Steve laid back on his bedroll, thinking about how the day had gone. After Tony had flown back with Bruce, he left them to deal with the scientist, since that was more their area. He helped Clint drag all of the unconscious prisoners into one spot, propping them up against the wall where they could wait for the authorities to deal with them. Natasha was calling in to Shield, requesting other agents to come finish up. The Avengers didn't need to stick around to deal with the locals or the bad guys, now that the danger was over.
There hadn't been much of the chit chat that usually came following a successful mission, but Steve didn't let himself worry about that. The rest of them were probably just silently appreciating the fact they were all okay and that Steve accomplished what he said he would. The leader they deserved was here.
They didn't have to wait long for Shield to arrive, since the agents investigating this threat had stayed in the area. They took over the scene, promising to send any information they found to Shield headquarters so Bruce could go over everything, in case the threat was bigger than they thought. It didn't seem so, after Bruce talked to the scientist, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The other Shield agents were going to take out the rest of the group themselves, now that the threat was a normal one instead of a biologically hazardous one. Steve offered to stay behind to help, not wanting to go home and do nothing again, but they declined, saying Fury still wanted The Avengers on standby in case another call came in. He was disappointed, but followed the directions anyways. He was still on a high from the success of this mission, so it would carry him along until he could go on another.
The flight back to New York was quiet, but still seemed to go by quickly. Tony and Bruce busied themselves with their technology and Natasha and Clint flew the jet. Steve sat in the back by himself, going over each moment of the mission in his head. Even though it went smoothly, there could still be room for improvement. The two men escaping was a close call, so he'd have to keep a better watch in the future. And he should start carrying some other weapons, in case something else came up where he couldn't throw his shield like normal.
The report to Fury had been brief also, Steve being thorough and precise in his relaying of what all went down. He may have left out the little bit of arguing that went on before the mission, but that wasn't important. Fury didn't need to know about any conversations in the jet, he needed to know about the actual mission. A little squabbling wasn't an issue for him to settle like a parent or school teacher. And it wasn't like anything like that would come up again, since he'd proved his plans worked and there didn't need to be any more discussion about it in the future. Maybe he would take Clint aside soon and make sure there weren't any doubts left in the man. Having a cohesive unit was important.
Steve turned on his side, stretching his arms above his head. He was only about halfway through his designated rest time, but he wanted to get up anyways. It didn't feel like he needed it tonight, but he knew it was for the best. The op hadn't been strenuous, but it was good to keep the routine. He didn't want to change too much up since things had gone so well. And he had already treated himself to an extra chicken breast as a reward for a job well done. That was enough of a deviation.
It had been about three days since he had gotten any sleep, so maybe it would be a good night to try to get a little. The mission going so well might've soothed his mind enough that he wouldn't have any nightmares. Steve settled into a more comfortable position, waiting until the next alarm went off to close his eyes.
A loud banging on his door woke him up, the frantic pace of it relaying the urgency of the person on the other side. Steve sprang from his spot on the floor, snatching up his shield as he moved toward the noise. He threw open the door, shocked to find a distraught looking Tony on the other side. The man was shaking and clearly on the verge of tears. Steve had never seen him like this and he backed up a step into his apartment, feeling the instinctive need to put space between them.
"How could you do this?" Tony whispered, staring at him with haunted eyes. Steve shook his head, denying whatever could cause Tony to look so shattered. "They're all gone because of you."
"Who? What are you talking about?" Steve asked quietly, his voice trembling against his will.
"The team!" Tony spat out, glaring at him with so much venom he could practically feel the sting of his words. Steve recoiled, thinking back to the prank from the tower after his injury. Tony couldn't possibly believe he would fall for this again. And why would the man even try? Tony had seemed legitimately remorseful after, so why would he do this?
"This isn't funny Stark!" Steve hissed, preparing to slam the door in the other man's face. He really needed to think about asking Fury to take him off the team. Steve couldn't deal with someone like Tony Stark if he could be so cruel and immature.
"See for yourself!" Tony snarled, leaning down beside the door and dragging something into Steve's line of vision. Steve felt all the air in his lungs rush out as he saw what Tony was holding, his shield falling from numb fingers. Natasha's limp body was covered in blood, her neck bent at an unnatural angle. Tony dropped her in his doorway, her body thudding and settling on her back. Steve gagged behind his hand, the sight of her almost too much to bear. Tony wasn't done though, dragging and dropping the bodies of Bruce and Clint the same way. They were piled up like trash in his entryway, staining the tiles rust.
"How?" Steve gasped, falling against his wall when his legs buckled and couldn't hold his weight any longer. This couldn't be happening. They were fine just a few hours ago when they had all gone home after the briefing with Fury.
"You left them behind, just like you always do!" Tony shouted, banging his fist on the wall, making Steve jump. Tony was staring at him in disgust, shaking his head at the broken man. How could this have happened? Steve did everything right, hadn't he? He may not have been around for the fun stuff, but he'd been there for every mission they'd called him for. He didn't leave them behind, he was here.
"I didn't," Steve mumbled, denying the evidence that was in front of him. There was no way he had let this happen.
"Oh yeah? Tell that to them," Tony laughed, reaching down to grab something else. A sob burst through at the sight of Bucky, his body frozen in the position it was in as he had fallen from the train, a look of pure terror on his face. Tony dropped him right in front of Steve, Bucky's outstretched hand mere inches from his leg. His breaths were coming in short gasps now, on the verge of hyperventilating. Tony wasn't done though, dragging one last body into the apartment.
