Second Chances

Thirty-Five

It was cold. That’s the first thing Steve registered. Very very cold. The way you would imagine it felt in an icebox or buried in snow. Just cold. So cold it seeped into your bones, chilling them and making your teeth chatter. And yet, yet Steve’s teeth weren’t chattering. His body wasn’t violently shaking. He wasn’t in pain. Just cold. 

Very very cold. 

Like he was in an icebox or buried in snow.

Steve was cold. 

Very very cold.

Like he was in an icebox or buried in snow.

Was he repeating himself? He didn’t know because he was cold.

Very very cold.

A loud crash came from beside Steve, and he slowly let his eyes drift open. The room was dark. Dimming lights hung from the ceiling, one bulb flickering on and off. On and off. On and off. 

Then it burnt out. 

It was cold.

Steve flexed his arms, suddenly aware of the restraints holding him down. Steve pulled his arm up, his wrist catching on whatever was holding him in place. It was freezing, burning his skin.

Very very cold.

Steve turned his head, wincing when something pulled under his skin. It was pinched and stretched underneath Steve’s flesh, and he carefully turned his head the other way. He blinked, once, twice, three times, and spotted a little IV line beside him. He followed the string with his eyes, stopping at his shoulders because he couldn’t see it anymore. Steve frowned because who put IVs in people’s necks? Steve shivered.

Like he was in an icebox... 

There was another crash.

...or buried in snow.

Steve opened his mouth, attempting to call out for someone or something. 

Where even was he? Last he remembered the faces of Aldrich and Hammer on the highway. Or was it a dream? The memory was so fuzzy around the edges in a dream-like way that made Steve believe that maybe…? Maybe his last true memory was being with Tony. But then where was Tony?

There was another crash, but this time it didn’t sound like a crash. More like a door closing─slamming, but far away. Or maybe it was close (?) because there was that crash again. 

Steve looked around the darkroom again, only able to move his eyes from left to right and right to left. 

Then there was a creak, and a door opened. 

Steve looked over as the door opened, revealing a man, and a woman, and another man. It was too dark to see anything except silhouettes. But the men walked with confidence as they entered the room.

Then all the lights turned off. 

It was cold.

The lights flickered on.

Very very cold.

Steve winced against the lighting, a fog developing in his mind causing his ears to ring and his vision to blur. 

Like an icebox…

Steve blinked until he could see, his shoulders flexing and his arms twisting as he attempted to wiggle out of his restraints. Someone spoke, but Steve couldn’t hear it over the ring of his ears.

...or buried in snow.

“Mr. Rogers,” the voice was calm and masculine, but Steve did not mistake the man’s calm for calming.