Chapter Text
July 22, 2011
Steve stops dead in the middle of Times Square as he finds himself surrounded. He looks around at the black cars that look nothing like what he’s used to. Something on his left catches his eyes and he looks up to the giant screens covering the buildings around him. The light coming off of them is bright, too bright, even in the daylight.
Something is off.
His heart starts beating impossibly fast as something clicks in his head. Whatever happened to him when he crashed the Valkyrie, it took him to a different place, to a different time .
“You’ve been asleep, Captain,” a man tells him, pulling Steve out of his head.
The man is imposing, dressed in all black with an eyepatch over his left eye. Even if Steve hadn’t been surrounded, he thinks he would have stopped at the sight of him.
“For almost seventy years,” the man adds, oblivious to Steve’s inner turmoil.
Steve’s heart stops.
He tries to do the math in his head, but he can’t focus on anything other than ‘holy shit, what the fuck’ and he finds himself unable to breathe for a second. Everything around him is suddenly too loud, too bright. Too much.
“What?” he croaks. There are no other words willing to come out of him right now.
“You crashed the Valkyrie in the Arctic. However, you didn’t die. You simply went into some sort of stasis. Your body kept you alive, but your mind was asleep the whole time.”
“How am I alive?” Steve can’t help but ask.
It doesn’t make sense. No one should be able to survive that, not even Steve. Yes, the serum made him stronger, but it didn’t make him invincible. There is no way he should have been able to survive being frozen for almost seven decades.
“Let’s take this somewhere else, shall we?”
Steve nods, too dumbstruck to say anything else and follows the man into one of the armed vehicles.
“What year is it?” Steve asks. He feels like he’s repeating himself but he has to know.
How much time has he missed? How many people have come and gone while he was asleep? Where are his friends? His family? He wants to see the Howlies, wants to wake up in the middle of the European countryside, realizing this is nothing but a dream. He wants to see Peggy, and her soft smile, her friendly presence, keeping him grounded.
The world around him seems so different, so advanced; he feels like he’s two hundred years in the future.
“It’s 2011, Captain.”
Again, Steve tries to do the math. This time, his brain cooperates. He’s been asleep for sixty-six years. He should be almost a hundred years old, but his body remains unchanged. He still looks exactly the same as he did when he put the plane down in the ice.
His twenty-seven year old body suddenly feels so much older than it should.
He shouldn’t be here, it shouldn’t be possible. It has to be a dream. It has to be some hallucination his dying brain is making up. But the panic attack that makes its way to the surface is way too real for it to be some trick his brain is playing.
He sits there, silent, as panic rises inside him and he can’t breathe, he can’t move; he can’t do anything. He wants to run, somewhere, anywhere but he doesn’t know where he’d go. He doesn’t know this new world, hell, he probably doesn’t know anyone anymore.
Steve put the plane down in the ice to try and save everyone. It seems like he achieved that at least. He just maybe wishes he could have saved himself too. Or made sure he wouldn’t live at all.
Instead, he sent himself sixty fucking years in the future.
“Captain?” Fury asks from the seat next to him. “Are you okay?”
“How could I be?” Steve answers through gritted teeth. He’s not even sure how he managed to get anything out. His mind is reeling, a number of unknown emotions making their way to the surface and Steve doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to keep himself grounded and calm.
“You’ll get through this,” Fury tells him, like it’s a given. As if the contrary was even an option for Steve.
“What fucking choice do I have?” Steve retorts, probably a little too harshly, but he can’t help it, can’t keep his voice in check. The man next to him seems surprised at the outburst, but he also seems weirdly pleased.
“We’ll do everything we can to get you used to this.”
“Who’s we?”
“SHIELD.” He says it like Steve is supposed to know what the hell SHIELD is. Like Steve hasn’t been gone for the better half of the last decade.
“And who are you ?” Steve asks instead, because that seems to be the most important question right now, finally turning towards the other man. As overwhelming as this all is, Steve can still compartmentalize and prioritize. He needs to know who it is that he’s dealing with.
“Nicholas Fury, deputy director.”
Steve nods but doesn’t ask for more information. He can’t find it in him to ask any more questions. He’s exhausted, which makes him want to laugh because he’s apparently been asleep for so long . How could he still be tired?
Fury takes him to some big building made of glass and metal, and it’s so ugly Steve wants to cry. The future isn’t really what he thought it would be. Not that he thought he’d ever get to see any of it. But he remembers being a kid, before the war, and reading about the future, and seeing prototypes for flying cars, and hearing about everything that would be possible in two, three, four decades time. He feels cheated, he feels lied to.
“You’ll stay here until we can figure out what you want to do,” Fury says as he leads Steve out of the car and into the building. The ‘with you’ part goes unsaid, but is heavily implied.
Steve nods, following the man through endless corridors that take them to the other side of the structure. They walk mostly in silence, Fury pointing a few things along the way, but Steve’s brain is hazy and he can’t retain any information even if he wanted to.
They come to a stop in what looks like a common room. It looks comfortable and cozy even though the design of most of the furniture looks odd to Steve. There are a few couches surrounding a coffee table sitting in front of a huge black rectangle hanging on the wall. Underneath it is a long cabinet where multiple black boxes sit, with cable coming out the back.
Once again, he decides to keep his questions to himself because he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle answers to any of them.
“This is where our agents stay after long missions or when on call,” Fury says, gesturing to the room before pointing to an open doorway that leads to a kitchen. “You’ll find everything you need in there.”
Steve stares at the enormous refrigerator and the slick silver appliances. He couldn’t even name half of them; all he’s ever known is a simple oven and a small gas range.
“What exactly do you do here?” Steve asks hoarsely, his throat tight and dry. He clears before turning back to Fury.
“Law enforcement,” Fury answers flippantly, waving a hand around. “More or less,” he adds, which doesn’t help with Steve’s nerves.
What the hell did he get himself into?
Without any more of an explanation, Fury moves on to showing Steve to his room. It's located in a corridor with five doors on each side, each of them only separated by ten feet at most.
Steve’s quarters aren’t very big, holding only a twin bed and a small desk in front of a tiny window, but it’s still better than what he was used to during the war. It’s still better than what he used to have before that, too. The bed looks like it could barely contain him, but it still seems better than a cot or the ground, if he’s honest.
