Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel comics or characters or movies, and am making no money off of this fic.
AN: Written for the October 20th Whumptober prompt: concussion.
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Rinse and Repeat by luvsanime02
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He looks up, and he doesn't recognize the face that's gazing back at him. He blinks. "Who are you?" he asks.
Something behind the guy's eyes goes dim and dies, and he recoils from that expression without knowing why, except that he cannot be responsible for that look, no, it's all wrong. This person isn't supposed to look so dead inside.
"Steve," the guy whispers softly. "I'm Steve. I- Damn it. Damn. You have a concussion," he says, and okay, that explains why his head hurts. And why he doesn't recognize this person, when he feels like he should.
Why he can't remember his own name, now that he thinks about it.
"Uh, nice to meet you?" he says, trying for a joke, but his voice comes out too bewildered, and crap, this Steve guy looks like he's about to cry, shit. What the hell can he do? He-
"Stop," the guy, Steve, says firmly, and it's only then that he realizes he's gripping the sides of his head, fingers digging painfully into his scalp. "Just stop. It's fine. Everything's fine."
He's really bad at lying, this Steve, and something about that nudges him. "You used to be better at that," he says. "Lying," he adds at the confused look that he gets in response.
Strong fingers are grabbing his wrists and slowly but determinedly pulling his hands away from his head. He tries to tug one of his wrists free from Steve's grip, and-
His arm is not there. His arm is not there. His arm is not there.
There's an arm there, yes, but it's metal and shiny and false, and his arm is missing, and he can't breathe. He can't breathe, and his arm isn't there, and where did it go? What happened? What-
Steve's forehead leans against his own, and he focuses on the other guy's eyes that are now so close to his. They don't look dead anymore, but fierce and sad instead, and Steve's lips are twisted up into a scowl. He focuses on Steve's unfamiliar face for a few minutes, just breathes and tries not to think about how his arm isn't there any longer.
He doesn't succeed.
"So," Steve asks after a long while, whispering with their faces so close to each other, "you don't remember that either, I take it?"
The question is rhetorical, of course, and he snorts. "No," he agrees. Just breathe. He can do that, right? Just focus on his breathing and Steve's face, and let everything else fade away. It's surprisingly easy to do.
"So, a concussion?" he asks, trying to cast around for a topic that isn't going to cause him another panic attack.
Steve's lips quirk up into a rueful smile this time. He has a very expressive face. "Yeah, Natasha got in a really good hit on you during your spar today."
He doesn't know who Natasha is, or even who he is still, but he kind of likes her already. He closes his eyes and breathes, and wonders what his name is and why his mind is still so terrifyingly blank. It's not his lost memories, he doesn't think. No, it feels like there's a well full of darkness inside of his mind that's just waiting for him to fall down into it and drown, and he shudders without knowing why.
He has a feeling that falling into there would be a very bad idea, really.