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A man sprints down a crowded street, dodging pedestrians and jumping past obstacles. He moves with the single-minded determination of a cornered animal. Not thinking past the urge to run run run. His speed is so fast the people he flies past perceive him only as a flash of beige and the harsh sound of panicked breathing. The man himself barely takes notice of the miffed city-goers he passes, too consumed with the overwhelming notion of wrongness.
Steve Rogers has had an interesting morning. The last thing he remembers before waking in the kind-of-but-not-really hospital room was Peggy's frantic voice and the shocking impact of ice-cold water. After meeting the definitely-not-a-nurse nurse and knocking the fake walls over, events began to blur. Steve vaguely remembers slamming past several armed guards and skidding into a room that Steve would swear was made of only glass. He can almost recall the hundreds of well-dressed peoples’ shocked faces and clumsy demands that Steve ‘stop and listen.’
Steve has never been good at stopping or listening, even when he was 5’ nothing and fifty pounds soaking wet. Bucky can attest to that. Or he could…
Anyways, the point is that Steve only ever listened to Peggy Carter and his Mama. The quivering orders of shocked businessmen and women (and wasn’t that a pleasant surprise) flew right into one ear and out the next. The streets of New York are so different from what he remembers Steve almost started hyperventilating three feet out of the glass mammoth of a building. The only reason Steve even recognized the city he was bolting through is due to the abundance of signs proclaiming this to be The Big Apple and the familiar block grid.
Other than those two anchors, everything else is alien. From accents to street names to the cars. Even the goddamn hotdogs smell wrong. Steve would bet his entire cash of secret chocolate that New York’s iconic skyline is also altered. The differences are startling all on their lonesome, but when paired with the familiar quirks of the city Steve remembers, it feels as though the world tipped over and Steve’s the only one who noticed. Maybe the world agreed to slow down half a beat when Steve was in the ice and now he’s off-kilter, swimming through quicksand while everyone else can fly.
Steve is wrenched from his spiraling thoughts by the loud blare of a car horn. This, at least, is familiar. Steve can’t count how many nights he fell asleep curled up next to Bucky surrounded by the lively sounds of a busy city. Brooklyn is, of course, much better than New York, and thus has superior city noises, but it's the thought that counts. The car though- Steve just can’t wrap his head around it.
It’s sleek, all sharp lines and appealing shapes. It glides through the congested roads with a grace Steve has never seen before. It’s quieter too, no sputtering muffler hanging off the back constantly spewing smoak. All of those oddities pale in consideration of how fast the cars appear to be. Steve can hardly comprehend the controlled speed the cars are capable of. They can go from idling at a red light to zooming off in a matter of seconds. It’s mind-boggling.
Steve, mesmerized by contemplating the impossible cars, forgets to evade the ever-flowing stream of pedestrians and runs right into a woman. Steve has very recently (at least from his perspective) gained a lot of muscle mass and he is extremely conscious of that fact. Steve curls around the woman at impact, moving with the momentum and doing his absolute best to avoid hurting her. They stumble a few steps before Steve regains his balance and helps steady the woman.
The woman straightens her blouse and looks up at Steve who becomes immediately tongue-tied. She is absolutely gorgeous. Maybe ten or fifteen years older than Steve with shiny, auburn hair and glimmering hazel eyes. She takes one look at Steve’s shamefaced and redding expression and instantly softens. If Bucky were here he’d laugh and ruffle Steve’s hair, apologize for his blunder and call him adorable all in one breath. He’s not here, of course, because well…
Anyways, the woman is charmed by Steve’s contrite appearance and smiles kindly at him.
“So sorry ma’am,” Steve babbles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. He barely resists the urge to shift from foot to foot. This woman makes him feel like he did when his mama caught Steve and Bucky in the middle of trekking mud through their tiny apartment.
“Not to worry, Captain,” the woman says easily, waving away Steve’s worries with a dismissive flick of her wrist. Steve begins to smile at her in thanks before he catches the title she used. He freezes in place, slowly tensing for a fight. “I have a young nephew who is all long limbs and no coordination.”
“You know me, ma’am?” Steve questions tightly, feeling the absence of his shield like a physical weight. The woman pauses mid-laugh, peering up at him through gold-rimmed glasses.
“Sorry to break it to you Captain, but most of America knows your face,” she informs him, smiling apologetically. Steve deflates slightly, confused. “You’re in all the history books I’m afraid. Not to mention the news has been running stories about discovering you for days now.”
“Oh,” Steve manages after a second, the knowledge of his fame smacking him in the face once again. It was easy to forget about how renowned Captain America is in the war. The Howling Commandos didn’t give a rats’ ass and Bucky’s sharp glare subdued any starstruck soldiers. The only time Steve was ever truly confronted with his stardom was on leave and Peggy Carter's commanding presence was an exceptionally effective deterrent.
