(no subject)
N.B. this technically takes place in current community, but as it primarily references events from the Invaders and it's immediate future, I'm posting here.
If anyone disagrees, let me know.
Title: Ghosts
Author: Me
Warnings: Volience against properties, and spoilers for anyone who doesn't know what's being happening since Cap 25 (can you let me know where you've been living if this is you? I'd like to join you.)
Summary: Expressions of Pain.
The picture was a copy of a Rembrandt. It made a satisfying sound as his fist tore through it.
Brian should have died in battle. Should have died fighting for King and Country, not bleeding out on the side of some English road.
Shouldn’t have died at all, really. The war was over; they should have got their chance.
Would they have ever “come out”, as they said now, or would they have continued as they were?
Those who mattered knowing, but no one else. Sneaking kisses in bunk holes after lights out, and while cutting onions.
The glass shattered into a million parts, getting stuck in his fingers. He knew he should clean it up, but it didn’t matter. It helped distract from the pain in his chest.
Contrary to popular belief, Steve knew America wasn’t perfect.
Just like a lot of people back then, he ignored it to try and get the job done, to try and stop a bigger evil.
Did they ever honestly try to explain? Bucky always said that Steve’s biggest fault was he wouldn’t listen. Did Steve ever tell Tony about what they saw? Did he ever say that what he saw was the Nazis taking control again? That it wasn’t the act that he objected to, that the act was good…but that no government, no matter how much support it had, should ever be trusted with that sort of power.
The kitchen chairs were pine. They clumped against the floor, real pine against the fake stuff.
He deserved better, dam it!
Steve Rogers, Captain America, shouldn’t have died on those steps, shot by some two bit thugs working for the Red Skull.
But the Skull had always being a coward.
But how could they do it? Put the man who had risked everything, put his own happiness on hold, his own life, on trial, for standing up for what he believed in?
That belonged to another time, another era, one he wished he could forget.
It wasn’t right.
The wireless, or radio as he was now supposed to call it, boomed at him. Some one talking about dancing in the street. He didn’t care about dancing.
How could they?
Bucky was never meant to be Steve, had never wanted to be Captain America. To dress him up in a dead man’s suit (and it was a dead man’s suit no matter what ANY one might say) because it made things easier.
To manipulate, as badly as the Russians had done.
Or maybe it was worse.
‘Cause the Russians had had hatred as their excuse. These people claimed they did it out of Love.
He stood in the middle of his wrecked apartment gasping for breath.
After the war was over, they wondered what would get them.
Davey thought it would be the KKK, especially after he started working against them.
Gwenny thought it would be heart disease, just like her mother.
Toro, they’d discussed it and agreed it would probably be cancer. After all, asbestos shorts, that had been ripped, torn and heated almost to burning so many times, there was no way he couldn’t have inhaled some. Ironic really.
Out of all of them, he was the only one who died like a hero. And came back like one too, he supposed.
To a world he didn’t recognise, where Steve was dead, and to be like him was as good as an excuse for people to hurt you.
Kneeling in the middle of his wrecked apartment, Thomas Raymond wept.
Fini