Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandoms:
Relationships:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Series:
Part 1 of This dream isn't feeling sweet
Stats:
Published:
2024-02-02
Completed:
2024-02-02
Words:
30,113
Chapters:
12/12
Comments:
116
Kudos:
441
Bookmarks:
77
Hits:
7,783

i had a feeling so peculiar

Summary:

Trouble sleeping?”

He ignores the voice for a few moments before turning to look at Nick Fury. “I slept for seventy years, sir. I think I've had my fill.”

“Then you should be out, celebrating, seeing the world.”

He’s tired of that sentiment. Everyone wants him to go on an adventure and live the wildest life he can as if he hasn’t lost his sense of purpose, or as if he’s not going to wake up drenched at an ungodly hour in the night. Celebrate what, exactly? His return from the dead?

-----------

This is a story of anger and acceptance, pain and solace. Featuring Steve Rogers and Co.

Notes:

Please read the tags!!
Trigger Warning: Contains references to transphobia in what Steve expects from the world. This work might also be a bit emotionally heavy, so if you're not in a good state of mind, I do not recommend reading.

_

I hope you have a wonderful day <33

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: and when i was shipwrecked

Chapter Text

It was late. Well past midnight, but Steve doesn’t have it in him to go back to those SHIELD-assigned quarters and that cold bed by the empty walls. Steve didn’t know how to describe the way he felt there. Or anywhere, nowadays, really. But he felt like someone had cut out a drawing of him from one of those Captain America comic books that they made after the USO tour, and put him in the real world. Paper-like, fake, fabricated, unreal. That’s how he felt. Muted, quiet, wrong colours, wrong sounds, wrong place, wrong people, wrong time. It felt wrong. He felt wrong.

It was always supposed to be Bucky that made it in life. He was always going to live longer than Steve did. It should have been Bucky that got the serum and made it to a new world. Maybe he wouldn’t have hated it as much as Steve was hating it, because Bucky would actually appreciate all the technology now.

It’s been two weeks. He still doesn’t know what to do anymore, and he doesn’t want to think about it either. But he can’t help it.

When he woke up in the new world in the wrong room, his first thought was that he was alive. His second thought was that Bucky isn’t, so he let his eyes stay closed. And then he’d heard the radio, and knew something was wrong. But the first thing he realized wasn’t that the room was odd or the woman was wrong, it was that he felt dry. And was in clothes he didn’t recognize. So he bolted.

So SHIELD knew. Nobody acknowledged it, though, considering he’s very much alive. Three weeks ago, when Bucky fell down the ravine and he’d cried his weight out in tears because he couldn’t drink it, was the first time he’d told anyone other than Bucky and Dr. Erskine about himself. Peggy took as well as he’d expected - with a smile.

His mind won’t let go of Bucky. When he lost his Ma, it took him over a month to feel close to okay, and more than that to pick a pencil up again. But he had Bucky then. Now he’s lost more people than he can count without knowing it, and he’d lost Bucky in front of his eyes, and he doesn’t think he’ll be okay this time. He doesn’t think he should get the chance to be okay when his best friend’s story ended before it could even begin, and all thanks to him.

Steve’s swirl of thoughts stops abruptly when the bag tears open, sand spilling out. He stares at it, panting. He glances towards the pile of punching bags in the corner, and just picks another one up, hooks it up, and takes a swing. He’ll pay, somehow. He doesn’t want to think of money and how expensive things are right now. He might feel windswept, but he can do that strategically too. Let it out all out in one go, and you’re such a slobbering mess that even a stranger would be ready to put you back together. He hears footsteps and reels it all in.

“Trouble sleeping?”

He ignores the voice for a few moments before turning to look at Nick Fury. “I slept for seventy years, sir. I think I've had my fill.”

“Then you should be out, celebrating, seeing the world.”

He’s tired of that sentiment. Everyone wants him to go on an adventure and live the wildest life he can as if he hasn’t lost his sense of purpose, or as if he’s not going to wake up drenched at an ungodly hour in the night. Celebrate what, exactly? His return from the dead?

Steve walks over to the bench and unravels the tape over his hands, not bothered enough to hide his knuckles that were clearly in the wrong colour now. What part of himself was not wrong, anyway? At least this showed. He sits down, barely glancing at Fury.

“I went under, the world was at war, I wake up, they say we won. They didn't say what we lost.”

“We've made some mistakes along the way. Some very recently.”

That didn’t come as a surprise. The only reason they want him, and the only reason he has company now or ever is because there’s still a fight to be fought. There always will be.

“You here with a mission, sir?”

“I am.”

“Trying to get me back in the world?”

“Trying to save it.”

Steve takes the file Fury hands him. He feels his insides blend, but maintains a clear expression. If this is still his fight, they never won. “Hydra's secret weapon.”

“Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you,” Fury says, seemingly oblivious to Steve’s internal conflict. Or perhaps not. He has the same kind of sense that he remembers Peggy having. The one where people know things which they shouldn’t. Clever in a way that Steve doesn’t ever want to be. “He thought what we think, the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy. That's something the world sorely needs.”

How much does the technology of today need to be powered to need something that monstrous as a source? He doesn’t understand it, but doesn’t want to mention that either. People don’t need more reminders that he’s out of his breadth here. But he knows a mission like that when he sees it. “Who took it from you?”

“He's called Loki. He's not from around here. There's a lot we'll have to bring you up to speed on if you're in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know.”

“At this point, I doubt anything would surprise me.”

Fury smiles at him oddly - something that Steve vehemently decides does not belong on his face - like he knows something Steve doesn’t. “Ten bucks says you're wrong. There's a debriefing package waiting for you back at your apartment.”

Steve picks his bag up and begins to head out when Fury calls after him again. “It’s legal to be who you are now. Transgender. There is a lot to celebrate, Captain.”

Steve finds himself freeze, but doesn’t respond to that. Fury doesn’t seem to care. “Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?”

Steve marches out, not bothering to stop this time. “You should have left it in the ocean.”

And me, he doesn’t want to add. For some reason, he wasn’t feeling any of the relief or the joy he expected he would when this would change - being queer. Transgender - he’s heard something similar before, but having it said out loud - he wanted to go right back and tear another bag open. He never even wanted anybody to know.

But Captain America wins battles on the field, so that's what he plans to do. He's just not sure if Steve Rogers is ready for his upcoming battles.

 

Chapter 2: i thought of you

Notes:

Hello lovelies!
After some consideration, I decided to put this under the Mature tag because things in this chapter in particular do get a bit dark. Steve's not in a great headspace here, and if you're not as well, maybe read something fluffier until you feel better?

P.S. I'm thinking of updating every Monday?

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Steve watches New York burn, and scuffs along as someone pulls him by the arm, talking so amicably that Steve would have torn his own helmet off if most of his attention wasn’t on the damn city. The goddamn city that was burning down, crumbling into pieces like Steve’s life is. So agonizingly slowly, but he can see it. It’ll take some years, but it’ll all fall down. Just like his fucking life will. Could it not all break him in one fell swoop - end everything once and for all?

 

There’s ash in his eyes, his hair, his face. There’s sirens everywhere, and everybody’s grimy and bleeding at least a bit. You don’t escape an alien invasion without a scratch. 

 

For the first time in what felt like years but was apparently weeks - weeks - the entire damn world seems to match Steve’s reality. And he can’t even find it in him to hate it that much.

 

His eyes scan his surroundings as he keeps walking on autopilot - can’t his body just stop? Can’t he just drop dead now that they’ve won? - and they linger on an old building that he swears he’s seen before. Even the awning was the same red, just that it said Soup - Salad - Juice instead of Cigar and Stationery . He used to spend hours there in that little corner, browsing the comics that were too much of a waste to spend money on, but whose art styles he’d stare at until he could go home and try out himself. Bucky would annoy him by saying that if he ever went missing, the first place they’d have to look is Wyckoff Street.

 

But the place sold salads now, and it was just about gone. Chitauri remnants lay in front of the rubble.

 

Steve doesn’t want to keep moving on, he wants to sit there in the middle of the fucking street and feel the city. These broken cobblestones and distant cries - an epigon of the same muse, the same grief - this mausoleum is where he belongs. When time passes benevolently, the dead and the broken have their time to be mourned and comforted, and it is alright to let go of them. It is alright for all of them to be forgotten together, and become a part of history. But that’s not how things went, did they? He’s still right here. He’s still here and everyone else is forgetting but he cannot forget a damn thing because of his fucking mind and the fucking ice, and he’s right where they left him, waiting for something, anything to happen.

 

He wishes they had forgotten him too. But they didn’t. They spun lies out of his existence, and stole everything from him. He doesn’t recognise his own identity anymore. Golden Boy.

 

Somehow - as all things now happen without his conscious consent - he’s standing alone, in front of his door. Steve lets himself in, and the jarringly different smells of a house that’s not his own flood his senses. 


Steve slams the door shut with a loud thud, and withers to the ground, back pressed to the door as he lets out a choked gasp.

 

Why can’t everything just stop? He’s been running and falling and running and falling from the beginning of his life, and if anything about him being a hero and saving the world, saving New York , in February - seventy years ago, that was seventy years ago - was true, why can’t it just be enough? All he goddamn wanted was to end it and he had. He sacrificed his fucking life so everything could finally just be over - the bloody Nazis, the war that did nothing but steal from everyone, the Army and it’s bloody humor, all the lies and hatred that he was sure would find their way sniffing him up, telling him he’s not a man and will never be one, all the numbness that he carried after Bucky just fell off a train - why can’t he die in a plane that did fall? Why?

 

Steve screams. Feral - he feels feral as he lets himself finally scream, just fucking scream his lungs out as he thrashes everything he finds. 

 

What the fuck, what the fuck was anybody thinking? What the fuck was he thinking - time to be a hero again? He wasn’t a damn hero, he wasn’t here to masquerade as a saviour to a delusional world. He was here because - he doesn’t know why. Why in hell’s sake was he here? He wants to sleep and just be told all of this was just a terrible dream, but his life feels like a death sentence.

 

He smashes all the delicate glassware and the frames hanging on his walls, all the stupid presents from people that consider themselves to be important.

 

What do they even know about him, anyway? He’s seen the shit they spun and what they made of Captain America. They stood him up on a pedestal that people would have spat at him for trying to get close to just years back. The peak of masculinity, someone had called him and yet, they would have broken him if they’d seen him years ago. Why? Why does he get such high praise and adoration when he was just as much a man when he was skinnier, wearing skirts and blouses that he usually despised, letting his mother braid his long blonde hair? Why do they get to erase that - why do they get to talk about him at all? 

 

The perks - or in this case, what Steve might later perceive as the cons - of having the serum extended to his biologically expected post-battle adrenaline crash being forcibly postponed by stubborn anger. Which meant Steve’s course of destruction began at the entrance of the apartment and went all the way to his bedroom. He’s bleeding everywhere - splinters of glass are all over his fists and arms; the blast from the Chitauri weapon has his torso in what were probably first degree burns, but his suit was sticking to his skin and it seems wet; bruises on his back from falling off a three-storey building and then some. But when he collapses to his knees, that’s not why.

 

He’s accidentally broken a photo frame. 



“Buck-” Steve gasps, breaking into what could probably be called a sob. “No. No, no, no, no!”

 

It’s an old picture - the one thing that made him appreciate how crazy the world was about him after he died because that meant at least Bucky got to be remembered. Not correctly, but it’s his Bucky smiling at him in the picture. Steves heaves shakily, and wipes the frame quickly as tears begin to pool on it, and cries out when he realizes his palms were bloody and grimy. 

 

“Please,” he begs to nobody in particular. God, maybe. “Please. Let me have just this.”

 

Undulant, stormy - that’s how his breathing becomes. It’s still rhythmic, but it’s patterned more like a mosaic than a gentle wave. It’s erratic, too fast. Probably still slower than how fast everyone wants him to be well-adjusted with this century, though.

 

Steve swallows the lump in his throat, letting out a shivery breath as he closes his eyes, trying to recollect himself. He needs to fix this. He has to fix it.

 

Legs a lot shakier than before now that his body has caught a moment of rest and was able to nip the meltdown, if only for a bit, Steve heads to the bathroom, turning the light on as he places the broken frame gingerly on the countertop by the sink. He uses a paper napkin as a glove as he turns the frame over and opens it carefully. Tiny pieces of glass scatter as he pulls the photo out. With bated breath, Steve flips the picture over and gasps in relief when it’s perfectly fine. 

 

“Oh, god. Oh thank god,” he whispers, sniffing quietly as his vision blurs again. Steve pulls the picture closer to his chest and closes his eyes as his knees buckle. He figures his brief sanity was just that - brief - as memories flood his head.

 

Bucky holding him close as he fought in his arms, wrestling to get out and just see his Maa one last time. Bucky murmuring something to him as Stark and Colonel Philip raved on about something, making Steve laugh at the worst possible moments -

 

Steve lets himself cry - gut-wrenching sobs shaking his entire body. He clutches the cool surface of the countertop, trying to brace himself. 

 

- Winifred and Maa rolling their eyes at them and laughing about something outside Steve’s home. His Maa telling him that she’s so proud of him and kissing his cheek. Winifred brushing Steve and Rebecca’s hair as they sat down, drawing - 

 

He crumbles to the ground more comfortably, his back to the wall as he closes his eyes, head tilted towards the ceiling. The picture stays in hand, napkin still protecting it carefully from everything Steve currently is - blood, sweat and tears. A puddle of grief.

 

- Bucky smiling at him when he first let Steve borrow his clothes. Rebecca, Bucky and he running down the street after school, their satchels flopping behind their backs.Peggy smiling to herself when he got the flag and rode with her. Bucky whispering reassurances before that secretive chest surgery. Bucky trying to reach out for Steve, his arm outstretched. His scream - their screams when Bucky fell. 

 

His sobs die down eventually - hell if he knows how long that took - and he breathes out deeply. Wiping his cheeks with his shoulder, he gets up, stumbling, and catches himself in the mirror. He looks terrible. Steve sighs, opening the cupboard behind the mirror and places the picture there before he tries to clean himself up. 

 

It takes a lot of effort. Too much effort, really. He needs to pick out all the pieces of glass from his skin, peel that bastardly uniform off, and then shower. 

 

He stares at the floor as the thankfully warm shower hits his back like pellets as he sits on the floor, hugging his knees. Steve watches as the water under him turns brownish-red, and then pink, and eventually clears out. He watches as the water droplets fall on his skin and slowly slide off. The water gets cooler gradually, but Steve stays. He runs a finger over his chest, where the scars have faded long ago. He wishes they stayed. He was so proud of himself then - he loved those scars. Bucky was proud of him for being proud. 

 

Steve eventually slumps against the shower wall, his eyes fluttering close to the oddly lulling sound of the water as he shivers, feeling that this pain might be for evermore.

Notes:

The store I mentioned here was found after a bit of research - I'm not from New York, so if I've got it wrong, lemme know! But here are the pictures: the store back in the 1920s and how it looks now !

If that chapter got you particularly in the feels - the part about the city, especially - I got a music recommendation for you. This City by Sam Fischer. That shit kills me everytime, so if you happen to listen to it, please come scream at me.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that chapter! I had another ending for this chapter, but I'm posting this one as a spur of the moment decision lol. The other one had a lot more comfort. But, you're gonna be seeing more characters soon! Any guesses?

I always love to hear your thoughts, so please do leave a comment if you can! Kudos are always appreciated <3

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 3: in the cracks of light

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It’s the telephone that wakes him up. 

 

Somehow, he’d gotten himself out of the shower last night - brownie points to anyone that can help him remember how the hell that happened - and crawled into bed. Steve wakes up with a groan, his body sore as he sits up and feels momentary shock at the disarray around him before he remembers the previous night. 

 

There’s a shrill ringing in his head, but it takes him another flash moment to remember that it’s actually the telephone. Not that his head wasn’t pounding, mind you. 

 

Steve stumbles out of bed, gingerly making his way to the living room where the blasted phone was still ringing, his caller be blessed for their patience. He answers it, voice still rough with sleep. “Hello?”

 

“Cap! Morning! Oh- Shit, were you sleeping? Did the fight wear you out or does the old grandpa actually sleep in till three in the afternoon everyday?”

 

Steve glances at the clock that lay in the middle of all the broken glass, time be damned. “Stark?”

 

“The one and only! How are you doing, Cap?”

 

Steve doesn’t want to respond to that, not while he’s still staring at the mess he made last night and feeling a cold numbness to it all, but Stark doesn’t expect an answer anyway, thankfully. 

 

“A lil birdie told me SHIELD has kept you locked in a tiny apartment that I’m sure they bugged anyway-”

 

Steve whips his head around, scanning the walls as if he could find something embedded in them now that the thought has occurred. He really hopes not, and feels dread creep in at the idea. 

 

“-and the A in the Stark of your favorite big, ugly building is all that’s left thanks to Reindeer games, and if we gotta deal with all that and aliens and Fury even one more time, it will be helpful to work as a better team - yeah, I know, imagine me saying that, Rhodey’ll have a heart attack -  so I’m rebranding.”

 

Steve is so lost but he doesn’t comment. The man is rambling - was he nervous? Steve didn’t think Stark was capable of being nervous. Hell, he’d cracked a joke two seconds after nearly dying yesterday. 

 

“Making it Avengers Tower and adding a little spice, maybe a few Captain America and Black Widow worthy workout rooms. I’m not sure what could withstand big green or our Asgardian, but I’ll figure it out. So. A floor for each Avenger - it’ll take a few weeks max - but would you like to move in? Maybe give your input for the designs and all that jazz?”

 

“What.”

 

“No pressure, Cap! I don’t need an answer just yet, tell me whenever, and call me at this number - did SHIELD give you something other than a telephone?”

 

“I-”

 

“Well, don’t worry about it. And before I forget, Fury wants to meet all of us today. Debrief apparently. Can you imagine? Debrief after a battle like that. But I do not want to die at the hands of his favorite assassin, so passing the message along. I can have a car pick you up?”

 

“No, I- I can walk, thanks.”

 

“Well, suit yourself. It’s in an hour though, at my tower because SHIELD is SHIELD.”

 

Steve glances at the clock again - well, he needs a new one. “I think I’ll take that car ride.”

 

“Perfect! Happy will be there in thirty. Bye, Cap”

 

“Thanks,” Steve tries to say but the line’s already dead. He sighs, rolling his eyes as he puts the handset back in the receiver. His eyes skim over his apartment, tossing his fragmented thoughts over and over.

 

This place was a mess, but it was not too hard to fix. But Stark’s offer was...nice. He’d had reservations about the guy, but after yesterday, Steve’ll have to admit there’s things he has to  take back. For one, Iron Man or not, Stark was definitely one to make sacrifice a play. 