“Where were you heading in such a rush?” The woman asks after a couple of increasingly awkward minutes of watching Steve flounder. Steve’s eyes widen comically at the reminder of the very real shady organization hunting him. The woman stiffens at Steve's unfortunately visible distress. He usually has a better poker face, but recent circumstances have made him understandably flustered. Bucky would argue Steve has never possessed a decent poker face, but his opinions are biased and therefore worthless. Were biased…
Anyways, the woman clearly isn’t convinced by the reassuring smile Steve tries to send her and levels a piercing stare at him. The urge to shuffle like a misbehaving schoolboy makes a reappearance with shocking strength.
“Is somebody chasing you, Captain?” The woman demands, puffing up in righteous anger. Steve is vividly reminded of Bucky reenacting how Steve looks when he is preparing to jump headfirst into a fight full of indignant fury. Bucky will love this woman, Steve can already tell. Or he would have…
Anyways, the woman allows Steve two attempts to deny the acquisition full of stammering and eye contact avoidance before she nods decisively and gestures for Steve to follow her.
“Come on, Captain,” she calls, already marching back to where she came from. “I have a place you can hide out in.”
“Steve, please,” Steve says, resigned and grateful in equal measure. The woman looks at him inquisitively, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re going to be sheltering me you should drop the Captain, ma’am.”
“Call me May then,” the woman- May decides, grinning at him. “May Parker.”
Peter Parker had a clear outline for his Saturday. He was going to wake up fairly early, eat breakfast with Aunt May, pack his legos, and head to the food shelter where Aunt May works. Once at the shelter he was going to find a quiet corner and pass the day inventing creation after creation. Captain Freaking America trailing into the shelter behind Aunt May pretty solidly threw a wrench in his carefully laid out plans.
After Peter gets past the initial fanboy phase and recalibrates his breathing, he realizes the Captain looks a little bit like a lost puppy. He’s ogling everything around him with really big eyes. His gaze gets particularly stuck on the more technical items like the fridge and microwave. Aunt May said when he crashed his plane and saved hundreds of lives it was 1945. So it makes sense that he’s confused by all the advanced machinery. Peter would be too if he woke one day to find flying cars and robots walking around.
Aunt May is talking quietly to the Captain, showing him where the food is located and how to use the sink. Peter takes advantage of their distraction to study The Captain America. He looms just as large as Peter’s history teacher said he would. Aunt May looks tiny next to the Captain’s bulging muscles and tall frame. He has sandy blond hair that is clipped super short. He’s wearing tan cargo pants, brown work boots, and a white shirt that looks like it's barely refraining from ripping in half.
He’s kind of hunched over, trying to be perceived as smaller than he actually is. He looks uncomfortable, out of place, and a little bit scared. If Peter’s being perfectly honest, Captain America strongly reminds him of the nervous new students on the first day of school. Peter springs to his feet, decision made. He has never let the new kids feel isolated and alone without trying to help and Captain America won’t be treated any different. Even if he happens to be one of Peter’s heroes and causes Peter to wipe his sweaty hands several times on the trek over.
Aunt May catches sight of him first, she beckons Peter closer happily. Captain America turns sharply to examine the approaching person and relaxes when he spots Peter. Peter has never had cause to be thankful for his gangly appearance before now. His awkward preteen vibe makes for an unthreatening persona.
“Steve,” Aunt May says, casually blowing Peter’s mind by addressing The Captain America by name. “This is Peter, my nephew.”
“Nice to meet you,” Peter chirps, waving perhaps a tad shyly. Captain America says the same and graces Peter with an endearing, dimple-cheeked grin. Peter is suddenly confronted with the knowledge that it’s possible to feel protective of superheroes. This is new information for Peter, it takes a second for him to digest it.
“Well, I’ve got to get back to work,” Aunt May sighs, shrugging in her signature ‘what can you do?’ manner. Aunt May squeezes the Captain’s shoulder comfortingly and presses a kiss to Peter’s head before ambling off. Captain America shoots the room, in general, a moderately accusing look before beginning to search the kitchen. Peter watches him for a couple of minutes before commenting.
“What are you doing?” Peter asks, hopping up onto the kitchen counter.
“Trying to find an alternative exit,” Captain America sighs, looking over at him from where he’s fiddling with a window.
“That doesn’t open,” Peter informs him helpfully, reaching for a bag of chips.
“Yeah, I gathered that,” Captain America mutters under his breath, but Peter still hears it. He has exceptionally good hearing, Aunt May said so.
“Why don’t you leave through the front entrance?” Peter questions, munching on his Doritos.
