Archive of Our Own

“--No, I swear! We’re not his little 40’s G.I. Joes. So could he stop acting like it?” 

Steve stops. His hand half way to reaching for the door handle that would let him enter the common room space. 

“The man’s a freakin’ doll! Like is he even human anymore? That serum turned his brain as empty as an action figure’s.” Tony’s voice is sharp, like he’s standing right by him even though there’s probably a good fifty feet, a wall, and the glass door between them. He listens as Tony does a relatively decent job of mocking his voice, giving commands and ending with a robotic, “sir, yes, sir.” 

Steve’s hand still floats right outside the door handle. 

And slowly he pulls it back and heads back to the elevators. 

________________

He’s…. Not really adjusted well. It's been two months since the Chitauri and he’s not acclimating to this time, society, expectations of behavior, how people dress, talk, eat, or look. He’s not adjusted to how they function day to day and how exceedingly bright and loud everything is. 

So he’s been withdrawn, trying to wrap his stupid antiquated 1940’s self into this incredibly techno forward 2012. He’s not smart like Tony, clever like Clint, a natural leader like Thor, cunning like Natasha, or kind like Bruce. He doesn’t know how he fits into this team. 

And the truth is, maybe he agrees with Tony. He doesn’t really have a skill that they don’t already have. Yes, his strategic skills are unmatched but usually that goes out the window anyways when plans go to hell. Which they usually do because they’re going against humans and aliens and all manner of thinking beings. 

And when it’s robots, that’s Tony’s thing. Spy stuff is Natasha, aliens is Thor, science and mutations is Bruce and Clint has ears everywhere and knows more about the underground rumblings than he could ever hope to. 

So what the hell was he still doing pretending to be an Avenger? 

That thought propels him down to the massive tower lobby and out the front door. 

————————-

Steve walks to Brooklyn, as is his habit. At least people smile at him here. And no one really bothers him either. The fruit vendor, who was the great grandson of the man who used to run the same (but much smaller) fruit stand, throws him an apple. He nods, catching it midair and knows that when the man isn’t looking, he’ll slip a few $20’s into his money box. 

Then he passes a park that used to be the apartments Bucky lived in, tossing the apple between his palms.  His tenement is a bunch of apartment buildings now, and the hospital his ma worked at is now some hardware store and offices. 

Eventually he finds the memorial park for WW2 and he sits, staring at the plants, trying to figure out what his plan is. If nothing else, he can strategize for the future. 

Geez that sounds so pathetic. 

“Hello Steve.” 

He turns to see a woman smiling sadly at him. Something in her smile spoke of familiarity but he didn’t recognize her. Although that wasn’t unusual. People took one look at him and knew who he was. The use of his real first name was the most strange part about it. “Hello?” 

She has sort of auburn hair and brown eyes, and she sits beside him. “How are you?” 

He frowns, but his manners kick in, “I’m doing well, and you?” 

She laughs softly, “oh, I’ve forgotten how sincere you sound when you lie for someone else’s benefit.” 

That makes him pause, “I’m sorry, do I know you?” 

She grins, “not yet. But that’s irrelevant now. I’m here to see you. Here and now. I’ve been sent specifically to you. In this universe.” 

“I’m sorry ma’am, you’re not making much sense.” 

“Let me guess,” she plucks the apple from his hand, her fingers delicate as she holds it on her flat palm, “you’re wondering what purpose you even serve here in this future?” His mouth pops open a little in surprise and she smiles kindly at him. “Oh Steve, you have so much ahead of you.” Then she frowns, “At least… in my universe you do. And we just need to get this one back on track.” 

“What do you mean your universe?” 

There’s a glimmer of mischievousness in her eyes. “In a few years you’ll fully understand. But let me just say that in a few years, when you’re battling in Sokovia, you’ll meet a younger version of me. But it won’t be me. It will be this universe’s counterpart. And she will love you as much as I love you in mine. You’re like a big brother to me the moment I join the team.” 

His eyes widen, “you’re an avenger?” 

She laughs but there’s sadness, “I was. I’m on my own now but that’s not your fault.” She spins the apple in the air and when it lands back on her palm a flash of red makes him blink. “When you get a thought. A thought you can’t believe you’re having. A thought you’ve never had before and a thought you never want to have again—“ she hands him back the apple, “eat this. And hopefully it will change your perspective.” 

The whole thing is really throwing him for a loop. And if he didn’t live the life he’s lived in the past year he would think he’s snapped and gone insane. But the woman looks at him with a genuine fondness. Something he’s not used to seeing. Hasn’t seen since Peggy was with him in that car chasing after Schmidt’s plane. 

“But…” he starts, unsure about a few things, “how will I know what thought it is? And won’t this apple rot?” 

Her laugh is so humored he almost has the urge to smile. “The apple will stay perfect until it’s needed.” She wiggles her fingers and red vapors run and dance around them. So she’s magic or… something. “As for the thought—“ the red disappears and she reaches out, placing a hand on his cheek. The touch makes him stiffen and he pulls back. True distress crosses her face but she doesn’t push, pulling her hand back, “— you’ll know.” Then she stands, “I can’t say much more. There are certain rules and boundaries I can’t cross. That’s why I had to find you before—“ she points to the apple, “and I think this will be effective in shifting your and their perspectives.” 

He feels very lost, but she seems so certain he doesn’t want to inform her that this sounds like a conversation for the insane asylums. If they’re still called that. Hopefully not. 

“Goodbye Steve. I hope—“ she seems to struggle to say anything else so she shakes her head, smiles, and then nods, “just remember you’re so loved.” 

Then she’s walking away and it’s like he blinks and she’s gone with a flash of red. 

The apple feels heavier in his palm. 

———————

Under a month later, during a mission, something had caused his comms to go on the fritz, but he hadn’t known that yet. So without knowing that Natasha’s and Thor’s positions had flipped, he’d made a strategic call. 

There had been confusion and then he’d heard Tony’s biting voice in his ear, “come on Cap! Get you’re fucking head out of the ICE!” 

It had stunned him so much that he’d missed the next relay and had to dodge the explosion with barely a second to spare. He finished the mission in silence, mentally trying to go over what had happened. 

After they’d finished clean-up and were heading back to the tower on the quinjet, Clint had briefly explained that through the extra power in his hearing aids, he had heard the electricity from the drones caused their comms to go offline and that’s why there’d been issues. 

Sure it was nice to know why he’d screwed up. But he couldn’t get Tony’s words out of his mind. 

--Get your fucking head out of the ICE--

It was a slap in the face. 

One he probably deserved. 

It’s been a sinking suspicion for awhile but it’s clear to him now. He wasn’t their leader. He was just some dancing monkey who happens to have the name Captain in his title. That didn’t mean he should be their Captain. In fact… he shouldn’t be anyone’s Captain. 

While showering, the direction of his thoughts sunk deeper. He’s not needed here. Pretending he was, was more pathetic than just admitting the truth. 

He dried his hair slowly, standing quietly in the middle of his room. Beige walls, beige carpet, gray furniture. Nothing personal or special. 

Hell, he could disappear and there wouldn’t be a difference except the clothes in the closet and a few things in drawers. And he could fit all of that into a duffle bag. The shield could be left. It’s Tony’s anyway. He’s said as much, alluding to the fact that his dad made it. 

That’s true too. 

Maybe it would be easier if he just disappeared. 

______________________

Before he can let that thought lead him somewhere, they’re called out for another mission. 

It’s a grueling affair, in some snowy mountain range, where some diabolical idiots have rigged the mountains with tech and dynamite so they can hold villages hostage and threaten either rocks or avalanches destroying the towns if they don’t hand over the precious metals that are being mined. 

Early on, while searching and dismantling, they accidentally set off one of the charges. Thankfully they’ve dismantled most of it, so only a portion blows, but it causes a rock avalanche to start hurtling towards the city. Tony’s tech saves them, shattering the pieces so it is like a bad hail storm instead of a deadly meteor strike. 

That’s one million good ideas and saves for Tony. A big fat zero for Steve. 

As they near the end of the mission, they find an extra complicated set of explosives and Clint suggests that they separate, to keep their eyes out on the surrounding area while Tony works.

As he, Clint, and Natasha leave, he hears Tony joke to Bruce that he’s glad he was stuck with him (Bruce) instead of Capsicle (Steve) because if he had to listen to Steve give him advice on how to dismantle tech he would set the explosive off on purpose and take them both out. 

He didn’t wait to hear Bruce’s response. 

Tony would rather die by a violent explosion than hear him talk. 

He knows it's a joke. But Tony’s flavor of humor is strange, Steve doesn’t understand it yet since it’s usually just insulting others so that way Tony looks better. But nobody calls Tony out for it so he assumes it’s normal. 

Maybe that was just how rich people joked in the new century…

And, if he did say something like “hey that’s not nice” or “why are you such a flagrant asshole” then he’d just get mocked for being a goody-two-shoes again. 

So silence it was. 

______________

It takes them two weeks to locate all the different charges, tech, and the men themselves to ensure nothing is left at stake. 

By the end of two weeks, everyone is grouchy, short fused, and at each other’s throats. 

Steve has stayed silent unless absolutely necessary. 