“You’ve got spare clothes in the closet, bathroom’s across the hall,” Fury explains, pointing at a small door at the foot of Steve’s bed then gesturing towards the door just in front of Steve’s room.
“Thanks,” Steve says with no real emotion. He feels empty, exhausted, and just a little bit like he’s going crazy. He wants to be alone, wants to sit in silence and figure out what his next step is going to be. He needs to know what his next step will be.
“We’ll have agents here in a few days. In the meantime, let me know if you need anything.”
“Okay.” He sits down on the bed, the mattress so soft he thinks it’s trying to swallow him whole. He wants to cry, wants to scream, because it feels so good, too good, and so unfamiliar.
He keeps his face impassive, but the second Fury gets out of the room, he lets a few tears stream down his face as his body slides from the bed to the floor. He’ll never be able to sleep on that thing.
July 25, 2011
Steve sits on the couch, staring at the black rectangle on the wall Fury informed him was a television. Steve doesn’t believe him at first but then, Fury turns it on and shows him how to use it. He technically knew about color TV back in the forties, knew it was something that existed, but no one he knew had them, no one but rich people used them. It’s not just the color though, the vibrant shades of every single color displayed on the screen; it’s also the crispness of the images, the clearness of the sounds.
Steve turns it off the second Fury is gone, a little overwhelmed by it all. It seems to be his default setting these days; everything is too perfect, too comfortable, too tasty, too much.
Tension has finally left his body, even though he’s been sleeping on the floor. He’s annoyed that he needs to sleep at all; hasn’t he slept enough? But at least, there’s nothing to obsess over while he’s asleep. The nightmares are actually welcome most nights, because, as messed up as it is, it takes him back to a familiar time, to his people, to his friends. It takes him back to something he knows.
He’s been trying to catch up on what’s happened after the crash, but every time he starts reading up on the end of the war, he feels overwhelmed. He thinks maybe reading about the events that occurred after the war would help, but it ends up making everything worse. It’s just a reminder of all the things he could have seen but missed, all the things he could have had but didn’t.
So, he sits in silence on the couch and tries not to let his mind spiral out of control. His thoughts always end up in the same place though.
What happened to his team? Where did the Howlies end up? Did they survive the war? Did they have a good life?
“Hey,” someone says from behind him. It makes Steve jump a little and he berates himself for not keeping an ear out.
He’s also been doing that a lot lately; he gets so lost in his head he loses track of what’s happening around him. He hates it.
“Hi,” Steve says a little tentatively as he turns towards the man who just entered the room.
The guy has a kind smile on his face, but his blue eyes shine with a kind of mischief Steve hasn’t seen often. His dirty blond hair is going every which way like he just ran his hands through it or took off a helmet that had been on for a really long time. There’s a bandaid on his face, the edge of a cut peeking out from underneath, on top of his cheekbone. Steve can see a bandage wrapped around the man’s bicep, a hint of blood seeping through it.
“You okay?” the newcomer asks, a little frown on his face. The guy looks like a mess, but he looks actually concerned and trustworthy, Steve wants to let his guard down.
“‘M fine,” Steve answers, refusing to let himself relax. Who knows what this guy wants, who knows who he is. Steve won’t let himself get played.
“You don’t look fine.” The words aren’t meant as an insult, Steve thinks it might be quite the opposite, but it still stings to hear. He can’t imagine how awful he must look right now.
“Thanks,” Steve says with a little chuckle.
“I’m Clint,” the man – Clint – informs him. His eyes look soft, like he’s trying to reassure Steve that he’s no threat, that he means no harm.
“Steve,” he answers quietly, a little reluctantly. He might still be on guard but it doesn’t mean he has to be rude; his ma didn’t raise him like that.
“I know.” And of course he does. Why wouldn’t he? He’s obviously an agent after all and he’s going to be living here with Steve for god knows how long.
Oh god, he hadn’t really thought about it, had he? How long does he have to be here? Is he even allowed to leave? Will he ever be able to go out and live his life outside these walls? Does he even want to? He’s not even sure if people know he’s back but given the fact he hasn’t been asked to do a press conference or a simple interview, he thinks it might still be kept under wraps for now.
“Right,” is all he can say. He’s spiraling again.
“How long you stayin’ here?” Clint asks, a small smile pulling at his lips. He looks so friendly it almost hurts, because Steve wants nothing more than friendship, but he’s not sure he can allow himself even that. He’s not sure he deserves anything as nice as a friend.
“I don’t know.”
Clint walks to the kitchen, dropping his bag next to the couch on the way. As he walks past him, Steve notices a small plastic device sticking out of the man’s ear but he chooses not to ask about it.
All the technology he’s encountered thus far has been more than enough.
“Want some coffee?” he asks from the kitchen, popping his head through the doorway.
“Sure,” Steve answers, even though caffeine hasn’t had any effect on him since 1943. It feels both like it was yesterday and a lifetime ago that he stepped into that chamber and became what he is now.
But he takes the cup of coffee and drinks it like it does the same thing to him that it does to Clint, and he lets himself relax a little.
A friend is exactly what he needs, and maybe Clint can be that.
December 24, 2011
Steve has spent many Christmases on his own after his mother passed away, but he’d found a new love for the holiday during the war.
The 107th, especially the Howlies, all loved Christmas. Not being able to spend it at home with their loved ones hadn’t stopped them from doing everything they could to celebrate anyways.
The last year, they had found a tree in the forest they were camping in and had improvised tinsels and other decorations with what they had on hand. The tree had gotten covered in ribbons, grenades and cantines. It was the most ridiculous thing Steve had ever seen, but it’d felt right. It’d felt like home.
Steve may have shed a tear or two when no one had been looking.
He misses the camaraderie he had in the military, the support and love he shared with other soldiers. He misses it so much, but he hopes he never has to fight again. Not like that.
But now, even though the future offers more than what he could have ever dreamed of, Steve finds himself alone in his apartment. Clint had offered to stop by, so they could spend the day together but Steve had declined, not wanting to take Clint away from whatever family he had.
They’d spent a lot of time together when Steve was still staying at SHIELD and had kept in contact ever since Steve moved out back in August, but Clint had his own life to live, his own job to get to. Steve has been trying his best not to take him away from that too much, even though he needs a friend to lean on more than anything.