“Because your Aunt May is there and doesn’t want me to leave,” Captain America explains ruefully. Aunt May is a very stubborn person and the captain has a very slim chance of succeeding if Aunt May doesn’t want him to. Peter doesn’t tell him that though, Aunt May says she is very capable of fighting her own battles.
“Why do you want to leave?” Peter asks. Captain America comes over from the window. He leans against the counter beside Peter and Peter offers him a bag of chips.
“It's not safe for me to be here,” Captain America announces, and Peter stares at him, alarmed.
“We would never hurt you!” Peter exclaims hurriedly, rushing to reassure him. Captain America laughs softly, shaking his head.
“No, Peter, I know that,” the Captain says, and Peter is momentarily dazzled by the sound of his name on his hero’s lips. “I meant it’s not safe for you.”
“Well Aunt May would never put me in danger and she always does the right thing,” Peter declares, stating what he thinks to be universal law. Captain America hums, tasting a chip with a dubious expression. He seems to enjoy the taste and a second chip quickly follows. Note to self: Captain America likes Lays Potato Chips.
When the air between them grows too stifling for Peter to bear, he hops off the counter and faces the Captain.
“Want to help me finish building a rocket with legos?” Peter asks, flashing his best smile. Captain America looks immediately relieved and pushes off the counter as well.
“I would love to,” he agrees, following Peter back to his special corner.
This is going to be the best Saturday ever.
Several sharp knocks on her front door interrupt May Parker’s relaxing evening. On the way to answer the door, May picks up her baseball bat and taser. Steve and Peter are out playing in Central Park and all her friends would have called ahead. May has been expecting something like this to happen ever since she took in the newly thawed superhero. She wasn’t going to just let the scared young veteran who was completely without support face the wolves of New York alone.
Steve Rogers, stripped of his titles and legend, is a WWII soldier just back from deployment. He needs support, a routine, and a calm way to experience the simple joys of modern life. Steve is absolutely fascinated with the advances in cooking techniques and art supplies. Everything else has him wary and requires a patient hand to teach him. Peter has eagerly taken over that duty, treating slowly coaching Steve through using his phone as the highest of honors. The boys will spend hours every night pouring over Wikipedia pages and history documentaries detailing the last seventy years.
Peter has crafted a list of the most important movies and tv shows for Steve to watch, and they’ve been steadily working through them during the weekends. May usually joins them. They’ll snuggle squished on the lumpy couch in the living room, buried under blankets and weighed down with bowls of popcorn. Steve has taken over cooking for the Parker and co trio. Steve cooks and May procures the ingredients. Steve declared all grocery stores hell on earth after he spent ten minutes trying to find milk.
May has almost convinced Steve to check out the group meetings at the VA, and Peter is trying to persuade him to join social media. Steve has been camped out on the futon in the converted office for three weeks now. Every day he gains confidence in navigating the world. He’s just beginning to find his footing in a foreign, confusing city, and May isn’t going to let anyone undermine the progress he’s made. Whether the interfering body is nosy reporters, imperious government officials, or menacing spies.
May checks her peephole before opening the door. An unassuming gentleman in a nice suit is waiting patiently on her welcome mat. Behind him is a stunning redhead with a dangerous energy. She’s dressed in a skin-tight black suit. May can clearly see multiple weapons stashed in holsters along her person, though she wouldn’t be surprised if the majority of the woman’s weapons were hidden from view.
May considers calling Steve in for backup for about half a second before figuring they probably know she’s alone in the apartment anyway and bringing Steve here would undermine her efforts to protect him. May tightens her grip on her bat and taser, opens the door a crack, and directs an unimpressed glare at the man.
Natasha Romanoff prepared herself for a great many possibilities before confronting the woman who helped secrete Captain America away. She was expecting an easily manipulated, absentminded, single aunt who was swept up in the drama of helping a national hero. Natasha also considered the prospect of finding a lustful woman enamored with the Captain’s sweet face and chiseled body. She was not, however, anticipating a well-educated, willful woman who is more concerned with protecting the Captain than profiting from him.
Coulson is surprised as well. He hides it expertly, but Natasha has worked with him long enough to be able to read his micro-expressions. The slight uptick of his eyebrow indicates puzzlement, the widening of his eyes admonishment, and the gentle softening of his jaw means he’s pleased. May Parker took two professionally trained spies’ predictions, tore them up, spit on them for good measure, and then hurled the predictions right out the window. Natasha finds herself mildly impressed and the woman hasn’t even fully opened the door yet.
