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

Seventeen

Once the High Priest was out of the house, a white hot rage started filling deep within Steve. Melting away his shock and causing an anger to rush hotly through his veins. Let it be known that Steve Rogers had a temper. A ferocious rage that he had inherited from Hela.

Hands shaking, Steve kept them in fists at his sides as he attempted to refrain from lashing out. Even though the sheer anger radiated off him and reverberated through the air, Steve tried his hardest to not lash out. Of course, that didn't mean that his energy wasn't bound to burst like a shaken soda can.

Steve's eyes were narrowed at his uncles. Specifically Loki. Steve doubted that Thor would pull a stunt like that. Especially after his own confession the night prior. Logically, there was only one person who would dare be so conniving and ruthless in the matters of what he thought was right. Cautiously, Loki reached out, "Steve."

And just like that, Steve popped.

With Steve being the eye of the storm, stood motionless while everything else in the living room moved to life. The wooden legs of their antique furniture anxiously rattled against the hardwood floor as though they were trying to exit the room themselves. The picture frames on top of the fireplace mantle, and the heirlooms and trinkets locked away in hutches jingled and vibrated as though they were going to explode under the pressure of the harsh energy.

"How. Dare. You," Steve spoke with as much restraint as Schmidt had used.

"It's what your mother wanted," Loki reasoned.

"You didn't even ask me," Steve countered.

Flexing his tight, stiff fist, the books bumped against each other on the cases with so much force that they shook themselves right off the shelves. Each one that fell landed with a loud thump on the floor. Steve ignored each one as he claimed, "This may be what my mother wanted, but what about what I want?"

"You've talked about the academy for years," Loki debated. Speaking in a falsely calm tone in order to level Steve's mood.

"Did you ever consider that I could make up my own mind? Did you ever consider that I might want to follow in my father's wishes?" Steve's voice grew louder as the storm that was Steven Grant Rogers grew.

Soon, it wasn't just the living room furniture. The mugs clanged in the kitchen. The silverware clinked. The drawers and cupboard doors rushed open and slammed shut. They weren't alone though. Soon, the antiques that Loki and Thor and Hildy restored and customers perused started moving about their respective show rooms.

But it wasn't over. The storm in Steve grew like they did when he was a child and had his tantrums. Causing the wooden doors that separated rooms to slide in their tracks to noisily crash closed. The shutters smacked into the side of the house with so much impact that the walls rumbled. Or maybe Steve was causing that too.

Further, tree trunks swayed and branches shook. Wind whipping the fallen dead and crunchy leaves around into miniature cyclones. The edges of crispy leaves skittering along the side walk causing a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard as the wind itself whistled high in their ears.

"You didn't even ask!" Steve complained. The heels of his feet lifted off the floor, but he was much too light to be just standing on his tiptoes. No, the energy inside of him lifted him. Levitating ever so slightly with only the tips of his toes anchoring him to the floor, Steve accused, "You didn't even think to ask!"

Loki's long black hair blew behind him as though a gust of wind was swirling around inside the house. The strands whacking around his face, but he kept his gaze on his nephew as he coaxed, "We are your guardians. We are meant to guide you and do what's best for --"

"I'm not a child!" Steve thundered just as the sky above them did.

Loki sternly reprimanded, "Then, stop acting like one!"

Another bout of thunder roared outside as Steve glared at his uncle. Under normal circumstances, Steve would've been able to see where Loki was coming from. He'd understand that all Loki wanted for him was the best. But Steve wasn't thinking with a clear head. His temper had boiled over and all he could see was how Loki had betrayed him.

Loki didn't back down though. He had the same temper as Hela. Or so Steve had been told. Nevertheless, Loki refused to bow to Steve's tantrum. It was one of the reasons why Loki was the disciplinary one.

Then, a strike of a blue lightning bolt shot through the room as Thor ordered, "Enough!"

As quickly as it had started, it was over.

The air stopped swirling. The furniture ceased in their movements. Steve dropped back down on the floor on heavy feet. Losing his balance, Steve grabbed onto the arm of the sofa.

Pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, Steve sniffled. With the anger gone, his body felt too exhausted and the tears fell freely from his face. All the plans that he imagined for a long life with Bucky Barnes would never exist. He realized that now, and his heart broke.

Tenderly, Loki placed a slender hand on Steve's crooked back and comforted, "Steve --"

"Don't," Steve weakly pushed his uncle off and started for the staircase of noodly legs.

"Little one," Thor softly prompted, taking a step after Steve.

Tiredly, Steve begged, "Just don't."

For a moment, Steve debated using the elevator. He rarely ever did. And he refused to do so then. With aching knees and a broken heart, he moved up the grand staircase and looped around to his room.

"They mean well," Hildy offered as she sat on the staircase that led to the third floor that she occupied.

Mutely, Steve waved off her comment and bodily shoved into his bedroom. Half of Steve had expected the spell to wear off. Finding that it hadn't was a bit unnerving, if Steve was being honest. Especially since the embarrassment of his tantrum was pumping through his veins.

There, on his queen size bed, Bucky stiffly sat. Bucky didn't turn to look at him, he just silently gazed in front of his in a haze. Causing Steve to hate his powers even more. He had never wanted to use them on Bucky. Even if it had been for the brunet's safety, it still made Steve sick.

Closing the door behind him, Steve crossed his room for his bed. Standing in front of Bucky, the glaze was still masking his steel-blue eyes, and Steve's stomach twisted. Wanting Bucky to come back to him, Steve cupped the brunet's face in his shaky hands and pressed an innocent kiss to his naturally too red lips.

Thankfully, it only took a moment for the spell to break. Instead, Bucky came back to himself and promptly kissed Steve back. Bucky's hands lovingly held Steve and pulled him closer. Which, Steve was more than happy to comply.

"Told ya," Bucky chuckled around Steve's lips, "You can't keep your hands off me."