Chapter Text
In Steve’s mind, he was not a good man.
He did what he felt was right, not what should have been. He did, and said, and fought for things others would happily turn a blind eye to. It was a feeling he loathed, a feeling he loved: knowing that he was a change in a world so black and gray. But that didn’t mean he was a good man.
To be a good man was to have perfect, squared shoulders with a raised chin and a calculated face—he didn’t have any of that. At least, these days, he didn’t.
His legs burned as he ran on the treadmill of his apartment’s gym complex. Late at night, which meant there were only a few people with him. A few women who felt more comfortable exercising at night, an elderly couple that couldn’t sleep and played with the large exercise ball rather than using it correctly. And, of course, a few of his fans who merely wanted an autograph, a picture, or a video with him, then happily left.
After the Accords, he’d found it hard staying at the tower. Even though Tony had forgiven both him and Bucky, and all was back to normal, something in Steve’s heart was not.
Not a good man.
What was wrong with him, he wondered. He stopped running, sweat running down his temples, cascaded his cheeks and like tear drops, fell to his torso. Steve was no stranger to insecurities. Every time he jumped into a fight there was always that same question: Can I really do this?
Of course you can. You’re Captain America!
Captain America.
Captain America.
Cap.
Captain.
Man out of time.
Time.
Ice.
Ice.
Peggy. Peggy. Peggy.
Dancing. Dance. Dancing.
Steve slapped his face.
Breathing in and out at a rapid pace, he swung his head around only to realize he stood alone. All the others have left, meaning that the voice he heard had been his imagination. But in the world of aliens, monsters, and gods, blaming it on imagination was foolish.
Steve checked every nook and cranny, peered through the windows, and found nothing. He checked everything again and found nothing once more. He blamed it on tiredness, but super soldiers didn’t get tired, and there was something clearly wrong with him. Nerves, maybe. Late-night thoughts gnawed on his brain.
His blue eyes shot over to the treadmill again, and he considered using it for a minute but thought against it. Quickly grabbing his black duffel bag, he made his way back to his upstairs apartment and threw his bag inside and shut the door behind him. He untied his jacket from his waist and left his apartment building. It was a nice little place. Small and well-kept. Friendly neighbors, though more on the elderly side, with a few single mothers and young punks that blared music at three am, which led to angry occupants and the cops coming. Sometimes, Steve went out and sided with the fatigue-ridden police officers. Sometimes, Steve didn’t care and went to bed. Let the officers do their job.
He had half a mind to call Bucky. It’d been a while since he’d last seen him. With the Avengers not arguing, nor the world being under threat, and New York City thriving, Steve had focused on himself. A selfish act, he knew, given all of the harshness Bucky had gone through. You haven’t seen him since yesterday. Calm down, he thought.
Still, he grabbed his phone from his back pocket. His thumb hovered over Bucky’s name. One call. He’d pick up in an instant. It didn’t matter if it was near one in the morning; Bucky Barnes was always awake with the demons that chased after him. With a deep sigh, he shoved his phone back in his pocket and allowed his feet to wander.
He walked around the golden streetlights, feeling the soft, cool breeze kiss his cheeks and run through his golden hair. A very nice feeling. It wasn’t often the city streets were this empty. He took advantage of the abandonment. Come morning, every empty spot would be replaced with bustling city folk on their journey to work, shop, and loiter.
This is nice, he thought. This is very, very nice.
However, the niceness of it soon vanished. The city wasn’t empty because of sleeping people. Even at night, there were people doing late-night errands, drunks sluggishly walking home, and the homeless looking through trash bins for food. No, this wasn’t right. Everything was empty, empty, empty.
His senses were alert, but what was there to be cautious about? He could see movement from the buildings next to him. They peered through the window. Argued. Lounged. Walked around.
You’re just tired, Steve. He surged forward, hands deep in his pockets. You’re tired because you don’t remember.
What?
Foolish Steve stopped in the middle of the street walkway. Someone honked at him. He hurriedly got back on the sidewalk. Steve sat on the bench, rubbing his hands down his face. Bucky and I don’t get tired. What is wrong with me?
Steve grabbed his phone again. Without hesitation, he called him. “Hey. I need to talk.”
Bucky asked for his whereabouts, then hung up.
Under the bright blue moonlight, Steve remained on the bench until Bucky arrived. Steve had been right; Bucky did not get so much of a lick of sleep. His friend’s long brown hair was a mess of tangles from tossing and turning on the floor. Heavy bags under his eyes. At least he dressed nicely.
Bucky took the spot next to him. “What’s going on, man?”
Steve wasn’t sure how to start. Not really. How could he?
“I—I’m just tired,” said Steve.
“Tired?” Bucky echoed with a raised brow. He shifted. “Steve—”
“I know, I know.” He breathed in deeply. Rubbed his hands together as if he were cold. “I’m just—Buck, I think something is going on with me.”
