Steven G. Rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thekidfrombrooklyn) wrote2012-07-03 10:34 pm
thekidfrombrooklyn) wrote2012-07-03 10:34 pm
Entry tags:
The Tale of Steve Rogers, part 7
Once upon a time there was a man named Steve, and he volunteered for an experiement. This experiment might make him into something amazing. Or it might make him into something horrible.
He's glad it happens in his nieghborhood, though. There's something comforting about being back in Brooklyn, knowing those streets, those alleys.
He's put into a machine. It's a little big.
Next comes a shot. "That wasn't so bad."
"That was penicillin."
Then comes the needles. Erskine lays a hand on his shoulder, because it's going to hurt -- and it does hurt, but it does something else, too, something that Steve can't quite describe. He can feel the change starting already, deeper than his bones.
The machine closes. He assures Erskine that he's okay. And then the machine floods with light and heat, the Vita-Rays, and Steve can feel himself -- changing, growing, what, exactly? Becoming something more than what he ever was. Becoming something he was, maybe, always meant to be.
It hurts.
But when he screams and Erskine tries to shut the experiment down, Steve insists, "No, no, I can do this!"
So they keep going.
And then the light fades, and the machine opens, and Steve is helped out.
"How do you feel?"
Steve is honest. "Taller."
It's supposed to be a wonderful day. A triumph. Instead there's an explosion and gunshots, and his friend falls. Steve bends to assist, to comfort him, something -- Dr. Erskine can't speak. All he can do is point at Steve's chest like he did the night before.
Stay who you are. A good man.
He's glad it happens in his nieghborhood, though. There's something comforting about being back in Brooklyn, knowing those streets, those alleys.
He's put into a machine. It's a little big.
Next comes a shot. "That wasn't so bad."
"That was penicillin."
Then comes the needles. Erskine lays a hand on his shoulder, because it's going to hurt -- and it does hurt, but it does something else, too, something that Steve can't quite describe. He can feel the change starting already, deeper than his bones.
The machine closes. He assures Erskine that he's okay. And then the machine floods with light and heat, the Vita-Rays, and Steve can feel himself -- changing, growing, what, exactly? Becoming something more than what he ever was. Becoming something he was, maybe, always meant to be.
It hurts.
But when he screams and Erskine tries to shut the experiment down, Steve insists, "No, no, I can do this!"
So they keep going.
And then the light fades, and the machine opens, and Steve is helped out.
"How do you feel?"
Steve is honest. "Taller."
It's supposed to be a wonderful day. A triumph. Instead there's an explosion and gunshots, and his friend falls. Steve bends to assist, to comfort him, something -- Dr. Erskine can't speak. All he can do is point at Steve's chest like he did the night before.
Stay who you are. A good man.