rumlow (brumlow) wrote in avengers_logs, @ 2018-01-25 17:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | -complete, brock rumlow, stephen strange |
Who: Doctor Strange and Brock Rumlow
What: delivery
Where: Bucky's crib
Rating: language
Rumlow was half expecting it. This Doctor Strange seemed to know more about what was going on than anyone else, but without a way to contact him, he kind of had to wait. Rumlow hated waiting, though in his former career he’d done a great deal of it. Most of being a mercenary, for HYDRA or otherwise, was a lot of waiting punctuated by bouts of peril.
Either way, he had to figure out a way to make money soon, hopefully one that wouldn’t end him up in jail or hospital. Unfortunately, without ID he was shit out of luck to go the legal route.
So when someone knocked on the door, Rumlow looked through the peephole. It looked like the description Bucky had given him. The guy looked strange, that was for sure. No one else knew he was there so he took the chance of opening the door. He had no weapons other than his own fighting skills, but those were usually enough.
So he was ready as he opened the door, blocking it with his foot in case he decided to close it fast.
“Yeah?” he said, trying to tone down his natural belligerence a little, in case the guy intended to help him.
Stephen knew there were a lot of special instance cases lately - criminals and aliens, for instance - but this one topped the chart. What he didn't take into account was anyone that died returning to life.
That was why he found himself in a dingy hallway while staring at a man who was once dead, wearing his everyday sorcerer attire....including a cape with a mind of its own. And it wasn't that he was afraid of this man or this place, or any of the criminals. He had a litany of spells he could use for offense or defense. That was why he looked like he was his own little center of calm.
"I'm Doctor Strange," he said, making absolutely no move toward the door. "I believe you're waiting for a delivery."
He wondered how often some variation of that phrase was uttered in a place like this.
It took a minute for it to sink in that the guy was actually wearing a cape. Rumlow was used to weird shit. That Thor dude had worn a cape on occasion, and he was legitimately from another world. Maybe this Strange character was too.
Well, there was no doubt that this was who Bucky had been talking about, and apparently the guy was an actual sorcerer so could probably come in whether Rumlow wanted him to or not, so he stepped back to let him in.
“Not sure I’m supposed to get a delivery, but I ain’t got too many options right now, so come on in.” He looked the guy over, wondering how many weird looks he’d gotten on the way over, but then again he supposed sorcerers didn’t take the subway.
Considering that the way over was through a portal? The only weird look so far was from Rumlow. Which was fine. Stephen was resigned to ignoring weird looks, even by the New York standards of not batting an eyelash at the vast majority of things.
He entered the room and looked around at it, followed by a lengthy sigh of someone who was long suffering. Long suffering because he should have known that Stark was going to think his petty jokes were funny.
"This is charming," Strange said, sounding unamused. If Tony added another name to that list of people to needed special accommodations, he was going to ignore it. It might even qualify as a human rights issue, as he shifted to take a step and the carpet felt as though it stuck for a second or two to the sole of his boot. He turned to look back at Brock with a slight wince. "Sorry about missing you. I didn't expect...that."
'No one ever expects the living dead,' he wanted to say. But after Gamora, he was trying to mind his quips with returnees. Especially those that are holed up in Wanted Criminal Central.
Rumlow knew the place was a shithole. He’d seen worse, though. He was happy to have a roof, however crumbling, over his head. “Yeah, it ain’t the Ritz,” he shrugged. “And it ain’t even mine. It’s Bucky’s. I’m sure Stark would have a shit fit if he knew I was here too.” He chuckled to himself. That might be fun to see.
“Missing me?” Rumlow asked, head tilted to the side. “You mean you really didn’t know I was here? But you knew about the others?” He really wasn’t even sure, still, what was going on other than he was alive and unscarred. That was enough. “Has anybody else come back from the dead like me?”
He’d never been a philosophical guy; he was a realist, or maybe even a cynic. Things tended to go from bad to worse for him. So he wasn’t overly troubled by coming back from the dead. Maybe there was a reason for it, though.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, thinking the one thing he could really use was some clean clothes. He hated feeling grimy.
"While he's made some concessions for people like Mr. Barnes at all is a miracle, a shit fit would be an understatement," Stephen replied with a sigh. He had little doubt that Stark was up to his eyeballs with too much already, and was handling it all as best as possible in the circumstances...which meant poorly.
One corner of the cape lifted upward and more toward Brock, like it was going to rest a comforting flap on the other man's shoulder. Strange batted it back down and said 'STAY' like he was scolding an unruly puppy in need of training. Now was not the time when there was already enough weirdness going on.
"I have a way of sensing those who've been displaced from the timeline messing up. Displaced, meaning going from one place to another. Not someone who was deceased at some point in the timeline, coming back to life. Sooooo." He paused and drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. It was a mini moment of zen. "Congratulations. You're the first. I've changed things so I won't miss it if it happens again."
Rumlow couldn’t help but grin at the thought of Stark throwing a tantrum. Would he wear his suit if he did? If so, he might cause a lot of damage. He shook his head as if to clear it, then his eyes widened as Strange’s cape moved on its own. He stepped back a little. It wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d seen, but suddenly he wondered if the cape was sentient and listening.
“Yeah. Thanks. I think.” Rumlow kept an eye on the cape as he spoke to Strange. “I don’t know the details and I don’t care. I’m just obviously happy to be back. But I’m gonna need to earn money, ya know? And I guess I’m legally dead, though even if I wasn’t I couldn’t exactly go apply for a job. I don’t know if there are warrants for my arrest or whether HYDRA took care of that shit, but I’ve done a lot of stuff I ain’t proud of.”
