Well, it's a little later than Sunday but hey it's up! :D I hope you guys like it! This one shows Steve's PTSD a little more. I also found an interesting theory about how he actually sees his flashbacks similar to the scene when he's on his old training site in WS before he learns about Zola. The theory is that he can watch his flashbacks like a movie and that they're much more real to him. Anyways, let me know what you think! :D

Steve gasped awake, clutching his chest. The nightmare had been one of his more vivid ones. He could still feel the fire burning his skin as he jumped across the platform to Bucky. He lightly touched his arm but pulled back at the sting of pain. Was it possible to actually feel pain from a memory? Was it possible to still see the nightmare even though he was awake? Steve's breathing remained ragged as he watched the scene unfold again and again. He couldn't close his eyes because the nightmare was still there but when he opened his eyes, it was like he saw it happening in his bedroom. He tore the sheets off and swung his legs over the bed, leaning on his knees. Still wasn't breathing right. And his heart was beating against his ribs, chest constricting.

Steve pulled his fingers through his hair, trying to control his breathing. It felt like he was back in Brooklyn, in his old room, having an asthma attack. But this time, there was no one to talk him through it, nothing to help. That just made his breathing shallower. Frustrated, and frankly frightened, he stood up and made his way to the bathroom. Steve gripped the edge of the sink and focused on breathing in and out, in and out.

Come on, Punk. It's not that hard to breathe.

Steve choked as Bucky's words ran through his head. He used to say them whenever Steve's asthma acted up. He said it as a joke, knowing that it wasn't Steve's fault he couldn't breathe. He did it to distract him but now it just made it worse. Steve forced himself to breathe in and out in long breaths, ignoring how his lungs didn't want to expand and how his mind demanded he succumb to the panic. Slowly, achingly slow, his breathing got easier, the constriction in his chest eased, and his heart slowed down. Slightly.

Panic attack.

Steve had never had one but he knew the signs. Had seen it in others as they recovered from war. He had thought they were triggered during the day, not when he was sleeping. Steve splashed some cold water on his face and straightened up. It was fine, he got through it. He just needed sleep. The problem was that sleep was becoming increasingly hard to find. For the past two nights, nightmares had woken him every few hours. He'd either wake up in a cold sweat or in tears. Nothing seemed to help either. He'd tried drinking chamomile tea before bed, tried stretching, tried watching a stupid show. Nothing. He always woke up in the middle of the night.

Pushing aside his pessimism, Steve grabbed a blanket from his bed as well as a pillow, settling down on the floor. Maybe a different setting would help. It didn't. An hour later, Steve was up with another panic attack. It was shorter but just as intense. Deciding against sleep, he got dressed and went to the gym. He'd paid the manager for a key so he could use it anytime, which the manager was happy to offer. Steve unlocked the door and flicked the lights on. His eyes fell on a clock on the wall. 3:26 AM. Great.

Steve lifted a sandbag onto the hook and wrapped his hands up. Then he punched out his frustration. Right jab and a bomb exploded. Left jab and a man screamed as he shoved a knife in his sternum. Right, gunshot. Left, dead eyes. Right, Peggy. Left, Bucky. Over and over again, continuously. He punched the sandbag until it flew off the hook. Steve replaced it and fell back into his rhythm.

After ten sandbags, Steve finally stopped. His breathing was ragged but it was of his own doing. He looked around, flexing his sore hands. Maybe he should have stopped sooner. He really didn't think he could have though. Working out was one of the best ways to push the memories away. The clock on the wall said 5:15 AM. Perfect, just enough time for Steve to run back and get his running shoes to meet Sam. He cleaned up the gym, unwrapped his hands, and walked out the door.

The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky placing, backlighting the skyscrapers. The city was quiet, or at least quieter. It seemed to be loudest mid day and at night, but the morning was always pleasantly soundless. Steve's mind was battling for his attention, not wanting him to ignore the nightmares. Flashes of images kept popping up randomly but Steve continued to push them away. They interfered with his thoughts, his day and he didn't want that. But today looked like it was going to be one of those days. He sighed, resigning himself to the fact it would be a long, torturous day.

