For a while he feels like he manages it. He goes on his SHIELD missions, and he doesn't lose his cool. He stays in control of himself—even when the firefights practically thrust him back seventy years into hell.
He doesn't show it though. He keeps it locked down deep inside himself. And if at night it is hard for him to sleep, and if being awake fills him so full of restless energy that he has to go run for hours...then that is for him to deal with. It isn't hurting anyone else, so it's fine.
He gets stretched thin after two years though.
He slips up a little when he learns that Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD from the beginning. "We won, Captain," Zola's voice is smug and oh so irritatingly knowing. "Your death is the same as your life; a zero sum."
He doesn't feel the pain when his hand strikes the glass screen. It hadn't even been a conscious attack. It had overcome him without warning and the sound of the glass shattering is too close to home.
It is only the mission that keeps him from a guilt spiral. Zola is still Hydra. He can punch Hydra. That is how he will justify it until he can deal with it. (And in the meantime he refuses to think of the hole Pa had made when he put his fist through the plaster. It is different. He has to believe that.)
He tries to keep himself in check after that. He gains a little stability once he crashes at Sam's. He gets something to eat, and he gets some time to plan and regroup, and things almost feel manageable again.
And then he encounters Bucky on the bridge.
He doesn't snap this time. He breaks. His anger is replaced with overwhelming shock and numbness. He doesn't fight it. This is better than lashing out—better than giving into the rage that usually fuels him.
He can feel his composure trying to shake apart as Hill takes him, Sam, and Natasha to the bunker. Hysteria and anger and grief mix together in his chest as he stares at Fury—alive like Bucky—and he is forced to excuse himself.
His hands tremble as he pushes open the door to the long abandoned washrooms of the water plant. The grey-blue tile is dusty and cracked, but the door has a lock on it, and he flips it before sinking into a heap on the floor.
The cold tile leeches through his shirt and he fists his hands in the fabric of his khakis. The lights overhead are glaring yellow and he closes his eyes against them as he thinks of Bucky on the bridge.
He can feel the storm inside himself. He can feel it trying to break out and he doesn't dare let it. He wants to scream. He wants to take a page from his father's book and punch his fist into the wall. He wants to tear through the room and shatter the warped mirror and tear his hair out and shriek because Bucky had been alive all this time, and he had just left him in that ravine and he didn't even know him—
He doesn't smash his fist into the wall. Instead he presses his knees to his chest and digs his nails into his palms. He gasps for breath and soon finds himself breathing between sobs. His teeth dig into the inside of his lips and he ducks his chin into his chest, trying to muffle the sound. He had gotten good at that as a child, but it has been a long time since he'd been overcome like this.
The tears come fast and hard, and his hands sting as his nails break skin. He doesn't let up. It is grounding, and the pain barely compares to what he feels inside. He leans his forehead against his knee and lets himself weep.
He feels wrung out after it passes. It isn't quite the numbness from before, but at least the storm has abated for now. He isn't standing on the abyss. He is back in control.
He waits in the washroom until the marks on his hands scab over and all signs of redness are gone from his face. He meets his own eyes in the mirror and pulls his shoulders back, raising his chin.
No matter what, his mother's voice comes back to him, and he can still remember the blood on her upper lip and the feel of her cold fingers on his face. You get back up.
oOo
For a while the hunt for Bucky and the remnants of Hydra keeps him busy. He feels restlessly on edge if he ever has down time, but thankfully that isn't much of an issue. Between hunting down Hydra with Sam, and then with the Avengers, he has plenty to do.
The problem is when that all comes crashing down on them.
Sokovia and Lagos are not their best moments, and he can understand why the UN feels the need to put some regulations in. He can even almost understand why Tony and the others want to sign them...but the whole thing smells foul to him.
He knows from the war how dangerous it can be when governing bodies have complete control over groups of people. (He knows how much Hydra wanted his serum. He knows how much the army wanted his serum.) He knows how compliant the world can be to the mistreatment of 'undesirables'.
The Accords feel dangerous to him, and he isn't ready to sign himself up for something he hasn't had time to understand.