Coulson has been trying to convince Mrs. Parker to allow them entry into her apartment for five minutes now. So far, nothing. Every well-reasoned and considerate argument Coulson throws at her is shot down with an eyebrow raised in judgment and lips pursing slightly in annoyance. The two doorway quarrelers are trapped in a stalemate, neither willing to back down. Natasha has taken refuge against a wall, her shoulder blades casually pressed to the chipping paint. One of Mrs. Parker’s neighbors opens their door curiously and asks if everything is alright. Mrs. Parker waves them away, but it doesn’t take long for another neighbor to investigate.
The growing audience finally convinces Mrs. Parker to let them in and Natasha finds herself strangely disappointed. It’s not often she gets to witness Coulson attempt to talk circles around someone and not succeed. It was immensely satisfying.
“Mrs. Parker, please, Captain Rogers cannot continue living here,” Coulson tries again, his voice egging into despair for the first time in Natasha’s memory. Mrs. Parker perched on one of her plush chairs, both legs and arms crossed. Natasha is leaning against a new wall but was offered a chair. Coulson was not afforded the same privilege.
“Why?” Mrs. Parker demands, the very picture of bored and dismissive. Natasha has fallen in love.
“It’s not safe here. For you, your nephew, or Captain Rogers-”
“Agent Coulson,” Mrs. Parker interrupts, annoyed and not afraid to show it. “I’m not sure if you know, but Steve is an extremely well-trained supersoldier. We are perfectly safe with him around.”
“And what about when Steve isn’t around?” Coulson counters, barely refraining from dramatically flailing his arms. Natasha tracks him repressing the urge by the twitching of his biceps. “When he’s out for coffee or on a run, what will you do if you’re attacked then.”
Mrs. Parker looks pointedly at the discarded baseball bat and taser at her feet. Natasha’s respect for the woman goes up a couple of notches. Coulson's left eye twitches and Natasha can hear the suppressed sigh from several feet away.
“And if a bat and taser aren’t enough?” Coulson insists, trying to convey the depth of Mrs. Parker’s situation. Mrs. Parker remains unimpressed. “The people after Captain Rogers aren’t low-level thugs intimidated with flashy lights and a confident attitude, Mrs. Parker. They are truly dangerous.”
“What people, Agent Coulson?” Mrs. Parker inquires blandly, gesturing to the empty apartment. “The only uninvited guests we’ve had since Steve started staying here have been the two of you.”
“When the word gets out-”
“Agent Coulson, you are not going to convince me to send that young man out onto the streets,” Mrs. Parker cuts Phill off ruthlessly. He barely has time to close his mouth before she continues. “Or into the clutches of some shady government agency. Now, if that’s all, I think it’s far past time for you two to take your leave.”
The scraping sounds of someone trying to unlock the door cause all three occupants of the apartment to freeze. Natasha angles her body to face the door, she can see Coulson doing the same from the side of her eye. Seconds later, the door swings open and Captain America shuffles into view. His imposing presence is greatly undermined by the sleeping preteen cradled in his arms. A mesh bag is slung across his shoulder, the contents of which appear to be a soccer ball, sunscreen, and two water bottles.
Captain America, as it turns out, is not some herculean figure molded meticulously from clay. Captain America is actually a twenty-something kid with grass stains on his pants and the flushed cheeks of someone who spent a day playing in the sun. Who knew? May Parker apparently.
The child in the Captain’s arms has the same tuft of brown hair as the boy showcased in pictures around the apartment, identifying him as Peter Parker. Peter is draped across Captain Rogers’ chest, his face tucked into the crock of Rogers’ neck. Rogers looks relaxed, happy in an effortless way that’s rare to find in anybody these days. Much less supersoldiers stranded in the wrong decade.
Coulson looks utterly floored, if the man had any less composure Natasha is positive his jaw would be touching the floor. Mrs. Parker simply looks smug. Natasha mentally tips her hat at the woman.
“Hello, Steve,” Mrs. Parker greets, smiling gently at the confused supersoldier. “Some of my old friends are visiting, don’t mind them. Why don’t you put Peter to bed?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Rogers mumbles, trudging to the hallway presumably leading to the bedrooms.
“You know he definitely didn’t believe you, right?” Natasha checks, speaking for the first time. Mrs. Parker smirks, sending the hallway a knowing look.
“I know, but now wasn’t the time to explain your presence,” Mrs. Parker says, herding them to the front door. “Now, get out.”
“Give him this, please,” Coulson asks, handing Mrs. Parker a folder of documents. She eyes him suspiciously but does accept the folder. “They are the needed paperwork to get Captain Rogers legally considered alive, start bank accounts, and get his due entitlements.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Parker says gratefully, clutching the folder a little tighter. Phill nods once, giving her an almost awed smile. Mrs. Parker grins back at him and firmly shuts the door.
