Hey everybody! So, this is an idea that's been floating around in my head since I literally dreamed it up. I'm still gonna be working on the Ryan and Loki Stories, in fact I should have another chapter up soon, and just so we're clear this is a completely different universe then those stories! Anyway, though it may be a bit confusing at first, I hope that you'll enjoy it as it goes on! As always I own nothing!
Seven Years Ago…
Night.
At a S.H.E.I.L.D base in an undisclosed location of the U.S, all is quiet, but not from calm, but from the calm before a storm.
Agents outside and inside the base hoist their guns, tense, waiting for the strike they know may come at any moment. Knowing that if it does come, they are the last line of defense.
Agent Maria Hill lifts her communicator, her voice taut, trying to hide the raging hope and the growing fear within her.
"Sir, are they coming?"
Seeming to come from the other edge of the world, Nick Fury's voice crackles through the machine. "Yeah they're comin'."
Hill breathes an audible sigh of relief, which dies in midair at Fury's next words: "They're right behind the other guys."
Hill closes her eyes, taking in a breath before answering. "Sir, if…if they aren't able to stop the attack…if we aren't able to…if-if we fail—"
"You won't fail." Fury's voice is also tight, evident even through the static of the communicator. "That's an order Agent. I don't care what you have to do, but you will fight to Doomsday if you have to. Do you hear me Hill? You will not fail."
Hill takes another breath, holds it, and even though she knows he can't see, gives a slow hopeless nod. "Yes sir."
She ends her call with Fury, and opens communications with everyone else on the base. Her voice echoes out from speakers on and within the buildings as she walks to her position on the front lines.
"Alright men, we have at most five minutes to make sure we are at maximum defensive position. Director Fury has informed me that the Avengers are in root but we've no guarantee they'll reach us before the enemy does. I want all units on full alert, if you even think you see something coming, you shoot it. I don't want anyone or anything to break through, but remember, if they do, the removal of Captain Rogers and Project Scion is our top priority. Let's move people!"
The base is a flurry of activity as guns are checked, positions taken and a crackling force field of purple energy descends down upon the base from the central tower, encasing it in a protective electric bubble. This is some of the most sophisticated technology S.H.E.I.L.D has at its disposal.
Hill prays it will be enough.
Silence fills the space before the battle begins. Hill can feel it coming, feel the cold fingers of fear crawling up her back, trying to reach in and grip at her heart. She forces it down, and raises her gun.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
She can see the chests of her fellow agents rising, soldiers who had never flinched before trying to fight down panic.
Seven. Six. Five.
Her eyes strain, trying to catch a glimpse of something, anything beyond the glowing shield of energy that might be coming their way. Is she imagining that whistling sound?
Four. Three. Two…
The first bomb drops.
It drops right on the apex of the energy shield, trying to crack the tower. Hill watches as white tongues of lighting dance across the purple dome, searching for gaps, trying to create cracks and casting strange dancing shadows on the agents below.
"They're right on top of us!" An agent has time to scream before the barrage begins in earnest, drowning out all sound except for the whistling of falling bombs and the crashing of lighting.
The tower, and the energy shield, fall within a matter of minutes. And now something new is falling toward the ground, dark shapes, like black clouds silhouetted against the remaining glow of the lighting.
"Paratroopers!" Hill cries, and let's her gun's yellow fire loose into the air, the others following without even needing ordered.
The paratroopers return fire, and despite the S.H.E.I.L.D agents marksmanship, huge numbers of them still make it to the ground, with many more continuing to stream down from the cloaked, but obviously massive airship above.
Ground fighting breaks out. Guns that can burn and freeze and vaporize fire shots across the compound, multicolored streaks of light flying in all directions. Sometimes the guns are destroyed, or lost, or even forgotten. And then fist fights breakout, people leaping at each other, rolling on the ground trying to break bones or claw eyes. Grey-blue blurs fighting against black-green ones; trying anything just to subdue their assailants.
Amidst the chaos, a new figure appears. The firing below her illuminates her face. A beautiful face, but a dark beauty, untouched by light or love. She drifts down from the sky like a terrible angel, her dark hair billowing in the wind as she descends.
She hits the ground on her feet, unfazed by the impact. She unhooks her parachute, brushes dust from her tight green uniform, and begins to stride through the combat; apparently unconcerned for her own safety. She passes unharmed through gunfire and brawling men, making her way towards the door of the central bunker.
Hill, caught up in a skirmish between two enemy combatants, is the first to notice her. She shoots one assailant before swinging her gun around to hammer down on the others head. She drops the heavy weapon as she runs, drawing a small pistol from her belt. She must reach the woman before she breaches the door.
