Milk – Steve Rogers
Yes, the lyrics are in fact 'she' but using he is more fitting so fight me assholes.
This is not in chronological order, more just sections of Steve's story and mind that fits more with the lyrics.
Also yes, Stucky
Trigger Warning: Mentions of suicidal tendencies
Enjoy;
Straight lines that unwind you
Bucky. That's all he could think. The second he saw that face, he nearly panicked. He had been off, so off the past three months. And now he saw Bucky. His old life. He had seen his old friend. His old lover. He was freaking out.
When he got him back, Bucky was scared. He was worried, everything he said, he did, he touched. He was worried. And now he was there. And all Steve could do was hug him, cling to him like a lost child to an officer. He needed his friend. Bucky would wake him up from nightmares, shaking with fear. Muttering what was happening in his head. He told Steve the horrors he saw, the terror he experienced. Steve had nightmares too. But they didn't matter. Bucky was worse off than him. He had terrors, he was
He couldn't tell Bucky the stories. The nightmares. Steve's fears, anxieties, they were small, they were ground anxieties. Bucky's reached the sun and the stars. His made sense, Steve's didn't. He was Captain America. He couldn't have panic attacks, he couldn't have PTSD, he couldn't faint in panic because the shower turned cold because someone was using the hot water. He was Captain America. He was brave, he was strong. He was noble. He had no fears. His life was no fear, it was hope. His being was hope. He couldn't show fear. That wasn't him. It wasn't him.
Steven Rogers wasn't sad. He protected Bucky. He was there for Bucky. He was there for his friend, his partner. He was there to help him, he was there to be with him. He was there to help. Steven couldn't have a weakness, he couldn't be a weakness. He just couldn't.
He had to be strong for his friends. He had to be a strong person. He was a strong person. He wasn't weak. He was mentally fine. He was strong. He wasn't allowed to be weak because he was Captain America, he was strong, he was Captain America after all. He was hope. He was freedom. He was happiness to the people. He was hope for the people. He was a symbol of happiness, of freedom, of so much good. He was Captain America.
"Steve," Bucky was in the doorway. Steve blinked a few times. He was in the bathroom, hands gripping the sink tightly, eyes bloodshot. He was sweating, he was shaking. He wasn't okay. But he had to be. He had to be okay.
"Steve, you don't have to…You're allowed to be scared. I'm scared all the time. All your friends are scared, you can see it in their eyes."
"It's different." He mumbled. He didn't have to look at Bucky to know he was shaking his head, to know he was disagreeing.
"No, it's not. You can still feel fear. You're still human. Don't lose touch with yourself."
He does a little thing with her eye that says, "we're off soon."
Steve was a dancer. Bucky was not a dancer. Steve didn't care. He loved the closeness. He loved holding this amazing man close to him, dancing together in time. He loved being close to him, Bucky's real arm rubbing his back, and his metal arm holding his hand. They danced in time, Steve leading, even though Bucky had the mans position. They were close, and Steve was so happy with him. Bucky's long hair tickled his neck when he brought his lips close to his ear, to whisper a shitty joke in his ear. Steve mumbled back that he needed to wash his hair, saying it was greasy and revolting.
Bucky only said to make me. So he did. Picking up his, partner, and walking him to the bathroom. Bucky doesn't even protest, laying somewhat limp against Steve, making it difficult for him to carry the man. But he didn't mind. Bucky was calm, he was calm. Bucky was happy, he was happy. Steve felt content. So content with himself. He felt happy when he sat Bucky in the bathroom, and locked the door, running the bath. He felt content when Bucky ran his arms over his torso, kissing him gently.
