#talking cure

[focusedandfearless]

Currently reading 📖

I love relational work ❤️

[talking-cure]

A song based on "Old Trouper", poem by Robert William Service. Classical pieces used in this song : Franz Schubert - Fantasia in F minor, D. 940 (Op. 103), for Piano Four-Hands Franz Schubert - Trio n°2, op. 100 Haendel - Sarabande

Lyrics : I was Mojeska's leading man And famous parts I used to play, But now I do the best I can To earn my bread from day to day; Here in this Burg of Breaking Hears, Where one wins as a thousand fail, I play a score of scurvy parts Till Time writes Finis to my tale.

My wife is dead, my daughter wed, With heaps of trouble of their own; And though I hold aloft my head I'm humble, scared and all alone . . . To-night I burn each photograph, Each record of my former fame, And oh, how bitterly I laugh And feed them to the hungry flame!

Behold how handsome I was then - What glowing eye, what noble mien; I towered above my fellow men, And proudly strode the painted scene. Ah, Vanity! What fools are we, With empty ends and foolish aims . . . There now, I fling with savage glee My David Garrick to the flames.

"Is this a dagger that I see": Oh, how I used to love that speech; We were old-fashioned - "hams" maybe, Yet we Young Arrogance could teach. "Out, out brief candle!" There are gone My Lear, my Hamlet and MacBeth; And now by ashes cold and wan I wait my cue, my prompter Death.

[nyxelestia]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 12 - Hopelessness

Previews:

“It's all right,” Dad lied. He pulled the excuse of a meal out of the box, grabbed a fork, and started poking holes into the plastic cover. Well, more like stabbing holes into it. “We’ll talk about this later.”

-

Erica whistled. "SHIELD? The guys who handled the Chitauri invasion?"

Derek snorted, this time. At everyone's looks, he added, "They stopped it in its tracks, but SHIELD didn't handle it very well, afterward."

Erica and Isaac stared in confusion, but Boyd's face softened. "You were there," he said. "Right? You said you'd been in New York for a few years."

Derek pursed his lips.

-

“What…” Scott groaned. He tried to move his arms, push himself up — and hissed as what felt like half his skeleton moved in the wrong direction, jabbing into his muscles. “What are you doing?”

-

"Miguel?" he muttered.

Danny had already figured out from the moment Stiles said the name that it wasn't real. But it was nice to have it confirmed when Stiles appeared, rushing towards them and yelling, "Derek? Scott!"

"We have to go, now!" Isaac snapped at him.

"Where's your jeep?" Erica demanded.

Stiles led them away, the group disappearing around the other side of the building, toward the car lot.

Danny looked down, and frowned when he saw what looked like a line of black dust on the ground. He followed the line of dust.

-

Stiles nodded. "Use the Force to sedate a werewolf, got it."

Deaton looked like he was barely refraining from rolling his eyes. "This isn’t a light-saber, Stiles."

"...I can't believe you've seen Star Wars and Scott hasn't," Stiles grumbled.

[talking-cure]

“Johnny I Hardly Knew Ya” is a traditional anti-war song. Here are the original lyrics with a new music.

[talking-cure]

A new song on a poem by Robert Service. This is called Cinderella.

Cinderella in the street

In a ragged gown,

Sloven slippers on her feet,

Shames our tidy town;

Harsh her locks of ashen grey,

Vapour vague her stare,

By the curb this bitter day

Selling papers there.

Cinderella once was sweet,

Fine and lily fair,

Silver slippers on her feet,

Ribands in her hair;

Solid men besought her hand,

Tart was she as quince,

Living in a fairy land,

Waiting for a Prince.

Days went by and years went by,

Wistful wan was she;

Heedless of a mother's sigh,

Of a lover's plea;

On her lips a carol gay,

In her heart a dream -

Soon the Prince would come her way,

Gallant and agleam.

Then at last she learned the truth,

How her hope was vain;

Gone her beauty, gone her youth,

Leaving want and pain.

See! she's waiting all alone;

Hark! you hear her cry

Papers by the cold curb-stone,

Begging you to buy.

Winter winds are waxing chill,

Clouds rack overhead;

Cinderella will be ill,

Bye and bye be dead.

Yet she kept her vision clear,

To Romance was true,

Holding him forever dear

Whom she never knew.

