Can We Be Fixed? (Stony)

Chapter Two: Steve's Love

A/N: Chapter two, because I at least want to give more than one chapter out for this book just to get started. That, and the fact that I literally write chapters with somewhat ease-meaning I can actually write a chapter and finish it in one day if I have the motivation to do so. Huh, dedicated author, or just insane when it comes to writing? You pick, lol.

Anyways, this chapter I guess is ok? It's not like my best line of work and could be edited differently, but I feel it has it's own justice. Hope you enjoy it, dough. (And yes, once again I say dough instead of though)

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When he opened his eyes and saw the area around him was coated in thick darkness, minus the faint light that filtered through a window he could see, he was honestly very confused.

He expected heaven to be a lot more... Well, bright. I mean, he gets that he's done quite a few messed up things recently, but overall he isn't a bad guy. He also expected to see clouds, standing on top of them and noticing the blue sky all around him while the golden gates of heaven opened up for him, a sign that God has accepted him with open arms. Instead, that's literally what he didn't get.

He could feel something soft against his back; whether it was silk or cotton, or any other form of material, he didn't know, but as his senses came back to him, and he could feel the material against the few inches of exposed skin on his forearm- which was to him weird at first, until he noticed that the cuffs he once wore were no more, and he confirmed it to himself that he was on a bed of some sort, if the sheet he concluded to himself was anything to go by.

He sat up, groaning just a little as he still felt slightly weak. It was a similar situation just like when he woke up, only different. He remembers hearing the radio going on in the background, playing a Dodgers game from May, in the year 1941, and how easy it was to recognize that something seemed wrong from that mere object alone. And now, once again, he finds himself in a weird place, but he can't really confirm if it's a room or a prison cell since he can barely make anything out other than the bed, but he does seem to notice that the room seems pretty small.

He let out a shaky breath, carefully putting his feet onto this ground. He stood up on wobbly legs, his strength not quite back yet as he fell over-similar to that of a toddler who was trying to take their first steps in life, or maybe someone who didn't have their sea legs and got seasick really easily, or even someone with motion sickness, but either way he laid there on all fours, shifting ever so slightly so he could rest on his ass instead.

He hasn't felt this weak ever since he was that scrawny kid from Brooklyn who housed an entire medical list of every possible disease, and ailments known to man. How hard it was to be able to be normal and play with other kids without suffering from an Asthma attack, how many times he'd seen white walls of a hospital bed due to catching whatever virus or disease he was unlucky enough to come into contact with.

He taught himself how to be strong; because all his life that's what he needed to do. He needed to be strong when he lost Bucky, when he had to put the plane in the water, he had to be strong when Tony risked his life to put that nuke into the wormhole, when Peggy died, and he had to be strong when Tony betrayed him, basically leaving him to die at the hands of Ross. For lack of a better term, it was fucked up.

This vulnerability he allowed to creep up on him, worming its way up his spine, infecting every part of his body it slithered upon, this invasive feeling coursing through his blood and simply tainting it, he couldn't stand it. He wasn't supposed to be vulnerable, he was supposed to be strong, that's what he's not only been trained to do, but that's what was easiest for him. If he was strong, he could hold back all the emotions he was feeling, only allowing himself to let it all flow out when he went to the gym and beat up some poor punching bag until sand littered the floors and the bag flew a few feet away from him.