MCA#0, Thursday night [much too late, NFB]

[grenadesandohana]

Steve had been very good about tiring himself out, but not quite hard enough to dream: not especially great for his physical health, and not amazing for his mental health, either, but he just wasn't ready to process Afghanistan...ever. Honestly, he'd rather never think about it again.

But today, thanks to his ribs being mostly fixed and PT loosening up his shoulder some more, he'd done the evening running circuit that he did when he was healthy, and it knocked him right out as he went to sleep.

So. Nightmares.

"Know this," Hassan said as Steve woke back up, "tonight, you'll die in this room."

Steve let out a small sigh. He was captured by the Taliban. He knew how this story ended, but it was still a shock to the system to hear it stated so baldly. He should've insisted on back-up. At least Catherine was clear, or else he would've woken up to gloating. He tuned back into what Hassan was saying: "But how you die is up to you. If you confess your sins to the world, you death will be swift, merciful."

"My sins," Steve repeated, rolling his eyes. Well. Eye. One was swollen closed. "What have I done?"

"You have invaded our holy lands. You're guilty of countless atrocities against the righteous," Hassan spat.

"You strap bombs onto innocent children so they can go and kill more innocent civilians," Steve yelled back, "and you call yourself righteous."

Well, he thought as Asshole #2 dislocated his shoulder, there goes the swift, merciful death.

Steve whimpered softly, tossing on his bed.

Steve was manhandled onto his knees--something his broken ribs definitely didn't thank him for--and he stared blearily into the floodlights around the camera set up in front of him. He'd seen enough of these videos from the watching end to know how this was about to go, so he clenched his jaw and stared defiantly at the cameraman. He felt the cold press of steel against his neck as Hassan began his manifesto: "Peace be upon those who believe," he said, "and to those who don't, know this: until you bow to his will, you will never be safe. We shall bring the fight to your shores. Blood will be spilled in your streets. And men like this--" the sword poked Steve in the back of his neck, "--they cannot protect you."

Hassan droned on and while Steve wasn't exactly begging for death--not with it being such a certainty--it was very irritating to have to go out while listening to a recap of the Taliban's greatest grievances for the last twenty years.

"America is full of nothing but lies and debauchery--" Hassan was saying, and Steve wished there had been more debauchery in the last few years. "--You are a nation without values. A nation of infidels. And let this man's death--"

Steve sucked in an involuntary breath. Here we go. "--be a lesson to you all. This is what--"

And then the room erupted in gunfire.

And Steve woke up with a yell, hand going for the knife in his bedside table as he stared into the darkness and tried to remember how to breathe.

Comments

[hatesparadise]

Danny had been on edge about dumb things happening to the island while he slept after the last couple times. But he would have been up and alert at the sound of someone shouting regardless.

"Steve?" He called out, stumbling out of his room to to check on things.

[grenadesandohana]

"I'm good," Steve called back, still trying to control his breathing.

[hatesparadise]

He leaned in the doorway, looking Steve over once sleep was out of his eyes. "You've got a knife in your hand, babe," Danny said quietly.

[grenadesandohana]

Steve glanced down and saw, with some surprise, that he did have a knife in hand. "Huh."

[hatesparadise]

"Can you put it down for me?" Because, you know what? He wasn't gonna question the why part of the knife being there. "Please."

[grenadesandohana]

"Oh," Steve said, looking up at Danny, then down at his hand again. "Yeah, sure, give me a sec."

Because his hand wasn't letting go immediately as he processed through a fight-or-flight reaction.

[hatesparadise]

Oh, I don't need therapy! You liar, Steven.

"Want me to stay over here until then or...?"

[grenadesandohana]

"Probably for the best," Steve admitted quietly as he surreptitiously used his other hand to help the left one stop holding the knife.

Totally normal! Really!

"Just a dream," he said, thinking that was going to be reassuring somehow.

[hatesparadise]

Danny's expression fully expressed that it being 'just' a dream wasn't nearly as reassuring as it seemed to Steve. "Wanna tell me about it?"

[grenadesandohana]

Steve did not remotely want to talk about this, which was why he was busying himself putting the knife away and double checking that the gun safe under the bed was locked secure. (The gun safe was always secure, he checked it every morning and before bed. He was just stalling. Enjoy this view of Steve's boxers as he tilted over the bed to look, Danny.)

"I'm sorry I interrupted your sleep," he said instead when he re-emerged from being upside down.

[hatesparadise]

Oh yeah, really doin' it for him, Steve. PTSD was so alluring.

"Babe."

[grenadesandohana]

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck--just checking, the wound there was gone--and got out of bed, padding towards Danny. "I need some water," he said quietly.

And to get the hell out of this room for a minute.

[hatesparadise]

Danny sighed, but gave him room to move, padding after him slowly. "Alright."

[grenadesandohana]

Steve went to the kitchen sink and found himself a plastic cup--he didn't trust himself with glass just this second--and filled it about halfway before draining it and filling it again.

Only then did he sit down in the nearest chair and close his eyes. "Yes, Danno."

[hatesparadise]

Danny followed along, going to start coffee for himself so he could function better. He let Steve muddle through things for the moment at least.

[grenadesandohana]

Steve, who had no problem hanging out in the kitchen in nothing but board shorts, was feeling a little exposed in just his boxer-briefs, but he wasn't going to scuttle back into his room--and only half because he expected Danny to tackle him if it looked like he was running away.

He spun the cup between his fingers, enjoying the smell of the coffee as it brewed.

[hatesparadise]

The silence started to feel cloying as the drip-drip-drip of the coffee pot filled the air. Because Danny was bad as silences. Silences meant real distress.

"You want a cup?"

[grenadesandohana]

Steve nodded. "Yes, please."

Like hell was he falling asleep again tonight.

[hatesparadise]

Danny nodded, squeezing Steve's shoulder before he grabbed the mugs for the both of them.

[grenadesandohana]

Steve's muscles relaxed slightly under Danny's hand, though he didn't really notice.

He went back to staring at his glass of water.

[hatesparadise]

He brought Steve his cup and even his disgusting butter without complaint. Which was really love, wasn't it?

"I worry," he started before taking a deep breath. "That I can't help you here."

[grenadesandohana]

Steve moved his hands from the water glass to the coffee mug, warming them up.

"It's just old memories, Danny," Steve said. "My brain's processing some bad shit."

[hatesparadise]

"Objectively I get that. Hell, I've been there too." Probably not as bad as some of the stuff Steve had been through, but still. "But it doesn't stop me from being concerned."

Which Steve would probably take wrong.

[grenadesandohana]

Steve took a deep sip from his coffee. "Is this about the knife?"

[hatesparadise]

"That worries me... separately," Danny said, gesturing like he was setting that to the side for this particular conversation. "I wish I could convince you to just talk to someone about this stuff."