Out Cold

or

Five Times Steve Rogers Couldn't Sleep, and One Time He Could

1. Paranoia

They had moved him from the staged 'recovery room', partly because he'd trashed it, and partly because they had a nicer room for him to use. It was small, clean and spartan, and looked vaguely similar to some of the nicer hotel rooms he'd stayed in during the USO tour.

Steve did not feel safe there.

He went through the motions, assuming his every move was being watched, all the time his mind racing.

It was a trap, obviously. An elaborate, sadistic Hydra scheme, the ends to which he hadn't begun to fathom. He just had to wait, see how it played out...

There had to be a way out. He sure as hell wasn't going to give into these jerks, become their lab rat. He'd been through too much. There was too much at stake.

Night fell outside the building... or whatever it was he was in. He turned down the bedcovers and climbed in, weary and wary but not the slightest bit tired.

All night his mind spun. Why was he here? What did they want from him? And how could he escape?

2. Isolation

Steve lay awake in bed. It was his first night in his own apartment.

It had been months since he'd woken up in a recovery room at SHEILD HQ, and it had taken the bureaucrats this long to decide he was ready to be out on his own.

He still wasn't sure he was ready to be by himself again.

The building creaked and popped as it settled, each noise sudden and jarring, however non-threatening. There were the distant sounds of plumbing throughout the building. A constant thrum of traffic outside, and the occasional louder sound of a horn or bike engine.

He could hear the refrigerator hum all the way from the kitchen, and the ticking of the clock in the living room.

He sighed and shifted, trying to get used to the new sounds in his new apartment while lying in a new bed with a new pillow.

So much of this was new, and he felt old.

3. Memory

It had been stuck in his head all day...

"...Who'll hang a noose on the goose-stepping goons from Berlin?
Who will redeem, heed the call for America,
Who'll rise or fall, give his all for America,
Who's here to prove that we can?
The Star Spangled Man with a Plan!"

The ghosts sang, and in his head, Steve sang along. Around and around it went, drilled permanently into his memory, and apparently his brain had decided to let it out to play tonight.

Steve pulled the pillow over his head. "Shut up, brain" he groaned. "Just... shut... up."

He breathed deeply the way the psychiatrist showed him, to try to relax. He tried to let go and clear his mind. He pictured a calm expanse of water and a clear, sunny sky. It was peaceful, it was quiet. He held on to it. He let out a slow breath through his nose.

Nope.

"Every bond you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guys' gun" Steve muttered . He groaned in frustration and turned over.

4. Aliens

"There are no such things as aliens, you idiot" Steve scolded himself.

Even so, the desire to check in the cupboard and under the bed was almost overwhelming. He shook his head at himself and strode into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

He stood in the bathroom, and his eyes fell on the curtained shower recess. He reached out and whipped back the shower curtain to reveal-

a perfectly empty and safe shower cubicle.

Steve sighed, frankly disgusted with himself over how spooked he was feeling. Those Alien movies were not at all what he'd been expecting.

The first one was slow but intriguing; fear and something akin to claustrophobia built up on him without his even realising, until it was too late, and he were too invested in the story to quit.

Sitwell had seriously under-exaggerated the goriness of the sequel. Steve had jumped out of his skin a dozen times, and had to look away from the screen on more than one occasion, overwhelmed by the images; but again he got so invested in the story he neededto know how it ended.

He blew out a slow breath as he walked through the apartment, hesitantly switching off all the lights as he went.

As he climbed into bed he said aloud: "There is nothing under the bed. You are not a five year old! You've been to war and seen real horror, and you're not going to cower with a light on all night because of a fictional movie. What would Ripley say?!"

Still, he hesitated before reaching out and switching off the lamp.

5. Sense

Steve pointedly ignore the fluttering of white outside the window.

He wouldn't look at the way the snow was settling in drifts on the window ledge, or building up in the street below. He drew the curtains and cranked the heater as high as it would go.

There was an electric blanket on the bed- he usually didn't like it, it made his body too hot and his head too cold- but this time he switched it on high, and, for good measure, piled two extra blankets on the bed.

He climbed in and curled up, shivering despite the warmth that embraced him.

You're being stupid he told himself.You were out cold the entire time. You don't remember being frozen alive . It's all in your head. And now you're safe. You're warm.

He shivered violently, feeling cold through to the core, despite the cocooning warmth of the bedding. He closed his eyes and wished for blissful unconsciousness again.

Out Cold

Steve knew he was wasting water, but the hot shower just felt so good on his tired, aching body; so he continued to stand under the stream for several more minutes.

He was glad Tony had insisted The Avengersall stay at the tower that night. Stark might have a smart mouth and a bit of an attitude, but the water pressure in his building was perfect.

Steve sighed, deep and contented as he turned off the faucets, and stepped out of the shower cubicle into the bathroom. He took a thick, fluffy bathsheet off the towel warmer, smiling at the indulgence of such a thing, and briskly dried himself off.

He stepped out of the bathroom into the adjoining bedroom. In the time he'd been soaking away his aches someone had come in a deposited a set of pyjamas on the bed. Steve pulled them on; they were a little short in the legs and sleeves, but were such a soft silk that he decided he didn't much care.

His belly was sore from the blaster hit he'd taken, and his back and ribs still ached from being blown out that bank window, but he knew he was already healing, and that the best thing for him now was a solid night's sleep.

He turned down the bed and climbed in. The bed was perfect, firm enough to support his aching body, yet squishy enough to make him feel cosy. The pillows were plump and smelled good.

Steve felt himself being pulling gently down into sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He could feel himself smile at the sensation- it had been a long time since he'd been this tired.

His last thought, before he drifted off to a sound and deep sleep, was how much he appreciated Tony's hospitality after the battle- even if he'd had bus fare on him (which he didn't) Steve doubted he would have made it back to his own apartment over in Brooklyn without collapsing from fatigue.

"Must be gettin' old" Steve mumbled happily.

Then he was out cold.

… … … …

Author's notes: Hello, I'm back from a short break! I know everyone is keen to see some continuation of What Happens In Asgard, but I'm still working on that, and it's going to be a while. Until then, here is some of my beloved Steve! I dedicate this story to Sudoku,because just like our hero, she stands up to bullies.