His Brooklyn apartment brought him some peace when he’d moved in. It had been hard, in a way, to come back to a place that held so many memories only to find it so different yet so much the same from what he remembered. What had been only a couple of years for him had been seven decades for his neighborhood. But it feels like home; Brooklyn always feels like home.
He had found an apartment on the same block his ma’s place had been. It’s small and cramped but it makes him feel at home in a way nothing really has since he enlisted. It has dark red exposed bricks on two walls and a small spare room Steve uses as his studio. He’s got an easel set up next to a small desk where he likes to sit and sketch.
Back in the forties, he would have never been able to afford a place like this, but it seems like being frozen for the better part of sixty years means the Army owed him a lot of money. He still gets a paycheck from them every week, allowing him to pay for this place.
Unlike his old place, the apartment is fully furnished, has running water and working heat. It also has a fridge the size of a wardrobe and a security system he has trouble operating.
It’s not like anyone knows he’s back anyway, so he never turns it on; it’s not like anyone will come for him.
March 17, 2012
Steve is sitting in a crowded bar wearing a bright green sweater and cursing past him for agreeing to come out tonight. The place is full and loud and so hot Steve wishes he could tear his sweater off, could leave and go outside, but he can’t. He’s made a promise and he needs to keep it.
Clint has been trying to get Steve out of his apartment for months and after turning down every single invite, Steve finally gave in last week.
It’s Saint Patrick’s Day after all, and he and his mom would always celebrate however they could. Even if Steve was in the hospital or sick at home, Sarah would do her best to make it a good day. When Sarah passed away, Steve had kept the tradition going, even while in the Army. Soldiers never passed up on an opportunity to get drunk out of their minds after all.
He kind of regrets it now because he hasn’t seen Clint in over fifteen minutes, when he said he’d be right back and ran after a woman with bright red hair. He mumbled something about Russian spies before disappearing in the crowd.
The bar is loud but it was to be expected. Saint Patrick’s Day has always been a busy day, for as long as Steve can remember. But there’s a table in the back that’s especially loud, booming voices powering over all the other noises. Steve sips at his beer and turns to them, an air of melancholy clinging to his every cell. He can’t help but to think back of all the times he and the Howlies went out in the town, while away from the front, getting as drunk as they could.
He wishes he could have fun like this, he wishes he had friends. Clint is great, he really is, but they almost never see each other. And it might be Steve’s fault, for not wanting to go out into the world, but there are so many things to catch up on, so many things to look up, he often doesn’t find the time to do much else.
“Firefighters,” a voice says from behind the bar and Steve turns around to see the bartender looking towards the same table Steve was staring at. “They’re always the loudest.”
“They come here often?” Steve asks, craving some conversation. For someone in a crowded room, he sure feels alone.
“Every other night. As do cops and paramedics. A few federal agents too. A lot of first responders in general,” the bartender explains. His eyes are open and kind, his smile bright and inviting, and Steve can’t help but to smile back at him.
“That’s awesome.”
“Name’s Jimmy, I’m a firefighter myself,” Jimmy tells him, leaning on the counter to get a little closer to Steve. “Same station as these heathens.”
Jimmy points to the table they were both looking at a moment ago, where the noise has redoubled since. There has to be at least ten people around the table, all of them laughing in varying intensity, but they all seem so happy. Steve yearns for that kind of happiness, of carelessness.
“A few coworkers and I started this place about five years ago. People from other stations work the nights we can’t.”
“That’s really amazing!” Steve exclaims and he truly means it. This is one of the nicest conversations he’s had with a stranger since he met Clint months ago.
Isn’t that sad?
“It’s fun,” Jimmy starts before a smile takes over his face as he looks at someone behind Steve. “Here’s one of our lieutenants coming over for refills.”
Steve turns around to find one of the most beautiful men Steve has ever seen start walking their way. He has long hair, half of it pulled up in a messy knot on top of his head, letting the rest cascade down to his shoulders softly. Steve aches to run his hands through it.
“Alright, Steve, let’s go somewhere else,” Clint says loudly in Steve’s ear when he reappears in the worst possible moment.
Steve lets out a frustrated groan when the stranger’s eyes finally connect with his. Steve’s breathing stops for a second as he’s met with the prettiest blue eyes he’s ever seen. Even from across the bar, Steve can tell they’re breathtaking. Quite literally.
Clint chooses this moment to pull Steve up from his stool and away from the beautiful firefighter and he can do nothing but follow his friend out of the bar.
“I think I’m gonna head home,” Steve tells Clint when they’re outside.
What he really wants is to go back inside and talk to the gorgeous man in there, but the moment has passed and it would just be weird to go head back inside the bar.
“It’s not even eleven, Steve,” Clint whines, his mouth forming a truly impressive pout. Steve only now realizes he’s alone, his red-headed friend from earlier nowhere to be found.
“I’m an old man,” Steve jokes, eliciting a chuckle from his friend.
“Fine,” he finally concedes, slapping Steve on the shoulder slightly. “Get home safe.”
“You too,” Steve throws over his shoulder as he makes his way to his motorcycle parked a block away.
He can’t wait to be home and stay there for the next two days. Today was enough socializing for a week.
May 4, 2012
As Steve grabs his shield from one of the aliens’ skulls, he can’t help but think that his life was so quiet not that long ago.
They’ve been fighting for less than an hour, but he already craves the comfort of his little Brooklyn apartment so much it hurts.
When Fury came to him two days ago – has it really been only two days? – Steve only agreed to do this because he felt responsible. The Tesseract should have gone down with him, and no one should have found it. He told Fury as much. He also told Fury he didn’t want to pick up the shield again but would do it if absolutely necessary.
Turns out, Loki showing up on Earth made Steve’s presence a necessity. And even if he doesn’t go happily, he goes anyway. Because he has a life he’d like to go back to and an alien invasion really isn’t part of it.
Ever since waking up in a new century, Steve has learned to enjoy life again.
Sure, he technically has no friends or family – other than Clint and maybe Natasha, too – but he still has his love for art and people watching. And yeah, maybe he doesn’t go out much, but around this time of day, he’s usually sitting at a café somewhere – usually in Manhattan – watching people go by while sketching the buildings around him, old and new.
Right now, he’s not sure he’ll ever get to do that again.
