(no subject)
Title: Better when I bleed.
Rating: Not too high, but there's a warning for self-harm.
Pairing: None specifically.
Part: 7 of 13
Notes: This started out as a nice little piece of nothingness, except that changed as at the moment its 33,000 words. So I apologise if it doesn't flow but I just couldn't seem to stop my head from turning over.
Thanks: Sparklyfiend has kindly read over this and made sure that it makes sense, which has been GREATLY appreciated. TBH, I might as well just share credit with Sparklyfiend. She has done so much to help.
The wait, it turned out, was longer than either Peggy or Howard had been anticipating. The thing that neither had yet to discover about Steve was that he could seek his thrill of blissful pain in other, less obvious ways, such as skidding off his motorcycle or a bit of purposeful underestimation of an enemy. More than once he had deliberately allowed himself to be swiped at by an opposing fighter and though it didn’t give him the same satisfaction as his other methods it was better than nothing, and he had decided that he needed to be careful since Howard had noticed his cuts.
However, as the weeks drew on Steve became more and more confident that Howard had decided not to press the issue. It had been a long week by the time Steve arrived back at the base, Montgomery had gone and got himself injured and Steve couldn’t help but feel responsible - even if Montgomery had admitted that he had been reckless. Bucky had tried to make a joke that the bullet had only grazed his crotch and there it wasn’t like he needed anything down there. He had done the expected thing and laughed, for it was acceptable to do that when someone was alive and talking - even if he did look paler and more relieved than Steve had ever seen anyone be.
But it wasn’t just Montgomery’s injury which had irritated him, it was also the fact that they had ultimately failed in their reconnaissance mission. So one of his team had been severely injured, Bucky had a bruise proudly displayed on his face and they hadn’t even managed to do what they had gone in there to do. Everyone had tried to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault and that he did well to get his whole team out of the situation in one piece. Hell, they even tried to console him with the fact that nothing could ever be a hundred percent certain in war and that it was just one of those things that was out of his control. But it didn't make a damn bit of difference to him.
He was their leader, they had been ambushed and his troops had been demolished, there was no one to blame but him. It was his first failure as their Captain and he even though he had taken some beatings himself - more than anyone else actually - it had not felt like enough. A large German had kicked seven pounds of crap out of him before he had finally took him out and it didn’t even touch the twist in his gut.
His team had failed and someone needed to be punished for it. And if the Army had decided that they weren’t going to do it then that meant that someone else would have to. Bucky, obviously noticing his frustrations, had invited him to go drinking, but that held no release for him these days and he wasn’t going to make things more awkward between him and his best friend by letting him in on that piece of information.
In the end, his Sergeant had admitted defeat and left him in the base to “sleep off” his mood. Steve couldn’t say that he wasn’t thankful for that - not that he had any intention of sleeping it off - but he was sure that he would feel a lot better in the morning. He didn’t rush off to bed; instead he took the time to get some food, to talk with a few of the men and even to spend some time with Montgomery. Each minute that he wasn’t alone in his room was building the anticipation in his gut and ultimately making the release even greater.
His room was dark, but the low light seemed to suit his mood, and as he entered he felt the release already beginning to drain from his tired shoulders. Crossing the room in four large strides he pulled his blade from his bag, completely unaware that Howard was watching everything back in his workshop. Steve’s habit had become almost ritualistic at this point, and although he admired the way the light from his lamp glinted off the edge of the blade, it didn’t distract him from the slight tremor in his hand.
He was starting to worry about how much his only form of control was beginning to control him.
**
Howard watched as Steve sat down on the bed and observed the blade. A feeling of misplaced satisfaction swelled within him. He knew that it was wrong to be glad that Steve was about to cut himself and prove him right, but he couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug. So that gave him yet another reason why he was probably going to end up in hell. He added it to his mental tally chart, and returned to his viewing.
He stood up as he watched Steve pull down his pants and take his position back on the bed with a renewed fascination towards his blade. Watching the man enjoying such a private experience was almost voyeuristic and even someone as brash as Howard wanted to turn it off and ignore the whole thing. But he really didn’t have that option available to him; because he couldn’t go barging into the room before he had his evidence since that rather defeated the object of his endeavour.
On the screen, his friend took a steadying breath and pricked his finger with the blade, no doubt testing its sharpness. He smiled in obvious satisfaction as the blade drew blood from his finger tip and took a steadying breath before he drew the blade across his already scarred thigh.
