Originals Present | Captain America | Episode Eight

#writing

:warning: Mature Themes - Reader's Discretion is Advised :warning:

Yours Truly Castiel

Presents

Title: "Unbroken Pieces"

The stillness in the room seemed to stretch, the quiet hum of the compound filling the empty spaces left by the weight of Steve's words. Everyone at the table, their half-eaten breakfast abandoned, exchanged glances—silent and unsure of what to say next. There was something heavy in the air now, something that had not been there before. Steve’s confession had cracked the surface of the man they all knew as Captain America, revealing the undercurrent of pain that ran too deep to be ignored.

Steve, sitting on the edge of the counter, cracked his neck as he reached up to rub his face. His hands were shaking slightly, betraying him despite the calm in his voice. The room seemed to have grown colder, the walls pressing in. He was fighting a battle inside himself, and he knew he was losing. The words he had just spoken hung like chains around his chest, and it was all he could do to keep breathing through the pressure.

Peter, who had been watching Steve carefully, couldn’t stand it anymore. Without thinking, he slid off his chair and crossed the room, stopping just behind Steve. The others watched, unsure of what Peter was doing, but none of them moved to stop him. It was a strange, raw thing, what Peter was about to do, but it was something Steve needed more than he knew.

Peter hesitated for just a moment before wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck from behind, his small frame stretching on tiptoe to reach. He clung to Steve like he was the last lifeline in a storm, his arms tight around Steve’s shoulders. The action was almost too simple, too pure, and Steve’s body stiffened in shock at first, as if the touch was foreign to him. His breath caught, and for the first time in a long while, his mind went quiet.

Peter’s voice was soft, but it carried in the heavy silence. "When was the last time you were hugged?" he asked, his tone both curious and concerned.

Steve didn’t answer immediately, but the question hit him harder than he expected. He hadn’t been touched like this in… God, how long? The last time someone had held him was back when his mother was still alive, before everything—before the serum, before the war. Before he was turned into something everyone else thought was invincible. He swallowed, his throat tight, but the words escaped him.

"We need four hugs a day for survival, eight hugs for maintenance, and twelve hugs for growth," Peter continued, his voice muffled against Steve’s shoulder. "That’s what Uncle Ben told me. And it looks like you need a lot more than that, Cap." He gave a little squeeze, trying to ease the pain he could sense in Steve's frame.

Steve let out a small, choked laugh, a sound that was more like a sob. The truth of Peter’s words echoed in his mind like a tolling bell. How long had it been since anyone had cared enough to hold him? Since he had allowed himself to feel safe enough to let someone touch him without the fear of what would come after?

Peter’s grip tightened for a moment, as if he could physically hold the weight of Steve’s suffering for just a little while longer. Steve didn’t pull away, though every fiber of his being wanted to. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to need someone.

"Sarah," Steve murmured quietly, almost to himself, the name escaping from his lips like a prayer. "My mom... she was the last one who hugged me. Back in 1935. Before she died." He paused, his voice thick with emotion. "She had tuberculosis. I never got to say goodbye."

The room seemed to freeze at his words. Every eye turned towards him, and even Peter, who had been trying so desperately to keep Steve grounded, pulled away just enough to look at him properly. Steve’s face was hollow, his expression distant as if he was lost in the memory.

"My mom, Sarah," Steve continued, his voice cracking slightly, "she was all I had. She used to tell me to never back down from a fight, even when everything seemed impossible. Even when my father, her husband, used to beat us both black and blue..." His breath hitched as he paused again, the weight of the memory pressing down on him. "She was a part of the suffragette movement back then, too. Fought for women’s rights when the world told her she couldn’t. She taught me everything. She was the reason I kept fighting... before I ever got the serum. Before I ed the army."

Steve closed his eyes, his breath shaky. "If I’m standing here, it’s all because of her. All of it. Everything I am... it's because of what she taught me."

The others sat still, silent and uncomfortable, as Steve spoke. Bucky’s face was twisted with pain, something raw behind his eyes that he didn’t know how to confront. Tony, Natasha, Clint, and the rest—everyone—felt the ache in their chests as Steve’s words hit them harder than they expected.

Steve continued, his voice soft but laced with sorrow. "So, give or take, it’s been eighty years since I last had a hug. And I think me and Bucky are in the same pit when it comes to hugs, aren’t we, Buck?" He glanced over at Bucky, his eyes bloodshot and tired. "We haven’t gotten much over our lives."

Bucky met his gaze, his heart heavy with a shared pain that neither of them could quite put into words. He had been Steve’s constant, just as Steve had been his. But this—this broken, aching thing that Steve had become—it was harder to look at than anything he had faced on the battlefield.

Steve pushed off from the counter, his legs shaky beneath him as he made his way out of the room. His body felt foreign to him, as if it was no longer his to control. He stumbled slightly as he ed through the doorway, but no one moved to stop him. They all knew where he was headed.

"I’m going to take a shower," Steve said quietly, his voice distant. "I just need... I just need a moment."

Peter stood there for a second longer, unsure of whether to follow him. He had seen Steve break before, seen him shatter in the aftermath of the war, but this… this was different. This wasn’t about saving the world. This was about Steve, the man behind the shield, the one who had never stopped fighting, even when the fight was no longer his to win.

Tony, always the pragmatist, stood up. "I’ll go after him," he said, his tone firm. "Someone needs to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid."

But Peter stepped forward, his face set in determination. "No, Tony. Let him be. Steve needs this. He’s been strong for too long. Breaking down doesn’t make him weak. He’s human. He feels, just like us. He’s been carrying this weight for eighty years, and no one’s ever asked if he’s okay." He turned to the others, his eyes scanning the room. "He’s not the only one who’s been hurting. But we can’t fix him by trying to make him something he’s not."

The silence that followed was thick with understanding. Tony’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing, conceding that Peter might be right. They all watched as Steve disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in the stillness.

Bucky stood up then, walking over to the door of the bathroom. He stopped before opening it, turning to Logan, who was watching with a detached expression.

"I’m going in," Bucky said, his voice low but firm. "I know Steve better than all of you. I’ve seen him at his best and his worst. And... I’m the only one who’s been with him through it all. The idiot forgot his towel, and I’ve seen him naked enough times to know there’s nothing left to hide."

Logan’s lips twitched, a half-smirk forming on his face. "Just don’t let him push you away, Buck. He’ll try, but you’ve gotta keep pushing back."

Bucky nodded, and with a soft exhale, he opened the door to the bathroom, stepping inside. The sound of the water hitting the tiles was loud, but it didn’t drown out the quiet sobs that Steve tried—and failed—to hide.

Bucky stood there for a moment, watching Steve, who was bent over the sink, his shoulders shaking with the force of his tears.

"Steve," Bucky said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "Let it out. It’s okay. You don’t have to be the hero all the time. Not with me."

Steve didn’t respond, but Bucky saw the way his body trembled, the way he clung to the counter like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Bucky stepped forward, pulling the towel from his shoulder and draping it around Steve’s neck.

"I’ve got you, Stevie. Always."

And for the first time in a long time, Steve let himself fall into the embrace of someone who understood.

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Title Card by Zula