Steve didn’t say a word when you brought him home. He just stood in the doorway, staring like he wasn’t sure if he was really there. Like maybe it was all some trick his brain was playing, that any second he’d wake up back in that cold, dark room, the sharp sting of fists and questions waiting for him.

His face was still a mess of bruises, shadowed and swollen, but it was his eyes that broke you—wide and distant, like he wasn’t quite in his own body. Like he didn’t know how to be.

You didn’t ask him if he was okay. You didn’t tell him it was over. You just opened your arms.

And it took a second. Just a heartbeat where he stood there, frozen. But then something in him cracked, and he stumbled into you, his weight hitting you harder than it should’ve. Like he wasn’t just leaning on you, but collapsing. Like the only thing holding him together was the way your arms wrapped around him.

He didn’t hold you back. His arms hung at his sides, fingers twitching but not quite moving, as though even that was too much. Too raw. So you held him tighter. Cradled the back of his head and pressed him close, felt the shudder that ran through him as his face buried against your shoulder.

"It’s okay," you whispered, though it wasn’t. Not really. "I’ve got you. You’re safe now."

But he didn’t feel safe. You could tell by the way his body stayed rigid, the way his breath came in sharp, uneven bursts against your skin. He flinched when you shifted, just slightly, like the ghost of pain still lived in his bones. Like a shadow that wouldn’t let go.

"You’re home," you murmured, your fingers threading gently through his hair. "You’re home, Steve. They can’t hurt you here."

He made a small, broken sound, half-caught in his throat, like he wanted to believe you but couldn’t. Like it still wasn’t real. His fingers finally curled into your shirt, clutching like he was scared you’d disappear. Like he’d disappear.

"I—I thought I wasn’t gonna make it," he choked out, voice raw and small. "I—God, I didn’t know if I’d ever… ever get out..”