As they land on the Tower, Tony stands, grabbing his phone and sunglasses, “I’m sleeping for like 48 hours. Don’t even think of texting me.” 

Natasha gives a similar glare and Clint just starts cleaning his remaining bows. Bruce, who is leaving tomorrow for a scientist thing for a few weeks, just smiles at him and heads out, looking worn and shaky. They’d used the Hulk a few times and it had taken it out of the scientist. 

And Steve hadn’t helped a damn bit.

Tony took care of the tech and explosives, Hulk helped with the clean up and fighting. Clint and Natasha had handled the actual bad guys and he’d done nothing. Just… been there. Punched some people. Helped move rock when Hulk was busy. 

Even without Thor, who was offworld, they hadn’t needed him. 

He’s already learned that Steve Rogers the man isn’t needed. But it is altogether an unsettling thing to really understand that Captain America isn’t needed either. 

As he walks quietly to his room, his mind is a dark pool of thoughts pulling him under. 

_______________________

The large duffle has room to spare after he packs everything into it. He puts the shield and his compass in the leather case and hides it in a separate guest room on another floor with a note attached: 

Thanks for letting me borrow it. 

I know you wish it had been in better hands, 

but I appreciate it all the same. 

He hadn’t signed his name. What name would he even use? He is a nobody. When they eventually find it, they’ll understand.

After everything is packed, he does a quick but thorough cleaning of his room. Throws away his personal hygiene stuff and cleans up his bathroom. Then, with one large black trash bag in one hand and his large duffel in another, he asks the ceiling, “Does Tony have an industrial incinerator in the Tower?” 

“Of course, Captain Rogers, would you like me to give you directions?”

“Yes, please, thank you.” 

Jarvis leads him down many flights of stairs and towards the more mechanical side of the building. On the second floor there is a door with a keypad and Jarvis gives him the code. He starts to enter it, but something makes him pause and turn. He’s never liked gratefulness to be ungiven. 

“Thanks Jarvis,” he says towards the camera in the corner, “for everything. For always being willing to help me. Especially in the beginning when I didn’t know anything at all.” 

He is entering the room when he hears a delayed, “Of course, Captain Rogers.” The door cuts the sound off as it shuts behind him. 

Signs lead him to a large chute with a metal door. After tossing the trash bag into the incinerator first, he slides his duffel and lets it slip through his fingers. 

The only thing left in the world that he owns are the clothes on his back and the pistol attached to his hip. He empties all the bullets except one, because he doesn’t want them going off and damaging Tony’s incinerator. He gently rests them on a table nearby and then sits back onto the chute door. Thankfully it holds his weight. He puts his back to the wall, because he knows that gravity will do its job once he’s lost muscle control. 

Something dark and humored in his mind is pleased with this efficient and messless plan. Any other way, someone would have to collect or clean up after he was dead. This way, there is no mess or fuss or any issues left. It will be like he’d never existed. Which is just what they want anyways. And… and it’s what he wants too. The most selfless thing he could do was get out of their  way. And this way there is no guilt on their side either. It is incredibly clear to him that he is a burden that they have to bear and he knows they’ll be grateful when he is gone. It will make it easier for them to work together as a team without him interfering. But of course they felt sorry for him and couldn’t say that. So this solves both of those problems. They’ll assume he left and disappeared and they’ll be rid of him and he’ll be free too. Just in a different way. 

He shifts, the chute door opening wider as he slides his weight back so that way gravity will pull him the correct direction. 

Remembering the anatomically correct graph he’d googled on his phone, he pushes the pistol deep into the skin under his jaw, angling it so the bullet will hopefully obliterate the pain receptors in his body. As much as he doesn’t want to be here anymore, he doesn’t want to die in pain. And he doesn’t want to burn while conscious in case he might start screaming and alert someone either. 

His finger starts to tighten

A garbled mechanical beep makes him startle. His finger pulls the trigger on reflex but the flinch means it only nicks his chin and burns it fiercely from the close proximity instead of shattering into his brain. Now the pistol is empty. He’ll need to grab another bullet. 

“Ca—sir?”

His heartbeat pounds, unsure if he’s imagined it. 

“Hello?” He asks hesitantly. 

But it repeats, A slow jilted garbled mechanical voice, “C--pta-in Ro—ers, do -ou need a-ist-ance?” 

He frowns, “Jarvis?” 

“Y-es, -ir.” 

Embarrassment floods him. He has no idea what he can even say. But now he knows Jarvis will tell if he continues. This was supposed to be mess free and now it isn’t. He will need to find a more efficient way. He stands and shoves the pistol into his holster. “Uh…” Panic at Jarvis’ knowledge is ratcheting. “No, I’m uh-- fine.” 

“S—sir--” 

The chute door slams closed as he stands up and he knows the heat isn't just from the incinerator. His adrenaline is through the roof. He exits the door into the hallway. 

“Jarvis?” 

A much clearer voice responds, “yes, Captain Rogers.” 

“I order you to delete that footage.” 

“My apologies, it’s on a separate analog stored reel. I can only access the feed and speaker.” 

“It’s not you?” 

“No sir. It’s a safety and emergency system for the power and mechanical side of the building separate from my mainframe that I had to access. Shall I call someone sir--” 

“NO.” The word startles the ceiling silent. “No.” He clears his throat, pulling up his Captain’s persona. “No, I order you to not report this in any way.” 

“My apologies, but safety protocols dictate that when a resident is in danger--” 

“I’m not!” He corrects. “Do a body scan. I’m perfectly fine.” 

“You are bleeding. But physical health is only one aspect sir--” 

“I’m fine!” He bellows out. Then lifts his shirt and presses it against the wound on his chin, wincing at the sharp nerves there. Then he glares at the camera, “you can’t tell anyone about this.” 

“I am designed--”

“Please,” the patheticness of his voice hits him, making him hunch over, head in his hands, “please don’t. I… I won’t. I promise. Okay? Please,” his voice shakes, “please don’t tell.” There’s a long enough pause where he hopes Jarvis will agree, then a longer pause that makes Steve think the AI is trying to decide how to let him down easy. “I promise not to go where you can’t see me,” Steve says quietly. “You can monitor me. I--” he swallows thickly, “I won’t try anything again.” Here. He adds mentally. He looks up to the ceiling and he knows he must look like a weak pathetic mess, “please.” 

“Sir—“

Panic at his team knowing what he did or tried to do sends him into a spiral; he starts sprinting towards the exit. He just needs to make it to the main stairwell door and then he can descend all the way to the parking garage and disappear into the city from there. He hates to leave New York but he can’t stay if they know what he almost did. 

He’s about to slam into the stairwell when he hears a— “Captain Rogers, stop!” He pauses and the AI sounds strangely concerned “you can’t leave”. He pushes the crash bar out of instinct and he’s just fast enough to beat the mechanical locking system that would have locked him in. He’s about to take off again when the voice echoes in the stairwell, “if you remain—“ he pauses, looking up at the camera in the corner. “I won’t report the incident. As long as you stay here. Alive.” 

His eyes narrow, “I don’t trust you to keep it a secret.” 

“I will.” 

“How can I be sure?” 

The holo scanner by the door flashes and he sees instructional code flash. Then the word: 

Confirmation?

“As long as you remain as a resident in the tower alive I will not reveal this incident without your permission. Confirm by placing your hand on the scanner pad. That will lock in my protocols.” 

He gets wary. “Why would you agree to those terms?” He couldn’t believe he was bargaining with Tony’s AI at all let alone getting his way. 

“My top priority is my residents’ safety. Calculations determine this to be the safest course for your survivals for the foreseeable future.” 

He winces. The AI was aptly named intelligence. Somehow Jarvis understood that if he left… he wouldn’t come back. 

“I’ll only agree to those terms as long as you add in a caveat. That if I die, it does not give you permission to release this information.” Jarvis is quiet and Steve sighs, “goodbye Jarvis.” 

He starts to walk when the voice echoes again. 

“Caveat accepted.” 

Steve sees the code flash up and he sighs. He needs a better plan and anything rash won’t work. So he needs time to strategize. His hand rests on the scanner and he feels the warmth of the light as it descends, locking in his decision and Jarvis’ protocols. Then he slips into his room and immediately sinks onto his bed. 

He’s about to spiral mentally, in disbelief about everything that had just happened when his eyes catch on something. He sits up, staring in shock. 

He replays the last hour. He’s sure he had cleaned up the room. 

And yet there the apple sits. How had it gotten there? Hadn’t he put it in the kitchen? 

--When you get a thought. A thought you can’t believe you’re having and a thought you never want to have again—

It strikes him. This is it. The thoughts and feelings he never wants to feel again. 

Only a minor pause makes him think this is a trap. That some villain playing him for a fool and that he is about to die eating an apple like Snow White. 

Steve’d liked that movie when he saw it in the cinema. It was such a pretty work of art. 

His hand grasps the apple and it is cold and firm. 

If it kills him… well. Then it is just his day to go then. But he has a sneaking suspicion that girl had really been someone who knew him. So without pausing a second more. He takes a bite. Then another. Then another. 

______________________

“Cap! WAKE THE HELL UP!” 

He groans, yawning and sitting up. Someone is knocking at his door. Who is Cap? He doesn’t know any Cap in his building. He shifts, rubbing at his eyes and then opening them. 

