Sometimes Steve wakes up in the middle of the night sweating, shaking, mind stuck decades in the past as he remembers the screams, the gunfire, the blood — the men and women who died in front of him, in his arms, in search of a better future for the people left back home.

Those nightmares hurt and will no doubt hurt for as long as he lives — and isn’t it crazy that he doesn’t know how long that will be, how much longer the serum will extend his life from its natural course? — but the ones that really leave him gasping, heart pounding, are the ones that aren’t memories of war; they’re the ones of the years and the lives he missed frozen down at the bottom of the sea.

It’s the price of freedom, he knows that better than anyone, but when he sits up in bed, hands pressed to eyes that burn with unshed tears, he can’t help but wish that it was different, that there had been another better option somewhere along the way — at least one that didn’t end with him here and hurting in ways that no therapist will ever be able to touch.