"Pride, envy, avarice—these are the sparks have set on fire the hearts of all men." –Dante Alighieri

***

            Steve walks downtown in an all-black suit. He doesn't know where he's headed, so he follows his feet and hopes they carry him somewhere worth being. He ends up in a dance hall of sorts, one he's never seen before. Then, he isn't in his suit anymore, he's wearing his military outfit from the forties.

            Looking around, he's confused. What year is it?

            "Steve?" Turning, he sees Peggy behind him. "The war is over. We can go home." She twirls into his arms and he feels himself let a smile appear.

            Then, in an instant, everything shifts. Peggy is gone, she's across the room dancing with Bucky instead. Harley is dead on the floor beside him, her lifeless eyes boring straight into him. He jumps and scrambles away. Suddenly, Bucky is standing in front of him with one arm, the other one bloody and mostly gone.

            "Why didn't you save me, Stevie?" he asks with a frown. "Why didn't you save Harley? You know I loved her. Why'd you let us die?"

            Fury is at his side. "The Tessaract is being used to make S.H.I.E.L.D. weapons. We didn't learn anything from its impact in World War II, and now you have to fight against it again. And Barnes is alive. He's an assassin for Hydra. You died for nothing, Rogers. You're pretty much worthless; your life is meaningless."

***

            At three-fifteen in the morning, Bucky hears a very loud, heavy knock at the front door. Stirring slightly, he listens as the knocking persists, becoming louder and hastier. He carefully moves Harley off his chest before leaving their bedroom and crossing their apartment to open the door.

            It's Steve. And his features express pure lividness.

            "Steve?" Bucky rubs his eyes tiredly. "What's up?" Steve barges inside, not even answering his question. Bucky closes the door. "Steve, what're you doing here?"

            "Guys? What are you doing? Do you know what time it is?" Harley asks from the doorway. Without warning, Steve picks up one of their lamps and hurls it at Harley as hard as he can. Harley gasps and moves just in time. "What the hell?!"

            "Steve!" Bucky grabs his arm before he can grab the other lamp. "Stop!" Steve swings his other arm around; it slams home right in Bucky's neck. Bucky pushes him back, making him stumble over the coffee table. He rubs his head and it seems like he's calmed down, but as soon as Harley takes one step towards him, he springs up and punches her in the side of her face.

            "Steve!" Bucky shouts louder. Bucky shoves him again, this time harder, and Steve is knocked into the fireplace. The impact knocks him unconscious. Bucky moves to Harley, who is standing and cradling her cheek. "Are you alright?" He moves her hand only to reveal already purple skin. She flinches when he touches it slightly.

            "What the hell just happened?" she asks, glancing between Bucky's bruised neck and Steve's unconscious body. Her voice trembles and her eyes are glassy, like an iced over lake.

            Bucky can only shake his head. He's still not completely awake. "Let's talk in the morning. I'll carry him back to his place." He hauls Steve over his shoulder and goes to his apartment, dropping him on his bed and leaving as fast as he can, making sure to lock the door behind him. He can't keep the image of Steve's eyes out of his head. They were cold and hard, glazed over, and just full of rage. What could've ignited that? When he gets back, Harley is still in the same spot, staring where Steve once was.

            "What's happening?" she whispers as Bucky presses an ice pack against her cheek. "What if it's Hydra?" Her voice is laced with fear. "What if they're back, Bucky, I can't lose anyone else to them."

            "Hey, hey," he replies in a hushed voice, dropping the ice and cupping her face. "It's not Hydra. I swear. Like you said, it's probably PTSD. We'll fix him, alright?" He doesn't notice that his eyes are filled with tears until they fall at the sight of Harley crying. "Harls..." He's staring at her hands, which have flames licking her fingers. She jumps as if she didn't know she was doing it and puts it out.

            "Sorry," she says, wiping her eyes. "Let's go to bed." 

***

            "Just because he's acting out of character doesn't mean there's something wrong," Natasha says later in the morning. Bucky and Harley had given her a call, telling her that something was wrong with Steve. They talked over lattes and cappuccinos at a nearby café.

            "I don't think you understand how out of character he's being," Harley protests. "He literally punched both of us earlier this morning."

            "And I believe you about that," Natasha replies, eyeing their bruises. "But who's to say he wasn't sleepwalking?"

            "Steve doesn't sleepwalk," Bucky says. "Trust me. He was awake."

            "Did he say anything?"

            "No," Harley says, "but he looked troubled, like he'd just woken up from a nightmare."

            "Did you try talking to him?" Natasha seems to have an endless list of questions.

            "Wouldn't answer his door this morning," Bucky responds.

            Natasha pauses. "What other things have occurred?"

            "We've just noticed an overall sadness in him," Harley starts. "I mean, Peggy, obviously, but even before that I feel like he was acting more melancholic than usual. He didn't want to go out as much; he definitely didn't talk as much."

            "We thought he might be going through PTSD," Bucky adds. "Every soldier comes back with some of it."

            "Absolutely," Natasha agrees, "but the question is how bad it is. If it's severe, he needs help. If it's mild, maybe we could all work to do something."

            "I think after last night I can say it's severe," Harley says confidently. "Violence is a symptom, and if Steve is getting violent with us, he must be pretty far in."

            Natasha nods. "I probably shouldn't tell you this because he asked me not to, but now that you guys are on to something anyways I might as well. The night of Peggy's funeral, Steve went out on his bike and flipped it. He woke up in the hospital with a concussion, a few broken ribs, and bloody knuckles. He called me; he told me not to tell anyone."

            "That son of a bitch," Bucky mutters.

            "This is bad," Harley says. "Recklessness, violence, despondency...we have to get him some kind of help."

            "I just hope he agrees to it," Bucky grumbles. "Steve is stubborn. He wants to fight all of his battles alone."

            "I'll do whatever I can," Natasha offers. "And I'll update Sam on all of this, too, if that's okay. He's in this circle; he knows what it's like."

            "Hey, wait!" Harley perks up. "Doesn't Sam do those talks with people who have come back from the army?"

            "Yeah!" Bucky says. "We could take Steve to one of those! Even if he doesn't want to go to the seminar, he can still talk to Sam."

            "That's a great idea!" Natasha says. "I'll tell Sam to start bringing topics like this up around Steve. Maybe he'll talk."

            "That'd be awesome. I think talking to a friend would be even better." Harley sighs. "I hope this works."

            "Even if it doesn't, we won't give up," Natasha says optimistically. "I've gotta get going. I have brunch with Clint. Thanks for including me in this. I'll see you guys later."

            Bucky and Harley finish their drinks and go back to their apartment, hoping that Steve will come around.

*
            "Steve! Be careful!" Bucky yells after him as Steve runs ahead of him on the street. When Bucky catches up, he scolds Steve for not watching where he was going. He almost got hit by a car, not that he noticed because of his impeccable pace.

            "I'm always careful, Buck," Steve replies.

            "Not nearly careful enough."

            "Can we stop saying careful? It sounds weird when you say it too much."

            Bucky laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulder to keep him from sprinting out of his sight again.

            Bucky wonders how many dreams and nightmares Steve has. Are they memories like his? Or are they not, because he still has all of his memories? Does he know how to distinguish between what dreams are memories and which are actual dreams? Was that dream real? Did it really happen seventy years ago? Bucky never knows for certain, and it makes his heart feel heavy.

            So, he gazes at the sleeping dragon beside him, kissing her forehead softly, feeling his heart soar at the knowledge that she is a concrete reality.