bakerstreet | POWERED & SOURCE

POWERED & SOURCE

::Powered/SOURCE

a sci-fi au meme

50 years ago, or 75 years ago,or 20 - it's hard to recall such precise numbers in the haze and hardship - the world almost ended. While the timing itself is remembered by few, the event serves as a sharp divide of before the Fall and after. The Fall, in all its terrible and explosive splendor, sent societies spinning on their heads, no matter if its intimate nature are unclear. Once again, humanity has had to claw its way out of the primordial pit, all its achievements sent to ruin in the face of a nuclear flare. What little governmental structure remain amongst the survivors is tyrannical, but astute. When those in charge noticed that offspring of those who hadn't been killed by the Fall were beginning to be born with unique abilities, they chose not to persecute this "new generation." Instead, they jumped at the chance to have a homegrown army to protect the fragile rebirth of man, learning little from the old mistakes.

These gifted individuals fall into two categories: those with psionic powers and abilities used for offense and those who have healing and rejuvenating properties. Apart, these are interesting parlor tricks, with psionics, called Powereds, being about to move items with their minds for a few inches or pick up heavier ones they shouldn't be able to or healers, called Sources, fixing up superficial wounds. The true potential lies in when a Powered and Source are brought together, however. Each Powered has a Source that is their match and vice versa, the lock to their key, right down to the very genetics. When the right pairing made, a Powered can move mountains or create energy weapons beyond compare, a Source can provide near infinite energy to their Powered or even bring living beings back from the brink of death. To belong to either of these groups is a high honor. So high, in fact, that as soon as a child shows promise, they are whisked away by higher authorities to be matched with their lifetime Powered or Sourced and begin their training, where, despite the risks, they will find better living conditions and more resources than they could have ever dreamed of out in the desolate, dying world.

This pair grows up together, becoming dependent on each other. Even if their personalities clash, the pull in their very nature evens things out; it is, after all, a psychic bond that connects Powered and Sourced. Without the presence of their Source, a Powered might find themselves enraged or worried or unsettled. On the other hand, a lonely Source may become listless or despaired. As two is where they find complete harmony, and their unity shows in the combat or espionage skills.

On record, romance between matched pairs is strictly forbidden. Off the books, though, it happens more times than not, with two people growing up together virtually since childhood who are programmed to be co-dependent, and it is highly encouraged by those higher up due to abilities being strengthened through both emotional connection and physical contact. There's no risk in it, in their eyes, only gain as they can terminate a pair quite easily. A Powered is useless without a Source, so the ultimate weapon has a kill-switch...and a useful weakness for blackmail purposes There are always whispers in barracks of someone who's doing a task because their Powered's or Source's life is at stake.

Once battle training is complete, each pair is assigned to an eight-man cell, comprised of four matched pairs like themselves. What these teams do depends upon their skill sets and training levels, with anything from peacekeeping to public relations to assassination being on the dossier. Yet the imperative is for those on front line is clear: protect your Powered or Sourced at all costs, even on the backs of the others on your team.

Without them, you are useless. Without them, there is no place for you in this world.

tl;dr sparknotes this because we want to get to the meme: Sentinels and guides had a baby with YA dystopian lit. After a near extinction level cataclysm, people began to develop abilities that fall into two categories: Powered (sentinel/warrior) and Source (guide/healer). Their true powers are only revealed when they find their one genetically compatible match. A shadow government kidnaps these individuals, puts them into lifebonds, trains them for combat, then sends them out in teams to do all the dirty work. Codependency, mind-bonding, unhealthy love, and bloody murder probably ensue.

In the subject line, place your character name, canon, preferences, and whether your character will be a Powered, Source, or either. Reply to others! What will your character be doing? Being a late bloomer and only now meeting their partner? Training? On a mission? Enjoying some rare down time? Comforting their partner? Aftercare after the battle? Getting blackmailed? Climbing to the top of the ladder and infiltrating the government? Realizing their partner's getting a little too bloodthirsty? Falling in love with someone else's Powered or Source - absolute anathema. Facing certain death? It's up to you. Thread.

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"I know. They separated me from the rest of the Commandos on the flight back," Steve said, giving Tony a small, sad smile and that, quite literally, felt like yesterday. He could already see them as they surrounded him and the plane started diving. "I made a mess of the facility we took out. I don't think they expected me to walk away from the mission. So they tried to overpower me when we were back on board. There were enough of them I took too long to reach the pilot."

