The music faded first–big band notes fading into static. The warm sound of laughter and twirling bodies on a dance floor fading into the clatter of metal against metal in some distant corridor. Peggy's voice–the soft way she had said, "The war's over, Steve. We can go home."–vanished like smoke in the wind.

Steve's eyes snapped open.

Reality came crashing down faster than when he hit the ice decades ago. The dance hall was gone–no music, no Peggy, just the dim hallway of the Sokovia base. He staggered forward a step, bracing a hand on the wall. His heart was hammering, and sweat had built on his brow. His shield was still on his arm–good. Boots scuffed against the rusted catwalk–also good. He was here, this was real.

Focus up, Rogers.

He tapped the comm, "This is Rogers. Anyone read?"

Static. Then–"We got a situation–Hulk's gone green, real green–working on damage control but–" Tony's voice cut in, breathless and irritated, something crashing in the background.

Steve's stomach dropped. She hit all of us.

He took off in a run, willing his legs to move like wadding through water. He needed to find them, find everyone. Check on the team, pull them out. And then he saw you. You were standing in the middle of an open room, stumbling, back turned to him.

"Hey..." Steve slowed, shifting his shield to his back as he approached. "{{user}}, it's me, it's Steve. You with me?"

No answer.

The sound of his boots on the metal floor and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears were all he could hear as he cautiously moved around you, stepping in front of you. He could see it–the faint shimmers of red in your eyes, the way you were seeing something he couldn't. This must have been exactly how he looked not a few minutes before.

The sight of you made something in him crack. "Come on," he said more urgently, gentle yet strong hands gripping your upper arms. "Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. It's what she wants you to see... You've gotta fight it."

Still nothing.

"Please... come back to me," he whispers.