Steve felt so happy, when he sat Bucky down, washing his hair, Bucky leaning against Steve's legs. Bucky was smiling, mumbling jokes about how Steve was taking care of him he used to as a kid. Steve responded by splashing Bucky with water. Bucky didn't splash him in response, but instead pulled him into the bath, gently. Bucky was facing him now, and he forgot when exactly their pants come off, Bucky was so hard up against him, kissing roughly in the water. Steve couldn't remember how it exactly happened, but Bucky's voice whispered in his ears as their bodies pulled close, whispering soft "is this okay?" He was gentle, and Steve felt loved. He nodded to each question Bucky asked, and it was gentle. It hadn't happened in so long, but he felt stretched and so pleasured. And now they were panting against each other in the bedroom, Bucky's hair still not completely washed (which Steve pulled him into the bathroom to wash his hair completely with conditioner. Bucky just kissed him when he finished (both times)).
He says the bleeding's incidental 'cause she's so cool
Steven Grant Rogers was not weak. He didn't drink like Tony, he didn't dissociate like Clint, he didn't have anger issues like Bruce, he didn't freak out at the possibility of anything like Thor. He didn't dance like crazy like Natasha. He wasn't weak. They weren't weak, but he wasn't like the. He was fine. He was 100% okay. It didn't matter that he couldn't sleep, no one could sleep. And he didn't need sleep, he was a super solider for gods sakes, sleep wasn't something he needed. He had his habits, but they were good ones. He ran once a day, for a few hours because it felt good and it took a while to actually tire (thanks to his altered genes). Steve was normal. He wasn't traumatised. He was just, normal. He didn't need others to calm him down. He wasn't like Tony who clung to Pepper some nights, attached to her like he was a lost puppy. He wasn't like Natasha who glared and a lost her head the second someone got close. He had his walls, but he wasn't intense. He was fine.
He wasn't weak. He was fine. He was completely fine. Even sitting, thinking. He was fine. He thought about death, but that was normal. He wasn't sure if he minded dying, but he didn't mind not dying.
But he was fine. Steve Rogers wasn't depressed. He wasn't suicidal. He wasn't like he knew Stark was, no matter how much he denied it. He wasn't like he knew Natasha was, even when she denied it. He was the supporter of the group. He took care of them, Tony took care of their physical health, and Steve took care of the Avengers mental health. He couldn't be this way. He just couldn't.
Steven Rogers was fine. He took deep breathes at night, calmed himself. He didn't get drunk (because he couldn't). He ran through his nightmares, punched the bags until he passed out. He was so fine, and he hated the feeling. But he couldn't be weak. He wasn't allowed to be weak. He was Captain fucking America. He didn't have a weakness, he didn't have anxiety. He didn't have depression. He didn't have PTSD. Steve Rogers wasn't any of those things. He was perfectly 100% fine.
He says it's not fun if you've only a bottle of wine
Tony was the first person to realise he was bad. He wasn't sure if it was luck, or if Tony was dealing with his own stuff, but Steve was awake at 4 am, working out because it was the only thing that calmed his mind. Tony waltzed into the room, his eyes not registering Steve, and working out himself. It was weird, Steve guessed. He never pegged Tony as one to work out, but he didn't mind the company. He loved it, in fact. He loved and hated silence, and he loved and hated being alone. Now the room was filled with the pants from both men, working out to different paces.
"You're not alone, you know that?" Tony said between a break (for him). Steve didn't reply. "I'm not here to talk about my deep seeded secrets, and my trauma and, and so on." Steve stopped, looking at Tony. Tony was not looking at him, instead focusing on his hands, moving them together. Steve didn't know how to react. Tony usually only spoke to him in anger or distrust. He was connecting with him or trying to help.
Steve didn't know if he actually wanted to compare scars, which is what he was guessing Tony was trying to do. Tony was closed, but Steve was more.
"What do you mean?" He managed to get out.
"I mean, you aren't alone. I get them too. Not breathing and…such." Steve watched as his…friend he guessed, squirmed uncomfortably. He was trying to help him. But he didn't need fucking help. He was Captain America. He didn't need help, he helped others.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not, Cap. I hate to say it, but we all have issues. We are all suffering. We are tired and exhausted. Heroes can have issues too. We can have nightmares and panic attacks too. We're still human."