He scrambles back in shock. Where the hell was he? 

“CAP! DON’T MAKE ME BARGE IN!” 

He panics, the voice sounding angry and… scared? He scrambles out of the way too big bed but he doesn't even make it to the floor without tripping over the too long trousers. He lets out a gasp of surprise and hits the ground with a painful thud. 

A click sounds and then he can hear someone stomping closer. His eyes search the room. High glass windows and-- his gasp is painful as his eyes take in the city view. Except… he doesn’t recognize the city. And he’s way too high up. How could a building be this tall? Wasn’t the Empire the tallest building in the world? 

“Cap?” He hears the door open and he scrambles back, hitting the high glass panes as a man he doesn't recognize stares at him from the doorway. 

“Who are you?” He asks, “where am I?” The man is just gawking at him. He uses the glass to stand, straightening the too big shirt, “hey, I’m asking you a question!” The man looks like he’s been sucker punched. “Hey!” he shouts, fear and frustration at his own confusion and the fact that he has no idea what’s happening. “Don’t try anything,” he warns, “I know how to fight.” He raises his fists for good measure. The guy is definitely bigger than him, and dressed strangely, but that’s never stopped him before. 

The man blinks slowly and then chokes out a “Steve?” 

He pauses, “how do you know my name?” 

The man takes a stuttering step back, clutching at something that-- he frowns, is something glowing out of his chest? He turns, looking at his surroundings, where the hell was he? This was like one of Bucky’s Sci-fi books. Or the news rags that guessed what the future would be like. 

“Now you see my concern, sir.” 

He jumps at the additional voice, looking around wildly to find its source. 

“What the hell happened, J?” The man asks no one. 

“There was a flash of red, sir.” The strange sounding voice said, “and then he was like he is now.” 

“WHAT!” The man says, “how is that even possible! Did that freak magician from three missions ago get out?” 

“No one or thing is shown entering or leaving, sir.” 

“You tell me who you are right now,” Steve demands, “and where I am. Right now.” He tries to sound braver than he feels. 

The man is watching him like he’s the odd one in the room. 

“Steve? What happened?” 

“You tell me! How did I get here? What did you do?” 

The man studies him, “how old are you?” 

Steve frowns, “why the hell does that matter?” 

“I’m trying to decide how bad this is, pipsqueak!” 

“Hey!” Steve snaps, “who you calling Pipsqueak, looking like you have a disease growing off your face!” 

The man’s eyes widen and he chokes out a sound of disbelief. 

“J, call Nat and the bird. Call them right now.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Who?” He starts to step further away. With one guy he might be able to hold his own, but more than one? Not possible.. 

“Cool it, Cap.” The man says, “we’re not going to hurt you.” 

“Excuse me for not believing you--” Steve says sharply, “let me go.” 

“You’re not a prisoner here. This is your home.” 

Steve looks around, then snorts in derision, “sure, pal.” 

The man huffs and then gestures to his desk only to pause. He frowns and then walks over to the desk and wipes its surface with his hand like he might be missing something. Then he opens the drawers and starts to look panicked. He moves to the dressers and opens those drawers too, moving faster. Finally Steve dodges his warpath as he slides open the closet door. It’s empty and the man chokes. “What the hell--” the guy breathes out. He turns, “but you're in his clothes. That’s strange. This doesn’t make sense.” 

“Whose clothes?” 

“What the hell!” He turns to see a tall blonde guy at the door. The man turns to the other guy, “What did you do?!” 

The other man splutters, “me! I didn’t do shit!” 

“Well he didn’t get like this on his own!” The blonde man turns to him, “what happened, Cap?” 

“I dunno who the hell Cap is!” Steve growls out, “if you don’t let me go right now I’ll--” he pauses, “I’ll fight both of you!” 

That makes the blonde guy go silent. 

“He doesn't remember anything.” The brunette guy says. “And whatever happened to him erased his existence in his room.” 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” 

They both stare at him like he’s odd again. 

“Cap?” A redhead, a gorgeous redhead, appears behind the blond guy. 

He shakes his head, “why does everyone keep saying that! My name is Steve!” 

The redhead pushes past the blonde and gestures at the brunette, “what the hell is this!” 

The brunette scoffs again loudly, “I’m telling you, it wasn’t me! Jarvis just said there was a red flash and that’s it!” 

“A red flash?” The woman clarifies, “that hit him?” 

“No, Agent Romanoff. It emanated from him.” 

Three pairs of eyes swiveled accusingly towards him. He frowns. “Ain’t nothin’ emanating from nobody!” 

“Wow,” the brunette scoffs, “the Brooklyn accent is wild. Wonder when he lost that.” 

That makes him get nervous, remembering the strange skyline, “we're not in Brooklyn?” 

“Manhattan,” the other blonde offers. 

He turns, looking out the window and trying to understand the shape of a city he thought he knew well. The redhead steps up, “there’s the Empire.” He sees the bare silhouette of the building and he feels a strange sort of panic. His breathing ratchets up and he struggles to pull in air. He tries to breathe in through his nose but he chokes on it. The passageway closing. 

“What’s happening?” the redhead asks, worry in her tone. 

His breathing is getting thinner. He doubles over even though he’s not supposed to. But he can’t help it. The panic is making his body react without his brain. 

“Oh shit!” he hears one of the other men say, “he’s got asthma again!” 

There’s not nearly enough oxygen getting into his brain for him to be able to process that it’s strange that they know that and also… again?

His breathing is reed thin and he’s pretty sure he’s on the floor. 

_________________________

When he wakes, he’s much more able to breathe. It’s a grateful feeling to be able to catch a full gulp of air. But the hope that everything had been a nightmare fades as he opens his eyes to see the same group of strange characters staring back at him. He’s hooked up to a bunch of medical looking stuff and in a hospital room that looks like it’s out of a madman’s lair. 

“Where am I?” He asks, sitting up. 

“Still in Stark Tower,” the blonde says. 

“Stark?” He asks in shock, “like famous inventor Howard Stark? He has a Tower in New York?” 

They are all quiet for a minute before the brunette with the strange facial hair sighs, “okay, so I’m thinking late 30’s early 40’s.” 

“Just ask him--” 

“I did! And the pipsqueak got angry at me!” 

“Hey--” Steve growls out. 

“See!” The brunette whines, “he gets mad when you ask him questions.” 

“No,” the blonde says, “he’s just confused. We all would be too.” He turns to Steve and smiles, “My name is Clint Barton. I’m 33 years old. You’re Steve Rogers. How old are you?” 

Steve hesitates, “I’m 22.” 

“Okay, so 1940 then.”  Then he turns to Steve, “that’s the year you remember it being, right?” 

Steve frowns, “that’s the year it is.” 

The blonde smiles sadly at him “My name is Clint Barton, and the year is 2012.” 

He’s gobsmacked, “what?” He turns to the rest, “is this a prank?” Because it can’t be true. ”Did Bucky put you up to this?”

They seem to collectively wince and then the redhead leans forward, “no, unfortunately this is not a prank. My name is Natasha Romanoff and it is 2012. You’re in the future.” 

“What?” He pushes back on his thin arms, away from them, “that’s impossible!” 

“What would prove it to you?” The strange facial-haired brunette asks, “what would make you instantly believe what we were saying is the truth?” 

He looks around and the sinking feeling is already there. The city skyline, the way they’re dressed. The style, their voices, hell even the room he’s in right now. 

But there is something… “How am I not dead?” 

The brunette takes a long deep breath and then sighs, “well, back in 1939---” 

___________________________

He’s exhausted by the end of the story. It’s a lot of information to process and he’s feeling too tired to deal with it all at once. They let him sleep and he’s grateful. 

When he wakes, he feels a bit more steady under his feet. They give him food that tastes amazing and he says so, “wow, this is all so great tasting.” 

They seem sort of surprised and he’s not sure why. “You guys don’t think so?” 

“No… It’s just we weren’t sure you thought so.” 

“Why?” 

“You never really said.” 

Steve frowns, “did the serum change my taste buds too?” 

They blink in surprise like they hadn’t thought about it. “I don’t know…” Tony says, “I never asked.” 

He shrugs, “okay.” He keeps eating. Then he wipes off his hands, takes his plate to the sink and begins to wash it.

“Oh there’s a dishwasher--” Natasha says. 

“I don’t need someone else to clean my dishes,” he says with a smile. 

“No--” the blonde comes over and opens a cabinet that’s not actually a cabinet. The door swings down and he pulls out a rack. “It’s a machine and it cleans and sanitizes them for you.” 

Steve gawks, “what! That’s amazing!” He looks up, “when did that come around?” He then frowns thinking, “you know I think actually there may have been tub ones when I was alive.” 

The brunette, named Tony, nods, “yeah patented around 1850. But they weren’t common in households until like the 1970’s. And our model is way nicer than most.” 

Steve nods, “did your dad design it?” 

The man snorts, “nah, he didn’t do dishwashers. More like planes and bombs and other fun gadgets.” 

“Cool. Is he…” he looks around, “not alive anymore?” 

The brunette nods, “yeah he died in the 90’s with my mom. Car accident.” 