“Okay, first we add the baking soda,” Peter explains, pushing his safety goggles back up his nose. He’s decked out in the full ensemble, lab coat and rubber gloves protecting his body. Peter has won his school’s Science Fairs for the last three years. The next one is taking place in a couple of weeks. Peter is the reigning champion and he doesn’t intend to lose that title.
Steve already regrets agreeing to help the eleven-year-old design his project. Peter hopes to construct a baking soda volcano, but his experiment had to be better than all the rest attempted before. Peter wants the most authentic volcanic eruption he can create with the ingredients he can find in the Parker kitchen. Steve signed on to help with the visual designs and as adult supervision.
The last two hours were spent carefully building the volcano's base for Test Run #1. Peter desires to perfect his design before presenting it to the Science Fair judges. For their first attempt, Peter's main focus is going to be on the height of the eruption. Aesthetics won’t be important until they're ready for the final draft. At this point, Steve is here just to make sure nothing blows up and because he’s excited to see Peter’s creation come to life.
Peter might be one of the smartest people Steve has ever met. His mind works in a way that Steve has only ever seen before in Howard Stark. Howard’s thought process was miles ahead of everybody else. He could make connections while the rest of the room was still struggling to understand the original material. Peter is capable of the same. The constructs he can make out of legos is nothing short of architectural genius. He’s so bored in school that his teachers have started giving him homework even the high school students find difficult.
Peter also has street smarts to compliment his scholarly brilliance. Steve wouldn’t trust Howard in the wilderness by himself. The bastard would starve in a day or piss off the wrong person and get himself killed. Peter would make a water purifier out of a rock, a paper clip, and some foil. Steve can trust Peter to hold his own and find a safe place to hide until Steve can get to him.
Peter’s wit is nothing to scoff at as well. Scathing one-liners will pop out of his mouth, surprising everyone involved and usually sending Steve into peals of laughter. The clever boy could have gone toe to toe with the Comandos, matching them line for line. Bucky would have loved Peter. Steve burns with the knowledge, of how wonderful it could have been. Bucky would fit so smoothly into the family Steve stumbled upon. May would find him charming and Steve would have help in the kitchen. Bucky was always the better cook.
“Then we mix some red food dye with the vinegar,” Peter is saying, carefully measuring the needed dye. The boy is hunched over his experiment, too-long sleeves sliding past his fingers. At the moment, the volcano is a soda-liter bottle set in a mound of sand. It isn’t going to win any awards for aesthetics at the monument, but it should erupt just the same.
After the vinegar has turned a vivid red, Peter places a funnel deictically on the top of the bottle and slowly pours the vinegar in. His hands are steady and the vinegar is gone in a matter of seconds. Peter explained the chemical reaction happening in the bottle to Steve last night. He didn’t comprehend most of the scientific terms, but Steve did hear that the reaction is going to be fast and dramatic. As soon as Peter pulls the funnel free of the bottleneck, Steve grabs him by the waist and sprints for the safety zone they blocked off earlier.
He sets Peter back on his feet just in time for them to watch red liquid explode from the bottle. It shoots high into the air, twenty feet at the least, and arches like a bloody rainbow before plummeting to the ground. Peter laughs wildly, bouncing excitedly with his arms thrown up. Steve hoists the exhilarated boy onto his shoulders and does a victory lap around their setup. Walking home with their supplies stuffed in his backpack, Steve thanks god that he thought of conducting the experiment in Central Park. May would not have been pleased if they tried it in her kitchen like Peter originally planned.
Nicholas Joseph Fury mentored under Pegger Carter for several decades. The British officer founded SHIELD with the help of Howard Stark. She built the international spy agency from the ground up. She engineered elections, recruited agents, and organized assassinations. Peggy always had the best stories to tell. She could spin tales about a mission gone horribly gone in Spain or a fabulous high tea she shared with the Queen. Her favorite stores to recount, however, were about a bull-headed punk from Brooklyn.
Steve Rogers’ many ill-advised adventures featured heavily in her stories. Peggy used Captain Rogers’ impossibly successful missions as lessons too many times to count. She called him ‘aggravatingly lucky and boyishly charming’ all in one breath. She said he was a born leader, that he gave speeches that spurred the fire in your heart and called to your morals. She said he was humble and smart. One of the best strategists she ever had the pleasure of working with. Most of all, she spoke of his stubborn will and unshakable ethics.
The tesseract was stolen last night. Taken by a god who yearns to rule Earth. A war for basic freedoms as species is imminent, so close Fury can almost taste it. The world is in need of a different kind of protector, a team of super-powered individuals. A team like that needs a trusted, proven leader. A role that might just be perfect for a spitfire punk from Brooklyn.
