Stony One-Shots

in the aftermath

A/N: This fic originated from a prompt a friend of mine gave me allll the way back in I don't even remember when (read this fic again on my AO3 @stonyholic to see the prompt heh), and it took me a total of at least a year to finally finish because it sat and collected dust for more than half a year. BUT. I FINALLY FINISHED IT AND GOT IT BETA-ED SO THERE'S THAT. Enjoy!!

(Also, excuse my abuse of italics.)

⚠️ Trigger Warnings ⚠️ : graphic depiction of sensory overload, trauma flashback, panic attack(s), mild self-injury

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It's post battle, and everything is loud and quiet all at once.

The shrieking of the aliens, the frantic calls of his teammates, the explosions, the screams—they're all gone now, leaving only dust and dirt behind.

Steve stands in the middle of the street, staring at the tall, sleek buildings surrounding him, many of them half-crumbled or burned. The adrenaline that has been coursing through his veins leaves as suddenly as it'd arrived. God, he's exhausted. The bone-deep weariness that hits him almost has him on his knees, and Steve stumbles, coughing and trying to get rid of the grit rough against his tongue.

Civilians that had been trapped inside buildings are scrambling to get out, many screaming and crying. Some are demanding to know what happened, frantic in their shouting, almost hysterical in their terror. Steve winces, backing away from the noise, tripping over his own feet as he finds his way around a battered car and turns around, pressing his back to the metal. He realizes belatedly that he's panting.

He closes his eyes, for once hating how his ears can pick up on every small noise within a half-mile radius. A rat scurries across an alley to his left, pebbles roll over concrete ground in the wind; there's screeching, and grinding, and shuffling, all coming from different directions. SHIELD agents are shouting not far away, conducting post-battle clean up and trying to evacuate the remaining people. Any energy Steve had had is fading and fading fast, replaced with a crippling hollowness that eats at him from the inside out. Steve feels very, very suddenly lost.

He whines, low and almost inaudible, reaching up to grip his collar. The sounds in his ears only grow louder, more yelling and more crying. More wailing. A gunshot goes off in the distance and Steve flinches, back slamming into the car behind him. He knows, deep down, that it couldn't have been a gunshot because the battle is over, but he doesn't open his eyes.

Without warning, his comm crackles to life, and Steve jerks again, startled. Stop, he thinks. Get a grip, Steve Rogers. He doesn't know why he's being so jumpy all of a sudden, and certainly not why there's a fluttering, panicky feeling in his chest, crawling up his throat and threatening to spill outward if he so much as twitches a muscle.

"Cap?" Tony's voice comes to life in his ear, and Steve stupidly tries to block it out with a hand, only successfully making the sound louder as the earpiece presses against his ear.

"T—Iron Man," he says, finally opening his eyes and fixating his gaze onto the ground.

"Cap, we've been looking for you everywhere. Where are you?"

Steve opens his mouth and realizes that he doesn't know. But he doesn't—he can't move from where he is to gauge his position. He can't.

"Cap?" Tony prompts from the other end. "We're getting shawarma together, remember?"

"I," he starts, then stops. There's dirt in his mouth and his eyes are starting to water from the dust in the air. He coughs. Swallows.

"... Cap, are you okay?"