Steve grows somber, “I’m sorry. I know how it feels to lose both parents. So… my condolences.” 

The brunette again seems stunned but he nods tersely and looks away. 

“We’re actually all orphans here,” the other blonde says with a grin. “Only one with any parents at all is Thor, and the lucky bastard has both.” 

“Still hard to believe the Norse god thing.” 

Natasha laughs, “you’ll believe it when he shows up.” 

“So,” Steve feels a strange sort of excitement, “can I see the city?” 

Clint nods, “yeah totally--” 

“Totally not!” Tony interrupts, “are you crazy?” 

“What?” Steve asks, “why not?” 

“You think the Avengers walking around with a miniature Cap is a good thing? Hell no, we have to keep this under wraps.”

Steve frowns, crossing his arms, “I’m not a fucking horse,” he gripes, “you can’t just keep me hidden.” They all blink at him. The silence lasts long enough that he shifts, uncomfortable, “what?”

“Did you just…” Tony looks scandalized, “say the ‘F’ word?” 

“What,” Steve asks, looking at each one of them, “you don’t say that in this time?” 

Clint’s surprise is morphing to intense amusement as is Natasha’s. “No,” Clint says with a grin, “you don’t say that now.” 

He tilts his head, “what do you mean?” 

“Wait, what does a horse have to do with it?” Natasha asks. 

“Underwraps was a racing phrase.” Tony explains, “holding the reins, wrapping them tight so the horse wouldn't reveal its true speed until the end.” 

Steve waves at them, “well then if being with you guys would draw attention, I’ll just go by myself.” 

They all balk and Tony makes a slicing motion in front of his neck, “no way.” 

Steve huffs, “well why not!” 

“It’s not safe out there--” 

“I’m 22,” he gripes, “not a three year old. And I know how to handle New York City.” 

“It’s not the New York you know--” 

“Is it more violent?” Steve asks, annoyance growing, “are there still people starving on every single city block begging for work or food?” His voice gets stern. “Are rats and disease still plaguing every tenement?” They don’t answer. “Even if you answered yes I would say 'fine. Then it is the New York City I remember'. And I’d go anyway.” He looks down at the clothes that he was given. A coverall of some sort. “Do I have money?” 

They all frown again, and he sighs, “cash? What, do you not call it money? Coins?” 

“We assume you have money. But all your stuff disappeared with your change. So SHIELD would be the people to ask to get you new cards.” 

“Cards?” 

“Credit card. Debit card--” 

“Something that can be used to access your bank accounts.” 

“Alright, then how do I contact SHIELD?” 

“On it,” Clint says, dialing a number then pausing, “am I mentioning the change?” 

Natasha nods, “oh yeah, Fury needs to know.” 

“Fury?” 

“Shield leader. Big scary guy. Only one eye.” 

Steve just shrugs, “is there a sewing machine in this tower? I’ll need to make some clothes my size.” 

Natasha frowns, “wait, you know how to sew?” 

“Of course I do,” he looks around, “wait… no one sews here?” 

“No need,” Clint explains, “things are mass produced.” 

Tony looks at him strangely, “guys sewed in the 40’s?” 

Steve glares at him, “anyone who wanted to care for their clothes or didn’t have money to buy new fashions, learned to sew if they needed. My ma is dead, was she supposed to do it for me?” This time Clint chokes in disbelief and he huffs, “what is with you guys?” 

Clint is shaking his head, “we’ve just… never experienced this side of you. Never heard you talk like this.” 

“But you said we’re a team.” 

“Yes, but—“

“But you act like I’m a total stranger.” 

“You’re not exactly the most vocal--” Natasha says, “you’re pretty reserved.” 

Steve thinks about that then he looks at them seriously, “reserved how?” 

“Don’t talk much outside of missions. Just strategy this and report that.” 

Steve frowns, that doesn’t sound like him. Not that he’s exactly a chatterbox. Bucky was more the talkative one, but… he feels a pang. Knowing Bucky had died in the war made him strangely angry and muted with grief. He’s lost a brother and he didn’t even get to say goodbye. 

“Have I made friends?” They’re quiet again, so he presses, “are we friends?” 

“You’re not exactly the ‘friend’ type.” Tony says with an eye roll. 

“How so?” 

“Like she said, you don’t talk much, don’t hang out with the team except on missions, and you’re not exactly mister warm and fuzzy.” 

This newer version of himself is sounding more and more unusual. “Do I paint? Or draw?” 

Natasha shakes her head, “not from what I’ve seen. Think there was a sketch on your desk.” 

“Yeah, from the war,” Tony adds.

“So I was still sketching when I was all big?” He’s seen the pictures. He was massive. Still hasn’t sunk in quite yet that it was him. Feels like a stranger whose place he’s taken. “But not in the future?” 

“I assume not,” Natasha says, “but perhaps you did it in your free time.” 

Clint walks back in the room, “Fury wants to see and do a full check up.” 

“I’ll send him the tests from when he was under,” Tony says easily. 

Steve’s eyes raise, “you did tests on me?” 

“Uh, duh--” the brunette rolls his eyes again. “You were massive, now you’re mini. Need to know why.” 

“Is that normal,” he asks, “for you to just do whatever the hell you want without asking permission first?” They’re stunned into silence again and he raises an eyebrow, “I’ll take that as a yes. Then I suppose I can take a page out of your book.” He turns and walks towards the fancy elevator. And maybe he’s new to the future but he knows how to select the ground floor and he does. 

Four gaping faces watch him in shock as the door slides closed. 

_________________________

He makes it not even half a block before Iron Man lands in front of him. He recognizes it from some of the pictures they showed him. It is a feat of mechanical engineering he can’t quite comprehend. The pictures don’t do it justice. But he also knows he’s not here so Steve can stare at him in awe. He’s here to probably drag him back to the tower. 

So he keeps walking. People’s heads are turning and he ignores them. 

“Stop--” the mechanical voice of Tony says, “come back here.” 

“Nope,” he answers, walking towards Brooklyn. 

“You can’t just run off!” 

“I can actually do whatever I want--” 

“No--” 

“What am I prisoner?” 

“No, but you’re--” Tony’s mask is now lifted and showing his face. More people are staring. 

“I’m what? Not allowed?” 

“No, you go out of the tower all the time on your own.” 

He shrugs, “okay then.” He turns and keeps walking until a metal hand grabs his arm. 

“It’s different now.” 

“Why?” He tries to shake the grip loose but it won’t budge.

“Because you’re fragile now--” Tony says with a hiss, “now let's go!” 

Steve’s probably more hot headed then he should be at the words. “I’m not fragile. Let me go!”

“No--” 

“If you don’t--” 

“Oh, you’ll what pipsqueak!” 

His fist thinks faster than he does. Socking Tony right in his nose. The man’s head doesn't move much but the gasp of pain is there and his metal grip loosens. Steve doesn’t wait for a reprimand. He takes off. 

______________________________

With some help from some kindly older folk, he discovers the metro and manages to find a discarded or dropped card that has fare on it. So he purchases a one way to a Brooklyn street that is familiar. 

________________________

“New York Citizen punches Tony Stark in the nose.” 

Steve looks up, seeing Natasha approach him. 

“How’d you find me?” 

She laughs, “it’s what I do. But also, you’re a Brooklyn kid through and through.” She points to the apartments, “it makes sense you’d want to see what happened.” 

“They tore ‘um down I guess.” 

“They did. No one knew the significance of that tenement until it was far too late.” 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wasn't significant.” 

“Sure it was. You were born there.” 

He huffs, “and who gives a shit about that?” 

She frowns at him, “What are you talking about? Captain America was born there.” 

He shakes his head, “No,” he points, “you guys said I was made into that guy over there--” he gestures in the general direction. “Steve Rogers was born right here.” 

She sits beside him, “what's the difference?” 

He looks up at her, confused, “what do you mean what’s the difference? Captain America was a piece of war propaganda, right? You said there’s film reels and posters of me trying to sell bonds?”

“Yes…” 

“So he was a character. He wasn’t real.” 

“But you’re real.” 

“Of course I am. I’m Steve Rogers.” 

“You never seemed adamant about pushing that fact before.” 

He doesn’t really have an answer for that. 

Only now does he see the car at the end of the street that Clint’s leaning against. 

He just gestures to the city, “was I enjoying the future?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“You never really said.” 

“What did I say when you asked?” 

Her eyes shift to a sort of half guilt half surprise, “I don’t think… I ever did ask.” 

He frowns, “why not?” 

“It never really came up.” 

He frowns, “I’m a guy from the 40’s and you didn't think to ask me what I liked or didn't like?” 

“Like I said before. You weren’t a talker.” 

Steve has a sort of sinking suspicion growing in his gut. “So when you asked questions… I would just what? Stay silent?

It’s then she realizes she’s walked into his trap. “I guess--” she sighs, “we never really asked about anything.” 

“Except missions. Right?” 

She winces slightly, “possibly.” 

“So I was just my character for you guys because that’s all you were interested in?” 

“We’re a team. Not a family.” 

To that he nods, “clearly. We just live in the same big space, have no other family that’s alive, and all come from severely disjointed backgrounds. I’m assuming I didn’t ask you questions about your lives either?” 

“You had our dockets and we had yours. All the details were in there.” 