 

And he can work with a team - he’s already trying to make it work. It’s Steve that doesn’t know how to play with a team. Not anymore, at least. But there was that itch at the back of his heart - desperation - it’s been two weeks, and he’s as alone now as he was the day he went into the ice. More, actually. The only time he’d felt anything close to peace at all was in the middle of the fight, bantering with Thor and Romanoff. It was easy. The relief when Stark turned out to be alive was the first positive feeling he had in ages, and yet there was so much else to consider. 

 

But he’s got thirty minutes to get dressed and look presentable, and maybe even quieten his grumbling stomach. He can figure this out later.

 

Steve only has his mental awareness of time to go by, so he makes sure to get downstairs and wait as early as he can. He doesn’t want to make Tony’s driver - Happy? - wait. 

 

A sleek, shiny car arrives - so distinct from everything else in the neighbourhood. The window rolls down, revealing a white, middle-aged man with a roundish face. “You must be Captain Rogers?”

 

“Just Steve, please,” Steve says with a quick smile as he slides into the backseat. “Happy, right? Thank you so much for coming.”

 

“Of course, Steve. And my name's actually Harold, Happy is just what Boss calls me.”

 

"Oh, okay."

 

Steve licks his lip, wracking his head for anything to say because it would be too rude to just stare out the window, but Happy just rolls the divider up, making Steve sigh in relief and sag into the leather seats. He rests his temple on the glass, watching the city. It’s still in shambles, and maybe it’s masochism that makes him watch it, but he’s not expecting to see that the city is recovering. It’s broken and bruised, but it’s recovering. A little kid pushes their teddy bear towards someone in pain; young and old people alike are on the streets, passing out food and water bottles; a group of medics that could only be college students from how young they seem and their outfits are patching up people the best they can; police officers that look exhausted from trying to recover survivors still smile at children and pat each others’ backs. 

 

As they approach Stark Tower - which was looking a little worse for wear and was surrounded by SHIELD agents, undoubtedly trying to get things back up - Steve realizes something. 

 

It’s always in the small things. You can take away everything from humanity, but you can’t take away their humanity.  

 

And it’s not as much of a revelation as an epiphany, and somehow it’s still enough armour to confront a new day with the potential to bring more pain than relief.

 

The divider rolls back down, and Happy looks at him in the front rearview mirror. “Alright Steve, I’ll see you around.”

 

“Thanks for the ride, Harold. I hope you have a nice day.”

 

Steve gets out and watches the car roll away for a moment before he turns towards the tower and takes a deep breath, feeling like he’s readying himself for a battle. Well, in many ways, it probably was. For him. 

 

Thankfully, Happy had dropped him off right in front of the private entrance to the elevators, so he was able to skip the crowd. Maybe they won’t recognize just by appearance, but he came in Stark’s car - people were bound to look. 

 

Steve heads into the elevator and figures he should have asked Stark where the meeting was. The building had 93 floors, apparently. 

 

“Captain Rogers, welcome to the Avengers Tower-”

 

Steve flinches at the voice, and looked around him to see the source of the sound. 

 

“-I am JARVIS - an AI that Mr. Stark designed to take care of all the internal systems of the building as well as his suits.”

 

Steve relaxes a little after that, but only marginally. Right, technology. Could it see him? Should he talk to it? And why does it have a British accent? He clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh hello. Jarvis?”

 

“I apologize for the surprise. I wish Sir could have informed you of my existence beforehand, but I assume you are already learning that he forgets that most people do not speak technology instead of English.”

 

Steve burst laughing in surprise. It had a sense of humor . Maybe calling JARVIS an ‘it’ was even wrong. He, maybe? 

 

“Yes, no. No, it’s okay, JARVIS. Thank you.”

 

“The other Avengers are yet to arrive, but Sir is already waiting for you in a meeting room in the 55th floor. I am taking you up to him.”

 

Steve was so engrossed in processing Stark’s elevator AI, he hadn’t realized the elevator was moving. Well, he still couldn’t feel it.

 

 “Thank you. So um. What’s a- What are you, exactly- Oh wait, can I just converse with you like that? Would I take away your attention from something else?” Steve asks, just before the elevator doors open. He sighs and steps out, guessing that he’ll have to ask Stark about his AI later, but JARVIS continues to speak in the lobby outside of the elevator. Steve stares up at the ceiling in surprise.

 

“I am an AI, short for Artificial Intelligence, which is the simulation of human intelligence in machines. You may speak to me whenever you like - I can answer any questions you have and help you with anything you need. I will also ensure that everything remains private and confidential, meaning Sir cannot access any of this unless I have reason to believe that your health is in danger. I can execute multiple tasks in an interweaved manner, and in other words, can multitask efficiently, so I can be at all places at once. Does that answer your questions?”

 

Steve smiles to himself. Everything was so easy now, but wasn’t this what he died for? Buck would have loved it. “Yes. Thank you, JARVIS.”

 

“Of course, Captain Rogers. Sir is expecting you - he is in the third room to your left.”

 

Steve nods and heads out, glancing around him as he walks - there were large windows stretching from the ceiling to the floor, and the view from this floor was beautiful.

 

He hears Stark before he sees him, humming tunelessly to himself. Steve takes a deep breath before he approaches the open door and watches the man scratch his goatee as he read something from a tablet. He looks up when Steve knocks the door. “Mr. Stark?”

 

“Capsicle! Oh, no. Please just call me Tony. Mr. Stark was my father,” he says with a wide grin as he stood up, beckoning Steve in. 

 

Steve allows himself to smile a little. “Pretty sure I only ever called him Howard.”

 

Tony’s smile barely flickers even though Steve’s hyper-senses tell him something did change. “Well, if you can call my old man by his name, you can definitely call me Tony.”

 

“Only if you call me Steve.”

 

“Now where’s the fun in that, Mr. Stars and Stripes?” Tony smirks, making Steve wince internally. It must have shown on his face, though, because Tony’s expression flickers slightly, again. The man was quite interesting - he had a level of command over his micro expressions that Steve’s never seen on anyone. Peggy had a killer poker face, but this was different. “So Steve. Did you have the chance to meet JARVIS?”

 

Steve smiles. “Yeah, I did. He’s great, Sta- Tony. I knew someone who would have loved to talk to him.”

 

Tony nods. “And you?”

 

Steve freezes. He hasn't really been thinking of things in terms of his own likes and dislikes a lot lately. It's not like he had a say in anything that happens to him nowadays. “I um-”

 

Tony smiles self-deprecatingly. “All in good time, Steve. You don’t have to talk to J if you don’t feel like it, your old man-”

 

“No!” Steve splutters. Of course that’s how it sounded. “That’s not what- Jarvis seems great. He has a sense of humor and everything and is absolutely fantastic. I just. It’s a lot. Everything. And when you asked that, I- I’ve been mostly thinking about Bucky - um, my best friend - and he would have loved this world lots, he would have. And I- I haven't been-”

 

Steve sighs, and holds his head in his hands. He doesn’t want to see Stark’s expression. Steve can’t seriously be having a breakdown in front of people . This was bad. He was doing just fine today, where did this even come from?

 

He swallows and looks up with a smile he forces, and sees Stark looking back at him with concern. “Steve, it’s okay.”

 

“No, I- Sorry.” Steve clears his throat, looking away to glance at the skyline behind Stark before turning back to him. “Do you really think SHIELD would have bugged my apartment?”

 

Stark sighs at the change of topic, and Steve isn’t sure if it’s relief or frustration. Now that is something he’s used to being directed to him. “When I first came back from Afghanistan, Nick Fury was standing in my living room, in the dark, like the ominous pirate he is, despite the million protocols JARVIS had about intruders-”

 

“-Eight, Sir,” the cool voice comes from above, making Tony roll his eyes. 

 

“-Yes, J. You sass-machine. Eight. Which is a lot, even if you don’t think so-”

 

“-You’re the genius here-” Steve interrupts, and catches another little expression on Tony’s face. He’ll need to figure that out later. “I’ll take your word for it. So it would be just like SHIELD to monitor me too?” 

 

“Yep. I can check, if you’d like. Maybe I could come over after this meeting-”

 

“-No,” Steve says, alarmed, making Stark raise an eyebrow. His place was in a state that gave away too much, and he won’t be able to fix it well enough to escape Stark’s sharp eye. “I mean. No, it’s okay. I doubt you’ll have to. And my place is terrible, anyway.”

 

Stark obviously latches onto that, thinking Steve was talking about the accommodations and not what he's made of it. “It's a SHIELD apartment, what do you expect? Well, my offer’s always open. If you want to get out of there earlier than a week or two, I have a place you can crash. Just tell me, and I’ll arrange everything for you.”

 

“Thank you.” He ponders for another moment. If SHIELD has cameras, then they know about yesterday. “How long before the others come?”

 

“They are on their way, Captain Rogers. ETA 4 minutes.”

 

Steve feels his insides whirl. He doesn’t want Fury to bring anything up, but it’s a possibility that Steve doesn’t want to risk. He looks at Stark and weighs his options - tell Stark and ask for help, or wait for the penny to drop. “If my apartment was bugged like you said it might have been, there’s something there that I really don’t want Fury to see or bring up if he did.”

 

Stark’s lips are slightly turned upwards as he opens his mouth to speak and his eyes have a playful glint to them, but Steve does not have time. So he carefully adds, “Please. I don’t know what to do.”

 

The billionaire purses his lips and nods after a moment, pulling his tablet out. “I’ll take care of it.”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I’m going to wipe out any footage that SHIELD has of your apartment - if there is any, that is. It’s possible that everything is just audio. Either way, I’m not going to watch any of it, got it? Just wipe out, whoosh . And don’t worry about him bringing it up. I have my ways with that.”

 

Steve raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t have the chance to ask as Jarvis alerts them of everyone else’s arrival. 

 

Stark swipes on the screen, muttering something to either himself or Jarvis - Steve can hear, but he can’t make sense of it - before he looks up expectantly just as Agent Romanoff walks in, followed closely by Barton and Dr. Banner. “Hello, hello. Welcome to my humble abode!” he says as he gets up, arms outstretched dramatically. 

 

“Can hardly call this humble, Stark,” a booming voice calls out as everyone heads inside, and Nick Fury appears in his usual black suit, his taste for dramatic appearances clear in Steve’s mind. He can’t even say they’re not good dramatic appearances. “But thank you for offering your resources to SHIELD.”

 

“Well, gotta keep up that philanthropy streak, don’t I? Told you SHIELD can’t afford me otherwise.”

 

Steve suddenly remembers their little squabble on the helicarrier and feels a twinge of guilt again. None of it was true - every single person in the room, probably with the exception of himself, was a real hero - even if he believed it then. Nonetheless, he’s secretly jealous of Stark’s ability to make a wisecrack about things like that. 

 

The conference table is long - much longer than it needs to be - and Stark sits at one head and Fury on the other. Dr. Banner sits close to Tony, smiling at the man and whispering a quick hello, and the two agents sit next to each other, across from Steve. Romanoff catches him looking and gives him a small smile, and Barton - well, that man looks every bit as lost as Steve as he nods stiffly at him. Steve nods back, suddenly remembering that he was under mind control for god knows how long before being thrown into a fight, and feels a wave of sympathy. The man deserves a vacation. 

 

As the Director begins to address them, launching into the details of how Loki was taken to Asgard by Thor, Steve carefully assesses the rest of the team. Romanoff is a little banged up, as is Hawkeye, who seems more exhausted than hurt. He’s already seen some of Stark’s awful bruises and Dr. Banner looks unhurt, but he seems a lot weaker than he did on the helicarrier, even if he seemed stressed then as well. They all need time to recover. 

 

Fury then has all of them go over what exactly happened, and Steve does his best to keep his head in the game. The room is very tense when they come to the part with the nuke, Stark having lost all of his initial playful demeanor. “I just want to know how the hell that was considered tactful. Who made that call?”

 

“Believe it or not, I agree with you on that one, Stark. The decision was made by the World Security Council - it exists to oversee SHIELD’s functions.”

 

“Who exactly are these people?” Dr. Banner presses, leaning forward. Steve sees now that his early assumption of the doctor as a quiet person was wrong. He was quiet, but he was clearly well-read and analytical enough to ask the right questions and hold up fort without being biased. He and Stark together have been the most vocal in the entire debrief, pushing and prodding until they’re satisfied. Romanoff - who probably knew more about SHIELD than those two - mostly stayed observant, staying incredibly clinical when she gave her account of things and always saying things that caught everyone a bit off guard. Everyone but Barton, who clearly seems to be a close friend. Fury never looks surprised at anything anyway.

 

“They’re politicians from the world’s most powerful countries,” she says, beating Fury to it as she shares a glance with him. Steve watches curiously as Fury and her seem to have a silent conversation. 

 

Fury stands up and walks around his chair, holding it from behind as he eyes them all. “The WSC made some stupid decisions that could kill a lot of people, but that’s my fight. What I need you all to know is that just because we won this war, doesn’t mean there won’t be more. I’m asking you - what can all of you do for me?”

 

His tone did not leave any space for argument, but that didn’t mean there weren’t lingering questions. 

 

“I’ve already rebranded this to Avengers Tower - I know what I saw up there. There are worlds out there that we know nothing about, and if we can’t end that, the least we can do is to be ready. I’m ready to provide everything we need.”

 

Everyone on the table turned to Stark, who stood up, copying Fury’s position. “Also, consider this my invitation to the rest of you, but no pressure. I’m designing floors for each of you - you may move in, if you wish, or just stay for a while, or never. It’s up to you.”

 

The table goes quiet until Dr. Banner breaks the silence with a grin. “How many labs?”

 

“Oh, Brucie Bear - whatever kinds you want! You all can design your stuff if you like, just give me the word.”

 

Romanoff and Barton share a look, having a silent conversation of their own. Feeling a bit left out, but also in need of some answers, he turns to Fury, who happens to be eyeing him carefully. 

 

“If we can’t trust that the commands from up above are ones that deserve to be followed, why should we work for you?”

 

Steve feels everyone’s attention on him as he maintains a steady gaze at Fury, challenging him to say anything that isn’t pertinent to his question.

 

“The Avengers Initiative was designed to be under SHIELD, but it was scrapped and then re-activated because the situation called for it. My proposition to you is that the Avengers work as an independent entity to respond to attacks that we cannot handle on our own, involving with SHIELD only for resources, intelligence and reporting.”

 

The team shares glances, and Steve feels all eyes on him so he diverts his attention to Stark, who seems lost in thought. The man leans forward, his palms flat on the desk as he looks directly at Fury. “I’ll fund the Avengers, and all we’ll interact with you is for briefing and debriefing. You’ll allow JARVIS to access your systems.”

 

Steve’s jaw nearly falls to the floor at that, and the rest wear similar expressions even if Romanoff looked unfazed. Funding the Avengers - that couldn’t be a small cost, even for Stark. 

 

“JARVIS may access my systems only for information that concerns you, and you will not attempt to poke your nose anywhere I don’t want it.”

 

Stark mulls over it for a second before he nods. “Deal.”

 

Fury nods. “I’ll leave you to discuss it among yourselves and will be expecting finer details in a week.” He looks directly at Steve before he adds, “And you are all expected to attend mandated therapy sessions with SHIELD after yesterday’s events. I kn-”

 

Steve feels a chill run down his spine, just as Stark cuts Fury short. “I’m financing this team, and we will not under any circumstance be required to do something for SHIELD unless we offer you our services or time by ourselves. We can take care of ourselves and each other.”

 

Fury glares at Stark and then looks pointedly at Steve. “If you say so.”

 

“I do," Tony says, leaning even more forward. 

 

“Very well, then," Fury says, and Steve realizes that he's not the only one that sags in relief at that. Barton visibly relaxes, as does Dr. Banner. "Good work, everyone,” he says as he walks out, and the energy in the room instantly simmers down to anticipation. 

 

Stark claps his hands together. “Great! Now that the Headmaster’s gone, do you all want to get lunch- no, it’s closer to dinner, now. Right?”

 

“It’s almost seven, Stark,” Romanoff says, rolling her eyes with a small smirk. “I really don’t think I’m going to my quarters and cook. I’m in.”

 

“Yeah, the Shawarma wasn’t that bad, Stark, although I wouldn’t mind trying something different,” Barton says, speaking for the first time since he had to recount his version of things when he was with Loki. That was rough - if they knew each other even a little better, Steve would have probably cried and hugged him. 

 

“How about Pizza?” Stark asks, motioning them to follow. 

 

Everyone nods and gets up, a collective discord of chairs moving and winces and sighs from sitting for so long. Steve stretches his body a little before following everyone out, and Romanoff comes up to him. “Hey Rogers, how’s it going?” 

 

Steve shrugs. "It's okay. You?”

 

“Nothing I haven’t fixed up before. What do you think about all this - the Avengers Initiative?”

 

“It’s a good move, I agree with St- Tony. I may not have been around to see how it led up to this, but we’ve clearly always been living in a world with gods and aliens. Time to play catch up.”

 

“Is that what Captain America thinks, or what Steve Rogers thinks?”

 

Steve doesn’t respond to that, glancing at the others instead. She’s sharp, quick and her skills are better in-person than what he’s read on her files. Natasha Romanoff makes a great teammate, but Steve doesn’t know if he’ll survive living in the same place with her. “What do you think?”

 

“The WSC is made of the most influential people on the planet. If they’re willing to decimate half of New York, I don’t want to know what they’d have done if Loki tried taking over a city in Rwanda or Afghanistan instead of one in the US.”

 

Steve feels his stomach churn. “What do you propose?”

 

“Fury is a good man. He said it - it's his fight, and he'll do what he has to. He doesn't owe any of us an explanation of what's going to go into that. But this team has got two of the most influential voices that WSC would be foolish not to listen to.”

 

“You think Stark and Banner should talk to them?” Steve asks as they all approach elevators, the two scientists engaged in an animated conversation as Barton listens to them. 

 

“I’m talking about Stark and you . Establishing the Avengers will require negotiations with WSC, and we can’t undermine their validity till everything is set in stone. But afterwards, you should expect Fury to approach you about this.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Whether you like it or not, your title as Captain kind of places you in the category of potential leaders of the Avengers.”

 

Steve nods as they all quiet down, as JARVIS asks them what pizzas each of them want to be ordered.

 

Whether he likes it or not, people think he’s a hero. Whether he likes it or not, there are things people expect of him and things that people know about him. But Steve has to figure out if he likes any of it in the first place, and what he wants to do.

Notes:

Much later than I promised, but I hope it made up for the time by being longer! I got caught up in moving to college and then the first week of classes, which was quite the experience after an year and a half of being home. I hope you enjoy it! And I promise, there's a lot more to come.

Please do leave comments and kudos! They make my day <3

Chapter 4: i dreamed of you

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It starts out okay. 

 

Steve is still half-asleep and groggy, but there is not much one can do with sunlight pouring in. There’s a rustle behind him, and he knows instinctively who it is and rolls back to sleep. 

 

“Do you plan on getting up at all today?”

 

He must have planned on saying something smart, but it comes out as a tired grunt. Of course, that only invokes his daily tormentor to pull the sheets off. 

