Jinx // Multifandom One Shots

Steve Rogers x Reader ▷ Helpless

Warning: Themes of PTSD, war, disability and really cute fluff with Steve.

Word Count: 1584 words.

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I stand on one tip-toe, desperately reaching for a glass cup. My tongue flicks over my lips in concentration and I try to keep balanced. My fingers brush the glossy surface of the cup, teasingly close. I stand even closer to the tip of my toes, feeling the cup meet my palm. I let out a short huff of success, only to my stifled by a yelp as I loose my balance and fall.

Glass shatters all around me, cutting my legs and the palms of my hands as I hit the ground. I let out a curse, followed by tears of pain and frustration. I try to stand, but the bench is too high for me to pull myself upward and balance on one leg, letting me plop back down into the floor. My body feels useless and vulnerable without my prosthetic, unable to do anything except for fail. My thoughts wander to that day, the day where I lost it.

The blazing sun beats down on my back, sweat dripping from my forehead and onto the knife-like sand. My heavy gear weighs down on my shoulders, slowing my sprint. Every step I take slips a little, my feet unable to get a grip on the environment below me. I hear gunshots echo in front of me, followed by a few screams. Gripping my gun closer to my chest, I run faster towards the village and my group.

They advance on the men running around with machine guns, walking past the gorging pile of dead bodies. Looking for a vantage point, I spot a tall building towards the outskirts of the city. It's seemingly deserted, so I continue my journey into the village. My breathing is heavy and I can hear my pants over all of the noise. My heart thuds wildly in my chest, the nerves of battle not allowing me to keep still.

As I near the building, the sounds of gunfire seems to grow quieter. I slow my pace to a fast walk, bringing my rifle to my eye, aimed at anyone who may cause a threat. My feet fall in front of each other with expert practise, unheard and calculated.

I feel my helmet tip forward on my head a little, the straps too loose. My view of the outside world narrows slightly, and I flick my head up to tip the protective gear to the right position. I approach the building, kicking in the door and busting the lock. The room reveals itself before my eyes, empty except for a wooden table and stairs going towards the next floor.

My pace quickens so I'm almost running up the wooden stairs. Small beams of sun make their way between the cracks in the roof, shining onto my eyes just as I pass. Momentarily blinded by the light, I stumble towards the roof of the building. After another two flights of stairs, the sky seems to open up before me, lighting up every inch of my sun-tanned face.

My gaze wanders to the conflict a few metres away, where I can see a group of men waving their machine guns around wildly, speaking in their native tongue. One of them aim at Jackson, one of the members of my group, a tall, lanky guy. My platoon reacts, splitting off into groups and fighting some of the attackers. I set my rifle on the edge of the building, aiming into the smokey area below.

The same man stays aimed at Jackson, and I line up the little cross on my weapon with the flesh right between his eyes. I take a deep breath, an unsuccessful attempt at relaxing. My fingers squeeze around the trigger, planting a bullet in the man's skull. He collapses, and Jackson whirls around to give me a hand signal in thanks. He grabs his communicator and brings it to his face, barking something into it. After a few anxiously long moments, he signals for me to come down towards him.