“Captain Rogers,” Fury calls, drawing the man’s attention from a fruit stand. Rogers is dressed in pink joggers and a tank top, sweat dripping down his neck. Fury watches as the Captain eyes his figure, noting his professional aura and dismissing the possibility of Fury being a civilian. He straightens, quickly exchanges some cash for the peach in his hand, and strides over to Fury.
“Yes, and who might you be?” Rogers questions, angling his body so he towers subtly over Fury.
“Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD,” Fury informs him, a sardonic twist to his lips. Rogers blinks, taken aback, and reassesses Fury.
“What can I do for you, sir?” Rogers asks, making the sir sound like an insult.
“The tesseract,” Fury says, handing Rogers a tablet. The screen shows the tesseract’s holding room before Loki stole it, the glowing cube sits prettily on a pedal stool with scientists swarming around it in droves. Rogers rears back in shock, staring at the tesseract in a mixture of horror and rage. “What can you tell me about it?”
“Well for starters, it should be in the ocean,” Rogers says bitingly, glaring at the tablet in his hands.
“Howard Stark found it when he was searching for you,” Fury explains, leaving out the part where SHIELD confiscated it soon after. Rogers huffs, rolling his eyes.
“The tesseract is dangerous. An energy source that gave Hydra devastating weapons. It is powerful and deadly,” Rogers declares gravely, clenching his jaw. “You should have left it in the water.”
“Last night an alien stole it,” Fury announces, ignoring the Captain's muttered comment. He taps the tablet and it plays a video of Loki’s dramatic entrance. Fury has to force himself to watch as the arrogant brat of a god takes control of Hawkeye’s mind. Natasha is not going to be pleased.
“What do you want with me, Director?” Rogers asks, biting into his peach. He wipes off the bit of juice that escaped his lips with the back of his hand.
“A war is coming, Captain,” Fury remarks, his demeanor turning serious. “A war bullets and soldiers can’t win. We need a new solution. A different kind of defense.”
Fury taps the screen again, and this time the plans for the Avengers Initiative materialize. It instantly captures the Captain’s attention and Fury smirks slightly. Fish hooked.
“Pack a bag,” Fury suggests, turning away from Rogers. “I’ll send a car.”
The wind roars around Tony as he lands on the helicarrier. The metallic clang of the suit announcing his arrival. It’s been an interesting couple of days with Mr. Agent Agent crashing his celebration night with Pep and aliens invading. Tony’s betting the crazy is only just starting, though. A rage monster, a dead national hero, spies, and a billionaire all confined on a flying military base together. Surely nothing will go wrong. Natalie materializes before him thirty seconds after Tony touches down. Nice to know how much he’s trusted.
“Ah, if it isn’t my ex-assistant/would-be assailant, how are you this fine morning?” Tony’s carefully crafted drawl, (made to sound as patronizing as possible), clearly isn’t appreciated if the super spy’s glare is anything to go by. Wow, who knew super secret agents from super shady government organizations don’t possess a sense of humor? The infamous Black Widow sends an annoyed huff Tony’s way before stalking back the way she came without so much as a by-your-leave. Okay, rude.
They pass three docked quinjets on their way to wherever it is they’re going. Soldiers scurry about like ants on a hill. Fury is the queen ant in this analogy, just to be clear. They even pass a squad of privates going through PT. Poor souls. Their repressed sense of self and inflated egos do wonders for the atmosphere. The helicarrier’s doors open with a woosh and Tony is back in the safety of air conditioning. Thank the gods for small mercies.
Down a hallway, through a couple of doors, and bam, they enter an observation deck that puts all other observation decks to shame. Floor-to-cleaning windows showcase the earth’s big blue sky and fifty workstations fill the space between Tony and the spectacular view. Each one is equipped with the best technology money can buy. Tony can spot advanced processors and satellites twenty feet away. Tony hates to admit it, but this setup almost puts Stark Industries to shame. He makes a mental note to spruce up the labs. Tony won’t stand for what is clearly a personal attack to continue. SHIELD must be shown the error in such hubris.
Front and center, standing in the middle of a half-circle of touchpads, is Nicholas Joseph Fury. He’s presiding over his minions like a god of old. (Tony would later find out that the gods of old aren’t that old. And that they’re all unfairly attractive.) He turns to face Tony and Natalie before they make it out of the expansive entranceway, offering evidence for the existence of the prevailing theory that Shield's Director has enhanced senses. Even with one eye trapped behind a leather patch, Fury’s glare manages to convey his deep loathing for this situation. Tony blinks innocently back at him.
“Mr. Stark, I’m so pleased you could make it,” Fury mutters, the sarcastic undertone very clearly shining through. Fury reaches out to shake Tony’s hand and he neatly side steps, choosing to ignore said handshake in favor of ogling SHEILDs tech. Overtly, of course, Tony has a reputation to maintain after all.
