The Chilling Adventures of Steve Rogers: Book One (Magical Hydra Horror AU)

Eleven

Just as the previous night, Steve found himself in the forest. Muscles throbbing, lungs sore, feet pushing him further. Unlike the previous night however, Steve knew to expect the opening with the roaring fire and the group of enhanced teens. He knew if he kept running in this direction, he'd come face to face with his eyeless, soulless, healthy body.

And Steve really didn't want to face the alternate version of himself.

So, he skidded to a stop. His feet scraping open on the forest floor. Bending over, Steve rested his hands on his knobby knees and tried to catch his breath. His eyes attempted to adjust to the darkness, but the moonlight wasn't shining enough light to illuminate a safe place. Which, self-admittedly, said something about his current day-to-day life.

Standing as straight as he could with his crooked spine, Steve glanced in the direction he was running to. Even from where he stood, he could see the fire light, only slightly dimmer since he was further back. If he kept running, he'd come across the fire. He'd have to face himself.

But why was he running? What could possibly cause Steve to run away?

With furrowed brows set with purpose, Steve turned towards the direction he ran from. Determined, Steve reasoned, Might as well see what I'm running from. Then, like a shot, Steve took off in the direction he came.

Steve's muscles still burned and his lungs still struggled, but he couldn't stop. He had to find out what he was running from. He had to know. If there was any way to get over his fear, this was it. Perhaps it might even bring him some peace of mind.

Perhaps he could figure out how to defeat his fear.

Then, the wall of trees opened up. Steve paused, tilting his head up to take in the domineering building in front of him. The structure sturdy. The bricks ominous. Appearing abandoned; but Steve knew that was a trick. Knowing that the townspeople probably passed on ghost stories around fires about the haunted former mental asylum.

Swallowing thickly, Steve decided to proceed.

Admittedly, it seemed like a bad decision. Nay, the worst decision. If Bucky was there, he'd call Steve out for being a, "reckless putz." And as he started heading up the old, concrete steps, Steve couldn't help but agree with him.

Reaching the large blood red door, Steve's heart raced. Placing his hands on the door, Steve convinced himself, "This is only a dream." Pushing the heavy door open, "This is only a dream."

Along the white, reflective tiles, Steve noticed a trail of blood. It was dark and dry. Steve's stomach dipped. A little voice niggled that he should turn back. Insisted that he run. But he couldn't. He had to figure it out. He had to know why he was running. Why he was torn and having such trouble following through with his plans.

So, Steve walked with light steps along the trail. Following it down the hall. To the left. To the right. All the way up to another large door. Steve had a feeling that he wasn't going to like where this was heading. But he pushed the door open anyway.

Yup, Steve sighed, looking over the dark steps heading downward, It's the basement.

Cautiously, Steve started down the staircase. About halfway down, he heard a scream. The agony in that deep voice stopped his heart. Caused his blood to freeze in his veins. He knew that voice.

He knew that voice!

Hesitation and fear aside, Steve rushed down the rest of the stairs. Skipping the last few to hop onto the hard floor, Steve ignored the way his ankles buckled and kept going. Desperate in his attempt to reach him. Needing to save him. It was the only thing that Steve knew he had to do.

Then, abruptly stopped. The trail continued up to a large chair. An advanced medical chair. Something out of a Dentist office from hell. Strangely and frightening, a mechanism connected to the chair hung over it like a claw from the arcade rigged treasure trove that tempted kids due to the many unwinnable prizes inside. Around the chair, there was a group of men in white lab coats and armed guards. They were surrounding the occupied chair, observing the boy being tortured in front of them.

Steve stood back, just observing. Until the wall of men split and revealed his worst fear: the love of his life being tortured.

"NO!" Steve exclaimed, charging at the men to get them to stop. Swinging his limbs and landing hits as he fought nail and tooth to save Bucky. To stop his suffering. To keep him out of harm's way.

"Steve!" Bucky agonizingly called out for his boyfriend. Reaching out his arm towards Steve as far as he could while being restrained to the chair by thick metal bands as he pleaded, "Steve!"

"Steven!"

Jerking awake, he found Thor holding him in his strong arms. Loki stood beside them as he hovered helplessly over his nephew. Steve blinked a few times. Not being able to see anything but their blurred faces and vague body shapes without his glasses.

Immediately, Steve buried his face in Thor's broad shoulder. The tears freely falling from his eyes and staining Thor's light blue Galaxy's Best Uncle sleep shirt. The sobs racking through his small frame as Thor's arms securely held him close. Rubbing soothing circles into his back as he murmured a spell into Steve's ear in hopes of calming the petite blond.

Although the spell was working, and Steve's breathing was calming, Steve couldn't get the image of Bucky's contorted, bloody face out of his mind. Couldn't get the broken, agonized scream out of his head. And he couldn't stop repeating, "No, no, no."