Steve hadn’t even finished his first cut by the time Howard was out of his workroom door and running full pelt across the army base. In hindsight, the mechanic wished that he had thought about what he was going to do when he had his evidence, but sadly foresight had not been a particular gift of his. When he reached the door to Captain Rogers’s room he didn’t even bother trying to stop, instead he slammed through the door, jarring his shoulder as he did so, and bounded into the room.
It was awkward. More awkward than Howard had thought it should have been. Steve looked up at him, fear in his eyes and the blade still in his hand. For the longest of moments Howard said nothing, and actually considered just leaving, Steve’s eyes looked bluer than usual in the dark light of the room and though he didn’t break eye contact with Howard he managed to rid himself of the weapon.
A million thoughts ran through Howard’s head and not one of them seemed to be completely relevant to the current situation. For once in his life Howard found himself speechless. He honestly couldn’t think of anything suitable to say, and Steve sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything he just sat there, his pants around his ankles staring at Howard.
“Do you do it a lot?” Howard finally blurted out, and Steve continued to stare at him as though he hadn’t said anything. “Have you always done it?” He added quickly, both unable to stop his mouth from getting ahead of him and genuinely interested in the answer. Steve merely grunted, but curiously enough glanced over at his discarded knife. Howard took a few steps forward, softening his voice before his next question but still managing to sound patronising.
“Have you considered not doing it?” He tried to smile but it felt uneven on his lips, and faltered completely as Steve drew himself to his full height and pulled up his pants. The two men sized him up for a long moment until Steve crossed his arms, emphasising their size difference and for the briefest of seconds the genius feared that he would be on the receiving end of Captain America’s fist.
The brunette moved from foot to foot and tried to get his mind to come up with a coherent line of discussion. “Have you considered jogging instead?” Steve looked almost pained and raised an eyebrow in a silent question that Howard missed completely due to his mental chastising of his brain. Jogging? Greatest scientific mind in the country and his only suggestion was jogging?! “You don’t want to talk about this do you?” Steve still didn’t speak, but kept his eyes fixed on the brunette as though if he stared at him for long enough he might just disappear and everything would be over and done with. Howard took a step back towards the door, and Steve briefly believed his silent treatment had succeeded.
Then again, Howard had never been easily put off, and even as he backed off towards the door he felt that he couldn’t leave the conversation there. “What about mechanics?” He suggested to the still silent room and the blond let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll bring you a book on mechanics.” Howard nodded, taking the sigh as a positive and hi tailed it out of the room before the situation became any more uneasy.
**
Steve had watched in complete despondency as Howard stumbled out of the door in an almost blind panic. He had thought he was safe, and he had deemed that he was out of danger and yet somehow (and Steve really needed to know how), the engineer had managed to catch him in the act of slicing a long gash in his thigh. There was a moment of blind panic and he had not been able to disguise his actions. The silence that had followed Howard’s, dramatic as usual, entrance had been deafening and it was all that Steve could do to remember to breath.
It was horrific. The unease in the air was so thick that he could taste it, a lingering bitterness on the edge of his tongue, and he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t form the words as though his mind knew that there was no logic to his situation, and even if it had done it would have failed him anyway because Stark was a genius. There was no point in a battle of wits when you would lose, the best thing to do was what he had always done - suck it up and take the pain.
That, at least, he was good at.
As he finally rid himself of the blade, Howard began doing a strange dance from foot to foot and a bright hue had risen across his features. If Steven didn’t know better he would have said that the genius was at a loss for words rather than just waiting to see what he had to say for himself. A more innocent man might have run his mouth a little bit, left Howard with no choice but to remove himself from the situation.
But Steve couldn’t.
He had, instead, gotten very defensive. He had taken the opportunity to redress himself and cover his modesty. It was still striking to Steve that he was now taller than so many of the people who surrounded him, and standing taller than Howard was no different. As the conversation had continued, and the intruder had become more and more nervous he had taken the opportunity to emphasise the size difference, much to his own disgust. He had never tried to intimate someone before (not that he could have back in Brooklyn) and it didn’t make him feel any better about himself.
His secret was out in the open now, and there was no point in trying to deny it. Howard owed him nothing, and now he had caught him in the act he could go straight to the Colonel and Steve would be sent straight to the nearest asylum. He already felt as though he was treading a tightrope as far as Phillips was concerned and he knew that it would not take a lot for the older man to send him on his way.
To add to his misery, he had no one he could confide in. Even though Bucky was around he had not warmed to his new appearance and Steve did not want to push his luck and force any unwanted interaction. Not for the first time, he wished he was back in Brooklyn.