He didn’t think he’d be surprised by anything after seeing a man literally peel the skin off his face, but he finds himself in disbelief all over again as he punches yet another alien in the face before smashing his shield against the back of the creature’s neck, effectively killing it.
“How’s it looking down there, Cap?” Tony Stark asks, his voice coming in clear through the comms in Steve’s ear.
Meeting Tony Stark was a surprise. He had been excited at first when Fury had told him he’d be working with Howard’s son. The excitement had quickly died down when Steve actually met the man. Tony is arrogant and full of himself, basically everything Steve hates. They’d clashed from the moment they met.
“How do you think, Stark?” Steve answers gruffly, because fuck, he really doesn’t want to be here.
Well, he wants to help, wants to make sure this doesn’t spread outside the city, wants to keep people safe, but he also never thought he’d have to pick up his shield again. At least not for something like this.
Steve assumed he’d have to fight again; he wasn’t so delusioned as to think they’d never ask him to go back in the field and fight. He just thought he’d have more time. He thought he’d have more time to live his life somewhat peacefully.
“Ignore him,” Natasha says from somewhere on Steve’s right. He can’t see her but he’s sure she has her hands full as well. “That’s what I usually do.”
“You guys worked together before?”
They didn’t have a lot of time to talk and get to know each other on the helicarrier earlier. It had been all business, planning and strategizing. But Steve has met Natasha before, a couple of times. She’s tagged along with Clint and him a few times in the last few months. She’s always silent, like she’s trying to figure Steve out, trying to read his mind and pick his brain apart. It made Steve uncomfortable the first few times, but he’s grown used to it, learning how to ignore it.
Steve likes Natasha. Her no nonsense and casual attitude is very refreshing. He’s gotten so used to people falling all over themselves the second they realize who he is, having Natasha barely mention any of it made him feel normal.
Human.
That’s something he hasn’t felt like in a long time. Even after the ice, even when doctors and scientists stopped probing and prodding at him, he struggled to feel like a human being again.
“Something like that.”
“You do know I can hear you right?” Stark mumbles through the comms, sounding annoyed more than hurt.
Steve decides to follow Natasha’s advice and ignores Tony for the rest of the fight.
Or he tries to, but Tony makes it really hard. Especially when the idiot decides it’s a good idea to fly a nuke into a portal that goes into literal space. Maybe Steve is wrong about Tony. Maybe the man would make the necessary sacrifice if needed. Maybe he’s doing so right now. Maybe Tony is more like him than Steve initially thought.
Steve tries to wait until Tony comes out to tell Natasha to go ahead and close the portal, but it’s been over a minute and there’s no sign of Tony. He can see an explosion go off in the portal and a second later, all the Chitauri soldiers go limp.
“Close it,” Steve finally says, resigned and maybe a little bit sad about Tony. He doesn’t even like the man, hell, he doesn’t know him but it doesn’t mean making that call is easy.
It never gets easier to leave someone behind for the sake of everyone else.
The portal starts closing, and it’s almost fully gone when Steve spots a body falling out of it. He instantly knows it’s Tony.
“He’s not slowing down,” Thor says urgently before flying away towards Tony. He grabs him mid-flight, catching him just before his body collides with a building.
Tony is unconscious when they manage to get his face plate off, but with a little help from the big guy, they manage to wake him.
Steve can hear him babbling about shawarma, but the words don’t register. He’s so relieved they didn’t lose someone else today he can’t focus on anything but the pure relief flooding him. He can feel all the exhaustion finally catching up with him, and, for the first time in almost three days, he wants nothing more than to sleep. He’s so tired he feels like he’s been fighting for days on end.
Everything after that is kind of a blur for Steve, exhaustion mixing with his adrenaline dropping putting him in a sort of haze. He’s not a hundred percent sure what they do, he just knows they go back to Stark Tower to get everything sorted.
After tying up loose ends, Tony makes good on his promise and takes everyone out for shawarma. The restaurant is half destroyed, but the owners still manage to make them food, incredibly grateful the team was there to stop it from getting completely destroyed.
Steve can barely stay awake at the table, his eyes so heavy they threaten to stay closed every time he blinks. He manages to finish his food, albeit slowly.
“Let’s not do that again,” Clint says when they’re about to leave.
Steve claps him on the back and pulls him into a half hug, wrapping an arm across his shoulder and sighs in relief.
“Thank you for your help today, Clint,” Steve tells him, low enough so that no one else overhears.
“My pleasure, Cap. Good to have you back.”
“Good to be back.”
Steve finds that he’s not entirely lying.
May 6, 2012
Steve spends the next two days helping with cleanup. A lot of people are going through the rubble, trying to find cherished items in the remains of their homes, looking for missing people under pieces of buildings. Steve helps them lift the heavier, bigger pieces of concrete, aiding any one he can find.
He’s not sure if his help is making any of it better, but he knows he has to help even if it’s not enough to undo what they did here just a couple of days ago.
On day two, he hears noises coming from a subway station on Park Avenue. He’s so hopeful to finally find some survivors, he calls it in, requesting some back up. If there truly are survivors down there, he’s going to need assistance getting them out and getting them help.
He’s lifting a piece of concrete off the station entrance when he hears a firetruck pull up behind him.
“Need any help there?” a voice asks from behind him.
“Yes, I heard people call from down there about ten minutes ago,” Steve says without looking back at the firefighters. “Haven’t really heard anything since then, but I’ve also been moving this.”
Steve lets go of the concrete slab he’s been trying to flip, and it cracks as it hits the ground with a loud bang, before turning around to look at the group of firefighters.
He looks around at all of them, their faces reflecting the exhaustion every single first responder in the city is probably currently feeling. Steve himself can relate; he’s barely slept in the past two day, unable to do anything but try and find survivors, or help people get important belongings from the rumbles of their homes. Everytime he tries to close his eyes, he sees blood and death and destruction. He finds it easier to stay awake and keep going, keep helping.
Steve notices the dirt stuck to their hair, especially striking on the bleached blond hair of one of the men in front of him. But Steve’s breath catches in his throat when his eyes fall onto the man next to him. Steve can tell by the pins on his lapels that the man is a lieutenant, but he’s also one of the most gorgeous men Steve has ever laid his eyes on.
