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breakingdreamsTitle: Sink, Swim
Pairing: Steve-centric, hints of Steve/Tony
Wordcount: 260
Summary: Steve's getting used to the 21st century. Mostly.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers in any shape or form.
Notes: This was mostly written for the We Need More Cowbell - Part 2 challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
writerverse, which I've recently joined. If you think this looks familiar, that's because I posted a shorter, more choppy version about a week ago for Part 1 of the challenge. (If you're curious, you can find it archived here, although I don't recommend it. I prefer this version much, much more.)
Sink, Swim
For the most part, Steve's getting used to the 21st century. He no longer jumps when Jarvis addresses him, nor is he utterly baffled by computers or the Internet. He weaves through busy traffic with an expert's ease, and although he cannot help but stare when he catches Tony working on a project, it's been a long time since it was the ever-shifting diagrams and not the hands moving them that draws him in.
(Tony always notices eventually, but it's worth the momentary embarrassment to see that startled, pleased look settle into his eyes. And if Tony himself mistakes it for a fascination with his technology, Steve's never seen the point in correcting him.)
But sometimes when he takes a breath, he feels like stones are dragging down into his lungs instead of air. There's no set place where it happens, whether when it's walking down the street or in the middle of a movie night with the rest of the team. There's just that sensation that from one moment to the next, everything's— too much. Too much sound, too much light, too much everything and not enough air.
The team never says anything when he escapes to the gym, to the steady, harsh rhythm of his fists against sand and the only thing that can drag him back to the world he lives in. He never hears a word of condemnation, but whenever Steve finds himself staring down at the sand spiraling out of the wreckage of yet another punching bag, he cannot help but feel like he's failed.
Pairing: Steve-centric, hints of Steve/Tony
Wordcount: 260
Summary: Steve's getting used to the 21st century. Mostly.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers in any shape or form.
Notes: This was mostly written for the We Need More Cowbell - Part 2 challenge at
writerverse, which I've recently joined. If you think this looks familiar, that's because I posted a shorter, more choppy version about a week ago for Part 1 of the challenge. (If you're curious, you can find it archived here, although I don't recommend it. I prefer this version much, much more.)For the most part, Steve's getting used to the 21st century. He no longer jumps when Jarvis addresses him, nor is he utterly baffled by computers or the Internet. He weaves through busy traffic with an expert's ease, and although he cannot help but stare when he catches Tony working on a project, it's been a long time since it was the ever-shifting diagrams and not the hands moving them that draws him in.
(Tony always notices eventually, but it's worth the momentary embarrassment to see that startled, pleased look settle into his eyes. And if Tony himself mistakes it for a fascination with his technology, Steve's never seen the point in correcting him.)
But sometimes when he takes a breath, he feels like stones are dragging down into his lungs instead of air. There's no set place where it happens, whether when it's walking down the street or in the middle of a movie night with the rest of the team. There's just that sensation that from one moment to the next, everything's— too much. Too much sound, too much light, too much everything and not enough air.
The team never says anything when he escapes to the gym, to the steady, harsh rhythm of his fists against sand and the only thing that can drag him back to the world he lives in. He never hears a word of condemnation, but whenever Steve finds himself staring down at the sand spiraling out of the wreckage of yet another punching bag, he cannot help but feel like he's failed.
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