[No Infinity War spoilers in body; spoilers very likely in comments. Please indicate whether you need me to stay spoiler-free when starting or joining a thread.]
[Well, this isn't right. This isn't right for a whole host of reasons. The state of Stephen's clothing, of his own body, confuses him almost as much as his surroundings. Norfinbury? But he was home; he hadn't even remembered; it's been--it's been a year and it had never even occurred to him that he'd been here--never occurred to him that there were threats beyond those facing his own home dimension--that he'd known--
They'd died. Out in the snow, he and Peter had died, and it's that thought that finally sends him scrabbling through his bag of half-remembered brickabrack and secondhand clothing for his tablet. Get a message out, find out whether Peter's alive. There'll be a price, won't there? Isn't that how he remembers it working? But he's not missing anything--he knows the names of everyone who comes to mind and he's not blabbering to the walls, so it's nothing he's had before. He can stand, he can see, he can hear....
Stephen finds himself standing over a backpack full of junk in a morgue with a tablet in his hand, no idea how he got there or why. This isn't right--is this Norfinbury? He's back in Norfinbury? But he didn't even remember ever coming here....
Sometime during Stephen's hours-long cycle of thinking and forgetting, of muttering to himself as he explores the room and his bag and his body agan and again and again, he gets as far as powering the tablet on. That's enough; it gives his Cloak an opening to tap at the screen, grabbing Stephen's hand and jabbing his fingers against the device when its fabric folds don't register on the touchscreen. The relic doesn't exactly know how to work the tablet, but its efforts are enough to call up the same settings from Stephen's last message to the network: public audio.]
--that out! That hurts, asshole!
[Well, this isn't right. This isn't right for a whole host of reasons. The state of Stephen's clothing, of his own body, confuses him almost as much as his surroundings. Norfinbury? But he was home; he hadn't even remembered; it's been--it's been a year and it had never even occurred to him that he'd been here--never occurred to him that there were threats beyond those facing his own home dimension--that he'd known--
They'd died. Out in the snow, he and Peter had died, and it's that thought that finally sends him scrabbling through his bag of half-remembered brickabrack and secondhand clothing for his tablet. Get a message out, find out whether Peter's alive. There'll be a price, won't there? Isn't that how he remembers it working? But he's not missing anything--he knows the names of everyone who comes to mind and he's not blabbering to the walls, so it's nothing he's had before. He can stand, he can see, he can hear....
Stephen finds himself standing over a backpack full of junk in a morgue with a tablet in his hand, no idea how he got there or why. This isn't right--is this Norfinbury? He's back in Norfinbury? But he didn't even remember ever coming here....
Sometime during Stephen's hours-long cycle of thinking and forgetting, of muttering to himself as he explores the room and his bag and his body agan and again and again, he gets as far as powering the tablet on. That's enough; it gives his Cloak an opening to tap at the screen, grabbing Stephen's hand and jabbing his fingers against the device when its fabric folds don't register on the touchscreen. The relic doesn't exactly know how to work the tablet, but its efforts are enough to call up the same settings from Stephen's last message to the network: public audio.]
--that out! That hurts, asshole!
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