The dirt and grime on his face only bring out his steel blue eyes more, making them fascinating and mesmerizing as nothing Steve’s ever seen. The color reminds him of the glowing Tesseract he saw a couple of days ago, only less devastating. Less dangerous. But no less enticing. And also oddly familiar.
Steve wracks his sleep deprived brain for only a second before he remembers. The firefighters at the bar on Saint Patrick’s Day! The beautiful stranger with the luscious hair. He looks a little different, of course he does. He’s probably been working relentlessly for the past couple of days; just like Steve.
“What do you need?” the man asks in a deep voice that snaps Steve out of his thoughts. It takes him a minute to realize the question is aimed at him.
“We gotta get this off the stairway as quickly as possible,” he answers, pointing to the rubble behind him.
“Maximoff, take Parker with you and get the airbags, we need to stabilize the base here,” the lieutenant instructs and the man with bleached blond hair moves back towards the truck, followed by a very young looking firefighter. Steve knows the guy isn’t that young, but he still looks like a teenager; he almost looks like he shouldn’t be here. “Rambeau, get the jaws, we need to lift this crap somehow.”
The only woman of the group nods and heads back towards the truck as well, leaving Steve alone with the lieutenant.
“What can I do?” Steve asks dumbly. As if he hadn’t been lifting pieces of concrete with his bare hands for the last two days.
“You keep doing your thing.”
“I’m Steve,” he blurts out hastily, like this is the time and place to make small talk and get to know each other. But Steve can’t help it; he wants to know the man’s name. He wants to know everything he can about him.
“James,” the man tells him, a small smile on his face that he’s seemingly trying to hide. A small frown appears on his face as he finally looks at Steve properly. “Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so, no,” Steve says. He won’t tell the guy they made eye contact in a bar two months ago. That would be weird and Steve really doesn’t want to be any weirder than he already has. “I have one of those faces.”
“Must be it,” James says, his frown deepening as if he’s trying to figure something out, but he doesn’t say anything more.
Steve nods absentmindedly and tries to focus on the task at hand. They’ve got a staircase to clear, people to save. He doesn’t have time to fantasize about a gorgeous firefighter, no matter how handsome he is.
“So,” James starts saying after a moment while he’s positioning the airbags in key places. Steve knows it’s to ensure the rubble doesn’t collapse any more, but he also knows if it had been just him, it’s not something he’d ever have worried about. “I’ve never seen someone lift so much concrete with their bare hands before. What’s your secret?”
As much as he wants to, Steve can’t hold back the little surprised laugh that escapes his mouth at the question.
His return hadn’t really been advertised, he knows, but he thought after the battle, everyone would know Captain America was back. He hadn’t really been worried about hiding his face during the fight, not really thinking of the consequences that would come with his face getting plastered everywhere online.
When he woke up last year, he and Fury had agreed to keep it lowkey until they could figure out what Steve wanted to do – what SHIELD wanted to do with Steve. But that all went out the window when aliens invaded New York.
“Dude,” Maximoff says from next to James, elbowing him in the side. “Are you serious?”
“What?” James asks, confused.
“You don’t know who this is?” Rambeau quips from behind, the jaws in her hands as she makes her way to them.
So Steve is right. Most people know who he is.
“Should I?” James questions, confusion getting more and more evident on his features. There’s a frown pulling at his brow, and his nose is scrunched up slightly, making him look younger than he probably is.
“I guess I look a little different out of uniform, huh?” Steve tries, his tone somewhat light, but it falls a little flat because he’s actually anxious. He hasn’t had to face people who know who he is in a long time. He’s not quite sure what to do.
Does he explain what happened to him? Does he divulge the fact he’s been back for almost a year now? These people are strangers after all, why should he tell them about something so personal?
“Uniform?” James wonders aloud, his eyes trained on Steve’s face, looking at him intently, no doubt trying to place his face.
Steve feels the man’s gaze heavily on his skin, but he tries to ignore it and goes back to lifting slabs of concrete off the stairway. They have no time to waste; there are people who need them under there.
There’s a small gasp coming from James only a few seconds later, as Steve flips a huge piece of rubble.
“You’re Captain America,” he exclaims quickly but keeping his voice low. There’s no one around to overhear them, and it’s not like Steve is hiding anyways, but he appreciates it nonetheless.
He enjoyed the anonymity he’s had these past few months, but he knew damn well it wouldn’t last. He might have hoped to get to enjoy it for a while longer, but all good things must come to an end, that much he knows. Especially when you’re Steve Rogers.
“Yup,” Steve says, nonchalantly.
“That’s… really cool,” James says, now a little louder. “Thank you for– you know.”
James waves his hand around at the destruction surrounding them and for a second, Steve isn’t sure if the man is being sarcastic or not. A lot of people sure blame them for the damage done to the city, as if Steve and the others hadn’t risked their lives to save as many people as possible, hadn’t put their lives on the line to ensure the destruction be kept to a minimum.
“Thanks?” Steve answers tentatively.
“For real,” Parker says. “You guys stopped it from being so much worse.”
Maximoff and Rambeau both nod their heads at Parker’s statement while James still hasn’t taken his eyes off of Steve’s face.
Steve shrugs minutely, trying to get the attention off himself. He’s never been good at handling attention, always trying to shift the conversation away from him. He grabs another piece of rubble to try and distract himself.
They all work seamlessly together for a few minutes, managing to clear the entrance to the subway station pretty fast between the five of them. Steve is the first one to go in, against James’s recommendation.
“What if it gives in?” James asks just as Steve is about to disappear in the station. Steve tries to ignore the little flutter of happiness he feels in his gut hearing the worry in the other man’s voice. It really shouldn’t affect him this much.
“It’s less likely to kill me than it is any of you, gear or not.”
James grumbles something under his breath about goddamn stubborn supersoldiers, but Steve decides to ignore it. He shrugs it off and walks further into the unlit midtown subway station. He can hear movement not far away, probably closer to the platforms.
“Anybody here?” he calls out, trying to get people to respond and guide him to them. He can see pretty well in the dark, but he still berates himself for not grabbing a flashlight. He does, however, have a radio to check in with Truck 112 in case he needs them to come in.
As he calls out again, Steve realizes that these people have been down here for two days, not knowing what’s going on up top. They must be scared out of their minds, after everything that’s happened. He’s not sure what to tell them, how reassuring he should be. It’s still a wreck up there, even though the threat is gone.