The trip up to his apartment was short but he did grab the trash as well as put on his running shoes. As he was about to throw the trash in the dumpster, an irritable his sounded at his feet. Surprised and a little startled, Steve looked down at his feet to find a cat staring menacingly at him. It looked too old to be a kitten but too young to be a full-grown cat. Its fur was dirty and matted, covering the ribs that stuck out. The cat's eyes were a dark brown that held all the fire in the world. It hissed again but didn't retreat. Steve dropped his trash in the dumpster and then knelt in front of the cat. It made an odd gargling noise, the hair on its back standing on end. Steve didn't have any food with him but he did have his water bottle.

He looked around and found a bowl lying on the ground. It looked chipped but when Steve poured water into it, nothing leaked out. He set the bowl in front of the cat despite its vocal objections. He couldn't just leave it alone though. It looked terrified and hungry, the least Steve could do was give it water. But, he might have gone too far when he reached out to touch it. The cat immediately swiped at his hand, drawing blood, and howled in protest. Steve put his hands up in surrender and got up. The cat glared at him until he turned away. Steve started walking away but couldn't help looking behind him. The cat was licking the water greedily but froze when it saw Steve looking. It glared again making Steve chuckle. He turned away and walked to meet Sam.

"Dude, you look awful," Sam said upon seeing Steve. His eyebrow was raised and he wore a smirk to lighten the comment but the concern was in his eyes. Steve shrugged, mumbling a reply.

"Long night."

"Ah. I've had a few of those. Still want to run?"

"Definitely."

"I'm beating you this time."

"You can try," Steve challenged, smirking before he took off running. He heard Sam curse and start running after him. There really was no way that Sam could catch him unless he had his wings but it didn't deter him from trying. Steve jogged, well – actually it was more of a sprint, doubling his usual mileage in the same time. Every time he felt a hint of a memory or flashback popping into his head, he ran faster. By the time he and Sam were both done, he was panting with his hands on his knees.

"You're actually tired? How many miles did you run?" Sam gasped. Steve straightened, looking up at the bright sky. When had the sun come up? Had he really been that focused on pushing the nightmares away.

"Lost count," Steve replied. Sam gave him a look and straightened his posture.

"What were you running from?" The question caught Steve off guard and he turned to Sam in confusion. Sam just shrugged, shaking his head.

"No one runs that hard because it's fun – unless you're an Olympian." Steve let out harsh laugh, looking at his shoes. Sam's blunt honesty was refreshing but uncomfortable. Steve didn't like sharing his troubles, his faults. He'd had enough growing up in a sickly body. It was his hope that it wouldn't be an issue with his new super body. But, the mind and heart weren't so easily changed.

"What am I not running from?" Sam opted not to respond to Steve's question, knowing all too well what Steve was going through. Steve shook his head, trying to find the right words. He still didn't know Sam well but he knew Sam was a good guy. A great friend. Steve just wasn't sure how much he wanted to unload, or needed to unload.

"The nightmares…there was just a lot last night. They keep resurfacing for no reason during the day too," Steve explained.

"It's only the morning, man."

"I know." Silence settled between the two men. Sam seemed to understand Steve was hesitant to talk but it didn't look like he minded.

"Well, I'm here if you need to talk but why don't we head back to my place and look for psycho-killer. You can even use my shower again."

"Thanks," Steve replied, smiling. Sam clapped him on the shoulder and they walked to his car.

Steve rubbed his face, sighing in frustration. The computer screen was making his eyes burn and if that insurance ad popped up one more time, he was going to punch something. Nothing. They still couldn't find anything on Bucky or the Winter Soldier. There wasn't even lame videos or blurry photos of possible sightings like there were for the rest of the superheroes in the world. Nothing. Which meant that someone was clearing his data off the web and Steve was one step behind them.

"I think we call it a day, Cap," Sam mumbled through some pizza. Cold pizza. They'd ordered four large pizzas three hours ago. Sam was finishing off one whole pizza while Steve had eaten the other three already. He looked at the clock, scowling at how late it was. They should have found something by now.

"Yeah. I'll come by tomorrow?" Steve asked, getting his leather jacked from the back of his chair.

