(no subject)

[notonemoment]

Steve feels messed up, tired and shaken after the nightmare. It isn't how it happened: Shepard wasn't killed by a Banshee, Garrus didn't die, and neither did he. But it was real enough, used real enough memories, that even after talking it out — fucking it out — with Agron, even after trying to run it out during his morning run, he's still feeling it.

He shakes his arms out; he feels restless, too energized. Agron is at work, and he just wants to exhaust himself into a dreamless sleep. There's a quick flash of guilt then. It's not Agron's job to tire Steve out. He just needs . . . something.

He draws up his omni-tool and messages the only person that comes to mind.

Hate to do this, he sends to Bull. Could really use a sparring partner if you're free.

Comments

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

Meet me at the gym.

The Bull was good at getting tone from text and it was obvious that Steve needed something. So he changed and grabbed his gym back and headed out. He got their first and made sure to get a room for them, something mostly private.

He looked up when Steve came in. "Hey, big guy. Doing alright?"

[notonemoment]

When Steve walks in, it's apparent the tension he's carrying: it sits on his shoulders, buzzes down his legs. This is worse than the last time they'd sparred. But he looks tired, too, worn.

"Yeah, just. A little . . ." He lifts his hand in a vague gesture. He's already wearing his sparring outfit, but he's pacing, like a caged animal.

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

"You wanna talk or just hit me?" Hey, whatever helped. Bull rolled his shoulders and took his eyepatch off; sometimes it just got in the way and it was easier to spar without it. If they got really aggressive, he didn't want it ripped off or grabbed.

[notonemoment]

Steve nods, even though this isn't a yes or no question. He shakes his arms out again and steps closer. He's not James, he doesn't normally get things out like this. But maybe James rubbed off on him, because it feels right, feels good, to even want to do this.

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

Bull went after Steve first. He reminded himself to pull his punches; he could kill a human, easily. But he'd trained the Chargers, trained Krem, and he knew how to get through a sparring match without destroying anyone's bones. He didn't worry about Steve doing the same; Bull could take a hit. More than once he encouraged him to hit harder.

[notonemoment]

For awhile, it helps. Then Steve's punches start to miss. His eyes aren't focusing entirely on Bull anymore. He keeps flashing back to the nightmare, to the real event. He takes a shuddering breath.

"I can't—" he tries, but the words don't make it out.

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

Bull caught Steve the next time he went in for a hit; it wouldn't have landed, the stance to haphazard, the throw too weak. "Hey," he said quietly. He guided Steve down onto the mat and sank down with him.

"What's going on?"

[notonemoment]

Steve takes a breath, then another. His breathing his short, fast, too fast for the sparring to warrant. He rubs his hands over his head, then swears softly.

"I— I can't stop thinking about them," he finally says. "My friends, my team. I've been trying to put them from my head, but. They're out there, somewhere. They're in the future, fighting the Reapers, and— and I don't know if they're alive."

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

"Deep breaths," he said quietly. Bull put his hand over Steve's back, moved it slowly up and down, encouraging a certain kind of breathing.

"Trying to forget them only makes their voices louder." He let his hand slide down and he braced himself against the mat. "Trying to forget where you come from doesn't work."

[notonemoment]

He feels stupid. He understands what Bull's saying, and he knows it, rationally. But it's been easier to just shrug his worries off.

At least, it had been easier. Now, it's biting him in the ass, and he feels really, really stupid.

He sighs and draws up his omni-tool. He shows Bull a Reaper, one of the smaller ones, and then shows it to the scale of a place like Darrow. It's significantly taller than the buildings — each of its legs, actually, is double the height of Darrow's tallest building. Then he multiplies the Reapers above the skyline.

"This is what my world looks like," he murmurs. "This is what my friends are fighting while I'm . . . here."

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

Bull studied the images. "That looks bad," he said, voice low and grim. "My friends are fighting a giant hole in the sky that shits out demons." To be fair, the main breach had been closed but that didn't mean it wouldn't open again, and that didn't solve the problem of the dozens - maybe hundreds - of smaller rifts throughout Thedas and Orlais.

"And some darkspawn that wants to tear apart the barrier between our world and the Fade." Bull frowned. He didn't like thinking about the Inquisition just going out without him. Or Dorian. He didn't have any images to show, but it was a big deal to him to be stuck here.

[notonemoment]

"Why us?" he asks. He drops his omni-tool and turns his head to look at Bull. "Why'd the city pick us, from the worst possible timelines, when it could have picked people who—"

He stops and looks down, between his knees. People who deserve it, he doesn't say. People who can't fight. People like Robert. He knows what this is: survivor's guilt. It's gnawing at him, has been for months as he's tried to push it back and focus on only the good things here.

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

"Asking yourself that question is a short road to madness," he said quietly. "Why did it take Krem, who died where I came from? Why did it take other people that were just trying to live their lives, without the threat of world destruction? I don't think this place has a rhyme or reason, and trying to find one is like trying to piss in the corner of a round room. You're only going to make a mess of yourself looking for an answer."

[notonemoment]

"You're right," he murmurs. "I know you're right, I do." He shakes his head. "But it doesn't make me stop wanting the answer." He sighs and shakes his head. "I'm— I'm sorry, you don't need this." His eyes are burning a little, cheeks wet. He huffs a laugh. "Feels like the only time we hang out is when I need to punch something. You deserve better, Bull."

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

Bull snorted a quiet laugh. "I'm a problem solver," he said with wry amusement, his eye gleaming. "You're not the first person that's come to me for help, I doubt you'll be the last. I'm good at what I do. And I'm an easy target to hit."

He was quiet a moment, then added, "Besides, when I get messed up it helps me out to get hit by something. Or someone. So if I ever ask you to swing a two-by-four at me, consider the favor returned."

[notonemoment]

Steve isn't sure how he feels about that, but he laughs a little and nods. "Yeah, okay," he agrees.

He lets that sink in for a moment or two, then says, "Why a two-by-four?"

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

"Eh, solid enough to be a good hit, not so big that you can't wield it and not sharp, so no intense damage beyond blunt trauma."

Bull chuckled and shook his head. "It's a Qunari training exercise for dealing with fear. Don't ask me why. It works."

[notonemoment]

"Sounds like something my buddy James would do," he says with a thoughtful frown. Then he chuckles and shakes his head. "Not my thing, but if that's something you need, I'd do it for you." He smiles over at him wanly. "You've pulled through for me more than once, it'd be the least I can do."

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

Bull snorted. "Steve, you asked to spar with a Qunari. I'd say stress relief through blunt force trauma is your thing."

He grinned and gently elbowed Steve.

[notonemoment]

He huffs a laugh and rubs his head a little shyly. "Well . . . there was a lot of stress, though."

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

"Uh huh. Anything else you wanna talk about?" They'd covered the stress of not being where they left like they needed to be; Bull understood that intimately. "What made you think about it? Or does it just pop up now and then?"

[notonemoment]

"It just pops up now and then," he confirms. "I have dreams about it almost all the time," he adds. "But this one was just . . . really rough." The dull ache already cropping up in his ribs, his jaw, his shoulders from this sparring match are helping to ground him, though. He takes a deep breath, sighs it out, and smiles over at him.

"I think I'm okay, now," he says. "Really. I really appreciate this."