"I'm not."
"Super soldier serum or not, you still have emotions." Tony sounded frustrated. "I'm not the happiest person, as you may have guessed. Nat has serum as well, Steve. So does Clint, Thor's a fucking god, and he has issues. You need to realise you aren't above us. You have issues too. Fucking accept it. I'm trying to help you feel better, I'm trying to compare scars. Stop holding yourself above us, and thinking you can't have issues because you're Captain fucking America. Allow us to help, allow us to compare scars. Allow us to have issues as well, and allow yourself to have issues. I'm going upstairs, this conversation is over. Come and find me when you've changed your mind. Have fun."
Steve stood, opened mouthed as Tony walked out the door, slamming the door behind him. He had just pissed of Iron Man more than he had ever pissed him off. He didn't know what to do. And now he could just think of what he had said.
Maybe he did need to think. Maybe he needed help.
And now he's doing it all the time; yeah, he's doing it all the time
He didn't realise how many bags he went through. The punches calmed the threatening panic attacks, the bombs and guns that play through his head. Each punch calmed the threaten sounds, turning them down.
He hated that he could hear the sounds still. He hated that he was weak. He was weak, and he needed a way out. He couldn't tell Bucky what was going on, but he swears Bucky knew. He knew he watched him, stood somewhere and watched Steve work out, destroy bag after bag. He hated blue now too. It reminded him of that fucking ice that he crashed into. The ice that tore apart his life. The ice that stopped him from knowing Peggy as she grew old, the ice that stopped him from saving Bucky from Hydra.
He didn't realise that he must have told Bucky that he hated blue because he calm into his room one day and it was all green. Bucky acted like he didn't know, so did Tony. So did Banner. Everyone. Everyone acted like they didn't know like they didn't realise his room was now green.
He secretly loved that his friends did that. That they pretended they didn't know. He didn't want them to know. He wasn't weak. He wasn't weak.
Punch
His mind flicked back, he was running again. His vision was blurred, he couldn't see clearly. There was shouting, gun shots firing.
Punch
Peggy's voice was in his ear, her hands rubbing his bare back, her chest against his back.
Punch
Bucky was laughing, his face was clear, but everything else was blurred. He could only focus on Bucky's face. His happy face. Orders that Steve couldn't understand were barked, French being mumbled at him, forcing him to go, fly.
Punch
He walked down the train, Bucky following him shortly after. He could only hear his breathing. Bucky's breathing. Steve wasn't worried about himself. He had Serum. He could handle getting shot. Not Bucky.
Punch
The door slammed behind him. Bucky was trapped. His vision was blurry again, fading in and out like a poor movie. Voices were muffled like they were yelling through thick glass. The sounds of shots rung through his ears again.
Punch
"I had him on the ropes." Is all he heard clearly. Movement again, blurred, fast movement. Bucky was behind him, then he wasn't.
Punch
Bucky was there. It was clear again. There was a flash of blue. And he was gone. Out the window.
Punch
"BUCKY!" He saw him. His friend. His friend. Bucky was falling, screaming.
Punch
"Steve." He kept punching. He was on autopilot.
Punch
He was falling. Bucky was falling. He was dying. He could see him, screaming for help. Screaming. He was gone. Bucky was gone.
He punched the bag harder and it went flying.
"Steve. I'm right here." He turned. Bucky was there, watching him carefully. He could barely see. Everything was blurred, foggy. His earing was muffled still. He didn't understand what was happening. "I'm here. It's okay, just sit down. Breathe with me, okay?"
Slow down; yeah I want you
When Steve stopped, when he stopped and rested and thought. He realised he wasn't so Normally he was okay with it, he'd stay in the shallow end, or sit in the spa and just relax. Let the warm water heal his sore muscles.
On a particularly bad day, he couldn't get in the water. After a night of horrific nightmares (all of Bucky, his Bucky, falling and of him falling into the water), he didn't think he could stomach it. He sat on the outside of the pool, positioning himself next to Tony. Tony wasn't focusing on him, watching the water with suspicion eyes, almost light it was going to jump out and attack him.
