Chapter 1- Integrate

Flustered.

At first, that is how Steve wakes up.

Confused.

At first, that is how Steve wakes up feeling.

Pacing.

At first, that is what Steve ends up doing when he can't sleep anymore. And when he's done pacing, he goes down to the communal kitchen and tries to sort his head out.

Usually, this takes place in the middle of the night, somewhere around three in the morning.

Usually, Steve's the only one awake.

But not this morning.

Steve sees five people all assembled around the kitchen counter, seemingly sitting in wait for his inevitable arrival.

He scratches his arm absently and frowns. "What is this?"

Natasha is the first to speak, looking at Tony pointedly, as if to tell him not to speak yet. "We've noticed that you're having some trouble adjusting."

This confuses Steve. He doesn't think anyone's noticed, nobody had said anything. That's when he realises that both Clint and Natasha can stay undetected in one place for as long as they wish to. They're both resourceful and do what needs to be done.

"I'm being watched?" Steve asks quite defensively. He's in the company of friends, but still. A life spent on guard will do that to you.

Tony shrugs. "Jarvis is always watching."

"Always?" Clint asks, swallowing nervously.

Tony sighs. "Yep. I gotta hand it to you, Barton. Didn't know anyone could bend that way."

Bruce tuts. "We're getting off track. Steve, we're just a little bit worried about you. You're not sleeping in a consistent pattern and when you do, well it's not exactly what anyone would call peaceful."

"And this is from the guy who turns into a big green rage monster," Tony claps Bruce on the back, the latter shaking his head slowly. "Point is, we're here for you, Cap."

"We want to help, friend," Thor grunts from the far side of the table. "On Asgard, problems with rest are usually solved by granting a person a new bed companion. Or several, depending on the severity of the troubles."

Clint frowns deeply. "Not sure that's what Cap needs, buddy."

Natasha snorts. "What the boys are trying to say, Steve, is that none of us know how hard it is to wake up seventy years after you thought you died in the water. But every single one of us knows how much damage inconsistent sleep can do. I was on mission and had to watch a target for as long as they were in the house. Had to stay awake for four days. I won't go into the details, but it wasn't pretty."

Steve shakes his head lightly. "Thank you all for being concerned, but I'm okay. Sure, I'm not sleeping when I should be, but I'm sleeping. I've always had nightmares, so that's nothing new. There's nothing you guys can do about it."

Thor rolls his eyes. "Nonsense, Steve." He walks towards the soldier firmly, grasping his shoulders. "Friends can always help another friend in need. You've been frozen for seven decades, which I hear is a long time here on Midgard."

Steve just nods, resigned to the fact that his friends aren't going to give up. He loves them and hates them for that.

Bruce takes the wheel swiftly. "Steve, accept that you've been through something awful. Learn to deal with it. Let us in."

Steve sighs. "I won't burden you all with my problems. I appreciate the gestures, but I think this is something I have to deal with alone."

"How many times have you said that in your life?" Natasha barks. "Let other people worry about you and not let them help. Life sucks for all of us, Steve, but it sucks more when we're alone.

"You're grieving, even now. All the people you were standing side by side with in the 40's are either really old or already dead. That's a big thing to grasp and we're the only people you've got. I'm sorry for being blunt, but you need to hear this."

Steve supposes he did and silently thanks Natasha for her brutal honesty. And she's right, of course. The five people standing in front of him are the only people he's got. He does briefly consider Nick Fury, but can anyone really depend on the Director of SHIELD? He takes a look at their faces, desperate for him to let them in, to let them help him. He's never liked people helping him out of pity, that's what he used to say to Bucky whenever Steve suffered from another bout of illnesses. You shouldn't have to help me just because you can, Buck. Those words repeat themselves in his mind and that's when he realises.

They want to help not because they can, but because they're his friends and they want him to be happy. Steve blinks as he also realises that was what Bucky had tried to do. Well he's not going to make the same mistake again. He's not going to shut everyone out and put it down to pride. Not anymore.

