Chris Evans/Sebastian Stan Characters One-Shots and Imagines

Memories Pt. 1 (S.R.)

If thick layers of black clouds hadn't gathered over the sky maybe Steve would have had more hope.

But here he sat, over the large glass conference table in the center of the Avenger's compound, his two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought. You were supposed to be here, right behind him at the table sitting in those cushioned black chairs that you seemed to fit oh so tiny in compared to the rest of them.

You were supposed to be the one monitoring the debate turned banter between him and Tony until you butted in to either tell him he was being stupid or to tell Tony the same. You were supposed to be here to help Wanda cook and to go help Sam train new recruits when Steve was on missions.

You were supposed to be here to proofread Peter's English essays and to ensure that he was actually doing his history homework. You were supposed to be here to talk to Bucky whenever he had another episode and treat him like the mother goose you were to everyone else.

But more importantly, you were supposed to be sleeping next to Steve, his hand on your hip as your body moved up and then down again with every breath you took. Now Steve wasn't even sure if you were breathing, let again if he could let his fingers trace the delicate shape of your face.

"We got something," Tony said, everyone's head moved straight up facing his way, eyes wide with worried filled anticipation. The single light that dangled over the table cascaded its way to where Tony was typing on his laptop, finally getting it to project onto the large TV on the other end, those large windows on every side of the building only filling it with more darkness.

Steve's heart flew up to his throat, getting caught and tangled in his mess of emotions. There it was, the video.

Before Tony even pressed play he knew it was you. Under that bag on your head, he knew your exact shoulders which were now covered in dirty scrubs, your neck had stained blood, only small pieces of your delicate hair could be seen falling down right at your chest.

The first few seconds of the film were nearly silent other than the ruffling and muffling noises from the abominations for humans, no monsters, who had captured you. Steve held his chin on one of his knuckles, leaned on the glass, his other hand placed on his knee. His jaw was wired shut, his eyes squinted as he tried to decode anything and everything.

Just when he managed to get used to the first image, the bag was ripped off your head. As if the rest of your body hadn't told him enough, this only told him more.

You had never cried except for when people died. You were able to keep your levels of pain to yourself, even after a bullet wound or two he would just hear your heavy breathing, but never tears. But there you were, chest heaving up and down, tear-stained cheeks. Your lip was busted, a black eye appeared outlining those gorgeous Y/E/C orbs he always liked to stare at. Bruises were lined up and down your face along with slashes and patches of bloody spots.

You whined only once, clearly in pain, and to that, you received a harsh slap on the cheek by an unknown hand. Steve's own was squeezing his knee in agony and anger.

"We have her." A deep voice said as you continued to mutter out small cries of anguish. "We will kill her." It stated next. Steve could feel his own chest heaving up and down heavily. He didn't even bother to look at others' expressions as he usually would. No, he was too concerned about you.

"I didn't do anything!" You muttered and looked down, more tears falling. You got a quick and hard kick to the stomach, and you coughed up some blood as you cried some more. Your sobs were louder, more painful. You sounded like a wounded animal fighting for its dear life, which you were. No one knew what to expect next, Steve least of all, "STEVEN!" You cried out, his head perking up to see you staring at the camera for only a brief second as tears continued to waterfall down your face. And the tape ended.