 

“You’d sleep for a whole century if I’d let you.” A snort. “Get your ass up, Steve. Carter’s got a mission.”

 

And if that’s not going to wake him up, then only heaven knows what is. Steve groans, but blinks his eyes open and gets onto his feet. “What would I do without you, Buck?”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes, tossing him a fresh undershirt. He’s already in his uniform, the only thing missing being his cap.“Suit up in ten. I’m hungry and don’t wanna wait for your dumb ass to doll up now.”

 

Steve doesn’t bother responding as he rushes to get ready while also trying to wake up fully. He’s not sure why he feels so exhausted, as if he’d been woken up in the middle of the night, but he forces his body through it anyway. 

 

They all get to the main camp, and the Commandos are a cheery bunch, teasing Steve and Dum Dum about goodness knows what this time, but everyone quiets down when Peggy and Colonel Philip arrive. 

 

Steve nods as the Colonel explains the situation, and glances as Peggy nods at a distance. “Zola’s on that train. Bring him in, boys.”

 

Steve turns to see what Bucky thinks, but something shifts when he does. They’re not in the middle of the camp anymore, they’re amidst snow-clad mountains with the wind blowing at least 40 miles an hour, and there’s no one else beside them. Bucky looks slightly perturbed but is laughing it off, and says something and Steve feels like he’s laughing, but he doesn’t feel it.

 

A train comes into view. I need to stop him , Steve thinks suddenly. 

 

“Bucky, no,” he tries to say, but for some reason, his voice sounds muted and Bucky doesn’t hear anything. The wind dies down a little as the train becomes louder, but Buck cannot hear a thing Steve says, and they’re both zip-lining suddenly. The whole way down, he wants to stop, scream, just say something, and he feels his throat tighten with frustration. The moment he lands, he turns around, wanting to tell Bucky to leave, but not a word escapes him. And he doesn’t see Bucky anywhere. 

 

“Please don’t do this.”

 

Steve whips his head around and sees Bucky. He’s hanging over the edge of the train, and it’s moving too fast. 

 

“Bucky!” Steve yells, and scrambles to get to him.

 

“Steve, we still have time. We can work something out!”

 

“Bucky, grab my hand!”

 

“Steve,” Bucky says again, his voice cracking. Steve glances at the sight underneath Bucky, feeling like they might freeze to death if they don’t fall to it. The valley is filled with water, the level rising steeply. It smells like the ocean.

 

“Where did that come from!?” He tries to ask anyone that would answer, but it’s pointless - his voice doesn’t work anymore, anyway.

 

And then the train starts tilting forward. 

 

“Steve!” Bucky screams, his eyes wild with fear. Steve wants to scream - nothing he is doing is helping, and everything is happening too fast.  

 

“We’ll be okay! Buck, we’ll be okay” Steve hangs onto the side and stretches his hand as much as he can, but Bucky can’t reach him. He’s too far away. 

 

Suddenly, there’s another violent shake and Bucky is screaming, falling, and Steve’s still strapped to his seat, and the train is crashing into the ice, right after Bucky.

 

“No! No, please. No!” 

 

“Steve!”

 

“Please,” Steve begs again, feeling the water close in around his neck. It’s icy, he can’t breathe. 

 

“Steve! Steve, wake up!”

 

Steve stretches his hand again, trying to catch Bucky, and feels something warm squeezing his fingers and jerks his eyes open. “Bucky!”

 

“Steve, you’re okay. It’s okay. Shh.”

 

It’s very dark, but he sees Bucky sitting beside him, his silhouette mellow in the moonlight. 

 

“Bucky. Bucky, you’re okay.”

 

A warm light flickers on, and he squints at Bucky again. “Steve.”

 

“You- You’re not Bucky.”

 

A man sits in front of him. He’s blond. Looks older than Bucky. His eyes are blue but they’re wrong. 

 

“No, I’m not. I’m Clint Barton.”

 

Steve feels like he might be having another asthma attack but tries to steady himself. The man- Clint. Clint keeps talking. 

 

“Today is May 27th, 2012, and we’re in the Avengers Tower. We had a meeting earlier today, and you fell asleep on the couch after dinner.”

 

Steve can still see Bucky falling, he can still hear the way he screamed. “It- It was so wrong. But- It was real. I was-”

 

“Hey, hey. I need you to breathe, okay?”

 

“Buck was- The ice was going to-”

 

Buck- Clint Barton, takes Steve’s hand and places it on his own chest. “Okay, just like this. See? One. In. Out. Two. In. Out.”

 

Steve tries to concentrate on the way the man’s chest rises and falls. It makes him panic, and he’s not able to match his breaths. He’s doing it all wrong, he needs to start again, but he does it wrong every time he tries. 

 

“It’s okay. Just keep doing it,” he whispers, apparently understanding Steve’s agony.

 

In. Out. In. Out. 

 

“Feeling better, Cap?”

 

Steve nods, and closes his eyes briefly. His head feels a little clearer. “Steve. I’m not- I-”

 

“Steve,” the man repeats quietly, and they’re both silent together.  Steve can’t get it out of his head. It was so real.

 

He doesn’t open his eyes as he feels the weight of the couch shift slightly, and he’s being pulled into Clint’s warm body. He’s so warm, Steve can’t help but lean into the touch.

 

“I’m so sorry. I’m not c-” He starts, but he gets interrupted. 

 

“You don’t have to apologize, Steve. I get them too.”

 

Steve stills, and remembers who Clint Barton actually is. “Oh. Um, sorry. Loki?”

 

“That was it tonight, actually. Yeah.”

 

Clint doesn’t offer anything else, so Steve doesn’t ask. But Clint must love being pushy sometimes - No, Steve polices himself, because Barton was clearly trying to help - because he presses for more. "Do you want to talk about it?"

 

"No." 

 

"Okay. We don't have to."

 

"Do you?" Steve asks after a moment.

 

"Nah."

 

"Okay."

 

It's quiet for a few moments before Clint asks him if he likes dogs, and before Steve can respond, he's telling him about his dog called Lucy. 

 


 

“Rise and shine, boys.”

 

Steve squints, feeling the nightmarish sunlight in his eyes and turns his face away, and stuffs his face into a warm pillow. A hard pillow, actually, that was moving slightly. He moves away, shaking himself awake and looks closer at his not-pillow to see Clint blinking owlishly at him and then the woman that woke them up. 

 

“Hm. So we did fall asleep last night. Morning, Nat.”

 

Right. That was Agent Romanoff. He becomes a lot more alert.

 

“Um. Good morning, ma’am. Sorry uh-”

 

“Oh, relax. It’s been a long few days. I only woke you up because someone’s coming this way. Tony’s having interior designers come in today. Thought you two wouldn’t want to be asleep in the living room when they did.”

 

“Oh. Thank you.”

 

Romanoff smiles at him, her eyes softening slightly as she turns to Clint. “Breakfast?”

 

“Are you cooking?” Clint asks groggily, trying to smoothen his hair. 

 

“No, you are,” she says with a smile that Steve thinks she should patent, and turns around and walks in the direction he assumes the kitchen is. 

 

“Coming, Steve?” he asks as he gets up, and there’s no evidence of the previous night. There’s nothing in the way Clint looks at him that says I-know-you’re-crazy-and-have-shell-shock. Nothing. 

 

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, and hopes Clint knows he means it. For everything.

 

In the kitchen, it’s just the three of them. Tony is busy with whatever he wants to be busy with, and Dr. Banner has left the Tower to meet someone. 

 

“Do you think you guys will move in?” Romanoff asks, stabbing a piece of fruit with her fork. JARVIS had apparently ordered a lot of groceries the moment he figured they'd be here for at least a day.

 

Steve suddenly feels very small under the scrutiny, even if nobody was looking at him. Barton and Romanoff clearly knew each other, so she’s probably just asking him. Thankfully, though, Clint beats him to it before he can even formulate a thought. “Yep. Don’t think staying in a SHIELD-issued house is smart after I killed seventeen of their agents.”

 

Natasha’s reaction is instant. “I did more, don’t you think?”

 

Steve’s brain probably short-circuited because it was not providing him with any options for possible reactions. So he just stares. 

 

“Nat, that wasn’t on you-”

 

She’s the most expressive Steve’s known her, which begrudgingly is the length of forty eight hours. Still, under the morning sunlight in her fatigues as her expression flickers minutely when she looks pointedly at Barton, she seems like a new person. “Yeah?”

 

Clint stares back at her, wearing a poker face. 

 

Steve feels like it would be a bad time to make his presence known, but after last night, he needs to say something. 

 

“That wasn’t you,” Steve says before he can stop himself. Both the spies turn to him, and if Steve felt weird before, now the focus lights were definitely on him. “It was most unfortunate, but their blood is on Loki’s hands. They’re his victims. As were you.”

 

“I’m not a-”

 

“No, you’re not,” Natasha interjects. “You were his weapon.”

 

She says it with a hint of something that Steve just knows carries a weight that only the two of them know about.

 

The kitchen goes quiet, and Steve is thankful Natasha stepped in.

 

Clint sighs deeply, and Natasha ends the tension so effortlessly, she may as well be turning a page in a book. “You are incapable of making toast.”

 

“Wh- Oh my god,” Clint mumbles and Steve realizes that the toast definitely smelt like it was burnt. Not too much, but the hyper-senses helped. “You didn’t think to tell me earlier?”

 

“It’s entertaining to watch you grumble over burnt toast,” she says smugly, popping a cut pineapple cube into her mouth. 

 

“Well. It’s still edible?”

 

“There’s more bread,” Natasha comments very helpfully, evoking a string of curses from Clint. 

 

Steve chuckles softly, making Natasha turn her attention to him. Bad move. “What about you, Steve? Thinking of moving here?”

 

He suddenly finds the eggs far more interesting to look at, and feels Clint looking at him too. “Yeah, I’m going to move in too. Uh- Tony said that SHIELD’s probably bugged my place.”

 

Romanoff snorts. “Oh, they did, alright. I can help you get rid of everything. I’m free tonight, if you’d like?”

 

“No-” Steve starts, before he pauses. “Wait. What do you mean- How do you know they did?”

 

“They did mine when they brought me in, and it took me fifteen minutes to find them all. Got rid of them until they kept installing new ones every week, until they got tired of it.”

 

“Until they trusted you,” Clint corrects.

 

Romanoff shrugs. 

 

“Well. Who's gonna pass up Stark’s ten-star accommodations anyway?” Clint snorts, and Steve thinks - Oh.

 

Maybe Steve isn't the only one that's latching onto Stark's offer like it's his last resort. He's beginning to think hey’re all a little messed up.  

 

“Anyway. Mission toast aborted, here’s your bacon, Tash, and more eggs for you, Steve.”

 

“-And you’ll be having Lucky Charms?” Natasha asks, unimpressed, just as Steve opens his mouth to thank him. He shifts his attention to the bowl Clint is digging into, and it’s the most outrageously colourful, sugar-smelling bowl of cereal Steve’s seen. 

 

“You lack refined taste, Natasha- Steve, ever tried this?”

 

“...No?”

 

Natasha rolls her eyes at the two of them and studiously focuses on her mobile phone and her food as Clint delves into the history of cereal. 

 

Steve’s not sure how important this education is for him, but forty minutes in, he’s sure of two things. There’s worse ways to spend a Wednesday morning, and two - 

 

“Can I have some of whatever you’re on?”

 

“Steve!” Clint exclaims after a moment of silence, and from behind them, from the elevator -

 

“Did I just hear Captain America make a joke about drugs?!”

 

Notes:

So uh. Hi. Has it been two months since the last update? *laughs nervously*
Really sorry about that, folks. A lot of things happened. Well. For one, life. And then college. Ooh and I started research and a part-time job too! Although the research thing feels more like an office helper unpaid job, not actual research. Ohh also if you know me on tumblr then you're probably aware of that whole gmail fiasco. This was the chapter I was talking about lol. But Anywayyyy

What do you think?? Please let me know in the comments! And no, this fic isn't over yet, still a lil more left. Any special requests for what you want to see next?

Chapter 5: it was real enough

Notes:

Merry Christmas to anyone that celebrates, I hope you have a peaceful and gentle weekend even if you're like me and don't celebrate it.

Please read with caution - trigger Warnings: Mentions of ableism, the Eugenics movement, alcoholism, and implied domestic violence and abuse.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Being even a toddler right after the Buck v. Bell ruling meant that everywhere he went, he felt eyes following him and heard vile comments that were too loud to be called whispers. It didn’t necessarily help that he came from an immigrant family, and sometimes Steve felt like he was an embarrassment for being the embodiment of all the stereotypes about Irish immigrants. But Ma was stern about being mean to anybody, including himself, and warm about her pride in their identity. 

All the people before us - it is all their love and work that brought us here and gave us this wonderful life. You will always be perfect the way you are, and your life is very important. Always remember that. 

She made sure it was all fine. He’d run along to school with Bucky and Becca regardless of how hard it would be to get out of bed, regardless of how close pneumonia or cholera or whatever else came to snatching him away just the week before. They’d make up games and pretend to be knights and princes and princesses - whichever felt right that day. They felt invincible - they could have ruled the world together. 

So when he came home one day, impatient to tell his Ma about his first test as a fifth grader, only for her to be coughing in bed with the neighbors surrounding her, he’d felt like everything was collapsing. 

It isn’t so surprising, then, that Steve Rogers is well acquainted with feeling like the rug is going to be pulled under his feet any moment now. 

He closes the gap between himself and the door hesitantly, knowing what was on the other side and feeling as if seeing all of it will make it real. It had been pleasant, however short-lived, to be in the company of other people. Friendly people. But if he stretched out collecting his belongings any further, even friendly people would raise eyebrows and he was trying to avoid exactly that.

The door opens soundlessly, frustrating his subconscious expectation that it should creak at least a bit, and he shuts it close as soon as he slips inside. 

It was a disaster and he was the monster that created it. There are a few droplets of blood on the floor and glass shattered everywhere. Half-broken pieces of momentos still hanging from the wall and an angry smear of blood trailing down on one.

“Sarah- Sarah!”

Steve could hear a loud crash in the living room and tucked himself behind the sofa he was playing beside as he peeked. Joseph Rogers was heavily inebriated, and even at four, he knew that was not going to end well. 

“Joseph?”

His maa came from the kitchen, her face a mixture of concern and frustration as she eyed a broken bottle. “What is going on here?” 

“Sarah, honey. Cash. Where’d you keep it?” he asked, struggling to even stand upright and choosing to lean on the table instead.

“Joseph, you need to stop drinking.”

“I need- Don’t tell me what to do!”

Maybe it wasn’t what he had intended - he was probably too drunk to even have intention, anyway - but he broke a vase and shoved Ma away as he yelled at her. 

“Joe!”

“Is it that brat!? Drinking up all my savings? What use is she of-”

“Watch how you speak! That’s our daughter you are talking about!”

“Shut up!”

After that point, it hadn’t mattered much whether he intended to hurt anybody or not. Because he did. And normally, Joseph Rogers was on the furthest corner of Steve’s mind, but it was impossible after the striking similarities. 

At least he hadn’t hurt anyone. 

“Fuck.” Steve takes a shuddering breath as he looks at the state of his apartment, and reaches out for support as he feels his knees buckle. 

He can’t just grab his things and leave this place in this mess for SHIELD agents to find. But he needs to leave right now, because he can feel his mind begin swirling again. 

What would it change - moving in with the other Avengers and running away from here? This- This anger, this rage. It came from inside him. It’s still inside, screaming, begging to be let out as it pushes and pulls like he had against Bucky’s arms that were tightly locking him in, begging to see his Ma one last time because they wouldn’t let him do even that.

Before the ice, before the train, before all of it, he’d had different prayers. Now, all that was left in him was one last cry, beating itself tirelessly against his soul. I feel so alone. I feel so alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. 

Days when he could call out someone’s name to just have company as he went to buy groceries felt like a century ago. They were. Maybe not for him, but they truly were. 

He’d called himself alone a million times before, but he never really was. Even when he had nobody, he had Bucky. Even when he lost Bucky, he had his Commandos, his Peggy. His people. 

Now? He was completely, undoubtedly alone. And nobody was coming to get him out of this ditch this time. 

Steve eyes the walls again. There was still someone on the other side, though.

He marches to the wooden carving that seemed to mock him with its Thank you for your Service statement from the President and rips it off the wall, catching the tiny screw that came off before it hit the ground. 

Steve turns it around between his fingers and clenches his jaw because that was so obviously a camera. Gotcha. 

He looks around - there has to be more. 

The wreckage he leaves this time feels religious. 

Recording devices inside the wall, behind light switches, under his bed, in the knob of his stovetop. Sewn onto the hems of his curtains. 

Cameras in the stupid mementos and framed pieces.  At least those weren’t in his bedroom. 

He crushes them in his palms, one after another, as if to say There. I won this round . Maybe Steve would look like a madman to anyone that was still watching - and frankly, he couldn’t care less. The desperation overtook his entire being. 

Desperation is a stubborn little thing. Maybe if it were born out of hope, it would have been different, but desperation came from a place of overwhelming, scared-shitless fear. Passion has you on your toes, ready to pounce, but desperation has you on your knees, clawing, scratching at everything and nothing even when the storm has washed away. 

And that’s how Steve finds himself - on his knees in the middle of the kitchenette, frustrated tears dripping down his cheeks as he tries to find more bugs. He has a pile of them - small cameras, hearing equipment, other suspicious nuts and bolts - but he’s not sure that’s all of them. There’s probably more in the furniture too. He swallows so he can inhale proper air again, and looks around him. 

How is he supposed to do this? He needs to get his things and leave. But he needs to clean everything up and he needs to clean himself too. He’ll have to stay the night here, but Steve can feel his skin crawl at the thought of spending another night here with somebody still listening. Still watching. 

Whatever resolve he had before coming in here like he knew what he was doing had dissipated. He gasps for breath and realizes he’s almost sobbing now, and digs his fingers into his scalp so he can calm the fuck down

That was a habit he had picked up from his months in the orphanage - well, it was called Brookyln’s Orphan Asylum back in the day; he heard orphanages didn’t even exist anymore - before Winnifred Barnes put her foot down and intervened. No kid of Sarah Rogers was going to be placed in an institution while she was around. Steve was as much her child as was Rebecca or James. But the authorities had taken one look at him and his frail body, and took him away until they were confident that the Barnses could provide for another child. 

It sounded bad when put that way, but it was fine. Steve’s heard horror stories about orphans during the Depression, so he was grateful he wasn’t handed the shortest stick possible for once in his life. It was overcrowded and the other kids were sometimes rowdy, and the caretakers did get mad sometimes, so he’d learnt to stay quiet and small from the girls that had stayed there longer than he had. But there was a playground and they made sure he had at least a little to eat, and he could meet Bucky every day, so it wasn’t all too bad.

Steve sinks to the ground, feeling disoriented the more he thought back to those days. He could barely remember what he was feeling so tired about now, but he was so, so tired. It was like someone had zapped out every last breath of energy from him, and the cool of the tiled floor against his head was all that was keeping him grounded. 