He took the man's hand again.

"I know they say kids seem to grow up overnight," Steve said. "But this takes that phrase to whole a new level."

Tony laughed, using his free hand to rub against his eyebrow. "It didn't feel like it was overnight to me," he told Steve, a shy smile following on his lips as he rubbed a thumb across his knuckles and then dragged him toward again.

"You're not going to like the mode of transportation, but the air is pretty toxic today so we have to keep you encased." There was a quinjet waiting, one of the only five left in the city. The air was corrosive and Tony could not rebuild them fast enough.

The suit could take itself back.

"I'll pilot this time if you don't mind."

"No, I'm sure it didn't," Steve said, though he was glad that Tony could protect himself and managed to at least survive to see him come back. He couldn't even imagine how terrible it would have been to wake up without Tony alive.

He didn't really have to be dragged but he followed as they headed for their transport. He didn't really have bad will toward it though he probably should. When he saw the plane, he assumed that was what Tony meant by encased. "I'll be alright."

Steve gave him an amused look and said, "No, feel free."

The last few iterations of the quinjet were much nicer, roomier, more comfortable. These last few were tight, made for two people (four if they were okay with being cozy) and could zip through the city quickly. That was a must, especially if it was raining.

The rain was so toxic that it was breaking down any of the unprotected ruins. It was what was making metal so hard to secure. And why the frozen ice was the only thing they could drink.

Tony explained all of that as he flew them home. He had a very nice place, something he'd made for himself in what remained of St. Patrick's Cathedral. "It's pretty much the only thing that still looks like Rockefeller Center from when I was a kid," Tony said softly. "Stone and thick glass... The buildings around it fell or were melted or I scavenged them as best I could-- Hey, do you remember when you brought me here to watch the tree lighting?"

He doesn't mind the close quarters. He just leans forward as far as he could so he could see the city and the mess that it's in. He listens to Tony as the man explains everything that's happened in the last thirty years. Toxic air, toxic rain. It's a miracle anyone is even alive at this point. What does the rest of the planet look like?

"Yeah, I remember," Steve says with a smile. He doesn't remind Tony that it'd only been a year ago for him. "I put you up on my shoulders so you could see."

A year ago for Steve. Thirty-one for Tony. It actually hurt to think about it. To be reminded about it. "I was the luckiest kid there," Tony said, eyes only on the half fallen, half destroyed buildings. "I remember all of these girls coming over, wanting to feel your muscles. Or have you pick them up on a park bench or something like you use to do in your acts. And you told them... Something like you had your hands full already. And when we got back..." Tony laughed again with the memory. "Peggy said you had hot chocolate and crumbs in your hair so it must have been a really good day."

The laughter faded. He didn't want to talk about Peggy.

The quinjet banked to the left and Tony guided her through the central rose window that rolled down into grooves he'd created to save it while still allowing for a landing area. The bay was small. Very small. It had to be when it was insulated against radiation.

"It was a really good day," Steve confirmed and his eyes shifted from the ruins to the man's face, examining his profile for a moment while he talked. He remembered all of that too but he didn't want to take away from any of his time with Tony by showing off and having his fans take over.

He wanted to know what happened to everyone but he didn't want to push it. If they weren't here now, Steve could surmise that something terrible probably happened to them. He assumed the other plane of Commandos went down too.

It was small but it was still impressive. "You build all this stuff yourself?"

Now that brought the smile back.

"I had some help from my friends," Tony explained. His friends were all constructs. He had been unable to be around people for a very long time. He'd been uncontrollable. He still felt that way sometimes and he still was a hermit.

Oh, there was the occasional outing to a melting factory to do some maintenance or to a school to teach children (none of whom were Sources or Powereds) how to build things and fix them. He wasn't going to be around forever holding the city up with his armor powered suit's hands.

"I know it's not...much. Mostly a workshop. I got rid of the pews and the alter and-- Sorry, Steve. God sort of lost favor with us and I love favor with him." He gestured for Steve to follow him to the back of the nave where the room that the priests use to dress before Mass was. His bedroom was there...and so were a pile of battered gifts, just sitting out and aged thirty years in a day for Steve.

"What can I get you to eat? I'm not the best cook."

Some friends? He looked around and didn't immediately see anyone. There were a few robots puttering around though and he wondered about them. Surely those weren't who Tony was talking about?

