it’d been a high point on the winding, ever-changing path to recovery. nightmares had been at a low. he’d been cracking jokes, making snide comments during missions. (maybe more to steve than anyone else, but he counts anything as a positive these days. he’s trying his best.) not causing disruptions or creating any reason for those around him to fear him.
past tense. had been. he can’t sleep. he closes his eyes & everything he did to people for seventy years comes racing back. he lays down & he wakes up screaming, mind lost in phantom pain & torture. gives up, forcing himself to sit with the lights on in his room, breathing until he isn’t going to snap.
he silently sneaks out to the small kitchen area, starting a pot of coffee -- god knows he’s going to need a lot of it if this keeps happening. tries to be as quiet as he can. tries not to think about anything. ( he can’t. it’s all right there, behind his eyelids.) soft sounds behind him cause him to spin, ---- ❝ i’m sorry if i woke you. ❞