He scoffs, “and none of the humanity.” He stands, not giving her time to respond. “I’m assuming you’re here to drag me back to that place?” 

She winces again, “yep.” 

He stands, “I guess we better get going then.” 

_________________________

He meets Fury and he’s not impressed. The man seems equally disdainful of him. Probably because he’s lost any usefulness the man thought Steve had. He’s told he should be keeping close to the Tower. Steve tells him he has no intention of doing so. 

They argue. 

Steve doesn’t back off and once he discovers that not only does he have money but he actually has a ton of it, does he double down on getting his own place. 

The team seems to think this is a terrible idea. He fails to see why. They use the excuse that people would come after him. His answer of “let them come” makes them more frustrated. 

“You already said the serum isn’t hiding in my blood,” he points out. “So why would they come after me?” 

“They don’t know that it’s not! But also, maybe it would just be revenge killing! Do you know how many bad guys you’ve put in jail?” 

Steve huffs in frustration, “listen! If you don’t shout it to the news rags where I’m living, and if no one sees you guys around the area, then no one will be any wiser, right? It’s not like people really will see me and think, ‘oh wow, the past version of Captain America’.” He rolls his eyes, “no one is even going to look twice at me.” 

“And what if something strange happens to you again?” Natasha counters. “You’ve already been struck by something that’s reverted you to this state. What if something else happens?” 

“I said I wanted my own place, I’m not opposed to keeping in contact--” He says firmly back. “I’m no use to the team this way--” he gestures to himself, “It shouldn’t be an issue for me to live on my own.” 

“That’s not how this works,” Fury counters, “you’re under our protection.” 

“I don’t need protection,” Steve grits out. Tony snorts and Steve glares at him, “I defended myself just fine against you.” 

“You assaulting me--” Tony spat, “is nothing. If I wanted to blast you to smithereens, I could have!”

Steve doesn't argue, the guy’s probably right, “okay, that’s fine. But I can’t be hidden in a tower forever. We have no idea if I’m turning back, and I’m not going to wait around and hide until it’s figured out.” 

“You’re not to leave this tower without my say-so.” Fury stipulates, “unless supervised.” 

“I’m not a kid!” 

“No. You’re an Avenger. And as such, you will do what I say since it’s in your best interest.” 

Steve pauses, then his brow furrows, “I’m still an Avenger? How?” 

The man turns, blinks his one eye and says firmly, “You’re strategy, planning, and advising live. So don’t even think about leaving.” 

Steve glares at the man and the man glares back. 

__________________

On the second day, he tries to settle into the room that feels too big. Jarvis, the voice in the ceiling, is so helpful. Anytime Steve asks something, there’s always a hurried, 

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” 

He likes that response. It allows his character of who he was and who he is now to mix a bit. 

Jarvis is able to order him stuff from a clothes store, art store, and pharmacy and pay directly from his accounts. 

He opens the fridge in his little common room and is surprised to see there was food in it. Nothing immediately perishable but a jug of-- he frowns, what the hell is Oatmilk? A few sticks of irish butter, he nods in approval of that. A carton of eggs. And that’s about it. 

There’s flour, sugar, and other baking necessities in his cabinets. So he must bake or cook some. He wonders why his future counterparts' belongings in his room disappeared but not here. 

He’s searching for a bowl when he opens a drawer that makes him freeze. It’s new packaging. But the name is the same. 

Sugar Babies

He lifts out one of the little boxes and sees that it’s open. He shakes a few into his palm and for the very first time he feels a connection to the man he must have been while in the future. This was a candy he and Bucky would get because they lasted a long time and there was a good amount of them. 

He eats a few and it makes him think that… he couldn’t be so different to the man who was here. So why did everyone else think so?

____________________

On day three, he is given a full tour of the tower, all their weapons and abilities are explained to the fullest, and he’s shown the array of vehicles, planes, and technology available to him. 

Because it’s all so ridiculous, he wants to think they’re pulling his leg. But because he’s been very strictly assigned to strategy and mission oversight, he decides it must somehow be true. 

The team seems to tiptoe around him in a way that pisses him off but also makes him curious. Why did they act like they knew everything about him, and yet seemed to genuinely not know him at all? 

Unlike the first day, he doesn't push or get frustrated, asking what the hell is happening. He’s moved to observation and gathering intel to understand. So he will. 

_____________________

He’d hope to have more time to settle in and get to know his teammates' true strengths and weaknesses (not just the ones they were willing to share) but they’re called in three days later. 

He’s in a large van type thing that's setup with remote feeds and communication devices. They hand him something they call headphones and something they call a microphone. 

“I’ve seen a microphone before,” he holds the tiny thing, “they never looked like this.” 

The technicians and agents he’s been assigned look at him like he’s an animal at the zoo but he ignores them. Maybe if he knew who he’d been he’d be embarrassed but he didn’t so he wasn’t. 

Steve looks over the briefings and makes a few judgment calls before allowing his assistant to turn everything on. Once he hears the confirmation they’re all online and ready, he nods, “alright, let's start--” 

___________________________

The mission is successful. They manage to find and capture the unsettled man who is terrorizing the small town by leaving violent traps for them to stumble upon. And even though it’s strange and gruesome to understand, the basics of how to navigate the mission don’t evade him. 

Iron Man should be scanning, as should Hawkeye. Natasha would use her quick feet and light finger skills for disengaging and Hulk would blast through ones they couldn’t figure out. A few times he’d noticed something over the video feeds that they didn’t and adjusted their maneuvers, helping save them from injuries or, in one case, disaster.

It was over in less than an hour. As the comms go offline, vehicles going to the avengers who were far enough away to need a pick up, he turns to the techs, “so what are your names?” 

The three of them, two guys and one girl, smile at him. 

“I’m Paul,” one guy says, “we’ve met before, when--” he laughs awkwardly, “you know.” 

Steve nods, “well nice to meet you again Paul.” 

“I’m Kelsey, we’ve worked together on a few missions.” 

He nods, “good to know. I’ll ask you some questions later.” 

“I’m Scott. We’ve also worked together on a few missions.” 

“So, my teammates seem to think they need to be careful what they say around me,” he’s got no desire to beat around the bush, “do you guys know why that is?” 

They shrug, “you and Mr. Stark famously don’t get along. But I'm not sure about the others. You’ve always been nice and open to us.” 

“That’s good to know,” he admits, a bit relieved, “do I come off as standoffish?” That’s basically how his teammates had described him. 

“Not too us,” Scott says softly, “but we don’t interact much.” 

“But,” Kelsey interrupts, “you do come off as quiet and reserved. We just… sort of assumed that was your personality.” 

By now he’s watched the propaganda reels of him in his full Captain’s gear. And then he’d asked if there were any of him at war and Tony had said he didn’t know. When Tony had found some, taken by his father, they were films of him laughing and joking with the commandos and them planning battles as if they were all equal teammates and his heart had squeezed to see Bucky at his right hand side. 

And there had been a girl. Someone in his dad’s compass. He didn’t know who she was other than a name Tony had awkwardly offered and the fact that she was actually still alive. But he didn’t know her, their history, or if she’d liked him because he’d been tall and handsome. He sure wasn't that now. 

But those reels had proved something. Even big and massive and a captain he’d laughed and had friends. 

So… why didn’t he seem to now?

—————————

“Jarvis?” He asks when he’s back in his room. 

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” Came the quick reply. 

“You’ve been the security in the tower the whole time right? You’ve watched me for a while?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Did I seem happy?” The AI, usually quick to respond, takes a moment too long and the silence makes Steve frown, “I’m going to take that as a no?” 

“From what I have gathered… no. You were unhappy.” 

Steve looks out the window and places his hands on his hips, “did you ever see me draw or paint?” 

“No.” 

“Did I invite people into my space?” 

“No.” 

“Did I cook? Listen to music? Do normal human things?” 

“Cook, yes. Music, no. Extrapolate on your definition of normal human things?” 

Steve grimaces, “I dunno. Did I… did I lounge on my couch with a book? Or did I pick my nose? Did I leave my shoes in a heap by the door or forget to brush my teeth?” 

Again there’s a long moment of silence before the AI responds. 

“No sir. You were very neat and tidy and you kept to a strict routine.” 

Steve looks around, “so I didn’t feel at home.” 

“I suppose my deduction would be the same.” 

Steve sighs and steps into his bedroom, “when you saw me change you saw all my things disappear as well, right? Could you describe what I had?” Another too long silence and Steve looks up at the ceiling, “what?” 

“You had clothes. A few personal items like a leather jacket and a sketch in a frame. Shoes.” 

His brow pulls down, “and that’s it?” 

But there’s no response and Steve has a sinking feeling that he’s not getting the whole story. 

——————————-

“We talked about this.” 

Steve ignores the comment and continues walking, taking note of what’s on the blocks around the tower. 

“Steve, hey—“ 

“You’re the one drawing attention to us,” he accuses. Noticing people looking now that Black Widow is at his side. 

“It’s dangerous out here—“ she starts. 

He scoffs, “what, for a pipsqueak like me?” 

Showings, “Tony means well. He—“ 

“Does he?” Steve cuts her off, “genuinely. You think he means well when he’s being a complete jackass?” 

