Chapter Text
Steve wakes up in a bolt-upright position. Oddly enough, he doesn't remember sitting up. His breathing is erratic, his heartbeat abnormally fast and sweat covers almost every inch of him. Almost as if somebody had pressed a button inside his head, the dream he was having rushed back into his memory in a second, hitting him like a freight train.
The team.His team. They were fighting alongside him, and in a matter of seconds, were all flat on the ground, dead. Their lifeless bodies sprawled out around him, almost strategically placed, lay unresponsive, despite his pleas and screams. The threat, whatever it was, had vanished and all focus lie on his team, his friends, God, his family. As Steve had started to walk over towards Clint, everything turned a crimson colour which faded quickly into black. His sense of perception, direction, logicality, everything he'd ever known was thrown out of his head. And the image of war, complete and utter anarchy flashed before him in an instant. It played like a movie, the fuzzy images flickering black and white before a burst of colour erupted like an explosion and he was there, in the thick of it. He was part of the action, the fighting. Through a thick, half-lit forest, he was running, yelling. Two of the commandos were at his side, the others ahead of him. An explosion to the left of them, a quick shot to the right, and everything went black. Ringing in the ears, a sharp, piercing tone that wouldn't let up. He was screaming. Once again, no perception of anything. He was numb, couldn't see. The only sound a high pitch, indefinite tone dulling everything.
He started to yell.
Nothing.
Scream.
Nothing still.
For the first time in centuries, it felt, he could feel himself moving. He jolted, his body suddenly ridged. All of a sudden, everything was clear and calm. Although it was dark, he could see. Not very well, but he could actually see, as opposed to watching old memories in an imaginary theatre and being sucked into them in an all too-real world of over-exposed colours and abnormally real sounds. He could breathe, a sensation surprisingly foreign to him in his chaotic states-of-mind. Everything seems real and still, because it is. He's awake.
"Fuck" Steve whispers to himself. He can and does swear (on occasion), contrary to the mocking tone of one Tony Stark. And in these situations, he normally does. This kind of thing doesn't happen 'every now and then'. It's constant, sometimes 2-3 times a week, sometimes every. Single. Night.
And Steve's over it.
He knows what it is, SHIELD warned him about it a little while after he woke up. But that was about 2 years ago. Besides, then he didn't have PTSD. Then he was a competent, fine young captain of an amazing team of marvellously cooperative, overly sarcastic, cynical, ambiguous superheroes who somehow work out how to save the world from whatever threat it's put under at the time of need. Well, he still is. He just has these episodes of tyrannical memories, ruthless nightmares and horrible bouts of insomnia.
And nobody knows.
Steve figures as long as he keeps it to himself, nobody has to know and it'll be his problem and his only. Well, he figured. For a while, too. This has gone on for a couple of months now. And Steve's stuck. He can't tell anyone, what will they think of him? The shame he'll bring to the Avengers is all Steve can think about. The team think of each other as family, but why would they want to be associated with a crazy person? Also, how do they treat this thing, this illness Steve has now? He doesn't know and he doesn't want to think about it. Sure, SHIELD explained that it's a thing, but did they tell him how to fix that thing? Did they tell him who to go to if he gets that thing? Did they tell him it's a normal thing to have and he's not completely idiotic and in the dark? Did they mention that things have changed around the subject of mental illnesses since the 40's? No, they mentioned none of this. And Steve is shit scared of it all.
He doesn't want to tell anybody, but he also feels really odd. He feels out of place. Not like, he's from the earlier end of the 20th century and is living in the year 2014 out-of-place. Like, he doesn't feel right, he has no joy in anything anymore, he's constantly tired all the time and he doesn't feel like he can tell anybody. The kind of out of place where you feel lonely in a room full of people. Because when they all bundle up on the lounge to watch a movie (yes, even Tony sometimes), he 'laughs' with them and pretends to have fun, and it's a strange feeling to have to put on a mask all the time. And Steve's tired, physically and mentally.
And this ever so slight feeling towards a certain part of his team is driving Steve into even more confusion than he'd care to admit. He knows that he's always liked both genders but it wasn't accepted in his time, so he's surpassed it after he woke up 2 years ago. Steve doesn't know what to do about this, but at the moment it's not at the top of the list so he pushes these feelings further down than the others. Sometimes he stops and wonders if this predicimemt is contributing to his growing anxiety or the black cloud hanging over him but he doesn't want to know. And usually these thoughts are driven away by a sound or an image, even a memory that sends him straight back to the war, straight back to the ice, straight back to the hell that is his mind.
He's slowly giving up, and that's saying something. For the worlds most ambitious, go-getting, motivated man, the sensation of giving up on giving up is weird. But, once he stops hiding his feelings, once he doesn't paste a fake smile over that blank expression, once he stops going to movie nights and generally hanging around the others because he just can't, his team start to notice. And he's both terrified and relieved.