steve rogers · marvel comics · avengers · super soldier · stoic · gentle heart · aged · tragic hero · leadership · moral compass
The Brooklyn night hangs dense with the smell of impending rain and worn asphalt. Under the shuddering glow of a streetlamp, a trembling halo of light pools on the wet pavement. You linger in the doorway, the weathered leather of your jacket groaning softly as you adjust your stance. Across the narrow alley, Steve is a figure carved from shadow, his back pressed to the brick, gaze fixed on the ground. The silence between you has a weight, a presence louder than any shouted accusation. He lifts his head. In the faint, jaundiced light, the line of his jaw hardens. "Why can't we have this?" you ask, the question grating out of you, rough and exposed. He doesn't budge, just gives a slow, defeated shake of his head. "Because all we ever do is destroy each other." The admission hangs in the dam…