That wouldn't be a problem except that they have exactly three days to even look at the Accords before they are ratified, and in those three days, Peggy dies, Bucky is charged with terrorism and murder, and he learns of a team of Winter Soldiers that could be used to overthrow the world in a matter of weeks.
It is a mess, and it culminates when he finds himself standing between Bucky and Tony, the horrible images from the video of Howard and Maria's death flashing behind his eyes.
It is worse for Tony.
Did you know?
He didn't know it was Bucky until now, that is true, but he did know it happened, and he did have his suspicions.
He can see the betrayal in Tony's eyes when he admits that, and he knows he should have come to him with this sooner. He can't explain why he hadn't. Maybe it was because he hadn't been sure. Maybe it was because it didn't occur to him, or he thought Natasha would do it. Maybe it was because he didn't want to talk about Howard and Hydra, and because Tony barely talked about him either—except in a few scathing remarks. Maybe it was because he was so focused on finding Bucky and rooting out Hydra there was no room for anything else. Maybe he was scared.
The reasons don't matter, because right now Tony is looking hurt and furious, and he is going after Bucky.
He tells Bucky to run, and he does, but that isn't enough. Tony won't back down, and he won't listen to reason. It is the most violent he has ever seen him, and his fear for Bucky's wellbeing grows and grows. (Of course he won't listen, Pa wouldn't listen either when he tried to explain—)
The overwhelming combination of fear and anxiety he feels as he tries to protect Bucky nearly pushes him back into memories he would much rather forget. Memories of his mother, pushing him under the table when Joe started yelling and throwing things. Memories from the war, when they had been ambushed and there had been three machine guns between him and the soldier doing his best to bayonet Bucky.
It is cold, in the bunker, and that doesn't help. His breath feels thin and strained, and the frigid concrete numbs his fingers. It creeps into his suit and tugs at his collar. Trying to get to him, trying to freeze him, trying to drag Bucky away from him down into a snowy ravine—
Tony blows Bucky's arm off, and Steve's heart leaps into his throat. He can't let Bucky die here, he can't—
Even down an arm, Bucky tries to stop Tony, and he gets kicked away, his head snapping to the side as blood coats his upper lip.
Steve loses it.
All the pent up anger and fear and stress of the last three days unleashes itself as he pounds into Tony. The metal suit bruises his fists, but he barely feels it. He can't feel anything besides desperation and rage. He has to stop Tony, he has to get to Bucky, he has to get out of here.
He can't let anything else get in the way.
Even in the blindness of his fury, he does have a conscious thought as he raises the shield above his head. Tony's hands fly up to protect his face, but Steve aims for his arc reactor. That is what Bucky had been trying to do, destroying it will give them a chance to escape without Tony coming after them.
Those justifications are split-second, but important. He doesn't aim for the head. He does not. And that is a conscious choice.
It doesn't make him feel better later.
Later, after he gets Bucky out of there, and after he takes down an entire high security prison to free his team, he has to sit down and let his hands shake. He's washed the blood off of them, but they are still bruised and scraped from the last few days of fighting.
His hands used to get like this before the serum, when he would get cornered in alleyways.
His father's hands used to look like this, sometimes from a bar brawl, and sometimes because supper wasn't ready on time.
He has nightmares about his fight with Tony for months afterwards. He dreams he goes after Tony, even when Bucky begs him to stop. He dreams he aims for the head, instead of the chest. He dreams Tony really does kill Bucky, and he lays crumpled on the floor exactly how Ma had looked when Pa had shoved her into the doorframe.
Bucky goes into cryofreeze, and he and the other Avengers go on the run and he can't stop thinking about the fight. He had hurt Tony badly. He doesn't regret protecting Bucky, but he had snapped, and he hadn't been holding back. He had not been in control. He had been furious and scared and he had let his emotions fuel and dictate everything.
Just like Pa, and he hadn't even needed to be drunk to do it.