“Search and rescue, anybody here?” he tries, thinking maybe it will make the survivors a little more at ease.
“Back here,” a voice finally says from somewhere to his left.
Steve heads that way slowly, giving his eyes time to adjust to the darkness, but he doesn’t need to for much longer because as soon as he passes the turnstiles and heads to the platform, he notices lights along the tracks.
A soft sigh of relief escapes him when his eyes fall onto dozens of people, cramped together against the wall.
“Is it over?” a teenager asks. She’s holding a small dog in her arms, and has a few cuts on her face, but other than that, she seems mostly fine. Well physically at least; she looks terrified. They all do.
“It is,” Steve says reassuringly. “Can everyone walk?”
His eyes scan the space, looking for anyone injured. He can manage one or two wounded, but anything more, he’ll need to call for help.
“I think so,” an older man says, and Steve recognizes his voice as the one who called out a minute ago.
“Alright, then follow me,” Steve says after seeing no serious injuries. “There’s help waiting outside.”
He goes towards the group, helping people off the ground, holding a woman up when her legs start wobbling the second she’s upright. “I think I sprained my ankle,” she confesses.
Steve reassures her and tells her to lean against him as he helps her walk without putting any weight on her foot.
“I’m coming out with a dozen people,” Steve says in the radio clipped to his shoulder as he ushers everyone towards the stairs.
The sunlight makes them all squint, the early May sun high in the sky this time of day.
As soon as they get to street level, four firefighters rush towards them. Rambeau gets the woman in Steve’s arms to sit down on some rubble so she can get examined, Parker and Maximoff looking at scrapes and bruises on everyone else, making sure there are no more serious injuries on anyone. James is calling an ambulance on his radio, giving them the few pieces of information they have at the moment.
“Do you have bottled water on the truck?” Steve asks him, stepping away from the survivors and letting the firefighters do their job. “They’ve been down there for two days, god knows what kind of resources they had.”
“Of course,” James tells him, moving back towards the truck and gesturing to Steve to follow him. He opens one of the side compartments and pulls out several small bottles of water, handing a few to Steve and grabbing some himself.
They go around, giving everyone a bottle and instructing them to drink it slowly.
“Ambo’s ten minutes out,” James informs him. “They’ll take the most injured people to a hospital. We can fit some people on the truck and get them to someplace safe.”
“Thank you,” Steve says sincerely. He could have done this alone, but he still appreciates the help. He’s been doing so much of it alone these past two days that having some support feels really good. “I should get going.”
“Oh.” James sounds surprised and a little disappointed, but that’s probably just Steve’s wishful thinking. He tries not to dwell on it. He’s got more work to do. “Yeah, obviously.”
“I’ve got a lot to do,” he explains, gesturing around the area.
So many buildings are in ruins, there are still so many people trapped or looking for a place to go. Steve feels like it’s his responsibility to make sure these people get the help they need.
He knows their actions have helped contain the fight to only Manhattan, but he can’t help but wonder how much damage could have been avoided if they hadn’t gotten involved. Sure, they stopped some of the destruction, but by fighting back, they also caused a lot more.
Steve’s ever guilty conscience is telling him he has to do everything he can to make this right. And if that means looking day and night for people, then so be it. If it means going back to fighting, then he will do it. He doesn’t want to, but he will.
“Good luck,” James says with a little slap to Steve’s shoulder.
May 12, 2012
The week after the attack is spent on the street, doing as much as he can. Tony manages to push back all the press conferences SHIELD throws at them, but they can’t ignore them forever.
That’s why Steve finds himself in his Captain America uniform, sans cowl, sitting at a table between Tony and Natasha. Bruce is also here, although he doesn’t seem like he wants to be one bit. He’s sitting next to Tony and sipping some sort of tea he claims helps him stay calm in situations like this.
Next to Natasha’s other side is Clint, looking as nonchalant as ever, like he couldn’t care any less about where he is. He’s slumped in his chair in a way that looks very uncomfortable, and Steve almost wants to tell him to sit up straight but he decides against it. The whole team already sees him like some sort of stuck up grandpa, he doesn’t need to add to it.
Thor hasn’t been back since he left for Asgard with Loki shortly after the battle, and they’re not expecting him to show up anytime soon.
Rows of chairs are set up in front of them, every single one filled by a journalist waiting their turn for a chance to ask a question.
“I’m gonna be honest here,” Tony starts and Steve has to control himself not to groan out loud because he can already tell whatever Tony is about to say isn’t good. “We’ve got more important shit to do than this so let’s keep it short, okay?”
Murmurs erupt across the room, every journalist apparently having something to say, but not daring to say it loud enough for them to hear.
A lady from one of the middle rows stands up as the noise starts to die down, and looks straight at Tony.
“Miss Everheart, always a pleasure,” Tony quips sarcastically, rolling his eyes subtly. Steve had no idea Tony could do anything subtle, but everyday is a new surprise when it comes to Stark Jr.
Their relationship had been rocky at best when they first met, but over the last few days, Steve has come to learn that Tony Stark is actually caring and not as arrogant as he leads people to believe. Turns out, Steve kind of likes him. Steve also likes to act like he doesn’t know anything about anything related to the 21st century, which drives Tony insane and makes Steve feel incredibly happy.
“A lot of people are saying the Avengers have done a lot of damage to the city,” Ms. Everheart says.
“That’s true, we did. We also stopped the Chitauri Army from leveling the whole city,” Tony says, not hiding his eye roll this time. “So, you know, po-ta-to, po-tah-to.”
“We will also be donating money to the reconstruction fund,” Steve chimes in, trying to contain this before Tony really pisses someone off.
“Captain Rogers,” another reporter says from the front row. The man is about Steve’s age, his face covered in a rough five o’clock shadow, and his eyes somewhat uninterested. “How come no one knew about you being found before last week?”
Steve takes in a deep breath and focuses on the journalist. He knew this was coming, he’d been expecting it. He should’ve known, should’ve been prepared, but he has no idea what to say.
“How long have you been back?” the journalist insists when he deems that Steve is taking too long to answer the first question.
“I was found last July, in the Arctic, where my plane went down in 1945. After waking up, SHIELD decided it was best for me to get used to this new life before releasing a statement or putting me back in the field.”
“And do you feel like it’s fair to everyone that we were kept in the dark?”
