relentlessperplexity:
open starter!
Then.
In the cold frigid months of 1943, Lieutenant Steve Trevor was assigned a seemingly inconsequential mission where he took off with several officers and was expected to land with none after the completion of a HALO jump. Their exact mission? Lieutenant Trevor knew better than to ask questions. Unfortunately, it is suspected no jump was ever completed - like so many others, all aboard disappeared without a trace, soon to be presumed dead.
This is not the story of what happened to them.
Now.
Steve went from fast asleep to wide awake in no time at all, squinting at his - his eyes narrowed further - not his watch, learning that he had slept later than he ever had before (in any of his lives). A quick (but obviously not thorough) survey of his surroundings told him that he was not in the expected cell, but a bedroom. Strange. But he wasted no time on why, clambering out of bed and toward the door. Unlocked. Both surprised and appropriately suspicious, Steve unplugged the nearest lamp, removed the shade, and promptly stomped on the freed bulb after placing it beneath the muffled safety of a pillow. Shade returned, he hesitated only briefly before picking up the biggest shard of glass, too, tucking it under his sleeve. Two weapons. Good. Finally, he ran.
Some hours later.
The Mousehole was loud. In that pleasant, people going about their lives kinda way but also in a way that made his head pound and had him flinching away from the (color!) television anytime something exploded (or the sound simply spiked). Don’t get him wrong, Steve still couldn’t believe his luck - yes, he mostly understood that he had an unusual case of amnesia and that this meant he had not actually done anything revolutionary like time-travel or resurrect, he didn’t even have immortality like Miss Diana. But he was alive, the War over. How could he not count his blessings.
(This is what he told himself, anyway, when he thought of the friends and family he left behind and all the concerns that he might never develop new memories. Because things, he knew, could be so much worse.)
Still, it wasn’t long before Steve decided he needed a break and he sought it - just a quick detour to the kitchen where he was inevitably caught for the second time that day with an armful of food. He smiled, his most charming grin. “You only live -” Well, no, apparently that wasn’t true. For him anyway. And so he shrugged, just catching a wayward bag. “I might not remember to try them tomorrow.” Which really would be unfortunate.
Cassie was struggling to get adjusted to the Mousehole’s quirks, and she still hadn’t met all the people living in the castle (which, if she were being honest, she wasn’t all that upset about avoiding introductions with some of the more unpleasant residents), but at least she could remember important things when she woke up like who would stab her if she drank the last of their soy milk and who was tolerable to have a conversation with.
She’d decided to drink Damian’s milk regardless of the consequences and the foul taste out of spite and was only slightly startled by the witness to her crime. “You haven’t tried Doritos before?” Cassie blinked at him and forgot about her petty feud for a moment. “Dude, if you haven’t had Doritos yet, then you haven’t ever lived.”