“Yeah, about that,” Tony says, pressing a few buttons on one of the touchpads before gracefully ducking under the swipe Natalie aims at his head. Rude. “I thought I didn’t make the cut for your dream team, something about ‘not playing well with others’.”
“Dire circumstances, Mr. Stark. We’re being invaded by aliens and could use all the help I can scrounge up,” Fury explains tightly, gesturing for Tony to move out of his way. While Tony was conversing (annoying) with Fury, Natalie snuck off to meet the third member of the boy band. Ooooh, it's Dr. Burce Banner. What fun!
“You’re really not pulling any punches with this one, are you, Director?” Tony mummers quietly to Fury right before the duo reach them. Dr. Banner looks nervous, shooting suspicious looks at every person he passes. He’s wearing a faded purple button-up and worn jeans. Tony has to hand it to Fury, putting a man that can turn into a twelve-foot tall giant of rage in a pressurized, flying container is next-level ballsy.
“Dr. Banner,” Tony exclaims, bounding happily over to the man. Dr. Banner relaxes slightly in the face of Tony’s friendly exuberance, easily accepting Tony’s offered handshake. “Your papers on gamma radiation were fascinating. Connecting the radiation’s effects to DNA was genius. I’m also a big fan of how you turn into a big, green, rage monster.”
“Uh, thanks, I think,” Dr. Banner stammers, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck. Tony beams up at him, opening his mouth to launch his plethora of questions at the man when the doors opening again sabotage his efforts. They both turn to watch the newcomer walk in and gawk in surprise at the same time.
Captain America saunters into the observation deck, confident and poised. The Captain’s poise isn’t what’s throwing Tony off though, Steve Rogers has to have a presence to be Captain America. No, what’s confounding Tony is Rogers’ outfit. A white-knit sweater hugs his chest, soft blue-jeans cradle his legs, and bright red hightop converse cover his feet. Tony can just make out gray socks with little paint brushes peeking out the top of the converse.
Tony’s brain screeches to a halt, his breathing stutters, and for what might be the first time in existence, Tony can’t think of a single thing to say. Steve Rogers is, without a doubt, the most adorable person to ever live. His kind smile pairs perfectly with his dimples, and the almost shy aura surrounding him somehow doesn’t clash with his obvious confidence. Tony is in shock. He can die happy. Nothing will ever beat this moment.
It’s not like Tony was expecting a vein peacock in love with himself. Rogers recently started an Instagram account and has been refreshingly progressive. Once the Captain revealed himself to the general public, the floodgates were opened. In fact, it’s fair to say those particular gates will never close again. Rogers gets thousands of comments a day asking his opinions about everything from ice cream flavors to politics. Rogers has spoken about LGBTQ+ rights, racism, the school system, sexism, you name it, and he exceeds Tony’s expectations every time.
Steve Rogers has proven himself a kind, supportive, diverse guy who insists the rest of the Howling Commandos were usually the only reason their missions actually succeeded. Watching him crush bigoted, conservative dreams from afar was one thing. Being confronted with his cute face and kind deposition live and in person is apparently not something Tony’s prepared for. Tony’s palpitating heart seems to beat faster in agreement as the Captain walks over, an endearing smile on full display.
“Dr. Banner, Dr. Stark, it’s nice to meet you,” Rogers says earnestly, setting his bag down. “I’m Steve Rogers.
“Yeah, I guessed, Captain,” Dr. Banner laughs, shaking the Captain’s hand. “Every history course I took did a section on you and the Howling Commandos.”
“Right, those pesky history professors,” Rogers says, chuckling softly, his Brooklyn accent coloring his words.
Tony’s dying. He won’t survive this.
“Peggy Carter is my Aunt, Captain. I would recognize you from her flamboyant descriptions alone,” Tony divulges, and this time Rogers full-on belly laughs. Tony barely manages not to choke on air. This is not good.
“Please, call me Steve,” Rogers- er Steve says, grinning at them. Bruce and Tony say the same and then they just stand there smiling goofily at each other until Bruce gets called away. Something about tracking down their misbehaving god.
“You know, you remind me of someone,” Steve declares after a moment of surprisingly pleasant silence.
“My dad,” Tony guesses, smiling bitterly.
“Oh, uh, no actually,” Steve stammers, suddenly appearing embarrassed. “You remind me of a kid I know. His name is Peter. He’s like a little brother to me.”
“Oh,” Tony manages, immensely relieved and determinedly fighting down a blush. “Why do I remind you of him?”
“He’s wicked smart, like you,” Steve explains, shrugging casually.