And then it hit him. Tony hated water. Tony was terrified of water. Steve hated water, he was terrified of deep, cold water. Suddenly, Steve didn't feel as weak. He didn't feel as bad. He felt weirdly good. He shared a fear with his teammate, his fellow Avenger. Steve wasn't weak. Steve had a reasonable fear. He was terrified. He didn't understand why, maybe it was because he was trapped in the ice for 70 years, maybe it was because his head was constantly messing with him, making him question his reality, making him question if he was real if anyone was real if this was a nightmare? It made him question that if it was a dream, would he wake up next to Peggy or Bucky?
"Looking at something, Rogers?" Tony quipped. Steve smiled at him, and Tony gave him a weird glare.
"I just realised something. We both hate the water." Tony looked instantly uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. Steve wanted to quickly speak over whatever Tony was going to say, try to get across that it didn't mean anything, and he wasn't trying to pry into his life (for some reason that man had more walls than himself.
"You're in the water constantly." He taunted.
"Have you ever seen me in the deep end?" Steve asked. Tony was silent, pausing for a moment, thinking. He turned around to Steve, almost slowly. "I'm comparing scars." Another moment of silence before Stark spoke.
"Let's get a drink."
He does a little bit on the sly that shows what he's up to; He started talking about missing him
Bucky knew he wasn't doing well. He watched Steve, watch him walk, watched him talk. It was all too similar to before. To when he was a kid when his parents died and he was utterly destroyed. It was too similar to pulling him close during the night, holding the freezing boy.
Now? Steve was doing the same. Laughing, talking. Head nods showing he was good. But it was all an act. Bucky knew it, and Bucky was sure all the other avengers knew as well. He was hiding his true feelings. Bucky knew he was upset. He knew through skype calls, where he talked softly to him, and zoned in and out of reality. Bucky could see Steve slipping. He had messaged Natasha and the Avengers multiple times, explaining what he was seeing, asking them to watch Steve. But nothing would help him. Steve was destroying himself from the inside, and he couldn't hold him tightly.
Seeing Steve, through skype, watch TV (because they couldn't actually sit and cuddle so skyping was the next best thing), seeing his eyes go blank, seeing him fading in and out. Watching Steve fall asleep all the time. Bucky asked him daily if he was sleeping enough, and he stated he did. He had enough, he was sleeping. But he didn't believe him.
Natasha said she saw him working out a lot, running, punching trees, doing anything to work out. And it scared him shitless. The Serum let him stay up longer than others, but he could easily crash. He hadn't seen it before, but he knew how bad it could affect him. He could crash, and he would sleep for a long time. And it would put everyone in danger.
Bucky Barnes was really worried about Steve.
He was glistening; it won't mend your heart if it's only a couple of lines
He would never admit that he stood on the top of Stark tower (now deemed Avengers tower), and looked down on the running highway. He would never admit that he yelled at Sharon Carter, asking to know why she hides that her Aunt was Peggy. He would never admit that he sat, stayed for ages in that Church. He would never admit (to anyone but perhaps Nat) how much he needed her there. When she walked into that church and pulled him into a tight hug, he was grateful.
He made her promise to never say how much he cried into her shoulder, as she stood in silence, rubbing circles to calm him.
Tony was never allowed to say that he walked in on him, sitting on top of the tower. He didn't think Tony would ever admit it either. He didn't know why he went there, why he sat on the tower when he should have signed those stupid accords, or been anywhere else but around Tony.
He would never admit to anyone that he wanted to throw himself off that bloody tower when Peggy, his last tie to his old world, died. He would never admit to anyone how much he needed her alive. How much seeing her face, having her there, there alive, tied him down. Kept him grounded, allowed him to stay afloat when he couldn't swim.