Part Eight
Rating: Not too high, but there's a warning for self-harm.
Pairing: None specifically.
Part: 7 of 13
Notes: This started out as a nice little piece of nothingness, except that changed as at the moment its 33,000 words. So I apologise if it doesn't flow but I just couldn't seem to stop my head from turning over.
Thanks: Sparklyfiend has kindly read over this and made sure that it makes sense, which has been GREATLY appreciated. TBH, I might as well just share credit with Sparklyfiend. She has done so much to help.
The wait, it turned out, was longer than either Peggy or Howard had been anticipating. The thing that neither had yet to discover about Steve was that he could seek his thrill of blissful pain in other, less obvious ways, such as skidding off his motorcycle or a bit of purposeful underestimation of an enemy. More than once he had deliberately allowed himself to be swiped at by an opposing fighter and though it didn’t give him the same satisfaction as his other methods it was better than nothing, and he had decided that he needed to be careful since Howard had noticed his cuts.
However, as the weeks drew on Steve became more and more confident that Howard had decided not to press the issue. It had been a long week by the time Steve arrived back at the base, Montgomery had gone and got himself injured and Steve couldn’t help but feel responsible - even if Montgomery had admitted that he had been reckless. Bucky had tried to make a joke that the bullet had only grazed his crotch and there it wasn’t like he needed anything down there. He had done the expected thing and laughed, for it was acceptable to do that when someone was alive and talking - even if he did look paler and more relieved than Steve had ever seen anyone be.
But it wasn’t just Montgomery’s injury which had irritated him, it was also the fact that they had ultimately failed in their reconnaissance mission. So one of his team had been severely injured, Bucky had a bruise proudly displayed on his face and they hadn’t even managed to do what they had gone in there to do. Everyone had tried to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault and that he did well to get his whole team out of the situation in one piece. Hell, they even tried to console him with the fact that nothing could ever be a hundred percent certain in war and that it was just one of those things that was out of his control. But it didn't make a damn bit of difference to him.
He was their leader, they had been ambushed and his troops had been demolished, there was no one to blame but him. It was his first failure as their Captain and he even though he had taken some beatings himself - more than anyone else actually - it had not felt like enough. A large German had kicked seven pounds of crap out of him before he had finally took him out and it didn’t even touch the twist in his gut.
His team had failed and someone needed to be punished for it. And if the Army had decided that they weren’t going to do it then that meant that someone else would have to. Bucky, obviously noticing his frustrations, had invited him to go drinking, but that held no release for him these days and he wasn’t going to make things more awkward between him and his best friend by letting him in on that piece of information.
In the end, his Sergeant had admitted defeat and left him in the base to “sleep off” his mood. Steve couldn’t say that he wasn’t thankful for that - not that he had any intention of sleeping it off - but he was sure that he would feel a lot better in the morning. He didn’t rush off to bed; instead he took the time to get some food, to talk with a few of the men and even to spend some time with Montgomery. Each minute that he wasn’t alone in his room was building the anticipation in his gut and ultimately making the release even greater.
His room was dark, but the low light seemed to suit his mood, and as he entered he felt the release already beginning to drain from his tired shoulders. Crossing the room in four large strides he pulled his blade from his bag, completely unaware that Howard was watching everything back in his workshop. Steve’s habit had become almost ritualistic at this point, and although he admired the way the light from his lamp glinted off the edge of the blade, it didn’t distract him from the slight tremor in his hand.
He was starting to worry about how much his only form of control was beginning to control him.
**
Howard watched as Steve sat down on the bed and observed the blade. A feeling of misplaced satisfaction swelled within him. He knew that it was wrong to be glad that Steve was about to cut himself and prove him right, but he couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug. So that gave him yet another reason why he was probably going to end up in hell. He added it to his mental tally chart, and returned to his viewing.
He stood up as he watched Steve pull down his pants and take his position back on the bed with a renewed fascination towards his blade. Watching the man enjoying such a private experience was almost voyeuristic and even someone as brash as Howard wanted to turn it off and ignore the whole thing. But he really didn’t have that option available to him; because he couldn’t go barging into the room before he had his evidence since that rather defeated the object of his endeavour.
On the screen, his friend took a steadying breath and pricked his finger with the blade, no doubt testing its sharpness. He smiled in obvious satisfaction as the blade drew blood from his finger tip and took a steadying breath before he drew the blade across his already scarred thigh.