“Oh,” Tony says again, losing the battle against blushing spectacularly. Well, this is inconvenient.
“Aggggggggggggggha,” Steve groans, burying his head in a couch cushion. May hums over the phone, trying to sound consoling, but Steve can still hear her laughing under her breath.
“I can’t help if you don’t explain the problem, dear,” May says, still amused.
“He’s so handsome, May,” Steve whines miserably, scrunching his nose in torment.
“Who is, dear?” May asks, the clinking of her knitting needles almost overpowering her question.
“Tony Stark,” Steve cries, sending the phone a despairing look.
“Steve, everyone knows that,” May says dryly, Steve can just picture her raised eyebrow.
“No, you don’t understand,” he insists, sitting up to more accurately illustrate his point. “He’s intelligent and cute. Jesus, is he cute. His personality fills up the whole room. May, it’s crazy. He really is just so-”
“Steve,” May interjects, exasperation edging into her tone. “Isn’t there an alien invasion going on? Where are you?”
“I’m hiding in a bathroom,” Steve admits, still a little confused about why there’s a couch in a bathroom.
“Steve, did you honestly call me in the middle of an alien invasion to complain about how attractive Tony Stark is?”
“Technically,” Steve begins, pouting at the phone. “There is only one evil alien. I’m not sure that counts as an invasion.”
“Steve,” May warns, the clinking of her needles suspiciously absent. Steve groans again, but he does stand up.
“Alright, alright,” Steve sighs, walking over to the bathroom door. “Bye, May.”
“Bye, Steve. Stay as safe as you can,” May orders, her voice wavering slightly.
“I promise.”
May has LOST one of her children. Steve isn’t really a child, of course, and she has no legal responsibility to him, but there’s been an alien invasion led by the God of Mischief, and she can’t locate one of her babies. This is no time for technicalities.
The last time May laid eyes on Steve was through the lens of a News camera. He was being hurled out of a window by the detonation of a bomb on thirty-third street, so that’s where May is headed now.
Peter is safely sheltered in their thankfully undamaged apartment waiting for May to locate and retrieve his older brother in all but blood.
The closer to Stark Tower May gets, the worse the streets become. New York has turned into a war zone. Buildings are falling apart, and huge pieces of their destroyed remains lay scattered on the ruined sidewalks. Most glass near the fighting has been utterly destroyed and May has to carefully watch her path to avoid getting cut.
Hundreds of people are gathered outside of Stark Tower. Reporters, cops, citizens, protesters, half of Manhattan must be swarming the skyscraper. The crowd is densely packed and not inclined to let her through, but May has sharp elbows and is armed with a mother’s desperation. She enters the lobby of Stark Tower three stressful minutes later. There are several bruises forming on her body that will become tender in the following days, but overall, she’s unharmed.
The lobby is relatively empty, barring an enterprising cleaning crew and a couple of cops. May reaches the elevators just as they slide open, revealing the heroes of the hour. Steve is leading the pack, dressed in an eye-watering uniform with his shield strapped to his back. Dr. Tony Stark follows soon after, the helmet the only piece missing from his Iron Man armor. Agent Natasha exists next, her skin-tight suit making a reappearance. A man with a bow and quiver slung over his shoulder walks beside her.
After the archer is the world-renowned, Dr. Bruce Banner. The man looks dead on his feet. Behind Dr. Banner is a tall blond man with muscles larger than Steve’s. He’s wearing a blood-red cape and a hammer hangs from his belt. They all look exhausted, cuts and bruises marring their faces and any visible skin.
“May!” Steve exclaims, catching sight of her. He musters up a tired smile and basically collapses in her arms. He’s shaking, his body threateningly to shut down. May’s hurt aches for him, for all of them. For the pain they just endured keeping the rest of the world safe. It can never be repaid. When Steve releases her, May walks over to Dr. Stark.
He shies away from her approach, flinching back like he’s expecting to be hit. May slowly wraps her arms around his metal-encased shoulders, and after a second, he melts into her embrace.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her words meant just for him. Dr. Stark was willing to sacrifice it all to save the city, to save her family. Flying that missile into space was a suicide mission and May will be eternally grateful he took that risk. Dr. Stark pulls away shortly after, blinking rapidly.
“We were going to get shawarma if you wanted to come,” he says, smiling a little awkwardly at her.
“Absolutely not,” May exclaims, shaking her head. “You will all come to our apartment. A nice home-cooked meal and a safe place to rest is just what you lot need.”
It takes several complicated disguises, a few cars, and just a dash of luck, but May has the newly formed Avengers secure in her apartment forty-five minutes later. Peter was relieved to see Steve relatively unharmed and back home safe. Everyone is eating now, most of them falling asleep over their plates. May considers it a job well done.