"That's alright," Steve assured him, looking around the workshop as they descended into it. "I understand." He could have his beliefs without a church. Tony needed to survive. He was pretty sure God would understand in the end. Considering the state of the world, he could see why people would stop believing.

He shrugs, "What do you even eat nowadays? I'm not picky. I spent years eating military food, remember?"

"I mostly remember ice cream," Tony admitted, before he pulled open cabinets lined with dark, radiation proof containers. They were labeled all sorts of things like 'cereal' or 'soup with the carrots' or 'Lima beans - eat if desperate' or 'the other cereal.' "Most of the animals died... We still have some livestock but we use them from cheese and milk and eggs... Their meat when they die. Sometimes. If it's safe."

He pulled out a container of eggs, brown, from a small refrigerator.

"I can make you an omelet?"

Steve eyed the containers and was rather concerned, because he needed to eat more than a normal human. It came with being experimented on and being a Powered. If he was struggling to find food now, it would be worse if Steve was around.

"An omelet would be great," he agreed, a small frown on his face. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Tony was important here. He kept the robots working. They kept the water flowing. It provided them with trade from the two City-States in the former Midwest of the United States and with one in the slowly recovering Africa. The first two were important for grain. The last for what little animal protein they could get.

It did provide him with more of the rations. But yes. They were still rations.

Tony got to work immediately on the omelet. He made one large one for Steve with six eggs and the remains of his cheese rations. "In a few years, we might actually get a crop of tomatoes back. So...who knows. Pizza for my forty-fifth birthday?"

He shifted to find a place to sit down and he watched as his Source made him an omelette. This was all so strange for him. He didn't know anything about how the world worked anymore but it was weird enough to watch Tony cook for him. It was crazy.

Forty-five. A few years and Tony was going to be forty-five. Steve would be twenty-eight. He managed to say, "Yeah, you've always liked pizza." Before he turned his head away and a tear rolled down his cheek. He missed so much.

Tony didn't know how to react to the jolt of sorrow he felt in his chest so he just scrapped the bottom of the cast iron skillet again and again to keep the eggs from burning. There wasn't much comfort he could give to his Powered because they were strangers now with a few years of shared memory.

Tony didn't say that he could barely remember what pizza tasted like. And he didn't say that he wished he was still that little boy that Steve had loved.

Instead, he plated the giant omelet and placed it down in front of the still turned blond before his shaking hand moved to slip into the back of his hair.

He had forgotten how nice it felt to do this.

"You had to go. You tried to get out of it. You didn't leave me. They took you from me. But now I have you back."

He closed his eyes when Tony approached, trying to collect himself and he did really appreciate the hand in his hair. It was a small comfort. He knew there wasn't much more that Tony could give him. His eyes were red when he turned to pick up the fork to eat his omelette.

"I know," he murmured. He did have to go. He was trying to give Tony a future. It wasn't his fault it didn't turn out like he intended. "You should open your presents. Of course, I can't promise you'll still want them."

There was a quickness to his step as he collected the packages. Just the ones from Steve. The others honestly didn't matter, he only kept them in hopes that they might actually do to protect the rest.

The paper had faded. It hadn't rotted but there was still some water damage in some places. Tony did his best with these. On two occasions he had left everything else behind to keep these with him.

Clothing. Food. Water.

Tony sat down across from Steve, that excited little boy again, and started to rip into the packages but the sound of it made him balk. It had been so long--

"Are you real?" He asked. It was his turn to cry. "Because I've had this dream before, Steve. You, sitting there, watching me open presents--"

He couldn't believe that the man still had the packages. He really couldn't. Thirty years was a long time but to keep track of something while the world was falling apart? It took a serious amount of dedication.

"Yeah, I'm real Tony," Steve said, unable to work up even a smile for it and he might have a few tears of his own in response to seeing Tony's. Thirty years was a long time and he was such an instrumental part of the man's childhood, in a world that was so much better than this one. Why wouldn't he dream about it? About him? "Of course, if this was a dream I'd probably say that too so I'm not sure how convincing that is."

That last sentence made absolutely no difference to Tony, and he didn't try to hide his tears like he had as a child. "Do you think you can still love me? I'm a stranger. I've done terrible things. I'm not that little boy you use to know--"

The Source needed so much more then just reassurance. He was lonely. That had to be obvious. This quiet little church paid homage to machines of his own making, a little scrap of paper with a monkey drawing on it, smudged up and mostly ruined, and unopened presents.

