Part 4
Steve Rogers didn't know what was going on.
Everything was black, and peaceful. Yet – in some bizarre way – it was cold. He couldn't remember what had happened before this enveloping darkness that surrounded him, and most of him didn't wantto remember. Something inside of him told him not to, and every time he nearly grasped something from the back of his mind, it would slip away from him and leave him with a pounding headache that made him want to claw his eyes out.
So he just sat there.
Alone.
In the darkness – filled with peace as he closed his eyes and swayed back and forth to a tuneless song that filled the air. It reminded him of when he was young, and he liked that. It made him feel at peace, and at home, and it made him want to cry his eyes out while laughing at the same time.
He decided to do neither. Instead, he focused on the lifting music as his eyes fluttered closed. He felt like he was floating. Floating away in the distance. Floating on the notes of the song – not that it was possible. But somehow, in this darkness, it was.
He was swaying back and forth in mid air. Like a feather or a leaf in the wind. No matter how ridiculous that sounded to Steve – that was the only comparison he could think of. And it made sense to him. It was like being in a cradle, and he could see himself being rocked back and forth by his mother.
His mother was beautiful. With her hair pulled back in a messy bun.
The image disappeared from behind his eyes, and he frowned. He enjoyed looking at his mother. He missed her. His eyes shot open as he stared into the darkness. It was beginning to look less comforting.
And then, just as he was contemplating the idea, he fell. Dropped, was probably a better word to use.
A scream ripped from his throat. A scream so loud it made the darkness ripple.Kind of like when you poke jello – a giant thing of jello that was being poked rapidly. (Man, he was just on a role of weird comparisons, wasn't he?)
Then – everything disappeared.
It was replaced by a bright light and then - and then he was little again.
A young boy.
He couldn't really see himself, but he just knew. It was sort of like a dream. A memory that he was sure he had curried in the back of his mind.
Steve sniffled, clear snot running from his nose. It dribbled down to his lips, and he wiped at it furiously with the back of his hand. He was weak – and the boys in front of him made sure he knew that. The boy – his bully – snickered at him, sticking his tongue out at the fallen, sniveling boy.
His bully – had his name been Chris? Or was it James? He couldn't remember anymore – raised his fist, and Steve flinched. He barely felt the punch. Tears were in his eyes as he slammed his tiny fists against the bully's head. They bounced off, doing no damage to the boy.
Steve, both his younger self and his older self (it was complicated, it was as if he were watching the scene and he was in the scene) felt his throat tighten up. It never got easier when he remembered these memories. It frightened him sometimes to see just how vulnerable he was.
He was sucked out of the scene and thrust into another – this one when he was about twelve.
His mother was humming quietly, her hips swaying to the song. Her hair was in that messy bun she loved so much. He sat at the kitchen table, watching her as she stirred the spoon around the pot. She was making gravy – he could smell it, and it made his tummy growl in hunger.
He felt his cheeks burn as his mother laughed, shaking her head. Her warm eyes landed on him, and she waved him over.
"Here," she whispered, handing him a piece of candy when he was close enough to her. "It'll be out little secret, Steve." She gave him a wink, and he grinned at her, unwrapping the candy and popping it into his mouth.
The little ball rolled around in his mouth, teasing his tongue with the sugary sweet taste of strawberry.
"I love you mom."
Steve was sucked away once more – this time with much more force. He felt like he was being sucked up into a vacuum. Colors swirled around him. Faces. They blended together. Faces from his past, and his present. They blended into colors that burned his eyes.
It was frightening, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat.
He needed a familiar face.
He needed one now.
He screamed. Or tried to, at least. It didn't come out, no matter how large he opened his mouth. He tried screaming once more, his lips curling around the words.
"Help me!"