Another deep breath in. Steve holds it in for a few seconds, trying to keep himself in check, trying not to let his emotion get the best of him. He needs to be Captain America right now, not Steve Rogers, because Steve’s temper has no place here.
“I don’t think it was anyone’s business,” he says and judging by the uproar coming from every single journalist in the room, it was definitely the wrong thing to say.
“Captain Rogers doesn’t owe any of you anything. He gave his life for this country seventy years ago and risked it again to save this city from destruction last week,” Natasha cuts in, effectively shutting down this specific line of questioning. “That’s all you need to know on the matter.”
Steve sends her a thankful look, not saying a word but he knows she understands what he means all the same. Natasha really is a godsend.
“How have you been adjusting to the twenty-first century?” a young woman asks from the back of the room, her eyes friendly, her posture relaxed and non combative. A stark difference from everyone else in the room.
“It’s been rough, but I think I’m doing fine, all things considered,” Steve answers easily, his shoulders relaxing a little. “It’s different, obviously, but better. For the most part.”
Questions keep coming and everyone seems to be more focused on Steve’s life, his opinion on different issues of this century than anything else concerning what happened here last week.
After a while, when they realize this is not going anywhere, Tony effectively dismisses everyone and gets all the Avengers out of the room. This was useless anyway, and Steve is thankful to get out of there and away from everyone’s prodding questions.
May 15, 2012
It takes a few more days for everything to settle down. Steve continues to help with cleanup – he’s not sure they’ll be done anytime soon, but the city is going back to being somewhat normal. But it keeps his mind occupied. The media is still going crazy over Steve’s “resurrection”, as they call it, everyone speculating on what he thinks about this or that. It’s driving him insane.
He manages to tune it out, ignore it. Ever since that second day of cleanup, when he met the brave firefighters from Truck 112, he hasn’t been able to think of much else anyways.
“What’s got you looking like this?” Natasha asks as she walks into Steve’s apartment as if it were her own.
Steve doesn’t know what she’s talking about because he’s not looking any particular way. He’s just sitting in his living room after a long day and all he really wants to do is sleep. Maybe he finally looks as tired as he feels; that would be a change.
“What do you mean?” Steve asks, looking up at her. “And what are you doing here?”
“You look like someone pissed in your coffee,” she informs him, a perfectly shaped eyebrow raised. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. I haven’t seen you since the press conference.”
“Been busy,” Steve says, distractedly.
“Yeah, I’ll say.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve retorts defensively. He knows she’s worried, but he’s not sure he likes what she’s implying.
“You’ve been going out on your own every day for the past week, Steve. Let us come with you.”
“You guys are needed elsewhere. This is something I can do. This is what I wanna do,” he tells her fervently. “Plus, I’m not always alone.”
He remembers Maximoff’s bleached blond hair, Rambeau’s contagious smile, Parker’s youthful energy and, most importantly, James’s mesmerizing blue eyes.
“Okay, now what’s that look?” Natasha demands, both her eyebrows up in a sort of surprise Steve has never seen on her face.
Admittedly, they’ve only known each other for about a couple of months, but he’s spent so much time with Natasha these past weeks, it feels like they’ve known each other for years. She’s someone he wishes he’d had in his life in the months after waking up from the ice.
Steve shrugs at Natasha’s inquiry, not sure exactly what to say. He knows what kind of look he has on his face just thinking about James. He sees it in the mirror in the morning, when he wakes up and thinks of the lieutenant. He’s seen it in store fronts’ reflections as he clears buildings, hoping Truck 112 would show up to help. He feels it on his face when he hears a fire truck on the street, wondering if it is them.
“Nothing,” Steve finally answers, trying to steer the attention away from him. “How are you?”
“I see what you’re doing and I’ll let it go, just this once,” she says, a finger pointed at his chest and a look of exasperation on her face. She has that look often when she’s around Steve.
Natasha stays for dinner – Steve is still getting used to the wide variety of choices when it comes to food, and it always helps to have someone with him to help him choose. They settle on Chinese and Steve places an order so large it could probably feed a family of five, but it’s been a long day and he’s starving.
They don’t talk much, Natasha putting something on Netflix to fill the silence as they eat side by side on the couch.
Steve appreciates her presence; he always does. She doesn’t make him feel weird about eating his weight in food, and she never tries to force him to talk. He’s grateful to have someone in his life who doesn’t seem to want anything from him. She doesn’t care about his abilities, she doesn’t ask about his life during the war, she doesn’t seem to expect anything more than what they’re sharing right now.
“Thank you,” she says as she gets up, ready to leave for the night. “I needed this.”
“Are you okay?” Steve asks, a little worried. Natasha usually isn’t one to talk about how she feels.
“Are any of us?”
Steve lets out a small humorless laugh at that. “Guess not.”
“You be careful out there, Steve. We don’t know what got buried under the rubble.”
“I’m always careful.”
“Now, let’s not lie to each other. Just call for backup if you need it, okay?”
“I will,” Steve promises, pulling Natasha in a small embrace.
As soon as Steve’s arms wrap around her, Natasha freezes. Steve is about to step back and let go, but she seems to melt in Steve’s arms, her head falling to his chest as a heavy sigh escapes her lips. It takes another minute for her to hug Steve back, but when she does, it’s with a surprising amount of force.
When they pull apart, neither of them mention how the other’s eyes are a little wet and shiny, they just pat each other on the shoulder one last time before Steve opens the door for Natasha and she disappears down the hallway in half a second.
Steve stands there for a minute, unable to move as his eyes sting a bit. He tries to remember the last time he hugged someone, the last time he was hugged in return, but he can’t for the life of him recall when that could have been. He remembers his mother’s hugs, but he refuses to think that was the last time someone cared about him enough to embrace him. And yes, Peggy and him were close but it was never like that, even though he thinks if he’d asked her, it could have been.
After a few more moments, Steve shakes himself out of his thoughts and walks back inside his apartment. He cleans up a bit, grabbing empty containers and throwing them out. That’s something else he had to get used to. There’s so much trash these days, everything coming in plastic containers or wrapped in some way. He learned about recycling pretty early after waking up and he does his best, though he’s sometimes so confused about what goes where. But he tries.