He would never admit that he snuck to Peggy's grave on her birthday, and sat with her gravestone, leaning his head on it, mumbling to it what was going on. He would never admit that he told her he was terrified because being bisexual wasn't an issue anymore. He loved Peggy, he always would. But he loved Bucky for awhile first. Peggy changed his mind, but knowing he was alive again, realising that Bucky was still alive? He would never admit, that in scared whispers, he told her grave he thinks he liked Bucky, he wanted to be with Bucky.
He wouldn't admit that in the cold, he would walk from the group, miles and miles, to sit by her grave. Tell her that Bucky had to go under, he had to go under in Wakanda, so he wouldn't hurt anyone. He wouldn't admit how terrified he was, how scared he was of this strange world that he still couldn't get his head wrapped around. It didn't make any sense to him, and he wasn't sure if he wanted it to make sense.
He never told anyone (but Natasha in a moment of sheer weakness and starvation for human touch) how shitty he felt. He would never admit that as a kid, whenever Bucky was gone, he would sit in the corner, panicking, crying, because he knew nothing else. Bucky was his rock as a kid, as the scrawy kid with all these issues.
He would never admit that he wanted to call Tony and ask if he was okay, how he was coping. He would never admit that he still cared for Tony. Or that he wanted to check up on him, check to make sure he was eating, or if he was back with Pepper (she kept him sane, the two's bond stretched far enough once for Tony to drunkenly explain that Pepper was the only thing keeping him from killing himself).
But most of all, Steve would never admit that he held a gun to his head, but couldn't press the trigger.
And now he's doing it all the time;
Peggy held his hand, rubbing circles, muttering how sorry she was. Holding his hand so tightly as he struggled to stand without swaying.
Captain America was grieving for his best friend. Grieving in front of everyone that sat around him. Grieving in front of all of America.
"I'm so sorry." She mumbled in his ear. He couldn't respond to her. He didn't know how to. Bucky was gone. His Bucky. His first love, the boy who had raised him and helped him grow. Bucky, who was so selfless and helped everyone in his site. He was gone. Bucky was gone.
He only knew to drink. It didn't affect him as much. He wished he could say it affected him as much as it use to, but he never drunk before. Now? He had so many mixed emotions, he had no idea how to deal with it anymore. He sat, and he drunk. Downed drink after drink, trying to hide how destroyed he was that Bucky Barnes was dead. He had fallen. He was so fucking gone. He was suicidal for a moment. When his parents died, he wanted to die. He guessed he wanted to die again. Losing Bucky was crushing. Losing his safehold, his rock, his sanity. It sent him into a spiral of drinking his nights away, even if it didn't work. It sent him into a spiral of laying on roof tops and basically begging for his death
Getting the news of the location of Hydra, he was there. He was fighting again, pushing all of his emotions out and killing without reason, without caring. He was fighting for Bucky. Fighting for the murder of his friend. Everything moved so fast, so fast. He didn't truly understand what was going on, but he did it.
Steve was on autopilot. He didn't register what was going on. He was fighting, and he was winning. He was winning for Bucky. For Peggy. He was fighting for his two loves. For the loves of his life, and for the happiness of them. He was fighting for the hope and freedom of the world.
He only registered what was happening when he was about to die. Hearing Peggy's last words to him, her shaking voice, and her fear. He mumbled lines out to her, mumbling that he loved her (in his own way). He thought he would panic when he hit the ice, but a strange calmness washed over him. He had always been a depressed kid, he had never been happy. And he was suicidal again. Maybe his death coming so soon was comforting. Maybe it was good for him.
Maybe he was happy that he was dying.
Steve Rogers had no idea that he would wake up again.
Yeah, he's doing it all the time; Yeah, he's doing it all the time
Steve had habits. Bucky saw it first. Watching Steve tap the table several times, closing a door and tapping it one, two, three, four times. Each time he opened or closed something he would tap the handle four times.
Peggy noticed as well. She watched him wash his hands before he touched her, washed his hands after. He would wash his hands four times a day. She watched him almost fall into a panic when he couldn't wash his hands on the field.
