bakerstreet | ( picture prompt meme )

(ooc: I decided to do a medieval-esque AU, I hope that's alright!)

[The cursed are not meant to have friends. By their very nature they repel others, whether it be due to physical deformity or mental affectation. There's an aura that surrounds someone who's been the subject of such witchcraft - for that's what it is, not science but magic - and it can be felt by everyone around.

So it was for Bruce, for made the mistake of delving too deep, asking too much. An outcast already for his belief in science over god, he'd been dealt the killing blow when a travelling caravan traded him curse-laced milkweed. The concoction was meant to cure; instead, it destroyed. He had no memory of the event save for the anger and hatred that had rushed so freely through his veins. Now his laboratory lay in ruins, and he had no choice but to seek solace in the woods.

He kept his distance, tried to make sure the only pain he caused was to trees and rocks and flowers, but he was never far enough. They always found him, chased him, tried to kill him - which ended only in their own deaths.

Until one day, when someone sought him out for aid. A soldier, injured somehow, bleeding profusely - how he'd made it all the way to Bruce's lonely little hut was a mystery. He saw the man inside and set about patching him up, remaining silent until he was sure the danger had passed. When he finally spoke, his voice was raspy from disuse.]

How did this happen?

[ It hasn't been a particularly good day for Steve Rogers.

That wasn't to say he hadn't expected it — just not yet. Though he was a man of the people, a knight held in the highest esteem by the the populous for his fairness, his advocation of liberty and justice, that didn't mean those in power saw him in that same light no matter the depth of service and sacrifice he had made for his country. He was proving himself a nuisance and it was only a matter of time before they took issue with him. But to frame him for murder? Brand him a traitor and send his own comrades against him?

They'd caught him by surprise, which was how he'd ended up with a gut wound that would have killed any other man. He'd fought them all off and managed his escape, but he had no idea where to go. He had no allies he could reach except by horseback, and even then, would they believe him? Had they to been turned? No, he had no choice but the woods — and, hopefully, the lair of the hermit he'd heard spoken of only in rumor. He'd stumbled into view of the cabin just in time, the man catching him as he'd all but collapsed.

Now here he sits, his stomach bandaged and flesh stitched closed, looking to be in far better shape than he has any right to be. He shouldn't even be alive, let alone upright and speaking, but here he is. ]

I was attacked.

[ It's all the information he'll give, even to the one responsible for saving his life. He releases a slow breath, his hand resting delicately against the bandages across his midsection. ]

Thank you. I'm in your debt.

[ Truly, this particular knight's ability to recover from life-threatening injury seems almost supernatural. He looks like a mortal, though he may well be the pinnacle of humankind; Bruce has never seen someone whose countenance practically glows with health, even after being stabbed in the gut. He'd managed to get a good look at the man's torso while he was cleaning and bandaging the wound, and the strength inherent in his body also seemed downright impossible.

Then again, Bruce had thought he'd understood everything about life before he was turned into a giant, angry monster, so he wasn't one to speak.

He pulled up a stool to watch over the man while he rested. His eyes had opened much sooner than expected - there had been so much blood, Bruce thought it was likely the man would lose his life. Not today, it seemed. The explanation is simple, and Bruce understands his unwillingness to go into detail, but there's a danger in his words that the blond may not realize. ]

Are they still after you? [ He doesn't mean to sound cruel, it's just. He moved out to the middle of the woods for a reason. People are dangerous around him, and he around them. ]

[ He realizes it — just not for the reasons that concern Bruce. If they're after him, he's putting an innocent man at risk, a man who's clearly taken great pains to be left to himself. His breath comes out slow, slightly hitched; it still hurts to breathe. ]

I'm not sure.

[ It seemed as though he had lost them, but they could be anywhere. Just being here is putting another life at risk, and he can't in good conscience stay and make that danger worse. ]

I only need a few hours to rest, and then I'll be on my way.

[ Really he could use more than that — a hell of a lot more — but he refuses to outstay his welcome. His wound is tended to well enough that he'll survive, and that's a far better place than he was six hours ago, that's for damned sure. With a grunt he sits forward, moving to try and shift to get out of bed. Better he get up and moving now, force himself through the pain to get used to it. ]

[ The response isn't encouraging. If there are more people on the way, Bruce's entire way of life is at risk. His choices are either to flee and find another part of the forest that's less inhabited, or to stay and risk killing more people - people who are probably innocent. The nature of the knight's wound doesn't speak to the reason it was given. He could very well be a criminal.

Still, Bruce may be a monster, but he's not cruel. As soon as the knight begins to move he frowns and presses him back down against the bed by his shoulders. There's a strength in him that his body doesn't quite communicate, though he rarely has reason to use it.]

Don't be ridiculous. Stay. [He waits for a moment to make sure that Steve won't get up again, then moves to the small kitchen next to the bed and busies himself with making tea. ]

If you move now you'll just reopen the wound. Twine is hard to find around here, so I won't be able to stitch you up again. [He glances over, checking to see that Steve is listening, before he asks,] What's your name?

