Work Text:
In in. Out out. In in. Out out.
Right. Left. Right. Left.
Steve runs, rhythm never faltering. In in. Out out. He runs without a destination. In in. Out out. He just runs. In in. Out out. He runs until his throat is dry, or his legs give out. In in. Out out. He runs until one of these happen, then takes a break. Once his body is operational, he starts again. In in. Out out. The clink of his tags being the only sound to be heard in the park except for his breaths. In in. Out out.
It’s September, and kids and adults alike walk the streets in the morning. The former, eager to go to school for some, reluctant for others. The latter, half of them have their eyes glued to their mobile phones, the other half running to avoid being late. Steve runs past them, a cap screwed low on his head. He steps inside Stark tower -no, Avengers tower- without anyone noticing him. He likes it, because he isn’t approached by strangers, but he loathes it at the same time, because he’s invisible again.
Bucky would scoff at him and tell him he’s thinking too much and he should stop before his brain starts hurting, but Bucky isn’t there. Just in his head, sometimes.
So Steve steps into the elevator and tries to get his breathing back to normal. His tights are burning, so are his lungs. He can almost taste blood in his mouth and it’s almost as if he were back to his body pre-serum. But one look around him is enough to assure him that he’s not.
Steve steps out of the elevator, then gets in his room. In a few steps he’s in front of the bathroom, which he broke the handle of this morning. He had woken up from a memory a nightmare, tried to get to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, broke the thing in his panic, splashed some water as he intended, then threw on some workout clothes and left for a run. Which… what time was it?
Oh. Nine. He’d left more than four hours ago.
His body on autopilot, he disrobes, takes his dog tags off then steps under the water. He’s in and out in a couple of minutes only, the shower a mechanical task. He towels himself dry with the same mechanical gestures, then passes on comfortable clothes.
As soon as it’s done, Steve grabs the tags and puts them back around his neck. Showers are the only moment when he takes them off. Then the blond goes to the kitchen to drink some water, and goes back to his bedroom.
Steve sits down on his ridiculously big bed and sighs. He’s tired. He shouldn't be, after all he almost has a decent amount of sleep and he’s got the serum, which allows him to go longer without a lot of sleep. But he’s tired, almost all the time.
So Steve lays on his too big bed, curled up on himself. That would be the perfect position for a cuddle, but he’s alone.
His breaths slow down, and as his eyes grow heavier, he grabs the tags in his left hand, fingers passing over the names imprinted.
The little one, detachable, reads his own name, but the big one.. it has another one.
James B. Barnes