Bucky noticed that Steve would get extremely anxious. He watched as Steve counted out loud, tapping on things, counting to four. Doing everything he did in periods of fours. Running at 4 am, for four hours. He would sit and eat for 2 hours.
He was bad when he was sadder. Around the times of his parent's deaths, or deaths of friends, Steve lost himself to the habits.
Steve honestly thought he was good at hiding his habits. He hardly realised he had these habits. He didn't realise that he did these things, and he thought they were normal. He didn't realise until Peggy pointed it out one day, asking why he washed his hands. He stated that he was dirty, and he didn't want to get sick.
Perhaps, being a sick kid hadn't helped his mental stability. He uses to constantly worry about what was going into his food, what was touching his hands, his body. He had to take medications in fours. The connections were easy to make. It was old habits he couldn't kick, habits that effected his mental health horrifically.
In the 21st century, he found out what he had was called "OCD". He hadn't heard of it and almost laughed when Fury brought it up, saying there was medication for it. Medication to make it easier to deal with. He denied it, but it became bad. Without Peggy, without Bucky, his habits got out of control. He couldn't rip himself away from washing his hands until they were raw. He ran for 4 hours, at 4 am. If he finished at 8:01, he had to run for another two hours. If he had things, the amount of food had to be in groups of four, or be divisible by four. If not? He had to add food. It was out of hand, and he wasn't sure how to handle it.
But he didn't have to handle it. Fury helped, sat Steve down and explained the medication, explained that Howard had made it for Tony (and added almost as an afterthought that if he brought it up with Tony, then, well. He just really shouldn't bring it up with Tony).
Yeah, he's doing it all the time; Yeah, he's doing it all the time
Natasha was asleep, and he was sitting at the fire. Watching the flames flicker. He was thinking. Thinking of his mistakes, thinking of the past year of massive mistakes. A year of regret.
A year he wanted to replay so badly, take back everything that had happened. He wished he could take it all back. Change the year, go back and slap his younger self for being reckless and stupid.
"Steve?" Natasha was looking at him. "You okay?"
"I think we messed up, Natasha."
"What do you mean?"
He hung his head, waiting for her to speak again. Hoping she would prompt him on what he was going to say, praying she thought that say way he did. She didn't speak. She was waiting for him. Natasha wasn't exactly one to put yourself out on a limb; "With the accords." He mumbled. "We should have signed."
Silence.
"Maybe."
"No, please don't play middle ground. We should have signed. Tony was trying to help, he was trying to stop us from destroying other cultures, destroying villages. I've…I've looked into some stuff. He and Pepper are broken up, still –"
"Oh."
"The Avengers have accidentally killed so many people, in trying to help. We've injured so many people. I think it was tearing him apart. It's starting to tear me apart. I convinced myself it was for the greater good, that the damage was for the good of everyone. I hide what was really happening in the back of my head. We should have signed, Nat. We should have signed."
"We thought that there were more Winter Soldiers."
"And that would have been dealt with. But we didn't realise. We could have easily told Tony that, explained why we were against it. We could have negotiated the accords. We fucked up. We really fucked up."
"Language." She mumbled. Steve didn't laugh in response.
"How can we fix this?" He asked. Natasha didn't reply, she simply shook her head. He groaned, laying down on the ground, holding his hands to his eyes. He knew Tony was suffering. He knew Tony was having a hard time. He knew everything, and he was so obsessed with finding Winter Soldiers to try and stop the war, to try and stop the violence.
He had only fucked everything up. He'd only messed everything up. He had tried to stop, he'd tried to do the good, but he had only done bad. And then it was the guilt. The aching, painful guilt. He was headstrong, he was brave, he was Captain America. He was stubborn, and he was intelligent. But he wished he could have done something different.
Steve blamed himself. He always blamed himself for everything that he had done. He blamed the hardships of everyone in his team on him.
It was his fault.
Hope you enjoyed xx
~ Georgia