[ It's a hell of a lot easier for the man to push him down on the bed than it should be; he chalks it up to his wounds, wondering if they're worse than he thought. With some hesitation, he finally relaxes back into the pillow behind him, though not without trepidation. It's not a good feeling, knowing that he's putting someone else at risk because of the strange going's on in his life. ]

Thank you.

[ The question of a name earns a slight grimace. He considers offering something else, but he's a damned miserable liar. His name is somewhat recognizable — which is why he only gives the first, and not the last. ]

Steven. Steve, usually.

[ Plenty of others with that name, aren't there? Plenty of knights, he's certain. Of course, none of them are men outside time; they didn't fight in the phalanxes of Rome, or face down the might of the Empire when pushing too hard against its lust for power. But there was no need for his savior to know about any of that — so he doesn't bring it up. Better he just be another soldier run afoul of a sword. ]

Might I ask yours?

[ Bruce catches the grimace, but it doesn't seem to be anything other than an expression of pain. He doesn't recognize the knight, though the name sounds familiar. Then again, it's a common enough name. Bruce knew a few Stevens back when he was still living in the village, practicing medicine. They all left him alone eventually, scared off by rumours and religion, and none of them were knights.

The question makes his lips curl up a little in the shadow of a smile. Does it matter what he's called, at this point? Monster is the most accurate descriptor. Still, he clings to his humanity. If he gives that up, he's certain the curse will take complete control over him and force him to stay in that beastly form forever. ]

Bruce.

[ A strange name for a strange man. The kettle boils, and he pours the steaming water over the leaves he's placed into two small clay cups. They're rough and uneven, but they'll do. Stepping away from the hearth, he reaches for a small pouch and adds a pinch of its contents to one cup, before bringing it over to Steve. ]

Drink this. It'll help.

[ It's hard to miss the discomfort in his caretaker; a sense of unease and unhappiness seems to cling to him like spiderweb. He has no right to comment on the matter, so he holds his tongue. Perhaps the man's mood will be eased when Steve is healthy enough to be out of his hair. The offered tea is accepted gratefully as Steve shifts up enough to hold it. ]

I wish we might have met under better circumstances, Bruce — but I appreciate all you've done for me.

[ Blowing on the tea lightly, he sips at the edge. It's hot, but he's resistant enough that it doesn't scald him, though it logically should. His thumb rubs against the rough edge of the cup in a brief and thoughtful silence. ]

I should be able to leave tomorrow. I appreciate your kindness, but... I don't want to put you at any further risk.

[ What does he seem like, he wonders? A criminal on the run, perhaps? He could clarify, he supposes — but this is no one's business but his own, and he won't drag an innocent man into it just in a bid to seem less the villain in his eyes. ]

[ For a few moments Bruce just observes, not missing the way Steve can so easily drink the tea without recoiling at the heat. There's something strange about him - not that Bruce is one to judge - and it piques his curiosity. Dangerous as it is to keep him here, there's a part of Bruce that wants him to stay.

He's also slowly realizing how nice it is to have someone to care for and talk to. He was a doctor for a reason, after all. Taking care of others has always been in his nature. His forced solitude is a necessary evil, to keep everyone safe. ]

I'm more worried about whoever's after you, to be honest. [ A small smile plays across his face as he takes a seat next to Steve once again. Should he tell him, he wonders, about what he truly is? He's in no shape to run. Bruce doesn't want him to reopen those wounds, though, so for the moment he keeps the truth to himself. ]

How did you find me? [ He asks instead, knowing there are more important things to discuss. ]

[ Well, that's a fair concern, really. Bruce is clearly not one who wants to be found, and now here he is, stuck with a wanted man in his bed. His mouth quirks wryly at the corner. ]

Mostly luck, if I'm being honest. I know these woods pretty well, but by the end it was guessing and hoping.

[ There was prayer involved as well, but he isn't going to mention that. ]

Those who were after me will have some trouble catching my trail; they shouldn't be able to hunt me down before tomorrow, at least.

[ He hesitates a moment, fingers working uncomfortably against the bed before he adds: ]

I'm not a criminal. This is... It's very complicated.

[ For some reason, that last comment draws a breathy little laugh from Bruce's chest. He knows complicated better than anyone. Besides, he trusts this man, even though he doesn't have much reason to. He just seems like the kind of person you trust without thinking too much about it. ]

It's alright. [ He raises a hand as though to ease Steve's fears, shaking his head. ] I'm not going to pry more than necessary. Just don't steal my silverware.

[ It's his turn to smile wryly. One glance around should be enough to tell Steve that there's absolutely nothing of value in Bruce's little hut. Well, the various medicinal powders and herbs were worth a fortune, but most people knew too little about those to bother taking them. ]

Besides, I've got my own reasons for being out here.

( picture prompt meme )

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love it!

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SO VERY LATE I AM SORRY

not as late as this is I'm so sorry ;_; ♥