Maybe he isn't so different from his father after all. He had tried to run from his shadow for years, but where had that really gotten him? He had become a soldier just like Joe, and then afterwards, he couldn't seem to stop fighting. He had fought for years, and apparently achieved nothing—and he had the exact same monster lurking in him as Joe.
He doesn't...know how to cope with that.
He tries to write a letter to Tony. He leaves him a way to call him if he needs, but otherwise he keeps his distance. If Tony never wants to see him again...then he would understand.
oOo
He doesn't see Tony again until after Thanos erases half the universe. Tony is emaciated and weak and on his last straw. It doesn't surprise him when he lashes out verbally. This is a conversation that had been festering for years now, and they have to have it in the wake of total failure.
He doesn't fight back or raise any protest as Tony digs into him. He is still reeling from learning that he's even alive, and not dusted like the others. The sight of him coming off the ship had been an overwhelming relief, and for a second it had felt like the last two years hadn't happened.
But his guilt and shame from their last fight rises up to consume him. There is a part of him that hopes that by enduring Tony's words, he can somehow start to make up for what he had done. He had never wanted to show that side of himself, but Tony had borne the brunt of it.
His only consolation is that this time, when Tony shouts at him, he doesn't feel any of the familiar stirrings of anger in his stomach. He does not fight anything Tony says, even if he could never have predicted this kind of outcome. Even if he thinks signing the Accords wouldn't have prevented Thanos.
He doesn't argue, he simply takes it all, and he knows that his father wouldn't have ever done the same. Joe had had opinions about 'talking back'. But that is not what this is. Tony deserves a chance to vent—and if it feels like his own heart getting ripped out when Tony tears off his chest piece and shoves it in his hand, that is for him to deal with.
Beyond his relationship with Tony, it is hard to deal with life in general. Thanos had shattered their lives, and picking up the pieces feels impossible. The world is in shambles, and their recent failure to get the stones back from Thanos is like a kick in the teeth. Thor had cut his head off, but the victory is a hollow one. After they get back to Earth, Thor disappears in his room and doesn't come out for days.
The rest of them drift about almost aimlessly. There is so much to do, but at the same time, there is nothing they can do.
The Avengers are fractured. Thor is unreachable, Clint is off the radar and Natasha spends all her waking hours trying to get a bead on him. Rhodey and Pepper stick to themselves. He barely even sees Tony, and Danvers had left to take care of the rest of the universe.
Sam is gone, Wanda and Vision too. Tony's ward Spider-man is gone, T'Challa had vanished and Bucky had died right in front of him.
Bruce is back for the first time in years and against all odds he is the most put together of all of them. He is the one that is left to bounce between the different groups of grievers, and he is the only one Thor will open his door for.
It isn't until Tony starts to make plans to move out of the Avengers Compound that Steve pulls himself together and admits what he needs to do. Through the crisis he had been trying to offer support to a world in chaos, and to the Avengers at home, but there is one thing he has been too much of a coward to do.
He smiles ironically at the thought. Most people wouldn't associate that word with Captain America. But Joe had. He'd called him that plenty of times and Steve sometimes wonders what he would think of him now.
He probably hits a lot of the bravery checkpoints in Joe's book now. He can run into battle without hesitation. He can and has sacrificed himself for others. He can take a hit and get back up again. He can fight, but he is still afraid of having a conversation with Tony.
It needs to be done. Of that he is certain. He can't avoid it forever. Erskine had called him a good man once, and he knows that this is part of that. He will take responsibility for his actions—all of them—because if he doesn't, then he won't be Steve Rogers anymore.
It takes a while for him to work up to it, but eventually he comes up with a plan. First, he asks FRIDAY to ask Tony for permission to talk to him. He isn't about to go barging into his space and demand he let him apologise. If Tony doesn't want to see him, then he might write down his thoughts again and hope that is enough for the time being.
To his surprise, Tony consents to meeting him in the living room. It is a neutral space, which he is grateful for, and he is certain FRIDAY will keep them from being disturbed.
Tony is sitting on the couch facing the entrance when he arrives, and his eyes jump from the window to him as he enters. Steve keeps his distance, moving silently to sit on the couch opposite to him. He keeps himself small and quiet as he faces Tony, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.
