Warings: Possible OOCness, because depressed, lonely!Steve is way harder to write than positive, go-get-'em!Steve is. Sigh.
Steve:
I don't belong here.
The team, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attempts to get me back into the world, all of that is supposed to make me feel differently - it's supposed to help give me a purpose. But at the end of the day I come home and beat the tar out of punching bags because no matter how hard I try I just don't fit.
This isn't my world.
Some days it isn't so bad. The team helps and for a little while I think maybe I've found my place. They're not exactly Bucky, or any of the guys from back home, yet somehow we manage to make it work.
But then I try to sleep only to wake up choking on water that isn't there while her voice whispers in my ear. And the team can't help, because no matter how lost they each might be themselves none of them have died only to outlive every person they ever loved.
I've never been one to give in, give up, quit, or enjoy self-pity. As Stark would say, 'it's not my style'. But as I send another bag flying across the gym I feel the throb in my hand match the rhythm of the much more painful one in my chest.
I just want it to stop.
The worst part is no matter what I do I can't change this. No matter how hard I fight I can't go back.
Sometimes I wish they'd just left me in the ice.