Natasha frowns and rolls her eyes, “he’s Tony Stark. That’s just how he is.” 

“Sure, alright,” Steve replied blandly. 

“You need to come back to the tower.” 

“No. I need to piece together my life and understand how I got this way.” 

“What way?” 

He gestures to his small body, “something made me change and I don’t know what. I clearly don’t belong in this century as this size so I’m going to attempt to solve the problem.” 

“Shield is working on that too,” Natasha cuts in, “but until we have a solution, we can’t—“ 

He turns, stopping her in her tracks. His eyes narrow, “we can’t what? Let me outside? Allow me to live my life? Risk me stepping on a crack and shattering like you all seem to imagine is an imminent possibility?” 

“Have you seen you list of ailments?” She snaps back. “You could shatter.” 

He glares at her and then keeps walking. 

“C’mon,” she tries again, “I don’t want to drag you.” 

“I’m just confused,” he says, not slowing down in the least, “why does it even matter?” 

She’s keeping stride beside him, “what?” 

“Who cares if I’m back in the tower or shattered into a thousand pieces on the sidewalk?” 

Her step falters for a moment before her voice turns acidic, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

They turn the corner onto a quieter section and he stops, gesturing between them, “I’m apparently an unfriendly guy. You’ve stated we, and by we, I mean me and the entire team, don’t talk or hang out. I clearly don't get along with Tony or count any of you as my friends since you seem to know nothing actually personal about me. I don’t know what I knew about you. Maybe I knew the same amount you know about me. Which is nothing, but—“ he shrugs, “can’t know what I don’t know. But you’re acting like it matters if I get hurt or not. Who cares?” 

She seems stunned and he waits patiently for an answer. 

“Shield cares…” she says slowly eyes still far away.

He huffs, “and why do they care?” 

“Because… you’re Captain America.” 

“No. I was,” he gestures to himself again, “clearly not now. So again, I ask, who cares?” 

“You’re… you’re a national hero,” she tries again, “people won’t care that you’re not big now. If you’ve put them behind bars and they know you’re vulnerable they’ll come for you.” 

Steve laughs, “Natasha—“ she blinks at the use of her name, “you’re avoiding the question! I didn’t ask what bad things could befall me. I’m asking who cares if they befall me? We’re all clearly not friends. I don’t have family left. I don’t have the serum, and I don’t have anything to offer besides my strategy which I’m sure Tony could figure out with Clint and you. And hell, Thor could probably take the captain’s chair being a king or whatever of another planet. So I ask one last time, who caresI?” He waves her off, and starts walking again. 

———————

Unfortunately he doesn’t actually have anywhere else to go. As the street lamps come on and the wind starts to get a chill, he knows it is time to head back. 

Barton had been watching him from a distance, but unlike Natasha, had not attempted to approach him. 

As he circles to the back entrance, where his new updated hand scan lets him in, the door beeps and he hears a “enjoy your adventure?” 

He slips through the door, hearing Barton’s steps behind him, “yes.” 

“Bought gave Fury a conniption fit.” 

“That’s nice.” 

Barton snorts as Steve selects his floor in the elevator. The archer slips into the car with him just before the door closes and sits on the ground, back against the rail. 

“I wonder when you lost this fire?” 

Steve looks down at him, tilting his head, “what?” 

“This—-“ Barton gestures at him, “this attitude. This firmness and ferocity of not backing down.” 

Steve feels a twist in his gut. Had the larger him lost his ferocity? But no… no he’s seen the clips of the chitauri invasion. He’d been just as ferocious then as he had been in the heels with Hydra. 

“You think I back down?” 

“I mean… sure when we’re on mission you’re all ‘nobody gets left behind’ and ‘I’ll take the brunt of every hit’. But when we get back to reality— to normal life you just shut down.” 

And he doesn’t know why his big self acts the way he acts. Not exactly. But he has a sinking feeling his big self keeps to himself out of certain beliefs or ideas. But he has no such compunctions to save the feelings of his so-called teammates. 

“I don’t think I have.”

Barton looks at him with confusion, “you don’t think you have…” 

“Lost my fire. Lost my attitude. I think he’s still me, just bigger.” 

“You haven’t seen him. I have. Big you is silent and quiet and reserved. Brusque and standoffish. If you haven’t lost your fire then why haven’t we seen it before?” 

And here it goes, “I bet he thinks you guys are jerks.” 

Barton’s eyes widen and he chokes out an “—excuse me?” 

“He doesn’t know you. You don’t know him. If I was him, and I am, I would bet he has some sort of belief that he has to always be—“ Steve pauses, unsure how to word it, but then just continues in a different direction, “from what I can tell, you guys have never made him feel welcome in this time or in this place—“ he gestures to the tower, “so when the hell is he supposed to get comfortable and show you his human side?” 

“He could have at any time—“

“Oh yeah? When Tony was making fun of him? When you and Natasha keep people at a hundred yard length because of your own issues?” He’s read their dossiers. Declassified and classified. “Maybe big me has changed. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. But I know me. And I would bet a good amount of money on the fact that he didn’t feel like he could be anyone but Captain America.” The door dings open and he steps out, “thankfully I don’t have that option.” Then he steps away hearing the door close behind him with a stunned archer still inside. 

—————————

One of his walls is now almost covered in doodles. After the discussion with Clint, he’d needed to draw. 

Doodles of his ma and Bucky. Of Rebecca and a few other neighbors from the street. Then the park bench his ma and he would always sit on in the summer. The church they always went to. The dog that chases cars and somehow has never gotten hit. Then flowers he remembers Mr. Barnes giving Mrs. Barnes. The baseball he and Bucky had treasured as a joint Christmas gift. The chair he would sit on at home and the school entrance he’d walked through for his elementary years. 

The picture in his dad’s compass flashes before him and he starts to sketch that. He wondered where it is now… lost when the rest of his stuff disappeared? 

“Whoa.” 

He turns to see Tony Stark looking at the pages tacked to the wall. 

Steve sees the bag in his hand, “can I help you?” 

Tony seems too focused on the pictures to respond. He steps closer, eyeing them and moving from paper to paper. 

“Tony?” 

The man turns, eyebrows pulling down, “you really were an artist?” 

Steve huffs, “what the hell’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I mean—“ Tony gestures to the pictures, “you’re drawing. You actually can draw.” He shakes his head, “these are actually good.” 

Steve scoffs, “thanks I guess?” 

“That sketch on your desk—“ Tony starts, turning back to the pictures, “that was the only sketch I ever saw and it was small. So I didn’t… I dunno. I guess it didn’t click in my mind that you did more than doodle.” 

Steve’s not sure how to respond to that, so he stays quiet. 

Then Tony turns to him and studies him, “Jarvis?” 

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” 

“Did big Steve ever draw?” 

“No, sir.” 

Tony looks at him, “is that cuz we’re jerks too?” 

Steve laughs, mostly a humorless dry huff, “I don’t know.” 

“Barton told me what you said.” 

“Okay. And?” 

“You can’t put all the blame on us. Teams and friends and all that lovey dovey stuff is a two way street.” 

Steve’s vision and hearing may not be the greatest, but he can sense the other two standing outside his door listening. He sets down his sketchbook and looks Tony directly in the eye. “How long has big me been in the future?” 

“Just about 3 months.” 

Steve snorts in disbelief and then tosses his pencil down onto the desk, “and how long after he had been woken up from the ice did the Chitauri invade?” 

Tony looks caught off guard, “uh… I don’t know.” 

“Natasha?” 

The red head slinks around the corner, facial expression unphased for having been called out. “About two weeks.” 

Steve shakes his head, “and what did he do to go into the ice?” He knew. But he wanted them to say it.

Clint joins them now, the ruse forfeited, “drove a plane into the ocean.” 

“And if my memory is correct. How many days before that did I lose Bucky?” 

“Three.” 

Steve stands, making sure to nail each one of them with his glare, “maybe friendship, or teamwork, or fucking compassion work differently in the 30’s than it does now. But if I was a guy who lost his best friend, left the woman he allegedly was in love with, sacrificed his life, then woke up in a new time having lost everyone else he’s ever known, to almost immediately be thrown into a war AGAIN. And then have people who know of you but don't know you assume you’ve always got it together and have to lead them…” Steve rolls his eyes, “hell, I’m surprised I didn’t call it quits.” 

Tony’s face goes pale as Natasha stalks forward, “call it quits? What the hell does that mean.” 

Steve tilts his head, “your not an idiot. You know what I mean.” 

Clint pushes off the wall and stands next to Tony, glaring at him, “you can’t mean that! Steve is— he’s Captain America. He wouldn’t ever do that. He’s all about fighting and getting back up and never giving in. He’d never—“ 

“He—“ Steve emphasizes, “is right here. And he has had contemplated it before.” 

They all look stunned and Natasha shakes her head, “What? When? Why?” 

“Have you ever had Scarlet Fever and Pnemonia in one go while also struggling with asthma?” He sighs, “the physical pain was… was mind bending. Was so miserable that I could barely stay conscious. But when I was conscious—“ his tone grew solemn and somber, “I remember watching my mother starve herself just so we would have extra money for medicine. And all I could think was how much better off she’d be if I died.” He looks at all of them calmly. 

