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The Russian backhands him again. He didn’t even ask a question that time, just knuckles straight across Steve’s cheekbones. His head feels light and woozy. Robin giggles. She leans forward and the straps pull against Steve’s waist and chest. Laughter bubbles up his throat like bile.
The doctor leers overhead and the cool pliers rest at the end of Steve’s finger. The Russian’s chuckles merge with Robin’s giggles. The room warps and the lights bright to a harsh glare. Steve closes his eyes.
.
Steve pants as he wakes up, his heart pounds in his ears. He squeezes his eyes. Robin lies next to him —her warmth familiar and her soft snores blow across his shoulder.
It’s been a month since Starcourt.
Robin’s been handling it as well as anyone can (alternating from sheer existential panic and obsessive research mode). And Steve? Steve is handling it as well as he has in the past.
When Robin had her first nightmare, she called Steve at 3 A.M. crying and asking if it was all real. They made a promise that night to be honest with each other. Friends don’t lie.
Steve sits in the dark and watches Robin breath. They’re both alive. They’re both safe.