With a cry worthy of a valkyrie she leaps into the air, raining bullets down on the woman as she approaches the entrance. The woman, alerted by the cry, turns and raises her wrists, metal bands shining with sparks as bullets fly off them.
Hill descends, crashing into the woman, straddling her chest and pinning her arms to the ground with her knees. She keeps the gun aimed toward the woman's head.
"Who do you work for?!" She cries over the gunfire.
The woman's impassive face breaks into a twisted, languid smile.
"You know who we are."
With that the woman's leg comes up, crashing into the back of Hill's skull. The gun flies from her hand, and her right knee comes up, freeing the woman's fist to come -crashing up into Hill's face. As Hill falls to the side, the woman rises. She reaches into Hill's uniform, takes out a small plastic card and continues the rest of the way to the door.
The card is swiped through a slot, the door slowly rises up. Light pours out into the night, silhouetting the woman and illuminating the battle behind her. There is a smirk, a step, and she is inside.
III
Ten stories below the battle…
At the end of a long dimly lit hallway, guarded by fifteen of S.H.E.I.L.D's best agents, a huge steel door stands, solid and strong. Behind the door is a small grayish room. The only pieces of furniture are two chairs, and a hospital bed and I.V., moved there only hours earlier along with the bed's occupant.
The occupant is in his early thirties. He is a handsome man, well muscled, blonde and blue eyed. He is a good man, caring, loyal, honest and kind. He is a symbol of hope, a person so many people aspire to be…
He is also a man whose own body has been slowly killing him for the past five years.
He lies on the bed, weariness stinging in every bone in his body as he listens to the muffled sounds of explosions far above, yet still audible even in the lowest area of the base. He feels the fluids slowly flowing into his body from the I.V. and sighs. There was a time he would have been one of the men up there, fighting to protect something. Now… now he is the one people are fighting to protect.
He turns his head to the right, glancing at the small figure huddled next to him, and grants himself a small smile. Well, not the only one.
He reaches his arm around the rooms only other occupant, a boy. He is young, barely ten years old. His youthful face is grim. He is trying to be brave, trying to hide the fear he so obviously feels; because despite his stoic expression, his small shoulders are trembling.
The boy looks up, green eyes meeting blue. "Do you think they'll get in Steve?"
Steve Rogers pulls the boy closer, resting his head on his chest, and runs a hand through the child's sandy blonde hair.
"I dunno kid…maybe…"
The boys bites his lip, and moves closer against the side of the man holding him. He is silent for a moment, and then,
"W-what'll we do if they do get in? If the 'Vengers can't get us out in time…then what?"
Now it is Steve turn for silence. His eyes turn to the ceiling, knowing that somewhere above him, somewhere outside in the gunfire and darkness, people are dying to try and keep him and this child safe. He hopes, he prays, that those lives being given are not being given in vain.
He tightens his grip on the boy's shoulders, and raises him up so that he can look him in the eye. When he answers, his voice is stronger than it's been in a long time.
"Christopher, I promise you that whatever happens, we'll be together. Remember that, alright? Even…even if you can't see me, or touch me or hear me…I'll be there for you, ok?"
He reaches out a finger and taps the boy's chest, a sad smile crinkling the corner of his tired eyes.
"Right here."
Christopher nods, as though he understands. Steve can see he doesn't.
But now there is no time to explain, now there are new explosions, closer now, and coming even more so. Cries come down the hall; there are sounds of struggling, shooting, dying .Right outside their door.
And now, there is silence. One terrible, horrible, grating moment of silence, in which Steve once again pulls Christopher close to his chest. He has just enough time to whisper-
"Together, always."
And then the silence is shattered as the steel door is blown off its hinges.
III
It's the noise that awakens her, the whirling, whining noise that comes down from the sky and only ceases when it lands next to her.
The next thing Maria Hill knows is a pair of cold metal arms gripping her, smoothing back her hair from her face.
A mechanically altered voice cuts through the fog in her head, bringing her out of the dark of unconsciousness and back into the dark of night and battle. She looks out at the fray, and as her sight returns she can see the tide has turned.
The Hulk and the Asgardian are taking huge numbers with each blow of a fist or strike of a hammer. Barton is shooting down the paratroopers before they're even near the ground, and Romanov is leading the rest of the agents in driving back those left over.
And Tony Stark is calling out her name as he lifts her from the ground.
"Hill, Hill you still with me?"
She looks up into the shining metal face before her, and struggles to speak, wets her mouth and spits out the blood.