Rumlow looked down, hands in pockets. “Look. I know you ain’t got no reason to believe me, but I tried to help Barnes as much as I could when they had him. I wanted out of HYDRA for a while, but I couldn’t get out. After the building got dropped on me… I kinda lost it for a while. Now I feel like I got some sense knocked into me, finally. I ain’t interested in going back to a life of crime. I just wanna live.”
That cape heard and noticed everything, even when Strange didn't. It was covering his back, literally and figuratively. For now, thankfully, it went back to being just a cape and hanging there, cape-like.
As for the cape's owner, he was looking back at Rumlow with a serious and somber expression, as though he was staring at something unseen to everyone else, and was making his own verdict on both the man and the situation.
"I know plenty of people who were the architects of our own undoing," he suddenly said, nodding a little bit. "It's the same for Stark, and looks like it's the same for you. I sense that you don't want to waste your second chance. Good. This is for you."
He reached under the cape and pulled out what was now thought of as 'the care package.' A cell phone, small laptop, envelope with money, and his own room key, to much better accommodations than this. Rumlow had not been on Stark's shit list, so there was no reason to give him the so-called special treatment.
After all, Stephen was one of those people who had been given a second chance at life and to make things right somehow, which he thought everyone deserves a shot at having.
Rumlow blinked. “Just like that? You believe me?” He wasn’t used to anyone giving him the benefit of the doubt, and for good reason. He didn’t always believe himself. He took the proffered package. “I mean, thanks. Seriously, thank you. This gives me a chance.”
He wasn’t quite sure how to show gratitude, so he just tried not to be an asshole for once. “Is this a key for a room here? ‘Cause it doesn’t look the same as Bucky’s.” He still didn’t know how he was going to make money, but at least he had some room to breathe now. He would figure it out. He always did. He’d been on his own for most of his life.
He wondered if the rest of the displaced people would be happy to see him--he doubted it. Well, it was too bad. He wasn’t going to go out of his way to run into anyone, though. So far so good.
"Yes, I believe you, and yes, there's a room key for another, cleaner hotel room. And money to spend." He pointed a finger around at what seemed to be the air just around Rumlow, the scars on his hands were plain to see, and a reminder of what he was before he became what he was, now. "I know this sounds stupid but....I can see it in your aura. It's dark, but less chaotic and messed up than some other people. So you mean well now, even if everything you've done before still has its claws sunk into you."
He smirked a little bit, before adding, "You're welcome. And while I know it's difficult, try not to rub it in Tony Stark's face. Just in case he's working on the false identification issue. Either way, you have thirty days to start turning things around."
The cape lifted and twisted that corner into what looked like a thumbs up gesture.
"Oh god, stop," an exasperated Dr. Strange told it, but it kept right on going. You can do it, Rumlow!
Rumlow was bemused about the aura comment. He’d never believed in such things but he wasn’t about to argue with his benefactor. Maybe he did have an aura. Whatever Strange saw, Rumlow was happy about it.
The fact that Stark might be working on false IDs was news to him. Good news, really. Back in the day, fake IDs were easy to do. And no one checked that your social security number was valid or not. These days, biometric ID was hard (though not impossible) to fake and everyone was so terrified of identity theft that everything was monitored. Using someone else’s social security number was too much of a risk.
“Thirty days is just great. I’ll be fine. Thanks again.” He smirked a little at the cape’s antics. It seemed Strange didn’t have complete control over it. He gave it back a thumbs up, feeling only slightly like an idiot. “Thanks to you too, Dr. Cape.”
The I.D. situation was tentative at best, since Strange wasn't entirely sure. He was the more mystical end of the spectrum, while Stark had the tech and finance end covered. He was probably going to mention that as an aside, to make sure it got done.
"Not a problem. I'll see myself out." He nodded at Rumlow and then at the cape, which did not stop until he tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling, giving a thumbs up as well.
Satisfied, the cape flopped back down and was only a cape again.
"I'll go...." Strange pointed toward the door as he moved toward it, because he didn't feel like portaling out in front of a man who had enough to think about already. "...out this way. If you need anything, ask on the network. I'll see what I can do."
Rumlow tried not to laugh. Clearly Strange was frustrated by the cape’s actions. “I’ll do that. And… I’m sure you got no need of my talents, but if there’s ever anything I can do to pay you back, both for the stuff, and the trust… let me know.” Rumlow couldn’t promise he wasn’t going to ever do anything illegal again, but he did know he was only ever going to kill in self defense. He’d had enough of it. “I mean you know where to find me.”
He opened the door for Strange, thinking that he couldn’t wait to tell Barnes about this. He wondered when he would be back.
Oh, he was. But he put up with it, just as much as the red cloak put up with him.
"I'll keep that in mind," he said, and he meant it. If Rumlow needed a way to show he meant to be better, the more people they had to call upon, the better. While Stark might say it was a bad idea or show stubborn reluctance, Stephen wasn't willing to say no to a helping hand in times of trouble. "If you see anything bad happening, do your best to help out. I think that will be enough to prove your intentions. Even if it takes one or two times, or two hundred. Take care, Brock Rumlow."
Stephen nodded a goodbye as he walked out the door and was out of sight as he turned at the corner of a hallway, which lit up with the briefest flash of warm fiery light a few seconds later.
Rumlow stared at the closed door for a long moment before settling down to figure out how to use the network.