Everything was spinning. 

The white on the ceiling began to swim around, round and round and round in a slow spiral like the merry go round in Coney Island. Almost everything else fades out as he keeps staring. 

Maybe he should have done this before. He can’t feel a single thing anymore. 

Notes:

Heyo amigos! Yeah, sorry. Been a LONG time, hasn't it? I wasn't doing too great, but I saw some new comments on this fic that got me writing again. Thank you to everyone that's reading and supporting, and I'm really sorry for the slow updates! I hope you enjoyed this, though :)

Buck v. Bell was a 1927 ruling during the Eugenics Movement in the U.S. that stated that forceful sterilization of disabled persons was not a violation of constitutional rights. Do Google it, if you're interested in learning more.

I have an idea for the next chapter this time, so maybe I'll be able to write it soon? Let me know what you thought of this one!

Chapter 6: to get me through

Summary:

Clint's POV

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“And here’s the room, Legolas. If you need anything, just holler and I- Well, JARVIS will let me know if you need me. And that’s Cap’s room, so you shouldn’t be too bored without me!”

“Thank you man,” Clint says as he sets the boxes he was hauling down on the floor. He looks up to glance at the room Stark was pointing at, and feels a small tug of concern. “Steve’s not back yet?”

Tony shrugs. “He probably has a lot of things to bring in. And he probably didn’t want to move in just today,” he says, not exactly looking like he believed the second part himself. And with a sudden eye widening of realization, “-Not to say you shouldn’t have! I’m glad you took up-”

Clint laughs. He didn’t think Tony Stark would be flustered at social niceties. “I get it! Although if you’re that bored in the Tower, you should have just said something.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that,” he grumbles, already turning around to leave. 

“Stark- Do you know where Steve lives-”

“-Do I know ? That’s an outrageous insult-”

“-I was just thinking maybe he would appreciate some help. Packing your stuff up is not exactly fun.”

Tony cocks an eyebrow. “You managed just fine-”

‘I’ve had a lot of practice’, Clint thinks to himself. Not that he wants to give Stark of all people that piece of information. 

“-but you know what, yeah. Sounds like a terrible job. This is why Movers and Packers is a whole industry of its own.”

“Rich people,” Clint dishes out, rolling his eyes. Privileged, much?

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Go along and win the team leader’s heart. I’ve texted you the address.”

Clint nods as his phone beeps in agreement. “Team leader?”

“He’s Captain America. Who else?”

“You.”

“Ha. That’s hilarious,” Tony says, shaking his head and he begins walking out. “You’re real funny, Barton. You should get a gig, would probably pay you better than SHIELD does.”

Clint exhales in frustration. Not today, nope. He’ll mull over Tony’s issues another day. For now, though – Steve.

That nightmare Steve had last night kinda sorta put a few things into perspective for Clint. 

One, he wasn’t the only one with - Well, issues. 

Two, it’s possible Fury hadn’t looked at only Clint when he mentioned mandated therapy. Clint knows he looked at Clint, and then at Steve, and then glanced around the table in general. And he assumed that the look was because Steve was from the 1940s and probably had some very not-great view on mental health and therapy because institutionalization was a thing. Which, in Clint’s opinion, is something that someone does need to sit down and talk to the man about instead of just expecting him to know. But he figured last night that maybe Fury thought Steve needed some help too. 

Also, Steve did mention his concern over his quarters being bugged. 

And finally, coming to point number Three. Everyone - including Clint, until a while ago, guilty as charged - is expecting Steve to take the lead, but even Captain America needed some time to settle into a new century before something like that was forced down his throat. He’d make a great leader, Clint would find the way Steve called the shots on the battlefield just the day before inspiring if he had the energy to process that while he was still reeling from having his mind being not his own. He still was, in all honesty. 

Clint does not want to think about it, so he decides to ignore that line of thought in favor of finding Steve and figuring out what the heck was up with him. Because Steve had left to get his belongings at least two hours before Clint had, and it’s getting close to seven hours now - perfectly reasonable if you’re moving out of an apartment all by yourself under ordinary circumstances. Except that Steve hadn’t been living in this century for more than a month so he definitely doesn’t have more than enough belongings to just survive. It’s a radically different situation, but Clint has been there and he knows exactly how much stuff Steve owns right now. 

Moving city to city and trying to restart again means you come empty-handed, and filling a house up takes a very long time. Years. He knows. Natasha does too. So that’s why he shoots her a text before he leaves for Steve, climbing into the driver’s seat of his good old Honda Civic. 

It takes Clint about thirty minutes to reach the address, and he looks down at Tony’s text and back at the building he was in front of, not entirely convinced. It was a brick red, classic West Bronx apartment, and it wasn’t all that bad, but it was just different from what he was expecting. He walks up the stairs, hesitant as he knocks on Steve’s front door, only to hear dead silence.

When there’s no response the second time either, he considers heading back and just calling Steve like any other person might have, but remembers Tony mentioning that Steve only had a telephone. Damn it. What if he already left?

Clint knocks again, harder. “Steve?”

He blows a frustrated sigh, and is about to leave when he looks down at the tiny sliver of a door-to-floor bottom clearance and sees the smallest of broken glass. “Steve!?” he calls again, not waiting for a response before he begins trying the door. Clint looks to make sure nobody is before he starts picking the lock - hopefully this is only a knob lock, and doesn't come with the extra chain or barrel bolts, or he’ll have to kick the door down. 

Like his prayers were answered, the door clicks open and Clint slides in, softly closing it behind him and keeps his heart rate level as he examines the scene. Either there was a break in that ended in a fight, or something else happened. The blood stain on the wall was too old - not a break in, then. 

Clint treads softly, making sure to shove away glass shards with his boots so he doesn’t stamp on them. The more he sees, the more he feels his chest constrict. He’s beginning to see what happened. 

“Steve, no,” Clint whispers as he reaches the kitchen. There was a disheartening pile of what Steve must have thought were bugs, but Clint knew that not more than four of them could have been what Steve was really looking for. But more concerningly, there Steve lay, in the middle of it all, in what Clint could only call a catatonic state. 

“Hey, buddy,” Clint starts, getting closer and kneeling down beside him - Steve was lying flat on the ground, staring up into space, looking - for the lack of a better term - not here. “Steve?”

Against his better instincts, Clint touches Steve’s arm - gently, he promises it was gentle. Steve takes a few moments to react, shifting his gaze heavily from the ceiling to Clint, and it breaks his heart how fucking lost he looked. This was supposed to be Captain America, the most infamous war hero, the first superhero the world had ever had, America’s golden heartthrob. None of those terms fit Steve Rogers right now. 

Once Steve fully registers a human beside him, he pounces on Clint. Unprepared but still quick enough, Clint just barely slips out of Steve’s grasps and steps back, trying to create more distance. He puts his hands up so Steve knows he’s a friendly. “Steve. It’s me, Clint Barton. It’s just me. I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

Steve barely gives him enough to finish his sentence before he grabs a - holy shit, was that the handle of the oven? - and tries swinging it at him, but Clint is faster. Clint ducks in time and moves to the side as Steve stumbles forward, clearly not as focused as he normally would be. 

Clint grabs Steve’s legs and makes his knees buckle. Steve tries to bend backward and use his arm to make a chokehold, but Clint locks his arm with Steve’s instead, making him topple to the ground. 

“Cap-Steve! Steve, look at me!”

Steve lunges for another weapon - a rolling pin this time - but not before Clint man pounces on him, practically sitting on top of him. Clint grits his teeth - he came here to help Steve pack but he’s trying to subdue him. SHIELD definitely knew how to drive a man mad. 

Seemingly pissed, Steve reaches for Clint’s head but Clint retaliates - he presses closer, taking Steve by surprise. He slips his arm under Steve’s neck and grabs his own wrist with the other hand, and then pushes his shoulder and bicep into Steve’s neck.

Clint watches as Steve gasps for breath, his breath hitching, and it breaks him. He hates that Steve’s doing this bad but nobody knew and nobody thought to ask before they threw him into battle. But he doesn’t have the time to be angry right now because Steve needs him.

“Steve, hey. Shh, it’s okay.”

Steve’s breaths keep getting raspier, but his expression clears out, eyes sharper now. Clint weakens his hold slightly, and Steve lets out a breathless sob. He knows Steve’s a supersoldier - if he wanted to overpower him, he would have done so by now, but Steve seems to have fully given up, his body lax as he lets out another heartbreaking sob. 

“Shh,” Clint murmurs and is about to move his arms to completely let go, but Steve grabs his arm as if he doesn’t want him to. And Clint feels like a broken record thinking this, but fuck. Holy fuck, this is bad. This is heartbreaking.

So Clint does the only thing he can think of and gets off Steve, pulling the boy close instead, wrapping his arms around him. He cannot think of a better way to put it - Steve looks so young like this. Clint’s 30 himself - he knows what a 28 year old should look like, and this was not it. Serum or not, some history book has got to have messed up Steve’s date of birth because the man curling in and screaming into Clint’s chest has to be a kid. 

Clint rubs slow circles into Steve’s back - he knows Nat finds that comforting, so hopefully it helps him too - and murmurs soft assurances because what else is he supposed to do? 

He can’t make much of Steve’s sobs and screams - at least nothing except for the fact that Clint is currently mad at anyone that thinks so much as to raise a finger at this kid. Instead, he takes in the rest of the apartment which was perfectly visible from his position on the floor, and thinks to himself. 

It had to be the day of the battle. That would explain how old the blood stain was, because this breakdown could not have been just a one-time thing. It could be the days leading up to the battle, but Clint doubts someone from SHIELD wouldn’t have noticed it. That would also explain Fury’s concern.

The thought hits him like a whole slab of bricks. Steve must have been absolutely terrified when Fury mentioned the therapist. Just earlier he was thinking how nobody must have told SHIELD about modern-day practices and fuck, fuck, fuck. After whatever the heck he must have gone through, Clint can only imagine what Steve must have thought when he realized someone had actually watched his meltdown. Clint’s knowledge on American history regarding mental institutions is admittedly limited, but he knows it must be terrible. Well, most things in American history were terrible, if he may say so. 

Clint is pulled away from his thought spiral as Steve’s sobs trickle down to sniffles, and he gets back with small words of encouragement. He’s not sure how much they help, but lord knows he needs them. “It’s okay, Steve. I got you. I got you, okay? You’re okay. I’m here.”

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been there - long enough, if Clint’s cramped legs are much to go by - before Steve tires out, breaths becoming even as he pushes away slowly. “I-” he begins, voice raspy from all the crying, “I’m sorry-”

“Hey, no. What did I say about apologizing? It’s alright.”

“Right. I- Still, I got snot covered all over your shirt, sir, I’m sor-”

Clint huffs a laugh. “It’s just a stupid t-shirt, don’t worry about it. You’re not allergic to dogs, are you? Lucky’s fur was probably all over me.” But also, in the back of his mind, Sir?

“You have a dog?”

“Yeah. She’s the craziest dog ever. Dumb pizza dog. You like dogs?”

Steve nods quickly, still looking dazed with his red, blotchy face. But he looks so much more alive than Clint found him, and he’ll take it. 

“How, uh- How come you’re…?”

“Here? I just thought you’d want some help moving your stuff out. Didn’t hear a response and kinda broke in. Sorry about that. Door’s still intact, though, I promise.”

Clint doesn’t miss the irony of him reassuring Steve his door is fine when the whole apartment is a goner.

“No, no- Thank you.”

“Of course, Steve. Anytime.”

Steve just nods numbly, and Clint knows he’s gonna have to take charge now. “Alright, bud. How about we get you cleaned, hydrated, fed and then get some sleep? Not necessarily in that order. Thirsty?”

“Um, yes- Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it!” Clint says with the biggest smile he can muster as he gets up to find a glass and fills it, and watches from the periphery as Steve tries to stand up. “Here.”

Steve takes it carefully, holding it with both hands as he chugs it down. 

“Take it easy, tiger. Slow.”

Steve puts the empty glass down, and wipes his lips. “Thanks,” he mumbles with a sheepish smile, before he tries to stand up properly. 

“Yeah shit no. Hold up,” Clint mumbles as he sits Steve down and examines his foot. Clint grimaces. “Yep, like I thought. You have a small shard of glass in there. Sit tight, I’ll bring something-”

“I’ll be fine-”

“-Which way is the bathroom?” Clint asks, already on his way. He’s not about to leave Steve in that condition until he’s fine.

Actually scratch that, he’s not leaving Steve alone for at least 24 hours. Because Clint is scared what the kid might do if he does. 

He has to be a kid, though. Because - sir, really? He pulls his phone out to check his texts as he opens the medicine cabinet. There’s a reply from Natasha - he had told her he thinks something’s up with Steve. 

N: I thought so too. Tell me if you find something. 

He responds.

C: I think I did.

C: Can’t explain rn though. I need a favor.

C: Try digging into Steve’s files. How old is he really?

Yes, he’s an annoying serial texter. What about it?

N: OK. You have a lot of explaining to do. 

Clint slips his phone back into his pocket as he looks up, taken aback by what he sees. There’s a first aid kit, but other than that, there’s a picture. 

It’s the black and white photograph of Steve and James Buchanan Barnes that Clint’s seen so many times. They’re both laughing - Steve in his Captain America uniform and Barnes in a sweater of sorts - and looked so carefree. Clint looks at it for a few moments before he places it back just as he found it, and heads back with the supplies. 

“I told you to stay put,” Clint says without ice when he sees Steve sitting cross-legged on the couch in the living room.

Steve has the decency to look sheepish. “I didn’t put pressure on it, if that makes it better.”

Clint shakes his head with a smile as he sets to work. “You hurt anywhere else?” he asks when he’s done, looking up to see that Steve’s eyes are drooping. 

“Mh? Oh, no. I’m fine.”

Clint nods, taking his word for it for now. He checks the clock - it’s nearing ten in the night. Not too sloppy, then. “Do you have food in the fridge?”

Steve freezes at the question and Clint wants to groan. Has he even been feeding himself?

“Actually, I’m craving some pizza. You like pizza?”

“Yeah. Pizza sounds good.”

“Perfect!” he says, pulling his phone out to call the closest store. Meanwhile, though- “What all stuff did you want to bring to the Tower?”

Steve winces at the question, looking at the living room. “Just clothes. There’s a few books in my room. I don’t- I don’t have much else. All of this-”

“Is junk you didn’t ask for, I know, don’t worry about that,” Clint says, getting up. “You have boxes, a suitcase, anything?”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Look, food’s gonna be here in maybe thirty minutes. Gives you enough time to shower and me enough time to pack everything you got and we can go back.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.”

Steve’s face looked like that was the last thing he was expecting Clint to say, and Clint doesn’t know what to do with that information.

“Okay,” Steve whispers. “You’re doing too much, Clint, I-” 

“You’re most welcome. I would do it all over again if you asked. Now come on, let’s get you in the shower. You’ll feel better.”

Steve doesn’t move, his eyes fixed on his clasped hands. “I don’t want to be a burden,” he whispers, voice cracking. 

“Steve,” Clint says softly. 

“You- You’re all great people, the nicest people I’ve met after I died-”

Died? Clint really wants to interrupt him, but Steve needs to talk, so he shuts it. 

“-but you’re all busy people. You’re a hero, Clint, you work for SHIELD. I’m sure you don’t have time for all this,” Steve says with a silly smile and unmistakably glassy eyes. “So don’t worry about me, I- I can take care of myself-”

“I know. But that’s the thing, Steve. You don’t have to.”

Clint doesn’t know if it’s something he said or something else, or how the hell Steve has more tears in his body, but he lets out a choked gasp at that and his eyes go distant. 

“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong-”

“No! No, it’s just-” Steve takes a deep breath, composing himself. “Thank you. Thank you for all this.

“Always, pal.”

Steve looks like he wants to cry again but he just nods, and gets up, making Clint rush to his side immediately. “Easy.”

They trek quietly to the bedroom but Steve takes it from there, clutching the set of clothes Clint gave him as he limps to the bathroom. The moment the door closes, Clint sighs and sinks into the bed, opening his texts again. Empty. 

Oh well, it’s going to take longer than twenty minutes to find the answer to what could be the craziest Captain America theory so far. Guess he’ll have to wait. Clint gets up and opens Steve’s wardrobe as he calls the pizza place. Alright, thirty minutes, piece of cake. 

Notes:

Yeeeah two updates in two days, you weren't expecting that, were you? Same. I mean it's 8 PM and I was supposed to study at least two chapters today LOL. Consider this a little Christmas-New Years' present from me. I really enjoyed writing this, so I hope you like it too!! Let me know what you think in the comments <3

P.S. The evermore chapter titles aren't making all that much sense as they did in the beginning, are they?

Chapter 7: but I swear

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Steve unclenched his jaw as another bag fell to the floor, looking as tired as he felt. He pushed away the hair that was sticking to his forehead with his sleeve, and leaned against the wall.

 

He found himself in the old gym again. 

 

Stark had a gym of his own, and JARVIS would probably have told him how to find it if he had just asked, but he didn’t want another watchful eye on him right now. He was still feeling a little guilty that Clint had come in to help, albeit grateful. 

 

The archer was fast. By the time their dinner had arrived, he was done packing Steve’s entire apartment into two boxes that Steve didn’t even remember having. Of course, Steve had intended on cleaning the place up as well, but Clint had taken one look at him and shook his head. “Tomorrow,” he had said. “I promise nobody is coming this way until then.”

 

“Okay,” was all Steve could say. “Okay.”

 

Steve sighed and walked over to pick up another bag. 

 

It wasn’t nightmares this time - he just couldn’t sleep. Clint’s words were still spinning in his head like a spider’s web. 

 

Steve really liked Clint. He was funny and kind, and he even reminded Steve of Bucky a bit. But a part of him was terrified of how he would react if he ever found out. He’s only ever come out to people that he already knew might be supportive. Well, he didn't know there was a reason for someone not to support the first time around, but that’s a different story altogether. Point is, he wanted to come out on his terms, because the alternative terrified him.

 

He was lucky with Fury, but what if the rest of the Avengers wouldn’t be as alright with him being queer? He knew that ideally they should be very supportive because they are good people. But there’s no such thing as good people; people just do good things just like they did bad things too. 

 

But there was a possibility Clint already knew, and that was what was freaking Steve out in the middle of the night. Clint worked for SHIELD, as did Natasha. How long before they found out?

 

It felt a bit exhausting. Everything would be going well and he would be happy, but in the corner of his mind, he’s worried whether the friendship remains when all of him is known. With the Commandos, he wasn’t very worried. Nobody was going to find out because nobody knew. 

 

Now, it was a very different situation. Steve felt violated.

 

He frowned as the second bag also spilled to the ground and considered his next steps. He first needed to find out who all knew. Was Fury a good person to ask, considering he already knew and didn’t react badly?

