Not Alone

The seats of the city hall are hard and uncomfortable. Sitting in them for as long as they have so far is putting his legs to sleep. But he won't- He can't complain. Not today. Steve sits quietly, keeping his gazes fixed on his hands folded tightly in his lap.

A name is called. The soldier's deeds are called out solemnly by the ceremony's presenter. Among his medals is the Purple Heart for giving his life in service to his country.

The war is over. Now they sit in the hall, celebrating the men to lead the way to ensuring America stay free and safe.

They? He's alone. There is no one else left.

Steve looks around the empty hall, all they empty seats that should be filled. But there is only him and the presenter.

Another name is called. Steve flinches as presenter regretfully informs that this soldier too, like all the rest, is deceased. Died fighting. He will not be coming in to receive the awards for his sacrifices, like everyone else.

His chest tightens and tears burn behind his eyes. No one. No one has survived to see their rewards. They're all gone. Dead.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut against the tears that are threatening to fall. It's not hard to imagine that all these men would've lived if he had found another way. The war didn't end when he crashed in the Atlantic... it still burned on, just not as brightly. Men still died fighting for 6 months after he crashed. If he was as good as everyone believed him to be, he would have found a way. The men called out, dead after his crash. Nearly a thousand of them. American, French, British, Australian, Soviets...

"Steve Rogers", on instinct he turns to look up at the presenter. "The award for surviving."

The presenter is gone.

He is alone.

He sits on now the only chair in the empty hall.

Steve opens his eyes and looks around the dark room, blinking away his tears. His hurried breath seems to emphasize how otherwise quite the room is, how alone he is.

With a groan he pushes himself up out of his bed. Shrugging on a loose shirt he makes his way into the communal Living-room.

He seats himself on the couch and turns on the TV looking for something to distract himself. Flicking though channel after channel, he turns the thing off. Nothing is working for him. Everything seemed to further tighten the knot in his chest.

Burring his face in his hands, he groans.

Steve does not look up when he hears the footsteps of someone coming up the hall. He doesn't look up when a heavy hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

"Hey, Cap" Clint says calmly, "You okay?"

Closing his eyes, he decides to stay silent. The couch dips as Clint takes a seat next to him. "I heard you get up. Nightmares?"

The burning behind his eyes returns. He keeps he gaze locked in front of him.

"Please don't you ever think you're alone, Steve" he whispers.

Steve whips his head around to look at him. He knows it is probably just some generic comforting phrase, an 'I'm here for you, bud' kind of thing. But... it hits home somewhere inside of him. The tight knot of pain in his chest loosens and he feels like he can breathe easier.

"Clint?" he asks softly, turning to look at the guy next to him.

Clint pulls him in close, hugging him tightly. "You're not alone. You have us, Steve. It took me a while to realize that the Avengers were more than just a team, and even longer to accept that you guys would all be there for me if I need it. We are here for you."

Steve gives himself a moment to just breathe. "Thanks, Clint"

"Any time you need a hand, just reach out. We will be there, reaching right back"

THE END

NOTES: For the Happy Steve Bingo prompt "Comfort from nightmares"

I tried to keep this light, but nightmares suck... so hmmm... :I