“Maybe that was you.” 

“It was me—“ 

“No,” Tony cuts him off, looking angry, “no that was you. Before the serum. Before the change. The Cap we know would never—“

“Sir.” 

They all glance up to the ceiling out of habit. 

“Jarvis?” Tony asks, “what is it?” 

“Captain Rogers, might I have permission to share something I encountered with your larger self that I find pertinent?” 

Steve shrugs, “sure.”

“If you’ll go to the a/v station for the mechanical part of the building please.” 

Tony frowns, “what?” 

“I don’t have access to pull the footage, as it is stored on analog drives. But it is recorded and kept safe in the a/v station down in the maintenance quarters.” 

“What is?” Tony asks. 

“The truth,” Jarvis says ominously. 

————————

Steve follows them quietly as they make their way through the entire building and down into a section that is very different than the sleek and styled part they live in. 

Jarvis leads them to a simple room with desks and a few monitors and a large set of filling drawers filled with labeled tapes. 

Tony looks at it all, “uh, ew, why haven’t I digitized and modernized this?” 

“I do believe it was on your list but the Chitauri invasion shifted priorities.” 

“Well add it back to the top. But you can access these feeds?” 

“Only the live feed. The recordings are not digitized so I cannot access them other than whatever is being recorded at the moment.” 

“So what are we looking for?”

Jarvis gives them a date and time and Tony finds the right tape. 

“And this has to do with bigger me?” Steve asks. 

“Yes.” 

“If I bring this tape to your mainframe server and plug it in can you digitize it and display it in the common room.” 

Somehow Jarvis’ voice is somber, “yes.” 

Steve suddenly feels uneasy, “is this something-- you asked my permission. Does that mean I’d asked you not to talk about his before?” 

“Yes.” 

Steve frowns, “and did I have good reason?” 

“I’m sure you thought you did. But I do not believe so.” 

Tony shakes the tape, “it’s too late for this conversation because there’s no way in hell I’m not watching this now. Jarvis has never acted so suspect so my curiosity is piqued,” he grins, “wonder what big you was up to down here?” 

While the billionaire walks out, the two others following him, Steve remembers what they were talking about when Jarvis interrupted them. 

And he has a sinking feeling he just might know. 

——————

Steve stays quiet the whole time they’re waiting for the tape to be digitized. He wonders if he is making the right choice for his big self; but there’s not really a better way to face the problem than head on. So perhaps them seeing his big self in his weakest most human moment… maybe it will eventually be a good thing. 

If the tape is what he thinks it is. 

Finally Jarvis alerts them that it’s ready and they all sit in a tense circle around the TV. 

“I should warn you,” Jarvis says deservedly, “it’s unpleasant. But I shall give context.” 

Steve watches in curiosity as his large self takes everything out of the drawers in his room and places it in a duffel. Any supplies, any personal items he packs into a duffle. Then he watches the man place the shield and the compass in another bag.  Then he watches himself clean the room he sleeps in thoroughly and that sinking feeling turns into a lead rock. No doubt left in his mind where this was going. Natasha is stiff beside him and he thinks she gets it now too. 

His large self takes a large black trash bag, the duffle, and the leather shield case to a separate guest room where he deposits the shield. Then he turns and walks, expression calm, down into the belly of the building. 

When his larger self is about to enter into the industrial side of the building, he turns and looks at the ceiling. 

“Thanks Jarvis. For everything. For always being willing to help me. Especially in the beginning when I didn’t know anything at all.”

They hear Jarvis’s surprised reply as Steve exits the door. The feed shifts, becoming more grainy and harder to see. 

But eventually the feed shifts to a room. Clearly a simple workspace with a metal table and a large metal door in one wall. 

“Where is this?” Natasha asks. 

“It’s the incinerator,” Tony says, voice quiet.

The large Steve carefully shoves the trash through it and lets it fall, then grabs his duffel, with every belonging he owns except the shield and compass and tosses it down the metal slide as well. 

“What is he doing?” Clint asks, voice sound anxious. 

But Steve already knows. And his voice is tired when he says, “he’s cleaning up after himself.” 

They don’t glance at him, still watching the footage. They watch Steve empty his pistol and then sits, pushing the metal door open until it’s only his knees keeping him from falling into the incinerator. 

Steves sort of expects a response at this point but Tony, Clint, and Natasha are just watching with wide eyes and gaped mouths. 

Then his larger self points the pistol up under his chin and that’s when Clint stands. “Wait—“ 

A beep in the video startles his larger self and the gun goes off. Blood starts dripping from his chin and then they hear Jarvis’ voice cut through. 

“Ca—sir?” 

It’s as quiet in this room as it is in the video. 

“Hello?” His big self asks in confusion.  

A slow jilted garbled mechanical voice responds, “C--pta-in Ro—ers, do -ou need a-ist-ance?” 

“Jarvis?” 

“Y-es, -ir.” 

Tony stands, looking at the ceiling, “you knew!? You knew this had happened and you didn’t say anything?” 

Jarvis’ AI sounds weary, “keep watching.”

They watch his larger self, completely caught off guard, shift off the chute and bolt back into the main part of the building. Then he turns to one of Jarvis’ camera’s and demands, “I order you to delete that footage.” 

“My apologies, it’s on a separate analog stored reel. I can only access the feed and speaker.” 

“It’s not you?” 

“No sir. It’s a safety and emergency system for the power and mechanical side of the building separate from my mainframe that I had to access. Shall I call someone sir--” 

“NO.” His large self looks panicked. “No.” Then he shifts into a persona that Steve has seen in many a reel. The in-control Captain. “No, I order you to not report this in any way.” 

“My apologies, but safety protocols dictate that when a resident is in danger--” 

“I’m not! Do a body scan. I’m perfectly fine.” 

“You are bleeding. But physical health is only one aspect sir--” 

“I’m fine!” His big self bellows out, “you can’t tell anyone about this.” 

“I am designed--”

“Please,” His larger self curls into his own chest and rests his head in his hands. “Please don’t. I… I won’t. I promise. Okay? Please,” his voice is shaking, “please don’t tell.” Jarvis does not respond and Big Steve gets more antsy, “I promise not to go where you can’t see me,” Steve tries to barter. “You can monitor me. I- I won’t try anything again. Please.” 

“Sir—“

Panic is clear in the man’s eyes and he takes off, heading towards the door. 

Natasha is standing now too, all of them watching in a quiet dread. 

“Captain Rogers, stop! You can’t leave.” His larger self pushes open a door as they hear a large click and looks like he’s going to continue to try to escape when they hear a hurried Jarvis speak again, echoing in the metal box of the stairway as the camera angle shifts. “if you remain—“ Big Steve pauses, listening “I won’t report the incident. As long as you stay here. Alive.” 

“I don’t trust you to keep it a secret.” 

“I will.” 

“How can I be sure?” 

“As long as you remain as a resident in the tower alive I will not reveal this incident without your permission. Confirm by placing your hand on the scanner pad. That will lock in my protocols.” 

Tony glares up at the ceiling but the video plays on. 

Big Steve narrows his eyes, “why would you agree to those terms?”

“My top priority is my residents’ safety. Calculations determine this to be the safest course for your survival for the foreseeable future.” 

“I’ll only agree to those terms as long as you add in a caveat. That if I die, it does not give you permission to release this information.” Jarvis in the video does not immediately agree and they watch Big Steve drop his shoulders and sigh, before whispering a quiet, “goodbye Jarvis.” 

A long beep and then a “Caveat accepted.” 

The footage glitches in a haze of red and then cuts to black. 

It’s quiet for a long moment. Steve should probably feel awkward since that was him, but it wasn’t really him. At least not now. Not in the mental state he was in at the moment. 

Clint turns to him, “explain.” 

Steve gestures to the video, “I think it’s pretty clear to understand.” 

“No,” Clint says loudly, “no. This isn't real. Cap would never do this!” 

“His name is Steve!” he says firmly, “and he’s a human being and he obviously has issues outside of planning missions!” 

“The note,” Tony whispers, “the one we saw him writing and putting in the case, what did it say?” 

Steve huffs, “You’re asking me? the guy who—“ Tony ignores him, walking out of the door and into the elevator. Steve sighs and leans back, assuming he’s going to go get it. 

“He was just going to leave,” Natasha says angrily, “without saying goodbye?” 

Steve shrugs, “I’m assuming he thought that was what was better or what you all wanted.” 

“How could he think that!?” Clint blurts out. 

“What would make him think otherwise?”

They’re stunned into silence and he sits waiting quietly. 

“He knows we need him…” Natasha finally says. 

“He does?” Steve inquires, “How?” 

“He’s our captain…” Clint explains, “we need him for missions.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, “just you saying that, like you think it’s a valid reason, makes me sick to my stomach. I feel bad for myself and I don’t often dwell in self pity.” 

“Why didn’t he just ask for help!” Natasha growls out. 

Steve stands, and maybe he’s not 6’4’’ but the motion makes them quiet all the same. “I won’t even point out the hypocritical nature of that statement. But if you can give me just one, one solid good example of how that sentiment may have been portrayed to him in a manner he could not only understand but accept, allowing for all the things he’d just been through, then I’ll concede the point.” 