 

Steve put the idea on the backburner and looked at the clock that was hanging on the wall. 4 AM. He’s been at it for three hours. No wonder his hands were so bloody. He sighed. He needed to be back soon if he didn’t want anyone to realize he was out.

 

As he stepped out a few minutes later, the cool air on his face felt like sweet relief. 

 

It’d been four days since Loki attacked New York. Steve kept his head low because he couldn’t bear to see anything unsightly right now, as selfish as that was. There were still a few searches going on, but everything was looking better. Maybe Steve should help. That’s the least he could. But first, he needed to figure out his own set of problems. Later. 

 

Steve sighed. At least it was quiet. Not a lot of cars around, barely any people. If he closed his eyes for a bit, it almost felt like his New York. 

 

The tower was still quiet when he entered, and he kept it that way as he slipped into his room and crawled into bed, finally feeling exhausted. 

 

“JARVIS?” he whispered. 

 

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

 

“Does anybody know I left?”

 

“Nobody was aware of your activities, sir.. Should I share this information with any-”

 

“No! No, it’s alright. Thank you.”

 

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

 

“No, thank you,” Steve said quietly before he closed his eyes, deciding to take a short nap after all. 

 

It was a couple hours after he had woken up, eaten and showered, that he saw another of the Avengers again. 

 

“Afternoon, Rogers,” Natasha said as she stepped out of the elevator, hands in her pockets with a small smile. 

 

“Afternoon Romanoff,” Steve said, smiling back at her. She didn’t stay, unlike Clint and himself, and he wasn’t surprised by that. She didn’t seem too keen, and even if she were, she was good at keeping things frustratingly deceptive. “Did you just come here?”

 

“I was meaning to come earlier, but you know how New York traffic is.”

 

Steve huffed, glancing at his feet before he looked up at the skyline, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. That’s another problem that has apparently stayed the same. He grinned.  “I thought you were a spy. Traffic is your kryptonite?”

 

Natasha gasped and punched Steve in the arm. “You know Superman?”

 

Steve snorted. “I drew comics for a living before I joined the army. Of course I know Superman.”

 

“You were a comic artist !?”

 

Steve and Natasha both turned around to see Clint entering the lobby with a couple of small computers in his arms. 

 

Natasha rolled her eyes as she rushed forward. “Who the heck carries laptops like that?!”

 

Ah, laptops. That’s what they were called. “I wouldn’t say comic artist . I drew a lot, wanted to go to art school before the war, even”, Steve shrugged. “But I didn’t exactly get my comics published all that much. A few snippets in little magazines, sometimes. Ended up selling newspapers most of the time.”

 

“What magazines?”

 

“Uh. Young’s Magazine. Walden’s Red Book..”

 

“That’s so cool, man! We gotta check out some archives if we can find yours,” Clint said seriously as he opened up a laptop and sat at the table. 

 

“You think they would still have them?”

 

“It’s possible,” Natasha shrugged. “There’s a lot of digital archives now, and a lot more in the public libraries. We could check them out together if you like.”

 

“Sure. That would be swell,” Steve said with a smile, walking closer to see what all the laptops were about. 

 

Natasha’s lipped curled upwards before she changed into a more business-like expression. “These Stark’s?” she asked Clint. 

 

“He calls them Starkbooks,” Clint said, rolling his eyes. “Told me you would want them.”

 

“That sneaky bastard,” Natasha mumbled. “Where is Banner? I haven’t seen him since the day of the briefing.”

 

“Haven’t seen him either,” Clint said as Steve shrugged.

 

Natasha nodded, sitting cross-legged next to Clint and motioning Steve to sit across her as well. 

 

“Clint and I have SHIELD-issued devices, Stark doesn’t want any of us using anything that’s not secure that even SHIELD can’t spy on us if we need them for work.” 

 

“Or anything else,” Clint added, typing something in. “Although. The missions are from SHIELD, so doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

 

“We still use the SHIELD portals, but Stark struck a compromise that it would be a platform he revamped just for us so that it isn’t a two-way street.”

 

“He sounds paranoid, but so am I, so that’s great,” Clint muttered as he pressed something and whistled. “It does look different. So much better.”

 

Steve eyed the two, going back and forth as they chatted. “I’m very lost.”

 

Seemingly realizing that Steve was here, Natasha and Clint both looked abruptly. 

 

“Stark designed a website of sorts so we can have any information that SHIELD sends, all the reports and charts and maps easy to access before any mission. We all have different login credentials so it’s more personalized.”

 

Steve raised his eyebrows, impressed. “That would have been so helpful during the war. We’d stand around for hours pouring over some maps.”

 

Clint laughed and shoved a laptop into his chest. “This one’s yours. Anyone show you how to use it?”

 

SHIELD had shown him some basics to survive a week after he woke up, but then the battle happened. “I know how to work a Google, yeah.”

 

“They didn’t teach you a damn thing, did they?” Natasha swore in what he assumed was Russian. She got up to sit beside him and slowly fed him instructions, correcting him when he was doing something wrong. 

 

After a painstaking few minutes, he was on what was apparently the Avengers-SHIELD portal. It wasn’t very complicated, honestly. He might need to figure out how to type faster, though. He felt like an oaf with his clumsy fingers. 

 

“So you’ll enter your username here and password here. Your username is Steve Rogers under-score Twelve.”

 

“What’s an underscore?”

 

“It’s a- Let me show you,” Natasha said, leaning over to type his username quickly. “You press those two simultaneously, see?”

 

“Yes,” Steve said, observing how she uses her fingers when she types. Unlike him, she doesn’t move her whole hand around, not even her wrists. 

 

“The password is your last name, all capitals followed by your birthday as two digits for month two for date and four for the year. No space in between.”

 

“Alright,” Steve mumbled, beginning to type. “I think I got it.”

 

“Let me know if you need anything,” she said kindly before she moved back to her laptop, discussing something with Clint. 

 

Steve finished typing and clicked on the Enter button, and frowned. A message popped up. Incorrect Password. Try again. If you forgot your password, Click Forgot Password

 

He glanced up at Natasha. Okay, no. He could do this. Everything he typed looked like small black dots, which seemed like a security measure, but Steve saw something like an eye at the end of the box, and clicked on it. He looked at what he had just typed. 

 

ROGERS07041925 

 

That…was most definitely the correct information. Perhaps Natasha had typed the wrong username in her haste? 

 

Steve_Rogers12

 

No. That looked about right, too. He felt Natasha look at him but ignored her, trying the password again. The same message popped up. 

 

“You get in?”

 

“It says the password is incorrect,” he said slowly. “What did you say it was again?”

 

“Last name in all capitals, followed by your birthday. Make sure there’s no dashes or periods between the date. Just numbers.”

 

“That's what I did,” he mumbled, trying again, with the eye thing open this time so he knew he was typing the right password. 

 

“Here, let me,” she said, getting up and walking over. 

 

That’s when it hit him like a brick. The year. The year . 1918. Not ‘25.

 

He doesn’t realize it fast enough because Natasha is already at his side, peering. “Steve,” she whispered quietly, and gave him a blank look before looking up at Clint.

 

Steve felt his heart leap out of his chest. No. No, no, no

 

He had been too careless. He should have been faster. He was worrying about an entirely different thing that he had forgotten he had a whole ‘nother secret he’s been keeping. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Clint asked, shooting up his seat to join them, and looked at Steve’s laptop for a whole minute before he swore like a sailor. 

 

Maybe he could still deny it. He was just a clumsy old guy, har har. But Clint’s reaction throws him off. 

 

“No, fucking- Damn it, I knew it. I knew it! Shit!”

 

Steve felt his breathing go way too fast, and bit his lip. They were both standing behind his chair. He gripped the fabric of the seat tighter. 

 

“Steve,” Natasha said again, her voice quiet. “How old are you?”

 

Steve bit his lip. Fuck.

 

“Steve,” Clint said this time, a gentle arm on his shoulder. “I can do the math. But we just want to hear you say that it’s the right year you typed in.”

 

“I-” Steve started, glancing at the laptop and then his hands. Feeling like his lungs were constricted, he leaned forward slightly, propping his elbows on his thighs and hid his face in his hands as he gasped for breath. “Please don’t kick me off the team th- This is all I have. This is all I have left,” he said in a voice much smaller than he expected.

 

Because this was it. He woke up in a SHIELD laboratory disguised in a room because that’s the only room he had in a world where no limb of his fit, forget his whole self. He stayed in a SHIELD room because where else was he supposed to stay? And then the Avengers came along and he had only known them for a matter of four days before even that was going to be ripped away from him. 

 

“Steve-” he heard Natasha say the same time he heard Clint mumble, “Lord, kid”  before he was being hugged by two strong sets of arms, one from each side.

 

“Nobody is ever kicking you out, you hear me?” Clint said. “Ever.”

 

“You’re not losing us, Steve. We were just concerned, is all, I promise,” Natasha whispered. 

 

They both let go after a few moments, and Steve finally lifted his head up and turned around slightly so he’s at least facing Clint. Natasha picked up his cue and walked over to sit in front of Steve so he could see both of them. 

 

Interestingly, neither of them looked particularly angry. Or annoyed. Clint looked a little pissed. 

 

He’d done what he had to. It was perfectly legal to enlist at seventeen, but only for men, and only if there was parental consent. Steve was going to die young whether he liked it or not, the least he could do was die for his country, like any man would. So he wasn’t going to apologize for it. But he also knew that he was about to lose everybody’s respect.

 

“So, how old did my records say I was, again?” Steve asked, knowing he had to make a story up. 

 

“I was under the impression that you were twenty eight,” Natasha said. “So, you’re twenty?”

 

Steve sighed. “Nineteen. Turn twenty in about half a year.” He paused. “Well. It’s May, so technically sooner.”

 

“Jesus,” Clint breathed out. “You’re a teenager.”

 

Steve sighed and looked down at his hands. “You really won’t take me off the team? I get it. Just some dumb kid-”

 

“I was younger than you are when I became a spy,” Natasha said, cutting him off, and looking him straight in the eye. 

 

“How old were you?” Steve whispered as he saw Clint place a hand on Natasha’s chair and then felt another arm around Steve’s shoulders. 

 

Natasha smiled wryly. “Eight.”

 

Steve knew his jaw had to be hanging. “What!? You were just a kid! That’s- That’s so wrong. I’m very sorry they did that,” he said, not even sure how anyone could make a child that young a spy. It sounded too terrible to fathom.

 

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” she said with a soft smile. 

 

“We don’t think you’re a dumb kid. But you are a kid. And this isn’t the life for a kid,” Clint said. 

 

“So I’m off the team?”

 

“Steve,” Natasha sighed. “I think we need to have a conversation about this with everyone else, alright? I’m still just processing that you were thrown into a war very young. And I know better than anyone that all this is not the best life for someone that young. We just want to look out for you.”

 

And Steve knows. He understands. “There were kids younger than me, y’know. In the war. There was some fourteen year old kid. He just wanted to help, that’s all. No place for a kid.” And Steve always looked out for him. Maybe he was at least alive, still? He’ll have to look. “But I was seventeen, okay?” he continued. “There were so many guys my age.”

 

“It’s still wrong,” Clint mumbles. “I wish you didn’t have to go through everything you did, regardless of how old you are. But- Look, Nat’s right. You can tell everyone when you feel ready, we don’t have to do this right now. But just from my side, you’re not alone. Sure, you’re legally an adult but, we have your back, Steve. You need to come to us if you need anything at all.”

 

“The lone wolf game gets really bad real fast,” Natasha said, nodding. 

 

“I can do that,” Steve mumbled. 

 

“No, Steve. You have to do that, hear me?” Clint said sharply. “You get hurt, you come to me. Or Nat. You-’” Clint said and broke off, shaking his head. “Anything, and you come to me. No secrets.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve whispered, knowing there was still going to be one lie and to cover up that one, some more. 

 

Clint roughed up Steve’s hair, pulling him into a hug while he still stood, and Steve buried his head into Steve’s chest. “It’s okay. I got you, kid” he murmured, rubbing Steve’s arm. 

 

“Think the year we have is 1918,” Natasha said softly once Clint let Steve go. 

 

“Thank you,” Steve mumbled, retyping the whole password again. 

 

The page opened up with a color picture of Steve and a couple other details that made him hold a bated breath as Natasha told him to scroll. 

 

It had all the demographic information. Jesus, can someone give him a break ?

 

Okay. Now or never. 

 

Date of Birth: July 4th, 1918

 

Name: Steven Grant Rogers

 

Document Citizenship: United States

 

Place of Birth: Brooklyn, NY

 

Race: Caucasian

 

Sex: Male

 

Steve stared at that hard. Male. 

 

Oh thank the fucking heavens. 

 

He stayed quiet as he kept navigating through the page as both Clint and Natasha suggested, with Natasha leaning to his side and Clint with his elbows resting on the chair and pointing at random things. 

 

It felt…nice. 

 

“So, why did you lie to enlist? You were seventeen. It was legal, right?” Clint asked.

 

“Needed parental consent.”

 

“Oh okay, gotcha.”

 

Natasha, of course, didn’t let go that easy. Steve swore to god that she pieced things together faster than the speed of light. “Your mother died in 1936?”

 

“Yeah. Tuberculosis,” Steve said, frowning. That information was on his profile, so it couldn’t have been a secret. 

 

“Wait. You weren’t eighteen, then. You were…11?” Clint asked

 

Steve huffed. This was getting tiring. “Yes.”

 

“Sorry for bringing it up.” Natasha patted his arm gently. “Where did you live, then?”

 

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes took me in.”

 

“And they weren’t okay with you enlisting? I thought James Barnes was as old as you, so they let him, but not you?”

 

“Bucky was eighteen, then,” Steve said, quickly thinking of a lie. “They wanted me to be at least eighteen, too.”

 

Finally done looking at everything on the…portal?, Steve nodded. “That’s pretty neat. Thank you two for showing it to me.”

 

“Anytime, Steve,” Natasha said with a smile. 

 

Steve got up and hesitantly picked the laptop up after closing it. “This mine, then?”

 

“Yep,” Clint said, clapping his shoulder. “You wanna head back, get the rest of your things from your apartment?” 

 

Oh . Steve glanced at Natasha, who busied herself looking at her phone. 

 

“Maybe in an hour?” 

 

“Sure, that sounds good. I'll see you then," Clint said, smiling. 

 

Steve nodded with a small smile and headed back to his room, feeling like if he didn't get a moment of alone, something would burst. He placed the laptop on his desk before he threw himself face first on his bed. He was so, so tired of all this shit. 

 

But it felt like it was just beginning. 

Notes:

"I wrote this instead of studying" is something I should get printed on a t-shirt because of how often I say it.

Okay, this chapter....is probably not the best? A part of me thinks it may be too soon, but a part of me doesn't want to drag this fic forever. So..let me know?

Thank you to everyone's that's been supporting, I hope you like this chapter :)

Love you, stay safe!

Chapter 8: you were there

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Natasha had responded to two text messages from Hill and May before she heard Steve walk away, and turned to Clint expectantly. 

In all honesty, she was still trying to wrap her head around the two versions of Steve Rogers she now knows of - one, a twenty-eight year old war hero called Captain America that was the nation’s glory, and the other, a scared teenager that has lost everyone and everything. Sure, she knows of a lot nineteen year-olds trying to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, but not one that is a superhero, one of the greatest leaders in history, and someone that is out of time as well. One that the world expects a lot from. Her stomach goes queasy when she tries to make sense of it all. 

Clint sighed and rubbed his temple before glancing at her and signing rapidly, You plan this and raised his eyebrows. 

Yes, she signed, closing her fist and bobbing it up and down. I heard his typing. Twice. 1-9-2-5. 1-9-2-5. Did not want to believe.  

Still can’t, Clint signed, shaking his head with a frown. But thank you

When she saw Clint’s message the night before, she already knew she wasn’t going to find anything. People have been poring upon Steve’s files for decades, and if no historian or SHIELD agent found anything, then it mean there was nothing documented. As much as it made sense that documentation back then was scanty, she found it startling that there was not even a birth certificate or school or hospital record on his name. Nothing. Either people did not look hard enough or there was another story there, one she was not planning on thinking about just yet. But she was can’t believe her best friend figured something out that nobody else had ever considered. 

How did you guess? she signed, scrunching her eyebrows together just as they both heard the definitive click of the elevator doors shutting.

Clint rubbed his face and swallowed, sitting down next to her before signing with a grimace, Not my story to tell. But he’s not doing okay, Nat. He really isn’t.

Natasha nodded. She got enough of a glimpse today to be concerned too. 

He didn’t say anything. But he just looked too young and vulnerable. Not someone a year or two younger than us. And I knew he had to be a kid.

She sighed. Natasha was very concerned about Steve, but she was equally worried about her best friend. Clint Barton was a master spy and the best marksman SHIELD will ever have, but one of his biggest skills is distracting himself by dealing with other people’s problems. 

When Natasha was fresh out of the Red Room, still very fucked up - elegance be damned - Clint made it his mission to make sure she got better. And she is grateful because she did get better and is somewhat okay now, as okay as they get to be, but Clint had also pushed himself to a breaking point by ignoring his own truck load of issues, and she was not going to let that happen again. 

We will take care of this together, she signed. She looked pointedly at him before moving her fists clumped together in a circle once more. Together. 

Clint gave her a smile before he snorted out loud. OK.

How are the nightmares? she asked, scrunching her eyebrows, making Clint look away instantly, body stiff. 

She tapped his shoulder, annoyed that he was trying to avoid the conversation, only making him look away farther. 

Natasha groaned. “Seriously? You’re really gonna do this?”

She was very aware that he was itching to take his hearing aids off, but was thankful that he just sighed and turned to her at last. It’s funny when he took them off in painfully long meetings, but not when it was just convenient for him to avoid his issues. 

“They’re bad,” he said finally. “I see-” he started and then broke off. 

She stayed quiet, but put an arm around his shoulders as she guided them away from the common area and to somewhere quieter - her own room, because Stark already gave her one a while ago.  

“I see all of it, Nat,” he whispered finally, as they sat down on the bed, and that small crack in his voice is enough for her to scoot closer and take his hand. “I see you die. I see everyone die again- The damn helicarriers. Phil. I killed Phil.”

“You didn’t kill him,” she whispered softly, pressing their foreheads together. 

“Don’t you dare tell me that what I did under Loki wasn’t me, Nat,” Clint growled, backing away. 

“You didn’t kill Coulson, Clint. Loki did.”

And that must have somehow done the trick because she felt Clint shake before she wrapped her arms around him tighter.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” he said quietly, tears trickling down his face as he rested his head on her shoulder. “Coulson’s gone.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Natasha murmured softly. And then added, “I miss him too.”

If Clint had been the one to make the call to save her life, then Coulson had been the one to make the call to give her a new one. And Coulson had been the one to give Clint a new start too. They were his agents, and he was their handler, but the three of them had been more than that - they were the best of friends, they were family. 