She looked just as she had the last time he'd seen her. Hair laid perfectly, lips as red as the most beautiful rose. None of the sixty years she had lived without him visible on her still form. Steve was trembling, staring at the slack face of the only woman he had ever loved.
"You don't leave people behind?" Tony questioned, poking at Bucky's body with his toe. "I think they'd disagree." Steve was fully crying now, the pain of being confronted by his failures more than anything he'd ever felt. He covered his face with his hands, needing to block out the sight of all the people he cared about gone.
"Why did you do it Steve?" a soft voice asked. Steve moaned, shaking his head. This couldn't be real. "We all were counting on you and you left us behind." Peggy's light voice, a voice that used to bring him so much joy, was now stabbing into his heart like a knife with every word.
"I was with you till the end of the line, but you let me fall. You didn't even look for me," Bucky's voice accused, twisting the knife that was already in Steve's heart. He clenched his eyes shut, pressing his fingers into his ears. Steve couldn't take this anymore. He needed to get out, but he couldn't force his legs to move.
"You think one good mission would make us trust you and want to follow you?" Clint's voice laughed with a bitter edge.
"We've been at this a lot longer than you have. Interesting how we didn't get killed until you were in the picture," Natasha purred, chuckling darkly.
"I just wanted to be left alone. I'm not a fighter, but you made me come anyways. I'd still be alive if it wasn't for you," Bruce muttered, sounding defeated. No matter how hard Steve pressed, he couldn't block out the voices. It was as if they were all coming from inside him. He'd never be able to escape them, damning him for the rest of his life.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Steve gasped between sobs, his own voice lost amongst the chaos of the rising sounds around him. They were screaming at him now, every failure in his life being thrown at him with violent force. The sounds started blending together, causing a ringing in his ears.
"Stop," he whispered, begging for a reprieve he didn't deserve, but desperately needed. The sound didn't stop though, becoming more harsh and shrill. He could feel the bodies of his lost friends crowding around him, the air surrounding him feeling heavy and thick. But Steve still couldn't move, feeling trapped under an invisible weight.
"Stop!" Steve shouted, jolting up from where he laid. He sat up gasping, twisting his neck to look around the room he was in. He was on his bedroom floor, his blankets twisted around his body and the alarm blaring next to his pillow. Steve slapped the clock, shattering the plastic beneath his palm. He was shaking like a leaf, trying to suck air into his paralyzed lungs.
The dream had seemed so real that he had a hard time convincing himself it wasn't. The things that happened in it were impossible, but was there a bit of truth in the words that were said? Were Bucky's last thoughts as he fell to his death that Steve failed him? Did Peggy live out the rest of her life feeling like Steve had abandoned her? He would give anything to be able to go back and make different choices. To watch Bucky's back better on that train. To take down Red Skull before he could get that plane off the ground. He had been too weak then, but he wasn't going to make that same mistake now. All this training he was doing was going to prevent that from happening again. This team would not spend their last moments alive thinking that he had let them down.
Steve kicked his blankets away, shoving them into the corner of the room. It didn't matter what time it was, he was not laying down again tonight. Especially since his saving grace alarm was sitting in pieces on the floor. He scooped up the little bits and tossed them in the trash, resigned to having to buy a new one later. It was a waste of money, but he would not let himself close his eyes without one.
Steve climbed into the shower, trying to wash away the last remnants of his nightmare. Why would he have such an aggressive one, right after a successful mission? That should've earned him a reprieve, one night of relaxation to reward him for a job well done. But his mind wouldn't let him. Was he never meant to be able to rest? Steve knew he was meant to work, but did that mean he was a machine? He had slept much better when he was at the tower and during the early days in this apartment. Why couldn't he go back to that? He just wanted to go back to that. Steve gripped his hair, sinking down to the bottom of the tub. He couldn't go on like this, could he? He thought things would get better, get easier as he got back into the swing of missions and bettered himself as a leader, but they weren't. The mission went great, but his time alone wasn't. Steve could distract himself to a certain point with training, but when his mind wasn't actively being used, the cracks started to show. This wasn't normal. He needed help. But who could he turn to? He didn't have any friends. The team were his colleagues, maybe even subordinates if you wanted to look at it with a technical eye. It would be inappropriate to ask them for help with something like this. And they didn't need to be burdened by the person they should be able to count on, no matter what. He couldn't talk to Fury, because they definitely weren't friends and he could block him from the only thing that gave him purpose. There was no one left to help him. But he shouldn't need help, should he? Captain America was made to be the perfect soldier, not the guy who needed someone to hold his hand at night and scare all the bad dreams away.
What was the right move here? Did he risk ruining the only thing he had in his life by asking for help? Or did he power through, handling things himself, his own way? What would he even say to someone? Help me, I have nightmares? It wasn't like telling someone would take them away. They would probably just laugh at him and tell him to suck it up. And what could anyone realistically do for him? Talking about them wouldn't take them away. It wouldn't take away the underlying truth of what their cause was. He deserved them. It wasn't like his dreams were random, like being eaten by a dragon or being chased by a vampire. They were his memories, his faults, his failures. Maybe they were just reminders of what could happen if he wasn't the best soldier he could be.
Steve pulled himself up from his seated position, shutting off the water with purpose. This feeling sorry for himself stuff was over. Hadn't he just gone through this the other day? This was just a slight hiccup on the road to who he was destined to become. Steve would overcome this moment of weakness just like he had all the others. He toweled off, throwing on his workout gear and taking off to begin his run early. He would jog away the weakness, no matter how long it took. So what if he had a few little issues in his down time? His work life was going great and that was all that mattered. Everything else would just fall into place.