice. If even villains and bullies can change, surely the average person can accomplish as much or more. Steve doesn't know that yet, but the older one does. Augh, rationalizing things he's said but not him is giving him a headache.

Everyone can change.

He won't give up on those eyes, either.

Harrow smiles at Verity's last comment, possibly more enthusiastic about it than she is. "That's the spirit! And, hey, just so both of you know? If we ever do run into better versions of you, I promise I'll beat 'em up for makin' my friends look bad. If you two can't be the best You's around, at least you can be the best-looking."

Okay, so maybe changing from a villain and a bully is a slow process.

He leans forward just enough to inspect Steve's face. "So, Steve? Anything you feel the need to talk about, or do you wanna give magic another chance?"

She's not sure she can do better than this... but that's enough baring of her soul for today. Steve's comment gets a little nod, and Harrow gets a smirk. "I should warn you, the better me is probably a kick-ass SHIELD agent or something with like, perfect ombre hair. There's not much competing with that."

He needs to work the process. Has he taken a fearless moral inventory yet?

Verity tilts her head to give Steve a curious look, but no pushing.

"Remembered something Verity told me. That I went down over the arctic with Bucky. That we froze for years an' years....'fore they pulled us out. That's how he survived for so long. He didn't die....somehow. But how awful would it have been? To be not-quite drowning in freezing water for half a century? Alone, in the dark....so cold."

Steve pulls Harrow's cape around himself tighter.

"I saw a version of my friend here. Just once, when I first arrived. He looked...empty. Broken. But he knew me. And then he disappeared." It could mean a lot of things. It could mean nothing. Steve doesn't know what to make of it. Only that he's been left behind. Only that it's so hard not to blame himself. Not to hate himself to the core for allowing Bucky to become like that.

Okay, what? Where did any of that come from? Harrowheart has never been more confused, and he's a professional dumb person.

There is one thing he knows, though.

"That's my nightmare, man," he says, as if saying that is going to help the situation at all. "Being trapped underwater, like a prisoner in your own body forever and ever... Or long enough to lose your mind. Sounds like you had an awful dream? Prob'ly just feels more real than it is, huh? You moved to a new place, you're seeing all sorts of new things. You miss Bucky and you feel trapped here. It's got your brain all stressed out. Right?"

Right, Verity? Back him up on this, because Harrow's not too confident in it himself.

Verity's arms tighten around Steve too, to keep him warm and remind him he isn't in his nightmare.

"The important thing is that you survived. You and Bucky are survivors," she points out quietly. "Whatever happens. And you're going to be okay. Between Harrowheart's lessons and Samus', you're going to get home someday and you're going to kick ass and take names and win the whole damn war. You're not even going to need--"

No, not talking about that.

"...backup. Those finely crafted German tanks don't do so well in the Russian winter. Imagine what a master of ice magic could do to them." Totally nailed covering that up if you don't look at her face.

"...Yeah. I need to try. If I can't help one person....then I can't help anyone." Motivation enough to keep him going through anything. Steve doesn't have delusions of grandeur. He doesn't want to win the whole war. But if he can make a difference. If he can help anyone. If he can save even one life...

Especially if it's his best friend's...

Then he'll kill himself to try. Figuratively. Probably.

"I can keep going." He's standing up again. Nodding toward Harrowheart. "I can do this."

Harrowheart nods in return. As much as he wants to smile at Steve's perseverance or Verity's helpfulness he chooses to keep a serious and determined expression. The fun of emotional toil and openness is over. Now it's time for the fun of facing the same thing that just caused Steve a minor breakdown.

He stands, steps a few long strides away from the two, and nods once more at both of them.

"It's the same exercise, but this time you're gonna best it."

A wind picks up with a motion of Harrow's wrist and the cape he lent Steve billows, caught in the swirling gust that cyclones around them all, gathering speed and ramping up its icy chill. The sound of the tempest is enough that Harrowheart has to shout to be heard from just a few yards off.

"Go back to your memories, be in that freezin' place again! Imagine your pain! Imagine your helplessness... But this time, defy it! You aren't helpless to the cold! YOU have the power to control everything that happens! Find the determination inside a' you to reach out and control your dream! Take hold a' some part of it and make it yours! Use your power to reshape the world around you! Change your fate!"

Verity's going to stay on the ground for now. It seems like a good place to be right now, and she might be softer to land on if Steve has troubles again.

Defying the cold is easy, to a point. She's doing that every day. Every single day when she gets up, gets out of bed and out of the house, every time she talks to somebody, she's changing her fate. She's not that scared little girl anymore, lonely and alone; she's a scared grown woman with real friends. It's a vast improvement. It's maybe not so great for the grass when it starts to frost over around her. Maybe Steve doesn't want to join her down there anytime soon.

It sounds grand and mighty the way Harrowheart talks about it. And the wind whips around him. There's a crinkling sound and Steve can feel more than see the ground frosting under his right foot, by where Verity's still sitting. It's another thing that just comes naturally to her.

Another thing Steve fundamentally doesn't understand, and can't do. He doesn't know what he's supposed to be imagining. He can picture the cold. Can picture fighting back, swimming to the surface, breaking free and screaming his accomplishment to the skies. But what would it matter? The cold has no master. Nature is it's own servant caring little for the wishes of men.

Steve's breathing comes in little puffs as the air around all three of them plummets, but it isn't his doing. It's Harrow's. Verity's. He keeps his eyes clenched shut and pictures. Focuses.

For one tiny moment there's an audible crack as though someone was falling through thin ice. And then Steve's dropping like a stone, fainted dead away from the cold and the effort of giving himself a metaphorical aneurysm trying to summon magic he doesn't have.

"No, no, no!" Harrow gasps, and his voice is as clear as ever. The wind dies down instantly as Harrow strides forward and skids across the half-frozen grass to Steve. He puts his hands on Steve's chest, but he's got no idea what to do here.

"Verity!" he shouts, and then in a frantic whisper, "I don't think he should be doing this."

Btw you two feel free to break posting order at any time if it feels most natural!

Sorry for the feels :(

Maybe this isn't the best idea for these two...

P-pain is... weakness leaving the body? 8(

This isn't what Harrowheart signed up for is it?

Warning: Mage training done by professionals. Do not try at home.

http://i.imgur.com/kobbssm.png

Pretty much.

That applies ot basically every Marvel character, yeah

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Life is hard in the 616

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Steve has big shoes he needs to fill alright. Fill with newspapers.

Aww, you guys~! <3

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