Bucky regarded him for a long time. It started to make Steve uncomfortable. He never felt anything different from Bucky other than warmth and happiness. “Buck?” he asked, but still, his friend did not say anything. It finally dawned on him. “You’re not Bucky.”
“It didn’t take you that long to figure it out.” Although “Bucky” spoke it like a question, it was more of a threat. “No wonder you’re heavily respected. Even here.”
Steve slowly got up from the wooden bench. Without his shield and armor, he felt naked. Without his shield, he was nothing. He is nothing. He is nothing. He is nothing. He is nothing. He is nothing. He is nothing. He is nothing. He is nothing. He is nothing.
What is wrong with me?
His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to burse through his ribcage. Steve’s fingers twitched. He felt water dance on his tongue, and his vision blurred.
“You are feeling anxious,” Non-Bucky coolly said. “It’s not a feeling you’ve had since the serum; I am sure.”
Non-Bucky stood up. With his hands clasped behind his back, he walked towards the street. He stared at the blue moon and sighed softly. Soft wind brushed his dark hair.
“Just this once, I will be kind to you,” he said. “I respect you, Steve Rogers. We all do here. But unfortunately, respect does not guarantee safety, and here, no one is safe.”
“Safe isn’t something that I’m used to.”
“Yes, I’m sure it’s not. However, please, take a look at yourself.”
Steve did so and nearly shat himself. His once-tight clothes were baggy, as well as his pants, which threatened to fall to his feet if he hadn’t been fast enough to grab them. Steve quickly tightened his belt.
He was skinny and short again. This couldn’t be happening. Without the serum, he was nothing. He—no, don’t think that. He’s feeding.
“You catch on really quickly, Mr. Rogers.” There was a note of approval in Non-Bucky’s voice. “I feed on each dark thought, and I’ve only been getting stronger and stronger.”
Steve remained calm despite sweat forming at the back of his neck. “You keep saying here. What is here?”
“The other side. The things at the back of your thoughts. The ones that watch while you sleep,” Non-Bucky said. “The ones that remember what you forgot.”
“There isn’t anything I’m forgetting,” replied Steve, but the moment those words left his lips, he knew he was lying.
Since waking up, there was always something gnawing at the back of his mind. Someone he’d never be able to piece together. It wasn’t Peggy because he would never forget someone like her. Not Howard, not with his son as his teammate.
He'd thought long and hard, but there wasn't—no, there was definitely someone. A woman, surely? A woman who supported him since they were children, hyping up everything he wanted to do even when no one believed in him. A woman who held his hand at his mother's funeral.
She’d always been there. Steve could remember being delighted by her presence, content and warm, filled with so much joy that all his struggles no longer mattered. His hand was always held; palms caressed, stomach full all the delicious food she made for him. Bucky had been there, too, a trio. Her, him, and Bucky together, together, together.
Non-Bucky stared deep at him. “Don’t pretend you care. Do not pretend with her; do not pretend with me, Mr. Rogers.”
“I’m trying to understand.”
But Non-Bucky didn’t seem convinced. “You try and try and try, but you never do, because doing means people dying. Think of that little team of yours—have you slaughtered yet another place and gone home to party? Do you think what you do matters, that you have a chance of saving the world, Mr. Rogers?”
Non-Bucky expected him to be angry, but Steve couldn't feel that emotion. He needed to be calm, and that was exactly what he felt. It didn't matter if Steve was in his body before the serum. There was the serum, and there was Steve Rogers. Only one out of the two was the real threat.
“What I do,” he said slowly, “is the best I can.”
“Your best is not good enough, Mr. Rogers.” Closing his eyes, Non-Bucky released a deep sigh. He fixed his collar. “But I’m getting too harsh. I did say I would show kindness, after all. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask.”
“What happens now?” he questioned, though he had a feeling something dangerous was waiting for him in the darkness. He’d already spotted the eyes staring at him through building windows; the hunger, the rawness of it all.
“I can’t tell you because I don’t know,” Non-Bucky replied. Unfortunately, Steve believed him. “What happens here, it’s a mystery. A new puzzle, a new maze.”
“What happens if I solve the puzzle?” he inquired. “Find the maze’s exit?”
“Then you get your body back,” Non-Bucky responded sincerely. “You go home to your little tower. To that apartment you desperately want to make a home in."
“I die if I don’t, then."
Non-Bucky tilted his head to the side, humming. “Not quite, Mr. Rogers. You stay here. Forever.”
Steve sat on the bench. “And my friends?”
“Are perfectly safe where they belong,” Non-Bucky replied. “I have little to no interest in them. My apologies, Mr. Rogers. Do you have any more questions?”
“No,” Steve said softly. “I don’t. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Rogers. And good luck.”