He sees a glass of something amber coloured in Tony's hand, and his heart skips a beat before his nose picks up the scent of apple juice, and he relaxes. He hasn't seen Tony drink for a long time now, and he is glad that hasn't changed since the last time they'd talked.
Tony's face is expressionless as he sits down and he takes a long sip of his drink before he says anything. "Well? You got something to say?"
Steve breathes in and nods. He starts to brace himself, before he notices Tony watching him warily and he relaxes quickly. His mind flashes to his own experience trying to judge his father's mood and he swallows back a wave of self-loathing.
He had never, never wanted anyone to look at him like how he looked at Joe.
He had planned to start the conversation differently, but the look on Tony's face pulls two words out of him immediately. "I'm sorry."
Tony blinks, and his shoulders relax in surprise. His mouth opens slightly, before he takes another drink and looks off to the windows. His leg is crossed over his knee and he taps his finger on his glass restlessly, his voice flat as he responds. "Not sure what you expect me to say to that."
Steve swallows and clasps his hands in his lap, keeping his eyes off Tony's glass. "You don't have to say anything," he says quietly. "I know that doesn't fix everything between us. But I wanted to say it. I—" he breathes in. "I've wanted to say that for a long time. I regret what happened between us."
Tony's eyes glance at him and flick away, and Steve licks his lips. "I don't regret defending Bucky," his heart seizes at the mention of his dead friend but he pushes onward, "and I wouldn't change my decision about the Accords, but…" He grimaces and uneasy nausea sits heavily in his chest. "I regret how we fought."
His hands are trembling. Tony probably can't see it from where he is, but he wipes his hands on his pants, fighting to keep his foot from tapping. "I hurt you," he says softly, meeting Tony's eyes before looking away. "I know that. And I—" he bites the inside of his cheek, his voice wavering against his will. "I never wanted to lose control like that. I never wanted you to see that side of me."
He stares at his knee until Tony speaks up. "Your dark side."
His head darts up and his mouth falls open until he remembers what Tony is talking about. It had been years ago now, when they had been hiding from Ultron on Clint's farm. He'd been shaken by his dream and its implications that he could never go home, and Ultron's voice wouldn't stop repeating in his head; God's righteous man, pretending he can live without a war. He had been frustrated and annoyed with the whole situation in general, and unfortunately, Tony had decided to join him during his 'chop wood to cool off' session.
Tony had said something about his dark side, and he had torn a log in half, telling him he just hadn't seen it yet.
His lips press together and he massages his knuckles with his thumb. "Yeah," he says roughly. "I guess—yeah." His eyes jump over Tony and he debates his next words. He hadn't been planning to talk about this, but maybe it is important. Maybe Tony deserves to know.
He crosses his knee and focuses on his ankle as he speaks. "My dad…" he breathes in. "My dad was violent." Tony shifts on the couch but Steve keeps his eyes on his foot. "Ma said he was different after the war," his thumbnail bites into the webbing between his fingers. "Growing up I… I never wanted to be like him."
He pulls in a breath and rolls his shoulders. "He drank," he says, looking up at Tony, his eyes skating over the drink even though he knows it isn't alcoholic. "So I didn't— or, I avoided it as much as I could." His throat is scratchy when he swallows and he clears it, looking towards the windows. "I was glad when the serum made it so I couldn't get drunk. I was joining the army like my dad, but this way I couldn't become a drunk like him, right?"
His mouth crooks up in a sardonic smile and he shakes his head. "I couldn't stop it though. I couldn't keep it inside." He unclasps his hands and presses the heel of his palm into his stomach. He can feel his heartbeat in his mouth, the noise loud in his ears. "The serum might've made it so I couldn't get drunk, but it made me stronger, more dangerous. And on top of that, it seems I've got the same violent streak as my old man."
The words leave a sour taste in his mouth and he grimaces. It wouldn't surprise him if the serum had amplified his perchance for violence. Didn't Erskine say it enhanced everything inside? Fighting isn't a new thing for him. It is only a coincidence that it had taken so many years for him to fly off the handle like that.
