Vibranium Strong || Captain America

Bleed

Three days. I didn't think it was possible to go three days without sleep. But somehow I did it. Now, I was running off of whatever adrenaline I had. That, and a lot of anger.

And with my anger, came consequences.

Less words were spoken. Less food was eaten. Less sleep was gained.

More things were broken.

Nothing would stop me from finding my Maggie. Nothing. Someone would have to kill me before I'd give up on her. And even then, my spirit would roam the Earth, still searching. Then, once I'd find Zemo, I'd haunt his ass until the day he died. Maggie is my world. My everything. I don't care if Zemo wants ransom. Whatever it is, he can have it. Just give me back my daughter.

Steve has been a complete and total wreck. He spends all day searching for Maggie, and then all night in the gym. He breaks punching bag after punching bag, trying to break his never ending anger. But nothing can take away his pain.

In his mind, Maggie is gone because of him.

Because of his inability to win the fight, Maggie is gone.

I could never blame him for what happened. It will never be his fault for as long as he lives. But to him, he lost his daughter. And it's all his fault because he wasn't strong enough to save her. All of his strength and abilities, and they couldn't aid him in stopping Zemo and his men.

After three days of no sleep, no signs of Maggie, and no signs of hope, I finally stood from my seat behind the viewing monitor, and walked out of the room. I was drained physically, mentally, and emotionally. My body was pushed to it's limits. Somehow, I managed to keep going. I knew if I stopped, Maggie would be gone forever. And I can never surrender from this fight.

I walk down the long hallway. The metal walls surround me, feeling as if they were going to close in on me. My arms are crossed across my chest, keeping the guilt and sadness trapped inside. No one else needs to feel this. No one deserves to feel this. The anger piling up within me was tearing at my insides with steel claws, begging to be released.

I need to let it out.

I come to a fork in the hallway. If I choose to go to my right, I will continue to my room where I can attempt to cry myself to sleep. If I go to the left, I can go to the gym, where I can take what little energy I have and force it upon a punching bag.

My hands ball into fists as I shake my head and storm down the left hallway. If I focus hard enough, maybe I can picture Zemo's face on the punching bag.

-

Steve had once taught me to properly wrap my hands before I begin throwing punches at the bag. But none of that matters to me. If I tear my hands up while punching to bag, maybe they will bust open. Maybe they will bleed. Maybe they will release my boiling blood. With my blood on the punching bag, maybe some of my anger will drain away.

But it won't.

I tie my hair into a loose high ponytail. One lonely tear trickles down my cheek and lands in the corner of my mouth. The heavy taste of salt floods my mouth. I clench my hands into tight fists and the sound of my cracking knuckles fills the air. But not for long.

One swift punch into the bag barely makes it swing. So I punch again, hoping that maybe the bag would swing harder. But I'm never going to be a strong as Steve. His serum makes him as tough as steel. But underneath the cold steel shell is a warm heart. It's his warm heart that drives his hands of steel to send riveting punches into the bag.

The heart cannot easily forget things like the mind.

The heart fills with grief when tragedy strikes. Grief like that can fade away only when the person is ready to accept the truth. In my case, I will never accept the truth.