Steve hadn’t even finished his first cut by the time Howard was out of his workroom door and running full pelt across the army base. In hindsight, the mechanic wished that he had thought about what he was going to do when he had his evidence, but sadly foresight had not been a particular gift of his. When he reached the door to Captain Rogers’s room he didn’t even bother trying to stop, instead he slammed through the door, jarring his shoulder as he did so, and bounded into the room.
It was awkward. More awkward than Howard had thought it should have been. Steve looked up at him, fear in his eyes and the blade still in his hand. For the longest of moments Howard said nothing, and actually considered just leaving, Steve’s eyes looked bluer than usual in the dark light of the room and though he didn’t break eye contact with Howard he managed to rid himself of the weapon.
A million thoughts ran through Howard’s head and not one of them seemed to be completely relevant to the current situation. For once in his life Howard found himself speechless. He honestly couldn’t think of anything suitable to say, and Steve sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything he just sat there, his pants around his ankles staring at Howard.
“Do you do it a lot?” Howard finally blurted out, and Steve continued to stare at him as though he hadn’t said anything. “Have you always done it?” He added quickly, both unable to stop his mouth from getting ahead of him and genuinely interested in the answer. Steve merely grunted, but curiously enough glanced over at his discarded knife. Howard took a few steps forward, softening his voice before his next question but still managing to sound patronising.
“Have you considered not doing it?” He tried to smile but it felt uneven on his lips, and faltered completely as Steve drew himself to his full height and pulled up his pants. The two men sized him up for a long moment until Steve crossed his arms, emphasising their size difference and for the briefest of seconds the genius feared that he would be on the receiving end of Captain America’s fist.
The brunette moved from foot to foot and tried to get his mind to come up with a coherent line of discussion. “Have you considered jogging instead?” Steve looked almost pained and raised an eyebrow in a silent question that Howard missed completely due to his mental chastising of his brain. Jogging? Greatest scientific mind in the country and his only suggestion was jogging?! “You don’t want to talk about this do you?” Steve still didn’t speak, but kept his eyes fixed on the brunette as though if he stared at him for long enough he might just disappear and everything would be over and done with. Howard took a step back towards the door, and Steve briefly believed his silent treatment had succeeded.
Then again, Howard had never been easily put off, and even as he backed off towards the door he felt that he couldn’t leave the conversation there. “What about mechanics?” He suggested to the still silent room and the blond let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll bring you a book on mechanics.” Howard nodded, taking the sigh as a positive and hi tailed it out of the room before the situation became any more uneasy.
**
Steve had watched in complete despondency as Howard stumbled out of the door in an almost blind panic. He had thought he was safe, and he had deemed that he was out of danger and yet somehow (and Steve really needed to know how), the engineer had managed to catch him in the act of slicing a long gash in his thigh. There was a moment of blind panic and he had not been able to disguise his actions. The silence that had followed Howard’s, dramatic as usual, entrance had been deafening and it was all that Steve could do to remember to breath.
It was horrific. The unease in the air was so thick that he could taste it, a lingering bitterness on the edge of his tongue, and he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t form the words as though his mind knew that there was no logic to his situation, and even if it had done it would have failed him anyway because Stark was a genius. There was no point in a battle of wits when you would lose, the best thing to do was what he had always done - suck it up and take the pain.
That, at least, he was good at.
As he finally rid himself of the blade, Howard began doing a strange dance from foot to foot and a bright hue had risen across his features. If Steven didn’t know better he would have said that the genius was at a loss for words rather than just waiting to see what he had to say for himself. A more innocent man might have run his mouth a little bit, left Howard with no choice but to remove himself from the situation.
But Steve couldn’t.
He had, instead, gotten very defensive. He had taken the opportunity to redress himself and cover his modesty. It was still striking to Steve that he was now taller than so many of the people who surrounded him, and standing taller than Howard was no different. As the conversation had continued, and the intruder had become more and more nervous he had taken the opportunity to emphasise the size difference, much to his own disgust. He had never tried to intimate someone before (not that he could have back in Brooklyn) and it didn’t make him feel any better about himself.
His secret was out in the open now, and there was no point in trying to deny it. Howard owed him nothing, and now he had caught him in the act he could go straight to the Colonel and Steve would be sent straight to the nearest asylum. He already felt as though he was treading a tightrope as far as Phillips was concerned and he knew that it would not take a lot for the older man to send him on his way.
To add to his misery, he had no one he could confide in. Even though Bucky was around he had not warmed to his new appearance and Steve did not want to push his luck and force any unwanted interaction. Not for the first time, he wished he was back in Brooklyn.
Part Eight