Errare Humanum Est *Supernatural x Captain America*Steve x Reader*

9) ...make a friggin' lemonade...

Steve couldn't fight the smile creeping to his lips when he blinked his eyes open, still hazy with sleep, and found you beside him in the cushions. You were facing him, still deeply in the dreamland. In the mornings like these, he struggled to find words that would express how he felt about you – they never seemed like enough.

In your sleep, you were softer than ever, missing the radiant smile and laughter that lighted up his days, and he loved this version of you, finding it equally enchanting. You were beautiful, like a mirage, eyelashes casting shadows on your cheeks, plush lips parted slightly, begging to be kissed.

Today, he resisted the temptation and only kissed your forehead. Still, you stirred instantly, releasing a content hum only few moments later, smiling as he retreated.

"Morning, doll," he whispered, his smile growing when your sleepy gaze found his and the corners of your lips automatically curled up as well.

"Morning, Steve. Slept well?"

You gingerly ran your fingers through his hair, brushing his cheeks with your fingertips and he placed his palm over the back of your hand, keeping it on his face as his eyelids fluttered close at the tender display of affection.

"Always do with you," he admitted. He wasn't ashamed of that. He suffered from nightmares sometimes, but they got very rare when sleeping in bed with you – the feeling of warmth of your body against his chased memories of both Bucky's death and crushing the Valkyrie away, at least most of the time. "You?"

Your hand slipped from his hold and he pouted in discontent, giving you a concerned look.

Steve would swear you seemed paler than just a moment ago. A worried crinkle formed on his forehead when he saw pain flash in your eyes, a bead of cold sweat running down your temple.

"It hurts," you breathed out heavily and Steve's heartbeat picked up, fear squeezing his chest.

"What does?" he hurried, sitting up hastily, looking around the room for anything that could relieve your pain, no matter where it had come from.

A choking noise had his eyes return to you swiftly, only to cause him freeze in horror at the sight of blood flooding from your mouth. His heart positively stopped as you grunted, repeating the two words driving him out of his mind.

"It hurts."

His fingers tangled in his hair in desperation. He needed to call someone to help, you were bleeding for no apparent rea-

Steve's gaze fell to your abdomen, bile rising to his mouth, his body jerking away on autopilot. Your pale shaking fingers were clutching at the object sticking out of your torso, right above your pelvis.

Accusing eyes full of agony starred at him as his legs gave out and he sunk down the wall, your irises losing all life, face white as a sheet of paper, your lips only red because of the blood otherwise deadly blue.

And weren't the colours ironic. They matched precisely to the weapon that nearly cut you in half, still buried in you.

It was Captain's own shield.

---

Steve jolted awake with a gasp, tears already streaming down his cheeks, and found himself in a sitting position, strapped to a chair.

For a second, his mind returned to the god-awful room he had woken up just before he sentenced you to death; almost instantly, the low hum of engines and the sight of control panel of the quinjet brought him back to reality. He struggled to remember where he was going and why was he sitting where he was.