Steve's tension is less obvious. Once they step out of the room, he has his game face on once more, calm and brisk on their walk rather than jittery and irritable. Still, there's something about the way he watches their surroundings that says he's on the lookout for trouble. Because what are the chances Thanos somehow catches on to their plan? Slim, probably. Steve doubts he thinks of them as particularly significant. That the Avengers in their fractured state made the last stand against him doesn't mean they were the only or even the most memorable people to put themselves in his way. Desire for survival makes the meekest of species mighty.
He has the Time Stone. If he wanted to nip this in the bud, and knew it was going to occur, he could. Steve's strategy-brain is working overtime. And he's going to have to make a point of warning his younger self, too.
The church is strangely reassuring, once again. Steve remembers what he was thinking on this particular morning. He'd seen Iron Man at work not long ago, zipping around the Tower, and it tasted sour, a perfect accompaniment to dark thoughts brewing in his head regarding science and progress and the future. He abandoned his drawing of the New York skyline, came in here, and started drawing mechanized monstrosities that were nevertheless hopelessly archaic compared to the technology he was about to witness.
"You talkin' to me, or was that a prayer?" he responds to Tony's murmur, facetiously. "I hear you, my son. How long has it been since your last confession?"
Maybe not the time to be funny, but he's got to knock the tension down somehow. A moment later even that window of opportunity is closed. The doors open, and Steve feels a wild urge to run for it. Facing himself is always...uncomfortable.
"Hey," he says. "Stand down. I'm unarmed. Just a friendly existential crisis. I've been waiting for you."
He holds up both hands peaceably and stays where he is. The younger Cap will have to come to him. Something this weird, he knows, will inevitably read as a threat at first. The silence is long and heavy, and younger-Steve's footfalls are slow and wooden as he approaches. The older version finds himself marveling; he didn't realize he was that intimidating until now.
"What the fuck is this?" young Steve's voice is quiet but aggressive, sharp-edged. "Are you supposed to be some kind of goddamn clone??"
"Sorry," the older says, still unmoving. "It's actually weirder than that. Will you sit? You should probably sit."
((this is going to be so fun to write))
He has the Time Stone. If he wanted to nip this in the bud, and knew it was going to occur, he could. Steve's strategy-brain is working overtime. And he's going to have to make a point of warning his younger self, too.
The church is strangely reassuring, once again. Steve remembers what he was thinking on this particular morning. He'd seen Iron Man at work not long ago, zipping around the Tower, and it tasted sour, a perfect accompaniment to dark thoughts brewing in his head regarding science and progress and the future. He abandoned his drawing of the New York skyline, came in here, and started drawing mechanized monstrosities that were nevertheless hopelessly archaic compared to the technology he was about to witness.
"You talkin' to me, or was that a prayer?" he responds to Tony's murmur, facetiously. "I hear you, my son. How long has it been since your last confession?"
Maybe not the time to be funny, but he's got to knock the tension down somehow. A moment later even that window of opportunity is closed. The doors open, and Steve feels a wild urge to run for it. Facing himself is always...uncomfortable.
"Hey," he says. "Stand down. I'm unarmed. Just a friendly existential crisis. I've been waiting for you."
He holds up both hands peaceably and stays where he is. The younger Cap will have to come to him. Something this weird, he knows, will inevitably read as a threat at first. The silence is long and heavy, and younger-Steve's footfalls are slow and wooden as he approaches. The older version finds himself marveling; he didn't realize he was that intimidating until now.
"What the fuck is this?" young Steve's voice is quiet but aggressive, sharp-edged. "Are you supposed to be some kind of goddamn clone??"
"Sorry," the older says, still unmoving. "It's actually weirder than that. Will you sit? You should probably sit."