Hey Everyone!
Here is a oneshot I have written for a prompt over on Avengerkink, not that it has anything explicit in it at all. The prompt requested Steve suffering from PTSD and the team helping him out with it. Possibly short for the prompt but here it is. Enjoy!
Steve walks quickly, body close to the wall next to him. The shadow cast by the building encompasses him, keeps him safe. There are the sounds of people, all around him but he can't know that he is safe. Where is his team? Not here, that is for sure so he has to look out for himself. What if one of these people is with Hydra? They could come straight for him. He keeps walking.
Eyes glance furtively around him, taking in every detail available. There is an alleyway up ahead, a perfect place to escape pursuit if there is any. Across the street is another similar alleyway, they are his two best options if he has to get away. If there are any snipers around they could be on any floor of the buildings around him. He's most exposed to a sniper in the buildings on the opposite side of the road. Any sniper above him is going to have a hard time getting a good sight on him.
He keeps walking in between other people, ensuring there are no gaps in the bustling group around him. Senses are on high alert and his body is rigid, just waiting to go into action. Every little sound makes him swing his head around, eyes locking on the source of the noise. There's a band playing on the corner up ahead, each time the tambourine shakes he flinches just slightly.
The blond man walks past another shop, so similar to the last few he has walked by. Only this time in the perifieral of his vision he sees a gun pointed at him. Whipping around he presses close to the solid wall near him, eyes searching for the person targeting him. There isn't anyone, it's just an antique weaponry store. Well, antique for the people of today. Some of the weapons looked exactly like those he had used, fighting at the front in World War Two.
Steve's body doesn't relax until he gets back to the tower. Even the sight of the familiar building helps him relax ever so slightly. A glance is thrown at the elevator before Steve decides it would be better off running up the stairs, clearing his mind.
Steps fly beneath his feet as the super soldier thinks. No one else is ever bothered by the steady rush of traffic on the streets, the openness to the area around them and the sheer vulnerability presented by being by themselves, without the team. Why is it that he has such difficulty just relaxing outside the building, away from his teammates? Is it because he feels so out of time or is it something else? He sets the thought aside as he strides across level 8 and joins his fellow avengers in discussion around the kitchen table.
That night Steve tosses and turns, blond hair becoming soaked with sweat. Sheets tangle around his legs as whimpers, moans and suppressed shouts escape his mouth. Caught up in a dream Steve struggles to surface.
They're moving through a forest, using the trees for cover. Each soldier moves quietly, stealthily using the ghost walk to get in closer to their target. No twigs snap under their feet and the only sound that can be heard is his own breathing and the wind blowing through the tall trees. Up ahead are the enemy. Not Hydra, just the Nazis today. There is information about Hydra in the building that the Nazis are protecting, that is what they need to get to.
The team keeps moving forward, slowly but steadily. Hands grip solid, comforting guns as they advance. There are no hand signals yet, no need for them. Each soldier knows what is required of them and exactly what they need to do. In a team so well trained there is no need to tell the men what to do at every turn, only when things don't go according to plan.
Suddenly the hairs on the back of the Captain's neck are standing up. Something is targeting them although Steve can't see what. All around him is the forest, nothing else. Scanning the trees he can't see anything unordinary but holds up his hand for the team to stop. Hand raised, flat with palm facing forwards. A simple, clear command. The soldiers closest to him stop and repeat the signal, carrying it on down the line.
The field signal wasn't quick enough, gunfire erupts all around. The person to the Captain's left falls to the ground, mortally injured. The group moves in close together, moving from an extended file into a harbour. There is no more need for staying quiet, everyone is yelling.
Rogers starts firing, quick short bursts of fire straight into the enemy. It seems as though they're surrounded but that can't be right. He had been assured that this mission wasn't known about by the enemy, that this facility wasn't closely guarded. It seems as if they were wrong to trust so easily.
Steve keeps his team together. More and more men are being injured. There wasn't that many of them to begin with, their numbers are dwindling. The soldiers keep firing though, despite injuries. They know that they need to continue on, that their fighting skills are the only thing that will get them out of this situation.
Each individual is an amazing marksman. Each shot fired from the weapons counts, injures or kills an enemy soldier. They may be outnumbered but so long as they have ammunition and men they will hold out. This will be a fight to the death.
There's a clear path through the enemy. The group moves out. They move rapidly, the two dead soldiers of the team stripped of everything important and left behind. To bring them with the team would only slow the group down, it's a shame but it's something that has to happen.
Captain Rogers lurches into a run, maintaining his position at the back of the group. Rifles are held at the ready as everyone moves forward. There is gunfire behind them which Rogers stops to return before sprinting on. The enemy is pursuing them, he can hear them.
The team stops worrying about their weapons and just starts all out sprinting, trying to get away from the pursuing enemy. They are behind the frontlines, trapped between two opposition forces. Rendezvous is set for pick up in three hours. There isn't going to be anyone there to pick them up.
Scenarios start streaming through Steve's head. How are they meant to get out of this? Bullets rain down around him as the team runs. He can feel a bullet collide with his side, the dull thud of a bullet meeting flesh floating to his ears. Roger's barely hears it, just keeps staggering onwards. However as he glances ahead everyone is falling to the ground, screaming out in agony…
A yell fills the air as Steve jerks into a sitting position, chest heaving with the effort to gain enough air to fill his lungs. He can feel the loss of his team acutely, can feel the blood coursing through his veins thick and fast as if he had just been out running. Sweat ran down his face, the sheets of the bed intricately tangled between his legs.
It was just another nightmare, another to add to his steadily growing list of night horrors. None of the Avengers had figured it out yet, or he didn't think they had. They might've but they were the kind to have said something about it, forced him to go into a psychiatrist or something.
There are footsteps pounding down the hall, he can hear them now. Had he woken someone up or was it some other important information streaming through to the computers? Had he yelled out in his sleep, he had avoided it so far he hoped he really hadn't.
His hopes were dashed when the door to his room was thrown open, a fully armed Natasha leaping into the room searching for danger. Seeing nothing that could pose as a threat her gaze falls on Steve, sitting upright in bed. A searching look is cast over the super soldier before the assassin disappears off down the hallway.
Steve just stays there looking stunned, wondering if she was going to return or if he would be right to get up and go to the gym. A good work out would help him forget the dream, forget for as long as possible. The thoughts would still be there but they could be dealt with later.
It seemed though that Natasha was returning, and not just Natasha. A number of sets of footsteps could be heard heading towards his room, Steve groaned. This was not going well. Hanging his head in his hands Rogers waited for Natasha to return.
Suddenly the bed is dipping all around him, the weight of various people weighing the bed down. Looking up Steve is surprised to see all of the team members here. Tony is sitting at the end of the bed looking haughty, Hawkeye and Natasha are on either side of him while Bruce is sitting further down the bed studying the floor.
"Steve, you can't keep dealing with the stress like this. There are people to talk to, doctors who can help," Bruce says from where he sits, hunched over on the bed.
"As much as I hate to say it, they can help you. I should know, after being brainwashed I was a wreck. I didn't want help but…well the psychiatrists do help. Try it out," Hawkeye added, studying Steve carefully.
"If you can't bring yourself to talk to them yet then talk to one of us. We were there, for the battle at Stark Tower. We might not be able to help you with the memories from the war but we can lend an ear at the least," Natasha suggested, "Please, just look after yourself."
Steve looked around at his team mates, at their silent or not so silent support of him. It was then that he realised he was part of a real, working team not unlike his team from the war. He knew, without a doubt that he could push through these devastating thoughts and dreams to become semi-normal again at the very least. His team was there for him, all of them.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed!