Chapter Text
“The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby.
-70 years, Cap. You’ve been asleep for 70 years, Cap. You’ve-
Steve felt nothing as the uniformed men moved him from the middle of Times Square to shiny foreign and sleek-looking cars, to a big cold building full of more people in suits, skirts, and militaristic uniforms. Someday, when Steve has somewhat found his footing in this century, he will look back on this moment and realize his brain was completely overwhelmed and incapable of fully processing what was happening around him. Steve found himself in complete survival mode. He had, for a brief moment, felt an unbearable amount of pain and despair when the news was first broken to him. However, in a matter of moments, his brain just…shut off. Like how the serum prioritized high functionality and healing of wounds in battle, allowing him to fight for extended amounts of time without rest, his brain prioritized survival.
So Steve followed Director Fury, attempting to listen and absorb everything this man said, while the words “70 years” seemed to echo through his head. Unable to latch onto anything around him, Steve did his best to keep a stoic mask on his face. Still not entirely sure who these people were, he figured it best to put on his serious Captain America face.
Not entirely remembering how he got there, Steve found himself sitting in Director Fury’s office. Beside Fury was a woman who held herself in the way only a person with a lot of power could, who was introduced as Assistant Director Maria Hill. Had Steve been operating at a full mental capacity, he may have taken a moment to appreciate that a woman could hold such a title now, but he couldn’t find the energy to care. He hadn’t even realized they had started talking to him.
“-apologize for the abruptness of your waking up,” said Maria Hill.
“We would like to get you checked over by a medical team. Given your time in the ice-”
Steve restrained himself from flinching at how casually Fury said the word ‘ice’ as if it was just a simple fact of life. The sky is blue, fire is hot, and you were frozen in ice for 70 years.
“-and make sure there was no negative impact on your body.” Or your mind was left unsaid, but Steve doubted they hadn’t accounted for insanity. Steve himself was not sure if he could be considered entirely sane or not. He wasn’t sure he’d know if he had lost his marbles. Not that he would tell them that.
“Of course, Sir.” Steve felt himself respond almost by physical muscle memory alone.
“Do you have any questions for us, Captain?” The assistant Director asked.
Steve felt his eyes wander to the windows in Fury’s office. His eyes glanced over the scenery, seeing hundreds of tall, modern buildings. The sky was still blue. He had been frozen in ice. Life moved on.
“Did we win?” he asked, unsure he could truly handle hearing that they had lost.
The two directors glanced at each other briefly. Maybe they were kicking themselves for not mentioning the topic earlier, or perhaps they were upset Steve had already mentioned it.
“Yes. The war officially ended September 2, 1945, but Germany had surrendered May 7, 1945.” Hill answered.
Steve felt relief, of course, that the war had ended. Thank God it had not raged on for years and years after he…well after. Thank God they had not lost. Yet, it felt so distant. So unremoved. It was like hearing the outcome of a battle of Alexander the Great. It was reported as dates in a history book, which he guessed it was for the two sat across from him. For most people still alive.
That thought did not spur anything good in his brain as he rushed to halt the rabbit trail of wondering if anyone he knew was still alive if- no. He would not allow himself to think about that. Steve methodically moved the fate of his friends to a part of his brain where he wouldn’t have to face it. Compartmentalized and packed away in a box to be dealt with down the road, anywhere but the desk of Director Fury.
“As mentioned before, Captain, S.H.I.E.L.D. is putting together files to help bring you up to date on both the war and the modern world.” Director Fury said, and Steve nodded as if it brought him any comfort.
So, he let himself be led out of the Director's office to be seen by a team of doctors. Steve felt overwhelmed by the lack of life in the building. Sure, there were people, but the building felt so cold and empty. People carried thin pieces of glowing technology in their hands, and Steve figured they offered some form of communication similar to a radio or a walkie-talkie. Buck would love this, he felt himself think before promptly shutting down any further thoughts tied to emotion.
The sky is blue, fire is hot, you were frozen for 70 years. Steve needed to operate on that same level of fact. He needed to absorb everything around him and do his best to push down any emotional reactions. His life was…his life was over. Steve Roger’s life was over. But Captain America needed to adapt. Captain America was capable of proving himself to be stable and capable of living in the future- or the present? Either way, he needed to push forward. If Steve allowed himself to think about everything he lost and acknowledge how his entire world had crumbled the moment he woke up, he was not sure he could hold in the tears. If he started to cry, he thought he might never stop.
“Are you hungry? We will have to run it past the doctors, but we can have some food brought to the med bay,” Fury asked.
I'm starving, and my throat is as dry as the desert, “I can wait, sir.” Steve responded.
Steve was used to doctors. Sure, the room was full of strange equipment he could only assume was normal in the future, but he was used to how the doctors looked at him like a medical miracle. In his youth, they had looked at him like it was a miracle he was alive, and after the serum, it was a miracle he existed in such proximity to perfection. Both looks were equally uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of.
So Steve shut his brain off the best he could during the visit with the team of four doctors. He let them take measurements, look in this ear, poke that arm, take blood, and avoided answering, “Are you feeling any pain?” with “I feel absolutely nothing.”
Occasionally, Steve’s brain wandered to places like is death like my time in the ice? Void and separate from time? Once, he even caught himself wondering how long it took for Peggy to mourn him, but he did his best not to allow those thoughts to take hold too long. Questions like that could only result in him tumbling down a rabbit hole like Alice, ending up in more and more disturbing places and conclusions. He did, however, find himself viewing the past as a separate yet parallel place. It felt like his friends were living a life right now, but Steve could not get to them. In avoiding the topic Steve did not fully allow his brain to come to terms with his loss and he longed to go back to his friends and to rejoin them. It is hard to convince the brain that every aspect of your life, friends, and society, has simply stopped existing as it was when you went to sleep. Peggy and the Commandos are not waiting for him to return or moving on without him because they already had. Steve died and everyone else mourned him and then life kept going. The world changed without Steve.
But that is hard to comprehend at times. His brain had rested on two answers: I died and everyone is living their lives without me and I miss them. Steve refused to dedicate much time to contemplating his situation, therefore those two theories seemed to stew in his subconscious. Steve was perfectly fine avoiding any mourning or healing process, and S.H.I.E.L.D. did encourage him to do so. Both S.H.I.E.L.D. and Steve wanted him to function as Captain America, so that's what he did. Steve figured he did not need to unpack his trauma to be Captain America.
S.H.I.E.L.D. moved Steve into a dorm in their NYC headquarters for about a week before apparently determining that he was mentally stable enough to move into an apartment without killing anyone or himself. They set him up in a brooklyn apartment, probably under the false thought that living in Brooklyn would bring him comfort. An agent came by daily to bring him things, such as groceries or files to read, but Steve knew they were checking up on him. They gave him a little plastic card and told him it had money on it. It took all his might not to snap the card between his fingers because even money had changed.
Steve ran. Steve ran a lot.
He read the files he gave them, except for the stack containing the information on everyone from his former life.
He ate.
He tried and failed to sleep.
When Fury called to ask how he was adjusting, Steve assured him he was doing just fine. He threw in a lie about how interesting supermarkets were. Buck had always said Steve was a good liar. Steve wondered what his purpose was in this century. Was war all that was left of him? A glorified killing machine, imagine that. It seemed like his existence revolved around waiting for Fury to aim Steve's fists in a direction and order destruction.
Steve hated his life after death.