[nyxelestia]

Snippet of the next chapter of Talking Cure

"Midtown West" is the contemporary name for Hell's Kitchen. The office of Hogarth, Benowitz, and Chao - seen in Jessica Jones and mentioned in Daredevil and the Defenders - is depicted as being in the Bank of America Tower, which is right by where Stark/Avengers Tower is supposed to be. "The Incident" is how the Battle of New York is referred to in the MCU's Netflix shows, which all take place in New York. The Chrysler Building was the skyscraper Thor used to build up his lightning before redirecting it to the Chitauri portal during said Incident.

"What are you even doing in New York, anyway?" Derek asked.

"Family thing," Stiles said. "Charity event for first responders from the Battle against the Chitauri."

More silence, and Siles winced as he remembered the last conversation he'd had with Derek right before coming here.

He pulled back the blanket and swung his legs over the side. Sparing a moment to curl his toes in the plush carpet, he stood up and padded over to the glass wall. He scanned the amazing view, studying the streets and the lights below.

Even at night - in some ways, especially at night - the city was still scarred by what happened. Nearly a year on, and Stiles could see how the surrounding area seemed slightly dimmer than the rest of the city - a few less lights, a few less cars driving through, a few less buildings with floors and rooms to be lit up in the first place...

"I'm, uh - we're bunking with a friend right in the middle of the Chitauri zone," Stiles said. "And we're...pretty high up. My uncle's rich friend has some sweet real estate."

"The friend with the Black AmEx and the Shelby Cobra?" Derek drawled.

"Yeah, actually," Stiles said. He imagined that the huff he heard from Derek was one of surprise. "I can see most of the disaster area. Where'd you live?"

For a moment, the silence was almost deafening, and Stiles prepared himself for Derek to just hang up, anyway.

"Chelsea," Derek finally answered. "South of the disaster zone, southwest of the Chitauri zone."

"So you saw the whole thing?" Stiles asked, trying to figure out what direction his window was facing in. West, so he peered out left side of the window, as far south as he could get.

Derek snorted, the sound so bitter Stiles could almost taste it on the back of his tongue.

"We were in it," Derek said. "My office was in the Chrysler Building. My sister worked for a law firm in the Bank of America tower."

"Huh," Stiles said, trying and failing to imagine the sourwolf having an office. Stiles still wasn't sure what he did for a living. Shelving that question for later, he at a building he's pretty sure he's seen in movies. "I'm think I'm looking at it."

Derek snorted. "Easy to find if you're in Midtown. East side got off a little lighter, and West got the brunt of it after, central Midtown itself. Pretty sure they're going to be cleaning up after the Incident for years."

"The Incident?" Stiles asked.

"That's what locals call it," Derek said.

Looking at the area that Laura Hale apparently used to work in, Stiles asked, "So you guys were in the middle of all the action?"

"Yeah," Derek said, and Stiles felt his breath stall at the sheer amount of bitterness in Derek's voice. "We survived a Hunter incursion, our family's murder, and a literal alien invasion - only for her to get killed by our own half-dead uncle."

"Um..." This took a turn for the awkward. "I'm sorry."

"Like you care," Derek snapped. "Why did you call me, Stiles?"

[nyxelestia]

Previously in Winter Wolves (for Talking Cure, Ch. 8)

Frost Bite

“Morning,” the Sheriff said with an easy smile. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, not hiding his surprise. “Best sleep I’ve had in…a while.”

The Sheriff seemed proud of that. “Good to hear. You got any plans for today?”

“Not really,” Steve sad shyly. “I…didn’t really have any plans at all, beyond ‘find my…Bucky’s last living relative’.”

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow at the slip-up, but thankfully didn’t comment.

Dinner with the Stilinskis was Thanksgiving leftover wraps, with some Turkey soup thrown in. They finished off the pumpkin pie for dessert. Steve knew he was somewhat subdued compared to yesterday, and that John noticed it. But either Stiles had talked to him or John just knew better, because he didn't say a word.

That night, Steve pulled Bucky's flag to his chest as he went to bed, and finally stopped holding back the tears.

Talking Cure

Even exhausted and shivery as he was, it felt good to wrap his arms around Steve, and he had to fight the urge to cuddle into Steve's returned embrace.

Backing up, he said, "Hi, Steve!"

"Hey, Stiles," Steve said, with a dorky smile of his own. He turned to give dad a Very Manly one-armed hug. Stiles looked past them at a girl – no, a woman – with silky red hair in a messy bun, torn jeans, and in a loose hoodie.

Short of actually dyeing her hair, Nat couldn't look further away from the Black Widow if she tried.

