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Entry tags:
Worn out places, worn out faces
Peggy.
How can one dame mess with his head so much?
With a few simple words she destroys his fragile sense of stability. He wonders if any of this is real, or an hallucination. Hydra could have him in stasis, trying a new concoction of drugs to make him more docile, mixing his memories with things so implausible that he can never trust himself again.
Each time he returns to this thought, he breaks out in a cold sweat.
He doesn't sleep, eats infrequently for forty-eight hours. Still. This...is whatever is, is better than the reality he's known for years. He should give into the madness.
Near midnight he can't stand his thoughts anymore and attacks his hair with a knife, hacking at the edges. He can't cut it close enough himself though and he needs...he needs to hear that Steve is real. That Peggy's pitying looks are all for nothing.
He jogs down the corridor and bangs on Steve's door.
How can one dame mess with his head so much?
With a few simple words she destroys his fragile sense of stability. He wonders if any of this is real, or an hallucination. Hydra could have him in stasis, trying a new concoction of drugs to make him more docile, mixing his memories with things so implausible that he can never trust himself again.
Each time he returns to this thought, he breaks out in a cold sweat.
He doesn't sleep, eats infrequently for forty-eight hours. Still. This...is whatever is, is better than the reality he's known for years. He should give into the madness.
Near midnight he can't stand his thoughts anymore and attacks his hair with a knife, hacking at the edges. He can't cut it close enough himself though and he needs...he needs to hear that Steve is real. That Peggy's pitying looks are all for nothing.
He jogs down the corridor and bangs on Steve's door.