The Demon in Me

Suspicions

Captain America sat at the edge of his bed, still in his uniform. His head was on his knees, hands on the side of his head in pain. He thought the nightmares would go away. They had plagued him all those seventy years he was frozen in ice. And finally, when he was out, they had gone away. Like a dry mound of sand getting washed away when the ocean comes in.

But lately, he was having...nightmares. Ghosts from his past which nobody knew about. It was happening for about a week. But now they were greater than ever. He couldn't concentrate on anything. It took all his will just to bite his tongue and keep from crying out in pain, awakening his comrades. 

But he couldn't hold on anymore. With a near feral cry he fell onto the ground, the pain enveloping him. He screamed as he curled up into a ball, tears of pain coming through his closed eyelids. He faintly heard a knock on the door. It was Natasha and Clint.

"Steve, are you okay?"

"Steve, what is it, bro?" Steve let out another shout, and then it stopped.

Clint looks at Natasha from outside of Cap's room. "Nat, do you think he's fine? It doesn't even sound like its Steve."

"I..." Clints eyes widened. She actually hesitated. "I don't even think its Steve." She rubbed her arm. "Do you think we shoud call the others? They probabky didn't hear it since their three stories down." Clint shook his head.

"Just keep your weapons ready. On stun though," he added hastily. He knocked on the door. No reply. Fear started to cross his face. Cap was a light sleeper. He had had enough, seventy year worth of sleep. "Can he be asleep?"

"No, he only needs an hour of sleep for what would be worth twelve hours of sleep. And he went to bed early, five hours ago."

"So now we have to burst into his room? Okay." Clint pulled out a shock arrow and crouched down tonthe electronic lock. Then, he quickly jabbed the pad, which sizzled out from the overload. Clint pulled something from his back and shook once. His black bow expanded into view and Clint was now Hawkeye. He said a command: "Now." 

Natasha nudges the door with her foot and it opens silently. On the floor, back facing them, is the curled up body of Captain America, his mask off and hair wild. "Steve?" She whispers. She approaches him, like a lion going to its prey. Or Black Widow interrogating someone. Hawkeye held her back. A tremor ran down Steves back, making him release a moan and go silent. Hawkeye draws an arrow, its smooth shaft making almost no sound.

Almost. 

Steve Rogers jumped onto two legs, sheild in hand, some strands of hair covering his eyes. With a growl, he charges at Hawkeye, knocking the arrow out of his bow and punching him in the face, startling him. Natasha quickly holds out bith of her arms forward,  hands in fist, and releases a barrage of tranquilizer bullets. With a roar, Rogers shoots forward, ramming his shield into Black Widows chest before running out of the room, the alarms sounding

Dazed on the floor, Natasha looks at Clint. He was standing, his shaking arm on the emergency alert button on the side of the room. His eyes were wide as he spoke, "Th...that was not Steve."