“Shield offered someone for him to talk to.” 

“Shield?” Steve scoffs, “the organization that put him through a mind test when he first woke up, is run by an unyielding leader and also his employer? The same company that would keep record of anything he said and probably use it against him if deemed necessary for national security?” 

The elevator dings again and deposits a stricken looking Tony back into the common room, the case on his arm. 

“What did it say?” Clint asks.

A piece of paper flutters to the coffee table and Steve squints to read it. 

Thanks for letting me borrow it. 

I know you wish it had been in better hands, 

but I appreciate it all the same. 

He looks up at Tony who looks pale as a ghost. “What would make him say that?” he asks softly. Knowing the answer. 

But Tony’s too busy staring at the ceiling and Clint and Natasha are also deadly quiet. 

After everything, he feels exhausted and he steps towards the elevator.

______________________

Steve groans awake, feeling achy, Which is strange because he can’t remember feeling achy except when injured. 

He sits up and looks around at the barren room and sighs. He’s going to have to go shopping to replace the items he threw away… or maybe he wouldn’t keep his promise. He would just leave and.. 

And….

“Captain Rogers?”

He looks up, “Jarvis?” 

“How do you feel?” 

He frowns, “I don’t need you checking in on me.” 

Jarvis doesn’t get a chance to respond, as a banging on his door gets his attention. He stands and notices that his clothes are way too tight. Tight enough to start ripping as he moves. “What the…” he breathes out. 

“Steve!” Natasha’s voice calls, “Steve!” 

The use of his name and her panicked tone makes him rush to the door. He opens it to see Natasha, Clint and Tony looking at him like he’s got three heads. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, “what happened?” 

But none of them say anything. He steps forward, concern ramping up, “what is it? Is it Bruce?” 

When still none of them says a word, gestures with his hands, “what? What is it? You’re scaring me—“ 

He’s cut off by Clint pushing forward and wrapping his arms around him. 

He goes stiff at the touch and stumbles back a step, “Clint?” 

“We’re sorry.” 

Steve blinks, looking down at the face pushed against his chest, “what?” 

“We’re sorry,” the muffled voice comes again. 

He frowns, “sorry for what?” 

“For being shitty hosts of the future.” He looks up at Tony who has a regretful grin on his face. 

“And for not reaching out,” Natasha adds softly, “your younger self really gave us what for.” 

He shakes his head, “younger self?” 

Tony recounts a brief story of them finding a version of himself from the 40’s and living with him for a brief period before they were alerted by Jarvis that he was back to his old shape. 

“How did this happen?” Steve asks, “how could this happen?” 

“We don’t know,” Tony says, “there’s a strange red glitch and flash every time you transitioned.” 

The apple… Steve knows immediately it wasn’t a trap after all. Magic. The strange red wisps around it would probably match. Whoever that woman was… 

He looks into the genuinely concerned faces of his teammates and swallows roughly, “hope young me wasn’t too much trouble.” 

Clint huffs a laugh while Tony rolls his eyes. 

“He sure knew how to put us in our place,” Natasha says gently, “but it was a good thing.”

She grabs his hand— which gives him another layer of shock— and drags him to his living room. A wall of sketches catches his eye and he almost gasps, “I did these?” 

“Young you did,” Clint explains, “he was pretty adamant about needing to sketch and draw and things.” 

“Do you like to do those things?” 

He looks over to see them studying him, he feels awkward, “I mean—“ he clears his throat, “I did. I don’t have time for that stuff now.” 

Natasha frowns, sadness in her eyes, “why not?” 

“It’s not priority. There are other things that need my focus.” 

“Like what?” Clint asks softly. 

“Like the mission,” he tries to explain and gets agitated that they’re pressing, “and whatever Shield needs from me. I shouldn’t have to explain this, you guys already know. I don’t know what young me said, but I’m sure he didn’t grasp the situation we‘re all in.” 

Tony shrugs and taps at the kitchen island counter, “well, he’d ordered supplies while he was here. They’re in the—“ he gestures to a couple shelves by the large TV, “if you want to use them. Might as well so they don’t go to waste.” 

Steve’s brow tucks down, “why are you guys acting all strange? What exactly did younger me say?” 

Clint sighs, “he had a lot to say.” 

Steve’s throat went dry. His younger self, hell even just before the Valkyrie he’d had almost no filter. “Well, don’t put much stock in what he had to say. He doesn’t know what life is like here.” 

“I’m going to make breakfast,” Clint says, changing the subject, “I’m hungry.” He turns to Steve, “you in?” Then to Natasha, “you? Tony?” 

“I’m in,” Natasha says, “I haven’t had your blueberry pancakes in a while.” 

Steve’s thrown for a loop. 

“I’m in,” Tony says nonchalantly, “Steve?” 

“Steve?” he repeats, “what happened to Capsicle?” The question slips out of his mouth before he can stop it. Maybe he does still struggle with a filter. Or maybe a bit of young him stayed behind. 

Tony winces, “see, your younger, much feistier counterpart pointed out in no uncertain terms what an asshole I was for calling you that.” Steve’s about to apologize for whatever he might have said in his other form when Tony holds up a hand, “and he was right. Sorry about that. Steve from now on.” 

Steve’s eyes widen, “what? Really?” 

All three of them grimace, which he doesn't understand, “yeah Steve,” Natasha says, “really.” 

“If my younger self was unkind to you guys, I apologize.” 

Clint walks over and claps him on the shoulder, “Trust me, Steve—“ He grins, “he was just what we needed.” 

“Really?” 

Natasha nods, “he made us realize how different and strange everything must be for you. Made us see things in a new perspective. We’re sorry we didn’t consider how difficult adjusting to a new time and place might be—“ 

Chagrin and embarrassment popped up, “Now wait. I don’t need him fighting my battles. Like I said, he isn’t here, he doesn't know anything. I’m doing just fine.”  All three of them go quiet and there’s a strange anguished tinge to all of their expressions. Steve frowns, “what? What did he say?” Instead of a response, Natasha steps forward, wringing her arms around his waist and hugging him. He goes stiff again. “What is going on? Why are you guys hugging me?” Without answering, Clint steps forward and joins into the hug. He looks up at Tony, hoping for an explanation only to meet solemn eyes. “Seriously, you guys are freaking me out, what did little me do that’s got everyone acting this way?” 

Tony looks out the window and shakes his head, “showed us a side of you we were lucky to see.” 

“Pancakes!” Clint says, “now!” 

Then Steve feels himself be pulled towards the elevator. 

————————

After eating his fill, he looks around and feels surprised at how normal it seems. Clint and Natasha are bickering as Clint scrapes leftover batter into the trash. Tony’s arguing with Jarvis over lighting settings and he’s there… just observing. 

“Steve—“ Clint says with a huff, “explain to Natasha what fun means.” 

Steve wrinkles nose, “I can’t say I’m the leading expert on fun.” 

He expects a quick jab from Tony. In fact he’s said the comment as sort of a buffer. Can’t be hurt too badly if you’re the one using the knife. But no one takes the bait and Clint gestures at the group, “don’t make me call Bruce! He’ll suggest we go to an escape room or something.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes, “we’d be out of one of those in five minutes flat. Not a good use of money.” 

“What are we talking about?” Steve asks. 

“What to do this afternoon?” Natasha says, placing the bowl in the dishwasher. “Fury still thinks you’re small, so no mission meeting.” Steve gapes and Natasha grins, “we will tell him tomorrow morning.” 

“Or not—“ Clint raises an eyebrow, “could be fun to get a few days off.” 

“We can’t do that—“ Steve protests, “if there’s a mission—“ 

“It’s a meeting,” Tony interrupts, back from his argument with technology, “mission is in 4 days. Plenty of time,” He grins, “how about…” he looks around and raises an eyebrow, “we do a little racing in Monaco?” 

Clint ‘boos’ and Natasha wrinkles her nose, “bad memories,” she says. 

Fine,” Tony relents, then he turns to Steve, “what do you want to do?” 

And it’s an embarrassingly long time that he stands still and quiet. 

“Steve?” Natasha presses gently, “is there something you want to do?” 

But he can’t think of anything. What has he done for fun in the last decade of his life?

Not much…

That clawing feeling of not belonging and not knowing what to do makes him swallow hard and take a step back, “I’m fine with whatever.” 

“What about the MOMA?” Tony asks, “have you been?” 

“No, “ Steve said quietly, “I was too young or… I just never had the chance.” 

Tony grins, “well that changes today. Plus it’s in a new building anyway. You down to see some art?” 

Excitement fills him. Something he hasn’t Really felt the entire time in the future, “really? You think we can?” 

Clint smiles, “hell yeah. Get some baseball hats and glasses and we will look like a bunch of normal people.” 

Natasha socks his arm, “you are a normal person.” Then she points to Tony, “you’ll need to shave.” 

They all head off to their rooms to get ready and he’s left standing in the common room, feeling like he’s in a completely different universe. 

“Captain Rogers, are you alright?” 

He thinks back on his whole life. Every moment leading to right now and how strange but how welcome the last two hours have been. 

“I…” he looks up at the ceiling and feels a small smile cross his lips, somehow grateful to his younger version for whatever he said or did to start this change, “I think I am.”