"S-Stark…they got in…"
In less than a second she's been traded into the arms of a nearby agent, and the man of iron is shooting into the open door way and down the hallway, the flames of his rockets leaving scorch marks in the walls and floor.
She hopes without hope that he'll be fast enough.
III
The woman looks into the room, taking in the sight of the man and child lying on the bed. She steps over the body of agent, (one of the many in a long trail behind her), and into the room.
"So…" she says, eyeing the pair. "You are the famous Captain America?"
She scoffs, as if she doesn't believe the words. She begins to move around the bed, slowly, calmly, like a snake trying to calm its prey before it strikes. She speaks slowly too, almost conversationally, but there is venom in her voice, flowing just beneath the surface, poisoning every word.
"You know I grew up hearing stories about you, about all the times you save the day, the world…Now look at you, dying, in a hole, like the vermin you are!"
"Shut up!"
She glares at the boy who has dared to speak out at her. Her hand flies out, and the flat of her hand crashes against his face.
With a cry of pain, he falls to the floor, a hand clasped to his stinging cheek.
She sneers, and turns back to the once great man lying on the bed, and her sneer falters. She did not know such blue eyes could contain such dark and burning fury. Without even meaning to, she takes a step backwards.
"Lady…" the captain's voice is soft as a whisper, and cold as iron. He is no longer lying exhausted on the mattress, but is gripping the bars of the bed, lifting himself up so that he could look at her eye to eye.
"I don't usually hold with hitting women, but in your case…"
His hand reaches behind him, grasping at something under his pillow. The woman notices, and without taking her eyes off of the man before her, begins to reach for her pistol…
"I'll make an exception!"
She has a split second for her eyes to register a blur of whirling red, white and blue before there is a clash on metal on skull, and then there is only pain, and blackness.
III
Steve's head falls back down upon the bed, worn out beyond anything he'd felt for years. His breath comes out in short gasps, beads of sweat roll down his face. He can feel his chest contracting painfully, and knows there must not be much time left.
He turns his head, and reaches a hand down to where Christopher had fallen. He feels the small hand slip into his, and allows himself a tight smile as the child's face reappears, red and tear stained, but otherwise unharmed.
"Hey…" his voice sounds tight and raspy, and he grips the child's hand tightly. "You ok?"
There is a nod, and the boy crawls back onto the bed, casting a quick glance at the fallen woman lying crumpled on the floor.
"Y-yeah…yeah I'm ok…You?"
Steve's heart sinks as he ponders how to answer this question. How badly he wants to lie, to tell him it'll be alright.
"I…"
He shakes his head. No…
He reaches out, cupping the boys face in his hands. There's so much he wants to say, and so little time to say it. He struggles with himself, and finally opens his mouth, willing whatever
"Chris…promise me, promise me that no matter what happens…you'll never forget who you are… I hoped I'd have more time with you…but it's your turn now."
The boy's green eyes stare at him in confusion, and growing fear.
"Wha-What do you mean?"
Steve smiles, a smile mixed of sadness and love, and pulls the boy's head down close to his, placing a kiss on his forehead.
"You're my hero Chris… and I know you're going to be a great Captain America… I love you kid."
He gives up one long sigh, as if exhaling a lifetime of weariness in one breath… and then Steve Rogers, Captain America, truly became the Man out of Time.
Christopher's green eyes widen, his head shakes in disbelief, his body shakes from racking sobs that are growing from somewhere deep inside him, threatening to overwhelm his small frame. He falls onto the still chest of the man, his fists clenching at Steve shirt, his eyes watering it with his tears, his muffled voice begging, pleading for him to come back.
A noise outside the door alerts Christopher that he is no longer alone. Not caring if the noise comes from friend or foe, not caring for anything except the fact that his world has been forever shattered; he raises his face to stare with bleary eyes at the stunned face of Tony Stark.
"You're too late…" He manages to whisper around the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. "He's gone…"
III
NOW…
A tall, sandy haired teenager stood on the hill before the simple tombstone, ignoring the multicolored bursts of fireworks and cheering coming from the nearby park. His green eyes took in the words inscribed on the stone as the bursting lights illuminated them.
Steven Grant Rogers
July 4th 1922-August 8th 2017
Son and Soldier
Christopher 'Chris' St. Just smiled at the simple epitaph, he knew Steve would have appreciated it more than that huge monument they'd given him in Arlington. He sat down in front of the stone, and placed a small bouquet of white roses next to it.
"Hi Steve, sorry I'm late…"
Well, there you have it! I hope you like the first chapter! More to come soon I hope! Reviews are always welcome!