Once his living room table is cleared and cleaned, he sits back down on his couch with a heavy sigh. He was ready to go to sleep when Natasha walked in earlier, but now he feels so wired he doesn’t think he’d be able to doze off even if he wanted to.
He grabs his laptop, and before he can think better of it, he types ‘Truck 112 FDNY’ in the research bar. He’s not sure why he’s doing it or what he’s looking for, but a second after pressing enter, he finds himself staring at an address in Brooklyn, with a picture of an old firehouse underneath. He reads the address multiple times, even though it was inked in his memory the second he read it for the first time.
Clicking on the link to the FDNY website, Steve can’t help but wonder if this is weird and a little stalkerish, but all thoughts go out the window when the page loads, and with it, a picture of the whole crew. There’s a woman in the center, probably the captain, and James is standing right next to her. His smile is vibrant and beautiful, Steve can’t look away.
When he manages to fall asleep later, all he sees are blue eyes and a gorgeous smile. For once, his sleep isn’t plagued with nightmares, only peacefulness and something akin to tenderness.
So, really, it’s not his fault that, when he wakes up at six a.m. the next day, his morning jog takes him right to the firehouse he looked up last night.
Steve stands across the street, in front of the building, for a while. He’s trying to catch his breath because he didn’t jog, as much as he sprinted from his apartment on the other side of Brooklyn. He stares at the big letters etched in the stone above the garage doors and feels his breath leave his lungs.
Station 107.
Steve doesn’t really believe in fate or destiny, but he can’t help and think maybe this is a sign of some sort. He wonders if this station is as much a family as his own 107th once was, and remembering how the four firefighters he met only a week ago acted around each other, he has to think it is.
He’s about to turn back and leave when someone exits the station from the side door and suddenly, Steve can’t go anywhere. He’s frozen in place because, across the street from him, leaning against the wall of the station, is none other than James himself.
Steve crosses the street in a bit of a haze, his feet taking him towards the firehouse without his consent, but he can do nothing but to keep going.
As his feet hit the sidewalk, James’s head turns towards Steve, the surprise obvious on his face.
“Hey,” Steve says with a wave, awkwardly. He doesn’t even know what to say.
“Steve,” James says, a little breathless, a little distracted. “What are you doing here?” he adds with a little frown, his eyes searching Steve’s face for an answer.
“I, uhm, I don’t know?” Steve answers, eloquent as ever. God, he’s such an idiot. He shouldn’t have come here, he shouldn’t have crossed the street and he shouldn’t have approached James.
“I’m glad to see you, actually,” James says softly, with a small smile on his face. He looks more at ease than he did a minute ago and it helps alleviate Steve’s own anxiety.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, we never had a chance to talk after the rescue the other day. I just wanted to thank you. For everything you’ve done.”
“Haven’t done much.”
“I hear you’ve found hundreds of people in the rubble,” James says matter-of-factly and in a way that leaves no space for discussion.
“Just doing what needs to be done.”
“Seems like you’re the only Avenger doing so.”
“We’re all helping however we can,” Steve says, trying to defend his teammates. They’re all doing the best they can, considering. Steve wanted to be out on the streets, he wanted to be hands on. There are so many other things to do – reconstruction, fundraising, and more.
“But you’re getting your hands dirty, like the rest of us. It means a lot.”
“It’s really not a big deal.”
An alarm goes off in the building, signaling a car crash a few blocks away. The sound startles them both but James recovers quickly, pushing away from the firehouse wall.
“Are you busy tonight?” James asks, already walking towards the bay doors. Steve can hear everyone getting their gear on, ready to head out.
“Uh,” Steve says, at a loss for words once more. “No?”
“Let’s get a drink? I’ll be at Quantum at eight.”
Before Steve can say anything, James jumps into the truck as it starts pulling out of the bay. It really shouldn’t be as hot as it looks to Steve, but there’s something about James that makes Steve go a little stupid.
“See you there,” Steve says to himself as he watches the two trucks and the ambulance drive away from the station.
✧
Steve really wants to be able to make it, but he gets called away on a mission only two hours before he’s supposed to go meet James. He’s not sure how to let the man know he can’t make it since he doesn’t have his phone number so he decides to call the bar directly. He feels like an idiot while listening to the tone, waiting for someone to pick up.
“Quantum, this is Hope. How can I help?” a woman says on the other side of the receiver.
“Hi,” Steve answers hesitantly. What is he even doing? “This is gonna sound really weird.”
“Believe me, I’ve probably heard worse,” Hope jokes, helping with Steve’s nerves. He doesn’t know her, but Steve thinks he would like her if he did.
“My name is Steve and I was supposed to meet someone at your bar tonight. I don’t have his number” he starts, his nerves now back tenfold. Who stands someone up like this? “James? Maybe you know him?”
“That’s a pretty common name but go on,” Hope says encouragingly.
“He’s a lieutenant at Station 107?” Steve continues, hoping the woman knows who he’s talking about.
“Oh, Barnes? Yeah I know him.”
Steve breathes out a sigh of relief at that. At least James won’t be waiting all night for Steve to show up and wondering why Steve bailed.
“Just tell him I can’t make it and I’m so sorry?” Steve pleads, now a little desperate. He doesn’t know if the bartender will relay the message, but he has to hope she does.
“Will do, Steve,” Hope says softly, like she feels for Steve and he thinks he can hear a hint of sympathy in her voice.
“Thank you,” Steve breathes out in relief.
Steve is on the plane on his way to Eastern Europe for his mission when his phone beeps with a text message. He frowns as he pulls it out, confused about who could be texting him as all the people who actually have his number are on the plane with him.
His phone displays a text from a number he doesn’t know with a New York area code.
Unknown number:
let me know when you’re back, you can make it up to me then
Steve doesn’t have to think, he knows it’s James the second he reads it. He wonders how James got his phone number for a minute then remembers he called the bar earlier and they probably have caller ID.
Steve can’t even be mad that the bartender gave his phone number to James because at least now he can explain and apologize to him directly.
Steve:
Got called on a mission, should be back soon. So sorry.
He isn’t sure he’ll get an answer but just as he’s about to turn his phone off and put it in his pocket, it vibrates again, the screen displaying a new text.
James:
be safe
It’s a simple text but it makes Steve smile nonetheless. Steve has never had someone to worry about him; not like this, not since his mother passed away. It feels weirdly good to know he’s got someone to come back to.