"As long as you buy the pizza and beer, you can come over anytime," Sam answered with a smirk. Steve smiled and said his goodbyes. Walking back to the apartment gave Steve plenty of time to think. It gave him time to try and untangle the strands of frustration, responsibility, and panic. Bucky was no where to be found, SHIELD was completely gone, and the nightmares still weighed heavily on Steve's mind. They had kept popping up periodically but Steve had been able to push them away. He had a feeling that wouldn't work as well when he was alone. Maybe I should call Charlie, Steve thought. He checked his phone but didn't see any messages. He could text her. That would be fine, right?

Steve slipped the phone back into his pocket, deciding against calling Charlie. He felt…raw. He wasn't sure if he wanted anyone to see him this way. That made him feel a little guilty considering how vulnerable Charlie had been with him. He knew she would probably help too but he just…couldn't call her. Not yet. He got out his keys but paused when he passed the dumpsters. He glanced around, remembering the stray cat he'd seen earlier. Steve smiled when he saw the water he'd put there was all gone.

A meow at his feet made him jump.

Staring up at him with its annoyed expression was the cat. It glared at him but Steve got the feeling the cat wanted to be picked up. Was he even allowed to have cats in the apartment? And when did he decide it was going to be his cat? As soon as I saw it, Steve thought. He chuckled to himself and picked up the dirty cat. It growled slightly but didn't resist being held. Steve held it in one arm as he opened the door and climbed up to his apartment. It struggled a little when he tried to open his apartment door, sinking its claws into his arm. But, he didn't want to put it down in case it ran off to who knew where. And he wasn't sure if pets were allowed in his apartment complex.

Shutting the door behind him, he finally let the cat down. It glared up at him for holding him so long and growled. Steve shook his head, smiling in amusement and went to the kitchen. The cat followed him warily, looking around with a suspicious eye. What kind of food can a cat eat? Steve thought. He didn't have any cat food but there must be something it could eat. Until he could figure that out, he filled a bowl with water and set it on the ground. The cat sniffed it and glared at him. Steve was beginning to wonder if all it could do was glare. It licked the water tentatively but stopped when it realized he was still staring. The cat hissed and Steve got the message. He left the kitchen to change into comfortable clothes and get his computer out.

Doing a quick web search, Steve had a few options on what to feed the cat. What was nice was that they fed him too. The cat was still licking the water up when he came back into the kitchen. It glared at him in greeting. He made a quick turkey sandwich and tore up a piece of turkey. He laid the small, torn pieces next to the cat that backed up, growling. Steve set them down and turned away. He didn't need to look back to see if the cat wanted to eat, he could hear the cat's lips smacking as it gobbled the turkey up. Next up was a bath.

A half hour later and with more scratches than he could count, Steve was drying – or trying – the now clean cat. It was white with one black sock, black ears, and black around the eyes. He gave the hissing cat one more rub down with the towel and then left him alone. The cat retreated to the far corner of the room, growling. Steve sighed. The cat had been a good distraction but it was dark and he should probably sleep. If he could sleep. Not wanting to try the bed or the floor again, Steve settled on the couch with a blanket. He fell asleep trying to find a name for his new cat.

Steve woke gasping, eyes wide trying to find the danger he'd seen so vividly. But all he could see was his dark apartment and…and something moving on his chest. He tensed, ready to throw whatever was on his chest across the room when he heard a growl. A low irritated growl at being roused came from his new cat that glared at him for good measure. Steve let out a shaky breath and ran his hands through his hair. The cat stretched and then began kneading his chest with his claws to get comfortable again.

"Ow!"

The cat growled at him, suddenly reminding him of the army and all the generals and higher ups who had growled at him to keep moving. They growled to show authority and toughness. The cat was no different. And Steve had found its name.

"If you're going to sleep on me, Sarge, you can't scratch me," Steve said, testing out the name. The cat flicked its tail and didn't respond. It curled away from Steve and settled on his chest. He smiled, liking the sound of the name and figuring the cat must not mind it either. Steve pet Sarge's head, expecting a hiss or claw but nothing happened. He smiled wider and closed his eyes, falling asleep. The nightmare was completely forgotten.

Oh, the cat was inspired by colnchen's tumblr art! I absolutely love this idea! Check it out: :/ colnchen. tumblr tagged/ PTSD