"Tony, I'm sure I can still love you," Steve promised, because he never stopped loving him. It was yesterday in his mind. He didn't care if he was grown up. Tony was important to him. "I'm a soldier. I've done terrible things. I know people do to survive when their life is on the line or when their Powered dies. I know."

He stirred up his omelette a little as he looked across the table.

"We have plenty of time to get to know each other again. I'm not going anywhere. You're my Source, yes, but you're also my friend. That hasn't changed just because I've been frozen in the arctic."

Tony felt foolish, and a portion of that might have spread through the life bond that they had shared or perhaps it was still too weak for Steve to notice. Either way, he just nodded and ripped into the package completely, sliding his finger along the edge to preserve as much of it as possible. It was precious to him. Anyone could see that.

The sketch book he found inside was almost horrifying, though.

He'd had no pictures of Steve, nothing remained but his memories of what he looked like, but quick fingers flipped through page after page--

He had to shut the book before he was afraid his tears would ruin the drawings. "You were right. I shouldn't have waited," he whisoered.

It was too weak still. He could feel the life bond but there wasn't much feedback between them yet. Steve shoveled some food into his mouth and watched as Tony gingerly opened the packaging. It was far from the frantic excited way ten year old Tony might have opened it.

Steve was almost sorry he insisted on the man opening them. Of course, the Source wanted to but he steered them back that direction. He felt bad for upsetting him even if it wasn't really his fault.

"I knew that you said you wouldn't, but I hoped if something bad happened that you would," Steve said honestly. "But you never know, if you opened it earlier, it might have gotten lost or damaged."

Tony pressed the side of his forefinger against his eyelids and dug the pad of one finger against his tear duct. He was just trying to stave off a session of horribly unattractive, outright sobbing. It would probably get there, though, as he held the leather covered book to his chest.

"I couldn't remember the color of your hair. I lost that when I was twenty-one. Someone asked me about you, I don't even remember who any more. I remember saying you had kind eyes, the bluest blue, and blond hair-- But then it hit me...was it platnium? Yellow? Dark roots? And what about your eyebrows? Were they dark are light? And I forgot the shape of your lips. And if you had any scars--"

Tony shook his head and held the book more tightly.

"I didn't have any pictures of you. Not one. Nothing survived. Shit. Okay, this can't be a dream because I would not be spending the whole time blubbering that I couldn't remember how tall you were when you're sitting right there. I'm sorry, finish your meal, you must be starving." And Tony really needed to save some face.

He didn't know what to say. Steve really didn't think there was anything he could say that would make this any easier on Tony. He wanted to. He wanted to do something but it seemed like Tony wasn't finished grieving over him but how could he be? They were meant to be one another's entire lives.

"You were a kid," he told him quietly, taking a few more bites of his omelette. "You wouldn't have noticed the specifics at that age. Those don't matter anyway. The point is youu remembered me and the time we spent together. That's all that's really important in the end, isn't it?"

Tony had already gotten up and was prepared to go out into his workshop for a little while but he did longer at the door. "I was a kid. Until I met you, no one had ever cared for me in any meaningful way. After I lost you, I was made a Ward of the state and kept locked up for a very long time because I couldn't turn it off."

He wasn't blaming Steve. But he didn't stop to clarify.

"I forgot what the most important person in my entire life looked like because I was stubbornly holding into this, wrapped up in paper, inches from my head for the last thirty years. It probably sounds ridiculous to you, doesn't it? Carrying on here when you're back and-- Jesus I'm sorry. I'll be right back, I promise."

He was sorry to hear it and whether Tony blamed Steve or not, he blamed himself. The boy asked him not to go. He could have been insubordinate but it would have ruined everything. Apparently he did anyway, just by not refusing to go. There was literally no way he would have won.

"It doesn't sound ridiculous," Steve called after him as he disappeared into the workshop. He added, though Tony was gone into the next room by now, "I probably wouldn't have opened them either. It would have hurt too much."

There was no guidebook on how a person was supposed to react when someone basically came back from the dead. As far as he could tell, Tony was doing pretty well.

Steve sat quietly, eating the rest of his meal and staring at rundown building that was his new home. There were worse things. He wouldn't complain. How could he? Tony was doing the best he could already. He just hoped there was something he could do to help.

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