"Stiles," she greeted, with a smile and a friendly nod. "Ave! Mihi gratum te convenire."

"I'll talk you around eventually," Mr. Stark dismissed. Stiles looked forward to seeing him try, even if he doubted that anyone could change Dad's mind.

Mr. Stark grabbed Steve's arm and started dragging him over to the couches, gesturing for the rest of them to follow him. "Now c'mon, lots of introductions to make!"

[nyxelestia]

Another Preview of Talking Cure, Chapter 7:

The next morning, Stiles' shriveled up heart kinda broke a little when he saw Steve put on his old hat one last time.

But he still cracked up laughing at the looks on the museum staff's faces when they realized Steve was wearing one of their new acquistions.

Throughout the mind-numbingly boring process of all the paperwork, Stiles watched Steve gently set the hat next to Bucky's in the Smithsonian's special box for it. He saw the way Steve looked at both hats, at the old comic book, at the medals...

At all that was really left of the life he knew.

All of which was going into a museum, put behind plexiglass, and displayed to the public at large.

His uniform from when he crashed into the ocean was already here, right down to the dogtags. Most of his stuff was here or another museum or got lost somewhere in the decades since Steve went down in the ice.

The only thing Steve had left to his name was his shield.

His shield...and the last living descendant of his adoptive family.

Mrs. Barnes sounded like an amazing woman, at least as told through Steve's rose-tinted stories. She'd already bucked tremendous family tradition and pressure to marry a Catholic man - and then again to take another one into her home after her husband died. She'd raised a stubborn and grieving teenaged boy right alongside her own, she saw him through the last of his schooling and his every job, and she put a blue star flag in her window for Steve right alongside her own son's - and then gold stars, after.

Stiles' great grand-mother had been a strong and defiant and loving woman, and Stiles had to go look up her name on fucking Wikipedia the night after Steve first visited them because Stiles didn't remember anything Bubbe Becca may or may not have once told him about her mother. Almost all of what Stiles knew about Winifred Barnes came from his own research, and some educated guesses based on what he knew about Bubbe and Mom and his grand-aunts.

Just about anybody could do what Stiles did, really. He'd never met Bucky, or anyone Steve had known except Rebecca. Even her, Stiles had barely known, since she died when he was in kindergarten, over half a century after she gave up Barnes for Glajos.

So really, Stiles didn't even count. All Steve really had left of his former life was his shield.

What little else he had, Stiles just talked him into giving up to a museum.

Stiles wanted to end the transfer right then and there. He wanted to tell the staff to bring back the boxes and give Steve his hat back, give back the comic book, let Steve take his old junk home where it belonged.

But Steve wasn't even looking at the relics being carried out, anyway.

He was browsing through the newspapers Stiles had used to wrap them in.

Stiles winced when he realized Steve was reading the article about Kate Argent. He remembered reading it and how it simultaneously got everything so wrong in the absence of supernatural knowledge - yet it got all the important parts right, like Kate burning an innocent family to death for no good reason at all.

At least they got that much.

The media didn't always get even that much down.

All the books and movies and documentaries Stiles had consumed in the wake of Steve's visits couldn't match up to the way Steve's eyes lit up when he talked about his adoptive family, his own mom, his friends from back in the day...

He felt like a lump was growing in his throat.

"Where's the bathroom?" Stiles asked the acquistions director. She pointed at the corner of the room and gave him directions, which Stiles hurriedly followed, thanking a god he no longer believed in that everyone was too busy with something else to notice his escape.

In the bathroom, he locked himself into the stall furthest from the door and dropped down on the toilet, tears falling down his face as he gasped into the hands clasped over his mouth.

With shaking hands, he pulled out his phone and brought up his favorite playlist. Rocking back and forth, he silently mouthed along to the lyrics, and tried to breathe at least somewhat in tune to the rhythm of the music.

He'd gone nearly a year without his anxiety descending into an outright panic attack.

He'd be damned if he broke his streak, now.

It took a few songs, a lot of deep breathing, and eventually, slinking out of the bathroom to splash a bit of water on his face.

But he staved off the panic attack, and right now, that was all that mattered. Making sure to rearrange his expression to something neutral and even a little bored, Stiles re-pocketed his phone and slunk back into the meeting room they were doing all the transfer paperwork in.

"Sorry, I got lost," he dismissed as he reclaimed his seat. No one questioned him, and in that moment, Stiles hated how good of a liar he'd become. "What did I miss?"