She blinked away her own tears even if she knew Clint would see right through her and tried smiling at him, because it was a trademark Coulson way to go. “You do know he blasted Loki after he got stabbed, right?”

“He what ?” Clint asked, letting out half a chuckle and half a sob. 

“Yeah,” Natasha said, nodding. “He sent Loki crashing through the wall.”

“Son of a bitch,” Clint mumbled, and Natasha didn’t bother asking who he was referring to. 

“Phil died a hero. Don’t take the blame and take that away from him,” she said softly. 

Natasha knew that was rather cold. But Clint needed to hear it. Just like the Avengers needed to see the trading cards to form. Natasha knew those were in his locker - there was no way he would carry them on his person. Clint knew as much, but Clint didn’t needed to know that Fury had tried to use that to push Steve and Tony to get it together. Not right now, at least. 

It had the intended effect, as Clint stilled in her arms. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to make it-”

“I know. It’s okay.”

Clint nodded, pushing her arms off so he could wipe his tears away. “Jarvis, is Steve down yet?”

“Not yet, Agent Barton. Would you like me to inform him you wish-”

“No! No, it’s fine. Give the kid some time,” Clint said hastily. “Just let me know when he’s ready.”

“Certainly, Agent Barton.”

“And Jarvis,” Natasha added, sharing a look with Clint. “Nothing happened in the common room. That is confidential.”

“I’m not sure what you are referring to, Agent Rushman. Did anything happen in the common room today?”

Clint laughed, making Natasha smirk. 

“Rushman?” Clint asked, raising an eyebrow playfully. Natasha wasn’t blind - he was trying to shift the tone as much as possible, but she’ll allow it. 

She rolled her eyes. “Stark.”

Clint grinned. “Guy’s really got a thing for nicknames, huh.”

“Hmm.” Clint wasn’t wrong - she’s heard more nicknames in the past week than in her entire life. “Don’t think he’s the one I hear saying kid.”

“That’s not a nickname! He is one!”

“You’re such a dad.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Clint huffed, falling back on her bed and throwing a pillow at her. “You got all of your stuff here?”

Natasha didn’t bother telling Stark or the rest, but she was moving in too. “Yeah. Wanna stay here for the night?”

Clint eyed her sharply before sighing. “Yeah. Yeah, that would help. Thanks, Nat.”

“It’d help me as well,” she sighed, lying down as well, sticking her knees in the air. “I was so scared I’d lose you too.”

And I get nightmares that I did, goes unsaid. Clint shuffled beside her, rolling to his side. 

“Tasha, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think-”

“It’s okay,” she whispered, turning her head to look at him and offered him a smile. 

Clint took her hand and squeezed it before lying down again. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay.”

Because that’s people that will never know when things can be okay promised each other. That it is okay. 

Notes:

Hello hello! I was planning on something different, originally - something from Steve's POV, but felt like we needed to see this first :)

I know my updates are irregular and super spaced out, so sorry to keep you all waiting.

Also, I'm a hearing person that's learning ASL so I apologize if anything was done incorrectly - please let me know if there is anything I should change! Initially, I thought of writing the signed dialogue as glossing, but felt that might not work out because Nat should be fluent in ASL, even if not as much as Clint.

For other hearing people, here are some of the signs I described and some other context:

- Yes: Bobbing a closed fist (your dominant hand only, not both hands) up and down. Move it just by the wrist, not your whole arm.
- Raising eyebrows: Implies yes/no question
- Scrunched/lowered eyebrows: implies What/Where/Why/When/How question
- Together: Close both fists but with thumbs sticking to the side, bring them together and move together in a circular motion.

 

I hope you enjoyed this chapter - kudos and comments are always appreciated <3

Chapter 9: and I was catching my breath

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Tony tilted his head, scratching his head mindlessly before he sighed and put his tablet down. He’d gotten a message from Fury - as he’s sure the rest of the Avengers did as well - about having another meeting soon to discuss the right language for them. Legal shit. Lovely. 

He spent the past few hours poring over any documents he could find on SHIELD and its legality, an on Captain America because let’s be real - that’s the only other time the world had a superhero, and the Army of all things would not have just let that happen without writing a bunch of rules, right?

Right. It was barely enough to even begin threading the needle. Tony was sure that it was someone that was scant with words who wrote the singular piece of legislation that had anything to do with Cap - off tangent but, was there even any proof that the serum would actually work because for all the times Howard had talked his ass off about the supersoldier, he never mentioned anything about a clinical trial and Tony couldn’t find any documentation either so he was beginning to question a lot of things - because it just glossed over Steve’s role and salary, nothing else. 

“Sir, you have a meeting with Miss Potts in seventeen minutes. It would be wise to change into a different set of clothes before that.”

So much for getting something done. Tony glanced at his attire and it wasn’t that bad, but he scowled anyway. Never in his life had he given paperwork so much thought, and now he was going to a meeting that would all be something of the same sort. Lovely. 

“Is this your way of saying I probably stink? Because I do not,” Tony mumbled even though he pushed away a few holograms and made his way out of the workshop. 

“You said it yourself, sir, not me,” JARVIS sassed back. 

“What was this meeting about, again?” he asked, because he was sure he must have asked before but he was also sure that he does not remember. There’s just so much to do and he’s not even sure how to get started - this is so out of his breadth but he will admit, that rabbit hole of superhero-related legislation was slightly interesting. 

He began making mental notes as Jarvis rattled away the meeting agenda that Pepper had no doubt written herself, also wondering if he should take the initiative to get all the Avengers to meet again for lunch because he hasn’t seen anyone but Romanoff or Clint in the past week. And shit, he should really check on Steve too, because the last time he had seen the guy, he seemed troubled and just had Tony wipe all the footage from his room. And good ol’ Fury suggested the lot of them to get therapy, so forgive Tony for connecting the dots and making a rough assumption.

“The agenda of the meeting is to discuss recent interest in arc reactor technology among SI’s shareholders and for Miss Potts and you to finalize R&D project-”

Right, of course people were curious about the arc reactor again . As for the R&D projects, he did love the work of that new intern…


 

Steve walked back to his place, an idea taking form in his head. He knew exactly what he needed to do - talking with Fury had given him an idea. 

“Captain Rogers?”

Steve paused mid-step from his pacing to glance up at the ceiling. Was JARVIS supposed to sound so humanly…concerned?

“Yes, JARVIS?”

“Is there anything I can do for you? You have been pacing up and down your room for fifty seven minutes.”

Okay. He hadn’t realized it had been that long. Steve groaned, promptly sinking into his couch and rubbing his neck in frustration. “No, I’m good, thank you.”

“If you’re sure.”

Steve clenched his jaw. Just because Romanoff and Barton now knew he was nineteen didn’t mean he suddenly became younger. He didn’t need this mother-henning. Steve wasn’t sure if they had put JARVIS up to this, or if JARVIS knew perceptively, or if Stark knew - and he decided he really didn’t want to go there, so he didn’t ask.

“I am,” he said, voice clipped. 

Which was not a lie because Steve really didn’t want anyone doing anything else for him, he has honestly had enough of that in the past few days - he was immensely grateful for Clint coming through even the previous night and admitted that he would not have been able to clean up the old apartment alone, but Steve was used to doing things on his own and not being able to do so was putting him on edge. 

Plan. He needed a battle plan. 

He pulled open the drawer to find some any that Stark had in all his guest rooms - Steve didn’t really have any of his own. A writing pad and a pen. Okay, that will have to do. 

It was almost like being in school again, his knee bouncing erratically as he tried to calm his nerves and just tune everything else out, the feel of the pen against the smooth paper the only thing grounding him. It was a smooth pen, probably expensive. He needed to find more of these. 

He blinked at the notepad once he was done. Okay, that was not even the beginning of a plan, and his silly doodle was looking pathetic, albeit representative of his mental state. But at least now he’s got his bearings. 

And he has a better idea of what he needed to do now. 


“What a fucking shitshow,” Nick murmured to himself as the meeting ended. 

“Could’ve been worse,” Maria said, settling opposite him on the conference table, looking equally exhausted. 

Once he’d negotiated a deal with the Avengers, he presented it to the Council, and it did not go well, to say the least. They wanted there to be more oversight, as if it wasn’t their fucking stupidity that burnt that bridge. 

He massaged his temple. “You’re not wrong about that.”

It could have been worse.  

The Council could have just shot down the idea without a second thought, just like they tried to shoot down fucking nuclear- God, he needed a break. 

Maria must have sensed as much - and she was clearly done with this bullshit herself - as she stood up and stretched and nodded at the door. “A walk doesn’t sound that bad, does it?”

Nick glanced at the clock and shrugged before he got up and put his coat on. “Might as well grab some dinner as we go. Unless you would like to go home.”

“Depends on where dinner is,” she said with a smirk, grabbing her own coat as they walked out of his office. “Last time I trusted Coulson to deci-” she started before trailing off. 

Nick closed his eyes and sighed, slowing down as they both reached Coulson’s old office. 

“I still can’t believe he’s gone,” Maria said, her voice softer than he’s ever heard it. “I’m still waiting for him to roll his eyes and tell me I dreamed it all up.”

Nick swallowed. The first time he ever met Coulson, he was a lanky teenager right out of highschool. From that day to the day of the Chitauri attacked New York, he’d grown so much but one thing had always been constant - “He was the heart of SHIELD. He was an Avenger.”

Hill shot him a look because only her quick mind could have caught that. He ushered her to keep walking and they stayed quiet until they were somewhere safer. 

“Tahiti?” she asks, shock colouring her voice. 

Nick nodded. Project T.A.H.I.T.I was designed to resurrect a fallen Avenger. And he’s aware that Coulson had asked for the project to be closed but-

“Do you think he’ll make it, sir?”

“I’ll pray to every god that he does, because if anyone deserves to see the end of all the work we’re going to do now, it’s him.”

Maria stayed quiet for a while, still processing it, no doubt. But Nick did not regret his decision - to try and resurrect Coulson or to tell Hill. There was nobody he trusted more than her right now, and she deserved to know. 

As if reading his mind, she asked, “Who knows?”

“Just you.”

Maria nodded to herself, and jutted her chin in the direction of the exit. “I’ve heard of this restaurant called- What is it?” she asked suddenly, turning her comms on, making him roll his eye.

She was a worse workaholic than even him, always has been. At least he’s got her by his side. 

Maria looks at him with raised eyebrows, and turns back around. Nick sighs. “Really Hill, you were the one who suggested taking a damn break.”

“Rogers is here and wants to talk with you.”

“That man,” Fury murmured. “Couldn’t have picked a better time?”

“You think he’s fine, sir?” she asked, opening the door to his office again and pulling out a tablet. She had watched that footage too, a forced calm in her expression as she did before she threw a pen at the wall and swore almost as bad as he normally would.

“Far from it. I’m confident he talked to Stark about something , though, because the jerk didn’t even hear my suggestion of meeting with some counselors. I’m worried for the whole lot of them, and I have other things to worry about.”

“Barton,” Maria murmured, wincing. 

“That one as well,” he grumbled, before shooting her a look. “Romanoff and him were very close to Coulson.”

Maria nodded, clenching her jaw. “Will you tell them about him?”

“Should we?” he asked instead, because he knew what he thought but needed a second opinion. 

“I understand that them being Avengers - especially the only non-powered, non-suited Avengers - makes it highly likely candidates for Project T.A.H.I.T.I at some point,” she said with a grimace. He was aware how close she was with Natasha. “And that you would want to keep that a secret from them for that very reason. But they deserve to know that their previous handler might be alive as well as that Tahiti is on the table for them.” She looked at him carefully before adding, “Coulson would want them to know so we have their consent.”

Nick Fury was not a man with a soft and fragile heart but you do not become the director of the organization that it is built to protect people without having the strongest of urges to protect the people that work with you. So screw Hill for throwing that card. 

“Tell Rogers he can see me. And after that,” he said, pointing at her. “You will be taking off all comms and turning your phone off so we can actually go to that restaurant you were talking about.”

“Sir,” she said sharply, but he did not miss the small smile she had on her face. Good. He needed her to stay alive and functional if he ever wanted to retire.

And now for that stubborn son of a bitch, he thought, running a hand over his face. Steve Rogers was going to turn hair that he didn’t even have grey, he was sure of it. 


“Director,” Steve said, walking in with his back straight and his gaze sharp, feeling as if he was back on a mission with the Commandos and had to fight Colonel Philips for yet another thing. Maybe it wasn’t all that different. 

“Captain, come in,” Fury said offhandedly, glancing up from a screen to clasp his hands together. “How have you been?”

Steve glared at him. “I’m sure you know, sir.”

“I take care of my agents the only way I can, Rogers,” Fury said as he rolled his eyes - or just eye, singular. “Sit your ass down before you lock your knees and pass out.”

Steve sat down on the chair in front of Fury’s desk begrudgingly, not sure what to make of the sentiment of Fury trying to take care of him rather than his previous notion that SHIELD was just trying to surveil him. Not that he trusted Fury completely. 

“You are mad that SHIELD bugged your place.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but Fury didn’t continue to say anything either, so Steve simply gritted his teeth and spat out the most polite answer he possibly could. “I do not appreciate violation of my privacy, no sir.”

“Nobody does. It was never my idea to violate your privacy, just let me be clear about that. But SHIELD employs tens of thousands of men and women, and their complete well-being is my responsibility. I’m sure you know a thing or two about needing to look after your men.”

“Sir,” Steve managed to say because he did. Of course he did. After every small mission, every little excursion, he would come back and check in on each of his men and see how they were doing. Well, he was never alone in that. Mother henning had always been more of Bucky’s forte than his, but they both tag teamed the Commandos till they were confident every single one of them was being looked after. But all of that was built on trust, and SHIELD clearly was not. 

“Then you know that when I have a soldier that has just been severely displaced in place and time and has not been responsive to any attempts at socialization from others, I have reasons to be concerned.”

Attempts at socialization from others? What did anyone expect from him - that he would wake up all warm and giddy from the seventy years in the ice and want to frolic around with all the new people and make friends?

“Sir, I am not here to argue about your methods of showing concern, as much as I disagree with them. I am here because I need information.”

Fury raised an eyebrow at that. “Well, what do you need?”

Steve flustered at that, the sentences he’d practices failing him. “I- You mentioned that- You said that you knew I was transe- transgender.” He paused for a second, regaining composure. “Who else knows?”

Fury nodded slowly, as if to say he understood why Steve was asking. Which he probably should. “Three nurses that were helping monitor you. We had them all sign non-disclosure agreements so that your information remains private until and unless you choose to say it aloud.”

Steve stilled. He did want to make a trip to the library, but he had spent all day staring at a wall and pacing in his room, feeling like he was sinking, and it took him almost four hours to force himself to get up and going. So he was as painfully clueless as when Fury first mentioned any of this to him. “That’s…an option?”

Fury tilted his head. “When I said it is legal now, I meant it. It is absolutely an option if you want it to be one, from a legal perspective. If you are asking me how people will take it, I won’t lie - there will always be some motherfucking assholes that will try to pull you down. But we either let that pull us down or we get up and keep at it.”

Steve did not miss the we . He actually did try to read up an on segregation and the Civil Rights movement in the files that SHIELD did hand him, so he was thankfully not a clueless clusterfuck in that area. Although he probably should read some more. So maybe that’s what Fury was referring to, or maybe Fury was like him…no, impossible. And he wasn’t going to go around asking but it was nice. It was nice that he cared and that someone had his back when it came to being queer. 

“You sound like Ma,” Steve whispered. 

Fury smiled - a rarity, Steve was sure of it. “Well, she sounds like a wise woman.”

Steve nodded. “So that’s it, the nurses? You said we had them file the…agreements?”

“Non-disclosure agreements, or NDAs. Usually have people sign those when you want to keep things confidential. And by we- Coulson. Coulson knew too.”

“Oh,” Steve mumbled, and felt the wind knocked out of his lungs. “I’m sorry.”

Fury looked distantly. “He would have been excited to introduce you to the world. Big history buff.”

Steve nodded, thinking about the wide smiling man that was probably the first to be so excited around him instead of cautious. 

“I can have someone send you reading material, if you wish.”

“No, that’s fine, sir," Steve said hastily because he really did not want anyone questioning why he was reading up about any of this. "I wanted to visit the library anyway…”

“Take your time, Captain. And please understand that you can rely on your team, you can rely on me or Hill, even if you do not feel that way. You are not alone in this."

Steve shook his head and got up. “I still do not appreciate your trying to pry, but I appreciate your concern.”

Fury pursed his lips as if he had more to say, but simply stood up and stuck his arm out that Steve took gladly. It was nice to be treated like an adult again, because as much as his age was an issue, he had led a team during the war and he’s lived as an adult almost ever since his Ma died. It shouldn’t make everything so different. 

"I wish the best for you. You are welcome to come again if you ever need me, and you can reach out to me on this number," Fury said, handing him a small card that Steve immediately pocketed.

Maybe he could show the remaining Avengers how self sufficient he was before he would have to tell them the truth. Surely, then they would respect him and not take him off the team. 

Steve walked back to his place, an idea taking form in his head. He knew exactly what he needed to do - talking with Fury had given him an idea. 

Notes:

Aaaaaaaah hello hello long time no see! So. Yes. LOTS of different POVs on this one, I know I know. What did you all think? Is there anything specific you're hoping to see soon? Tell mee!

As always, thank you for reading and commenting and thank you for your patients! Aand aah if anyone is super confused about Project T.A.H.I.T.I, it's referencing the events in the Agents of SHIELDS show but if you didn't watch that, no worries, I'll probably go into it later anyway.

I hope you have the best day available to you today <3

Chapter 10: floors of a cabin creaking under my step

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Steve sighed loudly as he entered the Tower’s elevator after a couple hours of pouring over one book after another in the library, until he just couldn’t do it anymore. 

It wasn’t just that his eyes had begun to burn from all that reading, even if that was a factor. He’s probably never had such a whirlwind of emotions by visiting a library .

There was the odd mix of nostalgia and pain when he walked past familiar sections of the library, so much of it the same as long back then, and so much of it being so different. Then there was a brief period of peace while he browsed some sections, feeling like he could shrug off all the masks and coats he was always donning. It had felt so safe . No watchful eyes to worry about.

And then there were the actual books. Steve had to physically stop himself from sobbing far too loudly when he read about the HIV/AIDS crisis, about all the people that he knew he must have lost through that too - Steve was from Brooklyn, for goodness’ sake. So many of his folks - all random strangers that turned into family - were just like him. And then he read about the Stonewall riots and felt a warm feeling in his stomach, like he was a child being swamped up in a blanket by a couple of strangers, telling him they’ll protect him. And all the progress America made had him smiling with pride, but there were so many pages that had his cheeks burning with anger and embarrassment. 

He’d gotten a lot out of his first day to the library in this century, but what it all added up to be was that - a lot had happened, terrible things, beautiful things.  And somehow, he managed to hop over all of those stories, all those timelines, and make it to 2012. 

