If it had been any other moment, or waking up from any other nightmare, Steve would've turned toward Rogue for comfort. Even with the images in his head, he did want comfort from her. But as she moved, he caught a glimpse of her shirt ā his shirt, the same one she'd been wearing in the dream ā and the feeling of terror and panic washed over him again.
Gasping, he sat up, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he was able to get out, even as he pushed the sheet off to get out of bed. "Iā" He didn't even finish the sentence, rolling out of bed and striding quickly out into the hall, before turning into the bathroom.
Flipping the light on automatically, he stopped in the middle of the room, not sure what else to do. He could feel his nerves singing under his skin, telling him there was danger, something was wrong, he needed to be doing something, but there was nothing to do! He'd had a nightmare, that was all!
Rogue was fine. No, probably not fine, after he'd just freaked out on her and left her in bed with barely a word, but she was unharmed.
Except she wasn't really, was she? She'd been harmed. She'd been tortured, just like Bucky had been, but for much, much longer, and while he hadn't been ignoring that fact, it hadn't really sunk in what that meant. Not until his mind had supplied him with the visceral reminder of seeing that room, making him relive those moments.
And Bucky being there. That had just made it so much worse. Two people he loved, unthinkable things done to them, and he hadn't been able to protect either of them, in the end.
Slowly, moving as if he really were 92 years old, Steve moved over to the sink, and turned the cold water on. He splashed his face a few times, before raising his head to stare at his reflection.
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Gasping, he sat up, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he was able to get out, even as he pushed the sheet off to get out of bed. "Iā" He didn't even finish the sentence, rolling out of bed and striding quickly out into the hall, before turning into the bathroom.
Flipping the light on automatically, he stopped in the middle of the room, not sure what else to do. He could feel his nerves singing under his skin, telling him there was danger, something was wrong, he needed to be doing something, but there was nothing to do! He'd had a nightmare, that was all!
Rogue was fine. No, probably not fine, after he'd just freaked out on her and left her in bed with barely a word, but she was unharmed.
Except she wasn't really, was she? She'd been harmed. She'd been tortured, just like Bucky had been, but for much, much longer, and while he hadn't been ignoring that fact, it hadn't really sunk in what that meant. Not until his mind had supplied him with the visceral reminder of seeing that room, making him relive those moments.
And Bucky being there. That had just made it so much worse. Two people he loved, unthinkable things done to them, and he hadn't been able to protect either of them, in the end.
Slowly, moving as if he really were 92 years old, Steve moved over to the sink, and turned the cold water on. He splashed his face a few times, before raising his head to stare at his reflection.