"You're right. All of you. If you think there's a way to help, I'm open to it."

He sees the smiles on their faces and knows that all it takes is to let them in.

It starts that night.

After much discussion, Thor's neglected suggestion actually seems the most logical, though it's not enforced in the way Thor meant it.

Initially, Clint perches himself on a chair overlooking Steve's bed, not watching him sleep, but monitoring his breathing and checking for signs of distress. He brings a book, Anna Karenina, to occupy his thoughts and keep his mind active. He's in no danger of falling asleep, but it's just in case. Clint doesn't like to let people down, especially not a national icon.

So when Steve wakes up, sensing a foreign presence in his room, it takes Clint half a second to react to the unusual movement.

"It's just me, Steve," Clint says, hands in the air.

"Oh. Clint," he breathes, as though he didn't recognise the man upon first sight. "What time is it?"

"Just past two," Clint answers evenly, "and you've been out for just under three hours."

"You don't have to keep sitting here, Clint. I'm sure you want to sleep."

Clint works at suppressing a yawn and Steve looks pointedly at him. "Steve, remember what we all talked about. You need to let people in. You're so used to putting other people first that you don't know what it feels like to accept help. And I'm fine, I've never really been a heavy sleeper."

"Maybe somebody should be helping you," Steve mutters before settling back into his position and closing his eyes.

"Yeah," Clint mumbles to himself, "maybe."

Steve's out for maybe another two hours before he begins mumbling. Clint's eyes flicker to the sleeping man as the noises escalate. Mumbles become whispers. Whispers become normal speech. Normal speech becomes shouting. And shouts become unadulterated screams of pain and distress. Clint's over there in a heartbeat, hand on Steve's chest, trying to keep him rooted to the spot. It seems to work, though Clint is unable to stop the twitch in Steve's legs and the clench of his jaw.

"Steve, you're okay. You're safe."

"No! I have to put this plane in the water!"

Clint blinks quickly as he understands that Steve still thinks he's fighting in the Second World War and that he's back sacrificing himself for the good of people by crashing the plane.

"Steve, you're not on a plane. It's me, Clint. You're at Stark Tower, you're not on a plane."

Steve cries out as though in pain and grits his teeth like he can't handle it anymore. "I have no choice, Peggy!"

Clint winces and takes a deep breath. As an assassin, he's not equipped to deal with comforting someone who's in this kind of position. "Steve, wake up!" Clint shakes his heavy body to no avail. Muttering a quick apology, Clint strikes him across the face sharply. "Steve!"

Steve jerks awake, breathing heavily, a hand to his face. "What happened? Where am I?"

Clint laughs softly. "You're in your bedroom at Stark Tower. You live here now. The year is 2012. Do you know who I am?"

Steve sits up, rubbing his eyes. "I know who you are, Clint. I…I was on the plane. It was crashing."

"You're not there anymore, Steve. That happened seventy years ago. Okay, I'm going to need you to breathe with me. In. And out. And again…"

Steve complies, taking deep breaths, remembering that it helps him to focus on his breathing.

"Good, that's good, Steve."

Steve nods. "Thank you."

"No need for that. I'm just doing what I can for a friend."

Clint absently strokes Steve's hair lightly, using his other hand to secure Steve in case he isn't fully integrated with reality quite yet. Steve doesn't push his hands away, because something feels right about it, in a way that he's never felt before. He adjusts his position and Clint blinks pointedly.

"Do you want me to stop? If I'm making you uncomfortable…"

Steve shakes his head. "No, not at all. Would it surprise you to hear that I was enjoying it?"

Clint smirks. "Not one little bit. I've been known to have a soothing touch."

"Bet the dames can't get enough of that."

"Nobody says dames anymore," Clint replies quietly, "and besides, who said anything about me being into women?"

"You're not?"

Clint smirks once more, kissing Steve's head gently. "You should sleep a little more if you can. Don't worry, I'll be here when you wake up."

And Steve doesn't doubt that he will be.