Steve didn’t think it truly hit him how much he had missed, and how far in the future he’d jumped, until that day. And it hit him like a stab in his gut. 

“Good evening, Captain Rogers-” JARVIS’ voice rang out in the elevator, oddly grounding Steve even as they were going up.

“-Steve.”

“Pardon, Captain?” JARVIS asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Steve. Just call me Steve. Please .”

He couldn’t be him today. He just couldn’t pretend like he wasn’t just another guy, small and weak in the face of time. Like Captain meant anything anymore, when so many were lost and so many lost so much. He couldn’t .

“As you wish, Steve,” JARVIS responded, and somehow, being addressed by his name by a non-human was what made him feel relaxed. “The remaining Avengers are headed to the common area to have dinner together. Shall I tell them you are joining them?”

Steve nodded tiredly. “Yeah, I could eat.”

Perhaps, if he had been less burnt out, he would have considered what it was going to be for all of the Avengers being together again. Or maybe he would have just decided that as Captain, it would be best for him to be with the whole team at once and re-establish that he was a very capable adult, particularly to Barton and Romanoff. 

Except that a day of being drained by emotions could disorient you, so that was not what Steve was going for that evening.

“Cap!” Tony hollered, turning around grandly, flaying his hands in some elegant way. “It’s great to see you again, look who’s joined us for dinner!”

Steve blinked, overwhelmed and confused by the reception. He was thinking this was informal but maybe that was a mistake, because clearly, he wasn’t thinking at all

A quick glance from Natasha reminded him that she knew . As did Clint, but he didn’t show it.

“Jesus,” Clint groaned. “It’s a normal dinner, Stark. It’s not one of your parties where you have to be loud!”

“Aha!” Tony said, wagging a finger at Clint. “I am not loud because those are parties, parties are loud because I am.”

“Clearly,” Bruce said with a small smirk before looking over at Steve with a pleasant smile. “Hi Steve, you should ignore Tony, the guy’s a bit much.”

“Hey!” Tony said, although he didn’t really sound all that offended.

“Hello everyone,” Steve said timidly, smiling at them as he took a seat at the table, eyebrows raising as he saw how much food was at the table. “Are we having more people over?”

“Uh no,” Tony drawled. “We’re a team of superheroes, this is just how much we need! Gotta keep up those big, beautiful muscles.”

Natasha scoffed. “You’re talking about us , not yourself.”

Steve smiled as he helped himself, watching the banter as Tony spluttered and defended himself, saying he was indeed stronger than he looked.

That, Steve had no trouble believing. He’d read that Stark had been kidnapped and even if he wasn’t sure of the details, he knew it wasn’t something silly. And he saw how heavy the suit of armour looked and how gracefully Tony managed to fly it. He was definitely stronger than he looked, mentally and physically.

Tony then tried to defend himself by saying he ate a lot, which Steve definitely did not believe. He’d barely seen the man in the kitchen area. Or maybe he had his own kitchen elsewhere.

Dinner felt grounding - there were petty squabbles (although Tony and Clint were the only active participants, the rest watched with a mix of amusement and exasperation), incredibly good food (Steve couldn’t help but do the math every time he took another bite - how much would this have cost back during the great depression), and some jazz music (courtesy of JARVIS upon Bruce’s request. Everyone had different music suggestions but at least they unanimously voted against anything Tony wanted). 

It reminded him a bit of the Commandos. And also of the ragtag family he had Before. 

Natasha must have seen it in his face - the wistfulness - and sat next to him on the couch. “What’s wrong, Steve?”

A different person would have asked “Is something wrong?” or “Is everything alright?”. That would have given him an out, an I’m fine . But Natasha Romanoff was nothing if not strategic. And you couldn’t exactly tell the best spy of all time - Steve figured at least that much by now, and he knew even Clint would agree that she was the best - that she was wrong and that nothing was wrong. So he decided that he has enough secrets, he need not add another one to his tragic collection. 

Steve shrugged and tried to smile. “Just miss home, whatever that means.”

Natasha smiled sadly and squeezed his arm. He wondered if she would tell him a story about what home meant for her, or say something to console him, or offer something in support.

But she stayed quiet and Steve realized, as obvious as it might have been, that he wasn’t the only one with secrets and a dark history. He glanced at the others, engaged in amicable talk, and thought that being a part of this team might not be too bad. 

The night went on, and Steve decided it was time to turn in, wishing everyone a good night before he left for his room. Just as the elevator doors were about to close, he heard some running for it and stick their hand in between and slip in. 

“Heya Steve,” Tony grinned, but it was a different grin from the one he had before. He looked carefree earlier, but now he looked like he had a plan. And Tony Stark was a stubborn ass, quite like his father, so that made Steve nervous. 

“Hey Tony,” Steve smiled. “Didn’t think you were one to sleep this early,” he said, glancing at his watch. It was five past ten. 

“You thought right. But I did want to get some work done tonight, as much as the party can’t go without me.”

“I think they’ll manage fine,” Steve laughed. 

Tony nodded, and looked like he was mentally preparing himself to say something just as they reached Steve’s floor. 

Thank god for JARVIS.

“Oh well, that’s me. Have a good night, Tony,” Steve said as he walked out, trying to hide the relief. 

“Hey, Steve, listen,” Tony said awkwardly, holding the doors again before huffing and following Steve out. “Do you have a minute to chat?”

Steve’s heart began beating faster without his permission. Did Clint or Natasha tell him about Steve’s age? Did someone see him at the library today?

Without waiting for Steve to respond, Tony headed to the balcony, beckoning Steve to follow him. 

It was breezy, and the cityscape looked very pretty from that high. Yet Steve felt breathless. He stayed quiet, not wanting to give away how anxious he was really feeling. 

Tony leaned against the railing, staring into the sky, and Steve copied him. 

“Do you know about Afghanistan?”

Oh. 

Steve nodded. “It was mentioned in your files. That’s when you became Iron Man, right?”

“Yeah. I don’t- I don’t know how much detail they provided in the files, about what the whole… kidnapping… really was like. But I know for a fact that they didn’t say anything about how it was to come back home from that.”

“What was it like?” Steve asked despite himself. 

“There was no coming back, Steve. There is no coming back, sometimes, because some things are changed forever.”

Somehow, that made Steve feel miserable. There is no coming back . Was it always going to be this awful? It sure seemed like it. 

“But I did get better, it all got better eventually. Lights weren’t so disconcerting, water wasn’t the scariest thing on the planet, and I wouldn’t wake up every single night drenched in sweat. It took years, but I got there because I had a support system and let myself get help.”

Steve finally realized where this was headed. 

“Steve, buddy. When you asked me to delete the footage SHIELD had of you, I did it without question, without looking. But I can guess what might be on there. And I highly doubt you’re doing perfectly fine. It would actually concern me if you were fine, after everything you’ve been through.”

“Tony-”

“Look,” Tony said, turning towards Steve so he was facing him fully. Steve felt transported back in time when he saw how Tony’s silhouette in the dark, the only lighting coming from a room inside the tower, looked so much like Howard. Tony continued to speak, breaking Steve from his reverie. “I’m not asking you to tell me what happened. I’m just saying that we’re all a little fucked up. There’s me. Bruce already told us how bad he’s had it, you know what I’m talking about.”

Steve nodded, remembering Bruce’s words from the helicarrier. 

“Clint was brainwashed by Loki barely a week ago - you think he’s doing fine? And Red’s got a shit ton on her story, I just don’t know what. Point is, you are not alone, and I don’t want you to feel like you are. Talking about it helps.”

There were so many things Steve wanted to say to that. 

He wanted to say: I’m fine, Stark. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine . I’m trying to make myself believe that I am so would you stop making it harder? 

He wanted to say: If everyone has it that bad, then I shouldn’t react this badly, should I? Everyone else seems normal. I’m the only one acting like a child. 

But such a big part of him just wanted to sit Tony down and spill his guts to him. To cry and sob and tell him everything. Somehow, even without knowing about Steve’s real age, he was treating him with such care. And it just made Steve want to burst. With what, he wasn’t sure. 

Except. Except that was the biggest issue about it all. Once Tony got to know his age, which Steve was beginning to grow more and more sure was a when and not an if, because Natasha and Clint said they had to tell the team, what then? If Tony already saw what a broken mess Steve was and then realized how old he was, he’d attribute all this to his age. And decide Steve wasn’t fit to be a part of the team anymore - it was guaranteed. 

Steve thought Tony was really brave for sharing his story. But Steve didn’t have that kind of bravery, and he certainly couldn’t afford the risk.

So after a long silence, he simply nodded quietly. “Okay. Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Tony gave him a few minutes, probably hoping Steve would take him up on his offer of talking about it . When he didn’t, Tony simply clapped him on the back, his hand lingering there for a moment as if he wanted to say more, but started walking away. 

“Anytime, Steve. Good night.”

“‘Night, Tony.”

Steve stared out at the city, closing his eyes as the breeze swept his hair off his face. If his eyes were wet, nobody had to know.

Notes:

i am SO SORRY about lowkey abandoning this fic, folks!!! i shall try my best to get back to it, i finally have a chunk of free time now so i hope i'll be able to write the next few chaps soon.

hope you enjoyed this? thank you for all the love you all have been showing this fic, it really makes me so happy to see!!!

also random fact about HIV/AIDS crisis in the U.S. since this chap touches on it briefly: So there was this huge thing about there being a 'Patient Zero' who "brought HIV to the States". FALSE! It was a big myth. HIV has been in America since the 1920s, but AIDS was only recognized in 1981 and then HIV was identified as its causative agent in 1983. In the 1980s, when epidemiologists were tracking the disease, they found that a lot of the cases they were looking at could be tracked down to this Canadian male flight attendant and he was labelled as the "Outside of California" case to depict where he was from. This was abbreviated as "O" (the letter) in their diagrams which was easily mistaken for "0" (zero), and there originated the myth of "Patient Zero".

Chapter 11: And I couldn't be so sure

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

It didn’t matter how much he tried to avoid it. 

The fateful day arrived in the form of a sunlit afternoon when Steve was actually having a good day, for once. He’d gone for a run that morning and had a sudden burst of inspiration and he sat down on a bench and sketched for at least an hour. Then, as he headed back to the Tower, he saw a really old couple selling the sweetest smelling croissants and chatted up with them as he bought a few for the whole team. 

Pretty much everyone broke into a bright smile upon seeing a breakfast table with the most delicious looking croissants and some fruit that Steve had cut up - except for Tony, who’d taken two cups of coffee to wake up enough to see there was actual food too. 

Steve was done showering and dressing up - he’d spent a while going through his wardrobe that only had clothes picked by SHIELD and realized he didn’t quite like any of that, but what could he do about that? Steve had never worn plaid shirts before, but the fabric was less scratchy than the rest so that would have to work - and he had just gotten through the first twenty pages of a book SHIELD had given him, when he heard a knock on his door. 

“Yes?”

“Miss Romanoff wishes to speak to you, Steve,” JARVIS informed him. 

“Oh,” Steve said, and put the book away as he walked to open the door. “Hi Natasha,” he said. 

The spy was wearing jeans and a loose t-shirt that said ‘If I Wanted the Government in My Womb, I'd F*ck a Senator’ that instantly had Steve gasp in surprise and burst laughing. 

Natasha frowned and then looked down at her shirt and cocked an eyebrow. “That’s not quite the reaction I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?” Steve asked, curious now, as he led her inside so they could both sit. 

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Maybe that you’d turn beet red and be affronted at the language, or you know, the whole concept.”

“Oh please,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You talk as if we hadn’t made up worse ones in the 40s ourselves.”

“You?”

Steve tilted his head. “Disabled, orphaned, from an immigrant family, and very poor,” he said, counting on his fingers. And so very queer, he did not add. “Yes of course I was up there, joining protests whenever there was one.”

Natasha let out a surprised laugh. She shook her head. “Out there changing the world even without the army, huh? I think I’d like to see a bit of that Steve Rogers here too.”

He hadn’t thought of that. 

The idea felt freeing.There were still fights for him to be a part of, and it wasn’t just the one he needed superstrength for. 

“What’s that one about, though?” he asked, confused. 

And then Natasha told him about abortion and Roe v Wade and then how there were Senators that were anti-abortion. He didn’t miss how she never said women’s bodies . She always said people with uteruses

“Wow,” Steve said. So much more for him to read and learn about. “It wasn’t illegal back then. But it wasn’t the safest either.”

Natasha nodded. 

They chatted for a little longer about this and that before Steve remembered she wanted to speak to him about something in particular. 

“So, Steve,” she said, sighing. She lowered her voice for the next bit, dropping the casualness from. “We’re going to need to tell the team.”

He froze, staring at her. 

“I know you don’t want to, and I understand, I really do. But the first draft of the Avengers Initiative is almost done, and if we don’t tell them now, it won’t be good.”

Steve appreciated her saying we . It made him feel less like he had to face an army alone. 

“If you still want time, I won’t say anything,” she promised. “But Tony is going to begin talking with the rest of us so we can make changes, and this is something I would prefer getting out of the way before we officially become a team, if I were you.”

Steve sighed and looked down at his palms. 

Unfortunately, she was right, like she usually was. But now that he decided to tell them soon, he wanted to really get it out of the way. “Can I tell them today?” he asked, and he hated how small his voice sounded. 

“Yeah, we can,” she assured him. “Are you sure?”

No, he wasn’t. But there was no point in dragging this further. If the team didn’t respect him anymore, well. Talking to Natasha had just reminded him that there was more he could do without being Captain America. 

But was it wrong that he wanted the team around, regardless?

It didn’t matter, right now. 

“Yes,” he said, jutting his chin out. “I’m ready.”

Natasha looked at him for a moment before nodding. “J, call a team meeting today.”

Steve sighed, closing his eyes, and felt her lean forward and squeeze his fingers. 


“I think you might have to change the density of the media,” Bruce said, scrolling through the results. He pushed his glasses back up as he looked at the young scientist on the other end of the virtual meeting. “The diffraction patterns are not sharp enough for us to make an accurate judgment. And I looked at the NMR here and it’s definitely phenyl trichlorosilane. Try looking at similar compounds that are less dense - say around 1.23 g/mL.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Banner! I will do that.”

Bruce smiled. “Keep me posted. Have a nice day.”

His favourite part of being back in the States was that he could resume being a scientist and mentor bright students. They always had so much energy and passion, and he knew that the age was difficult enough with how much else they needed to figure out too - they were all still trying to figure out their own identities, learn the ways of the world, focus on academics but also build social connections and explore leadership and other skills, and most of them also had to work to pay off bills on top of research. 

So he always appreciated how much ever time they did put in, because it would all be helpful for them one day when they can actually stay inside a lab all day like Tony and he were currently doing. 

“Argh,” Tony groaned from where he was lounging on the couch with a Stark Pad in one hand and a disgustingly green smoothie in the other. “Wish I had you for my faculty research advisor, Bruce. You’re actually nice with the kids. Even if they can be absolutely stupid sometimes.”

“They’re still learning,” Bruce admonished. “It’s bad enough twenty.”

“God don’t remind me,” Tony complained, no doubt thinking of the time he was that young and doing god knows what. 

Like Bruce said, rough days. 

“Dr. Banner, Mr. Stark-” Jarvis said suddenly. 

“-I also have a PhD, just so you know-” Tony interrupted, not that Jarvis acknowledged it. 

“-Miss Romanoff has just called for a team meeting.”

Bruce rotated on his chair to face Tony, who also sat up on his elbows, frowning as he looked at Bruce. “Team meeting? You know anything of this?”

He shook his head. 

“She said it’s about the Avengers Initiative,” Jarvis said, which had Bruce and Tony nod. “Will both of you be available in an hour?”

“Uh-” Tony said, thinking.

“You do not have anything else planned for the day sir. There are no meetings today. You can certainly attend in an hour.”

Bruce huffed a laugh at Tony’s offended look. “I am free in an hour as well, Jarvis.”

“Thank you, I will let her know.”

Taking a sip of his smoothie, Tony cocked his head. “We do have to meet anyway.”

“Stepping up for leadership, huh?” Bruce asked as he strolled to the other end of the lab. 

“Me?” Tony spluttered. “God no, unless you’re hoping for a team that collapses in a matter of seven days.”

“I don’t know,” Bruce said offhandedly. “I think having you and Rogers be co-leaders could work.”

Tony snorted. “Did you see us on the helicarrier? We’d rip each other’s throats out within an hour.”

“I did,” Bruce sighed. “But I also saw you with him after, and you work fine.”

“You saw who called the meeting just now, Bruce?” Tony asked. “Natasha would make a fine leader. She has a good head on her shoulders, and she’s the most sensible and skilled of us lot, Cap be excluded.”

“I can’t disagree with that,” Bruce said. Natasha - he didn’t like her originally, because she’d lied, but independent of SHIELD, she might be someone he can learn to trust. 

“And have you seen the way Steve calls the shots on field? He’s a natural leader.”

As are you , Bruce wanted to say, but Tony was stubborn and didn’t see things until he wanted to, so he dropped it.

Besides, a part of Bruce wondered if a man trapped under ice for years and now finding himself in a different century should throw himself into a position like this. Or into being an Avenger at all. Bruce worried that he might have too much to heal from, and they were forcing him into things too quick just because he used to do it before. 

The war that Steve volunteered for had ended. He never expressed any interest in fighting wars that weren’t even here yet.


Tony arrived to the meeting room right on dot for once, although the credit went to Banner for dragging him along.

Steve, Natasha and Barton were already seated, with Steve in the middle and the other two flanking his sides.

It was a big room. 

Something was off, Tony realized, as he grinned at all of them and took a seat a bit further away. They were sitting so close to Steve, it looked protective. 

And it didn’t help that Steve had the most constipated look a man could have.

“It’s good to see everyone again,” Bruce said good-naturely as he pulled himself a seat. 

Natasha smiled warmly at him. “It’s good to see you too, Bruce. Glad to see you and Tony can leave the lab.”

“Hilarious,” Tony said monotonously, but watched curiously as neither Steve nor Clint really engaged in the pleasantries aside from a  tight smile and a small nod. From Clint, Tony didn’t know what else to expect, but Steve seemed more likely to say something. 

“So,” Tony started. “What did you want to talk about?” he asked Natasha. 

Natasha clasped both of her hands in front of her. “I know the paperwork for the Initiative is still in the works, and I thought it would be good for us to chat about anything everyone should know before we officially become a team. About things we need to know about each other, about things we will and will not accept in this team or work, and to what extent the Avengers operate.”

Tony nodded. “I think everyone anyone needs to know me has already been on the news,” he shrugged, glancing at Steve again. Something was very off about that guy. “And Bruce and Steve, at least as far as I know.”

Either that was the right thing to say, or the worst, because Natasha and Clint glanced at each other and then at Steve who looked like he was taking a deep breath before sat up straighter than he was sitting before, if that was even humanly possible. 