He wonders if Erskine would have given him the serum if he could've seen this side of him.
His miserable thoughts are interrupted when he looks back at Tony. To his surprise, Tony looks pensive. His elbow rests on the arm of the couch, his mouth pressed against his knuckles. His brows are furled in thought as he stares off to the side. His other hand rests in his lap, his finger slowly tracing the rim of his glass.
Steve's eyes follow the movement and he can do nothing but stay silent as he waits for Tony to say something. At last, Tony looks over at him, his eyes clouded. He breathes in and uncrosses his legs, a strange look in his eye.
"I don't think it's the same thing."
Steve stares in shock. His lips part, but he has no words. Tony glances over him and looks away, resting his chin on his fist. His hand clenches briefly around his glass and he scrunches his nose before sighing. "I'm not going to give you a whole lecture, Rogers, because frankly, that sounds exhausting... but you're not the same as him. Believe me. I know what I'm talking about."
He takes a long sip of his drink and shakes his head. "Howard drank too." Steve stomach curdles and Tony offers him a lopsided grin. "He actually sounds a lot like dear old Mr. Rogers."
Steve's mouth turns down and he glances at the hardwood floor. It is and isn't a shock to learn that Howard had been like Joe. His stomach clenches sickeningly at the news, and he hates that it happened, but he isn't gobsmacked. The signs had been there.
He can feel Tony's eyes on him and his voice comes back, his tone defensive and curious at once. "You don't seem that surprised."
Steve looks up and meets his eyes steadily. "Howard drank when I knew him too."
Tony blinks, looking stunned as Steve continues. "I never saw him drunk, but the thought was on my mind. Bucky would usually—" he cuts off, because he realises that this is one of the first times he's really talked about Bucky since the three of them fought and he'd died. Tony doesn't flinch though, and he starts up again. "Bucky'd usually head him off when he tried to offer anything to me but…" He shivers uncomfortably, looking away.
When he glances back, Tony's mouth is hanging open. He snaps it shut a second later and he gives him a searching look. "So...I'm guessing you two weren't as good of friends as he thought then, huh."
Steve winces and rubs the back of his neck, unsure how to respond. "I didn't dislike him," he clarifies. "It was just… it was hard to overlook how tense I was whenever I was around him."
Tony stares at him a moment longer, before letting out a tired breath and rubbing his hand over his face. "It doesn't surprise me that he wouldn't notice," he mumbles. He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in, nodding at him. "Well, my point still stands. I can say for sure that you're not like Howard." He waves his glass in a circular motion. "He wouldn't be here now, tryin' to apologise."
He tilts his head back and drains the glass before giving him one last look. "You want to fix this?" he waves a hand between them and breathes in, setting his shoulders. "Then do the work. You think you've got a temper? Time to deal with it."
Steve is taken back. He hadn't been expecting such a direct response, but around his surprise, he feels hope. He suddenly has a direction to go in. In all this time stressing over his reactions and trying not to be like Joe, he had never told anyone about him. But now the story is out there, and he can start working on cutting the ties that connect him to his father.
(And Tony doesn't think the two of them are the same.)
Tony settles back on the couch and his shoulders slump, a softer look gracing his face before he looks away. He fiddles with his empty glass before meeting his eyes again. "And for what it's worth…" His mouth twitches in a sad smile and his eyes flick to the side. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends. "I'm sorry I went after Barnes. He didn't deserve that, and… I'm glad you stopped me."
Steve's mouth falls open, and it is as if a wound he hadn't even known existed suddenly scabs over. "Thank you," he manages, and Tony offers him one last half-smile before getting up and heading to the kitchen.
"See ya around, Cap."
AN: I hope you liked this chapter! I liked exploring Steve's emotional state and perception of himself in these scenes. Especially his breakdown in the bathroom after learning Bucky was alive, since that has been a headcanon of mine for a long.
I also really liked his conversation with Tony at the end.