“Not really,” Steve said, looking him directly in the eye for the first time since that meeting had started. “There are some things about me that you don’t know, and I think I owe you that information before we become a team.”

Tony slowly sat back, listening. So he did have something to share with the class and Natasha and Clint already knew that. 

Steve played with hand for a half a second before continuing. “My mother died when I was young, of Tuberculosis.”

He was already eighteen by then, if Tony remembered correctly. It was public knowledge and Tony unfortunately had a good memory, meaning he also remembered everything his father rattled on about, whether he wanted to or not. 

“I moved in with the Barnes, they were kind enough to take me in.”

Tony frowned. No, that didn’t sound about right. Barnes and Steve were childhood best friends, but why would their family take him in because his mother passed away? Steve wasn’t a child. Perhaps it was because of how sick Steve was? None of the stories ever mentioned that, though. He realized that most of what he knew of Steve was after he became Cap, nothing from before. He hadn’t really thought much of it would be relevant anyway, but perhaps he was wrong.

“Bucky enlisted almost as soon as he turned eighteen.”

Again, Tony frowned. He didn’t really know all the Bucky Barnes facts like he knew the Steve Rogers’ facts, but he did know they had to be the same age. Unless Steve got sick enough in school that he was a couple classes behind. Because everyone knew that Barnes enlisted first but Steve wasn’t that far behind. 

And Steve was twenty five when he got the serum. 

“They didn’t let me even try to enlist immediately, because…”

Steve took a deep breath, and Tony could see both Clint and Natasha squeeze his hand and shoulder in assurance. 

What the hell was going on. 

“...I was still seventeen. So I lied and said I was twenty five.”

Tony sat up ramrod straight at the implication. 

“You’re nineteen years old,” Bruce whispered a moment of silence later, looking horrified, and obviously having done the same math as Tony. 

Steve looked at both of them in an odd mixture of challenge and fear, and nodded. 

Nineteen. 

Nine teen

Steven Grant Rogers, the man his father spoke of every single day and measured Tony against since he was five years old, was just a child. Younger than the student Bruce was just talking to an hour ago. 

Younger than Tony was when he lost his parents. 

Much younger than when Tony had been kidnapped and finally realized his mistakes. 

Captain America was a teenager and a centenarian all at once, and none of it made any sense. 

He realized he still hadn’t uttered a word in response, and that Steve looked like he wanted them to say something - like he would shatter if someone didn’t just say anything in a minute - but Tony looked at Bruce and Bruce looked at Tony figured that neither of them had any words to say. 

The horrors he had seen before he was even old enough to-

Jesus fucking Christ, the kid was not even old enough to drink

Why had Tony taken a sobriety pledge, again? He needed a couple beers for this. 

“Did anyone know?” he asked finally. “Did anyone know they were subjecting a minor to human experimentation?”

“Tony,” Natasha warned, looking fierce. He ignored her.

Because he needed to know if his father knew. 

Because that was inhumane. 

Steve shook his head. 

Thank the heavens

But what now? There was just so much to unpack. 

“Steve’s age doesn’t matter - he is still one of the greatest fighters in history and among the best leaders I have ever known,” Natasha said, and if Tony thought she was dangerous before, she was deadly now that she was being protective. “I do not think his age has an implication for the Avengers at all.”

“Well we’re going to need to get rid of the open bar,” Tony tried to joke, even if his head was still spinning. Clint snorted, so he considered that a success. 

Steve, on the other hand, still looked very pale. 

This was so, so wrong. Steve needed parental supervision . Tony was old enough to be Steve’s father, for goodness’ sake.

Do you want to still fight, Steve?” Bruce asked finally, voicing the question no doubt everyone else had wondered at some point too. 

“Would you even let me?” Steve asked, and he just sounded too young and vulnerable. 

Captain America was asking if they all wanted to kick him off the team. 

But they didn’t have a definite answer for him. Bruce looked at Tony, lost. 

“The draft we have right now says that if we wish to recruit a member, the minimum age is twenty one,” Tony said quietly, earning a sharp glare from Barton. 

Okay, so both the spies felt it was alright for Steve to stay on the team. 

And how was it going to make anything better if they took him off, anyway? He might have hated the man’s guts growing up, but he’s learned now and he always knew that he was not one to back down from a fight. This was a man that enlisted at seventeen because he wanted to serve and crash landed into the freezing ocean because he knew it would save lives. 

“We will need to change that to eighteen,” Tony said. 

Steve’s sigh of relief was so loud that Tony’s heart clenched. 

“Thank you,” Steve said, his voice shaky and sounding like he was holding back tears. “ Thank you so much. I don’t have anyone else. I didn’t know if you would-” he said, his voice breaking.

“Oh, buddy,” Clint said quietly, getting up and pulling the kid into a side hug, instantly making him let out a sob. Natasha leaned closer, squeezing Steve’s arm. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said hoarsely. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Steve,” Natasha said softly. “It’s alright.”

Tony and Bruce shared a look, both also standing up now as they awkwardly lingered a little distance away. Tony knew this was too personal a moment but he felt the desperate need to assure Steve in some way that they wouldn’t be abandoning him. 

I don’t have anyone else.

He’d known that, of course he knew that. But it didn’t hit him in it’s full power what that meant until right that moment. The closest Steve had to even friends, forget family, was the Avengers. And he was at that age where having a family was so important, because Tony knew firsthand what happened to kids that old with nobody to stop their self destruction. 

His father should have known. 

How could he have not realized that Steve was eight years younger than he had claimed? How could he have put him through that

Things went well, fortunately, but what if they hadn’t? There were no clinical trials, there was nothing but cells in a petridish.

Tony had made it a habit of having to clean up his father’s messes - first with weapons manufacturing, then with Stane. He could do one more, and this time, moreso because he felt the need to - he could be there for Steve Rogers in a way that nobody had been there for him. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Cap,” Tony said, standing behind the odd trio and putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder, rubbing it. 

“Like Natasha said,” Bruce added. “You really are the best leader we’ve known. This doesn’t change that.”

Steve just let out another burst of tears at that and Tony couldn’t help but tear up a bit himself.

Goodness.

Now they had a teenager in their team. 

There was still so much to talk about.

Notes:

Aaaah hello, hello. The deed has been done, everyone knows now. Not sure I love the ending, but here you goooo! Let me know what you all think :)

Chapter 12: i had a feeling so peculiar, this pain wouldn’t be for evermore

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Steve realized that he hadn’t been to Central Park in the day ever since he woke up. The only times he would come here was when it was stil too dark out.

“..Hey I just met you, and this is crazy,
But here’s my number, so call me maybe..”

He subconsciously bobbed his head to the music, watching from afar as a couple skaters danced, looking like they were having fun. Steve was initially surprised by how different the songs now were, but he’d gradually taken to exploring them.

He fell in love with Iris by Goo Goo Dolls, although he could never listen to it without tearing up. Almost every song by Lana Del Rey felt oddly like he was standing with one foot in 1942 and one in 2012 - which was his current predicament, anyway. He fell in love with Trouble Man by Marvin Gaye and decided that it was the first music he liked just because he liked it. Clint and Tony had gotten a bit too excited and took him to a music store where he bought his first vinyl. It looked almost just like the V-discs they were sent during the war that Steve had to restrict himself from searching for vinyls of Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday.

Steve had taken a liking to Billy Joel, Arctic Monkeys, and Celine Dion, and had a spectacularly visceral reaction to Bobby Sox by Green Day. The first time he’d registered the lyrics, he almost fell out of bed. Once the song ended, he’d quietly asked Jarvis to play it again and again until Jarvis had just played it for him 29 times in a row. This time, of course, he made sure not to tell either Clint or Tony about it because he didn’t want them spending money every time Steve decided he didn’t completely hate this century.

Natasha, thankfully, was not as wasteful. Steve thought that it may have to do with how she grew up a soldier, always desperate to save resources, but he knew he wouldn’t want to be asked about it, so he didn’t ask either. She had given a disc that was a lot smaller and shinier than a V-disc. It was apparently called a CeeDee, and Natasha had needed to burn it first, or at least that’s what Steve understood. Honestly, none of it made any sense whatsoever, but he could now play music in his room without asking Jarvis to, and it was nice to have that familiarity at the very least. He liked Jarvis but he missed doing everything by himself.

Steve was just jogging at a regular speed so nobody would know who he was - even though there had been footage of his face everywhere during the Chitauri War, he found that New Yorkers were a bit too busy to recognize a guy when he was wearing what Bruce told him was an oversized “hoodie” and glasses that Tony had made for him when he realized that everything occasionally got a bit too bright for Steve. Bruce thought that it could be because Steve grew up colourblind and was now living in 21st century New York which was nothing but bright and flashy.

It had been almost four months now since Natasha had busted his secret and Steve told the rest of the team, and things were…good.

For the first week, the team had more or less been acting strange - Tony was always watching him far too carefully, Bruce spoke to him even less but he always wore an expression like he wanted to try speaking to him, and Natasha and Clint were a bit too overprotective.

And then the Avengers had their first sparring match.

Steve still isn’t sure why they decided to have one, but twenty minutes into fighting each other - each person for their own - Steve had an epiphany. Everyone was treating him like he was delicate, just like they used to when he didn’t have the serum. As much as he hated that, Steve had always privately loved letting everyone underestimate him because it gave him the element of surprise.

So, he decided that he was not even going to try to fight. He simply let them tire themselves out. He spent two hours on the defense, barely sweating, while Tony had given up within the first thirty minutes, and Natasha and Clint were now panting and groaning respectively, both lying on the floor.

Steve tossed all three of them water bottles and winked at Bruce.

Clint gave him the middle finger, Tony scowled like an angry cat, and Natasha emptied the entire water bottle before chucking it at Steve’s head.

Bruce grinned at Steve.

Almost wordlessly, the team shifted from treating him like the infant they found at a bombed out shelter to treating him like their annoying younger brother.

Bruce invited Steve to his meditation sessions and would let Steve ask him questions about his work in Bangladesh, though it had initially surprised him that that was what Steve was more intersted in.

Tony, much to Steve’s distaste, bought him “everything a teenager could possibly need” he could, which in Steve’s opinion was way too much. He had taken Steve shopping a few weeks after the Big Reveal, as Steve thought of it, but Steve had gotten so horribly overwhelmed by the mall they went to that Natasha forbade Tony from buying things Steve didn’t ask for anymore. Instead, she had taken him shopping herself, and Steve had never been the best at understanding Fashion - that was Bucky’s forte - but he was thankful men weren’t always wearing suits. Steve found that he hated scratchy fabrics, and started collecting soft t-shirts and cardigans, much to Natasha’s amusement. Once Tony was deprived of his supposededly usual way of showing affection - splurging money - he started inviting Steve to his workshop and tried to explain him things. It was interesting, truly, but once again, this was Bucky’s forte. Steve just became friends with U and Butterfingers and found his joy in moving heavy machinery and cleaning up the workshop.

Natasha had become his sparring partner - she was far more skilled than he ever could be, so it was always a challenge to fight her now that she always expected him to pull some cheeky trick. Once she realized that Steve’s strongest technique was simply to throw himself onto somebody and take them down with him, she rolled her eyes and muttered something in Russian before their sparring sessions changed to training sessions.

And Clint - well. Clint was still an overprotective older brother, and Steve may never admit it out loud, but he was grateful. Of course, that did not mean that Clint was not also an absolute maniac half the times - he often went off tangent about something or the other, whether that was the latest movie he watched or his speculation over an obscenely bizarre conspiracy theory. Steve enjoyed those conversations. They were so stupid that he felt everything was alright. But he also knew that Clint had battles of his own, nightmares that plagued him, too. They did not always talk about those, neither of them really wanting to. Instead, Clint tried to push Steve into trying new things, or finding his old hobbies again. He had bought Steve a simple sketchbook that Steve began to carry everywhere, even right now as he was out on a run.

He’d been running for over 90 minutes now, and decided it was time for a break. Steve found an empty bench and sat down, pushing his sweaty hair off his face and wishing he hadn’t worn something so warm. He knew he should be wearing gym clothes for this, the ones Natasha had taught him about, but he just didn’t want to get recognized. Steve was unfortunately aware of what his physique looked like. He looked around the park, pulling out his sketchbook and a pencil before he knew it.

Things were good, now.

It didn’t mean it was all great. There were days that he could not get out of bed - or really, the floor, for he had long since stopped trying to sleep in his bed - until somebody needled their way into his room and sat with him in comfortable silence (Natasha) or ridiculous blabber (Clint). Those were the easier days.

He almost always woke up in the middle of the night, a silent scream lodged in his throat and heart racing badly enough that he had to request Tony to elevate his baseline heartrate in Jarvis’s system so that one of the Avengers didn’t come running to his room every single night.

The old gym was still a place of respite. If he showed up to breakfast with his knuckles in the wrong colour, nobody asked any questions.

Just three weeks ago, Tony and Natasha had tried to cook at the same time in the communal kitchen, which inevitably ended up in a food fight. Steve had almost thrown up with anger and fear at all the food they had carelessly wasted, but his chest was too busy constricting for him to be able do anything else. It had taken Bruce forty minutes to get him out of it, apparently.

He was grateful for the team that was slowly becoming his family. But he will never stop longing for the Brooklyn of 1939, before the war, before Bucky died, before he would know how much he would miss a time that was just as much misery as joy.

Steve came out of the daze he usually went into when he drew as he felt a stranger standing quite close to him. Their heart rate was not too high, neither was their breathing. It may just be a civilian Yet, Steve silently changed his grip on his pencil - it was sharp enough to cause minimal damage if he needed to attack-

“Damn, that’s really good. You go to Tisch?”

Confused, Steve looked up to see- Oh, wow. He had deep, brown eyes. His hair was almost the same shade, but there was a small streak of bright pink at the tips. His skin was a beautiful shade of olive and now that Steve thought of it, there was a lot of skin he could see-

“..Teesh?” Steve asked, sounding embarrassingly like a squeak. He tried to keep his eyes on this impossibly pretty stranger’s face instead of the skin showing underneath the bizarrely short t-shirt.

“I’ll take that as a no.” The stranger smiled in amusement, raising an eyebrow. “Tisch is NYU’s Art School - you’re just really good, I assumed you must go there.”

Steve felt his cheeks heat up and he stammered a thanks before glancing at his work. He’d drawn a crowd in the Central Park, all going about their day and fast paced and blurry, and without realizing it, had drawn one singular face in clarity, hands in his dockyard pant pockets as he leaned against an old fashioned street light. Bucky.

He forced his eyes to move away and they landed on the shirt this annoyingly nice stranger was wearing. The letters NYU stood out against a bold purple. Steve nodded at him, “D’you go there?”

The stranger shrugged again, and Steve realized he was being awfully rude and moved his belongings to the side so he could take a seat. “I go to NYU, yes,” he said as he sat down, one leg folded and an arm on the back of the bench so he was turned towards Steve. “But I study literature, not art. I’m Diego, by the way.” He stuck his hand out. “Diego Garcia.”

Steve made sure his grip was as gentle as he could manage, and tried to smile politely at Diego. He absolutely did not focus on how Diego’s nails were painted. The colours were very pretty.

“Steve,” Steve managed, realized belatedly that he probably shouldn’t say Rogers. Maybe he should take his mother’s maiden name instead. “Steve Creagh. Nice to meet you.”

Diego cracked another of those amused smiles, his eyes darting back to Steve’s sketch. “That someone you know?”

Steve looked at Bucky’s face again, the teasing smile too painful to look at. “Someone I knew,” Steve said quietly, before looking away from the sketch back to Diego.

Diego nodded, not questioning it any further. “It’s beautiful. He- He looks like he’s from the past. Like he’s a man from, I don’t know, something in the 1900s, say, and he’s had a long day of work. And he decides to take a break, take a drag of cigarette, and finds some respite in the middle of the street, and he’s standing, there’s this flash of light.”

There’s this dazed look in Diego’s eyes, like he’s seeing something far away, the very story he’s telling now. Steve allows himself to visualize Bucky, sweat and grime all over his face after a day at the dockyard, reaching for the cigarette packet that Steve had gifted him a few months ago as he leans against the streetlamp overlooking the pier.

“His hand falls away, cigarette stubbed as it falls to the ground in a mixture of shock and awe. ‘What in the world is that?’ he wonders, and even if there’s a very big part of him telling he should scream or run or do anything but stand there, he’s utterly fascinated and can’t look away from this bright blue light that glimmers and expands until the street in front of him has changed to something else.

There’s a stretch of green grass, and people are dancing and laughing, and in the middle of it all is someone that looks so familiar, he must know them somehow. And the man can tell, immediately, that this is the future. So he leans back again, and watches, and decides he’s content. If the people he cares about - maybe it’s great grandkid, who knows? - are happy in the future, against all odds that the man is going through his own dreadful life, he thinks that’s all he needs to be happy, too.”

If Steve opens his eyes, he thinks he is going to see Bucky in front of him, standing with a smirk and telling him, “There ya go, punk. You’re in the future. You get to be free.” He opens his eyes and tries to blink away his tears, taking a shaky breath.

“Oh my god,” Steve hears, and turns to see Diego’s cheeks going pink. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry - I just start rambling and you totally should have told me to shut up-”

“It was beautiful,” Steve murmured, clearing his throat as he looked at Diego.

“Really?” Diego asked, sounding embarrassed. Steve privately thought he looked adorable when he was tripping over himself, but kept that to himself.

“Yes,” Steve said, looking at his sketch again. “You think he must be happy?”

Diego’s voice softened. “If you are, yeah,” he said, and smiled at Steve.

“You should write that story. I loved it.”

Diego’s amused grin came back, and Steve wanted to see it again and again. “Only if you promise to make more art for it.”

“Like a…comic book?” Steve asked, tilting his head.

“Sure,” Diego laughed.

Steve smiles back, and decides that maybe he’s not really happy yet. He’s not sure what happiness is going to mean in this century. But he can try to learn. For Bucky. For Ma.

Maybe, even for himself.

Maybe, the pain doesn’t have to be for evermore.

Notes:

y'all. it's finally over. woooooh. i had no idea what i was writing until it wrote itself, honestly.

i'm so so sorry i abandoned this forever. i don't think i even planned on this getting so long, but it did, and i think halfway through the story, so much time had passed that i kinda outgrew it. but, i've always wanted to finish it, and i never knew how to end it, but i hope this does it some justice.

thank you to everyone that's ever left a kudos or a comment or bookmarked or subscribed or even just read this. it always warms my heart to see someone reading and actually like my writing.

take care, everyone! and have a lovely 2024. <3

Notes:

Queer Steve Rogers is very personal to me, I hold so many of the stories others have written on this very close to my heart. I wanted to write something that explores Steve's story some more, but I can't say I have it all planned out properly. Maybe we'll see some of the other Avengers soon as well? But this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, so I hope you enjoy it!

As always, kudos and comments are appreciated, and if you have any requests for this series, let me know!

Thanks for reading!

P.S. Yes, I love Evermore.

Series this work belongs to: