If No One Else Will

by Uozumi

An alternate universe in which Steve joins the Monuments Men program instead of becoming a super soldier and Bucky goes with him to Italy in 1943. When Nazis capture Bucky, a series of events occur that adjust the world for the gap Steve's choice leaves behind.

Title If No One Else Will
Author Uozumi
Fandom Avengers/Captain America/MCU/X-Men
Character(s)/Pairing(s) Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Peggy Carter, Howling Commandos, Phil Coulson, Raven Darkholme, Chester Phillips, Steve Rogers, Howard Stark; Steve/Bucky
Genre Alternate Universe/Drama/Historical/Romance/Science Fiction/Slash
Rating PG-13
Word Count 12,034
Disclaimer Everything involved in this fic is copyright Marvel and its various partners
Summary An alternate universe in which Steve joins the Monuments Men program instead of becoming a super soldier and Bucky goes with him to Italy in 1943. When Nazis capture Bucky, a series of events occur that adjust the world for the gap Steve's choice leaves behind.
Warning(s) smoking, ableism, homophobia, medical distress, racial slur, body horror, violence, death, medical experimentation, fire, potential spoilers for Captain America: The First Avenger, Avengers, Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Notes As I was watching Monuments Men (2014), I started to think about how MCU Steve's got an art degree and my brain just started running with the concept until I felt like it made enough sense to turn into a fic. I admit I'm going to take some liberties with MCU canon and history, but I did look up a lot of stuff for this so I hope the fic works. I decided to go with deaf!Clint because that's what I grew up with. I mean I know we have no basis in MCU for him to be deaf, but we don't know for certain that he's not deaf either.

Work Text:

If No One Else Will

It was raining. Steve's body ached. The rain was cold and felt good against his flushed face. His heart raced even though he must have lain in the mud for a long time. There was pain between his eyes and he snuffled with congestion. He remained in the mud and closed his eyes, concentrating on relaxing. He did not want an asthma attack, but he never did believe the doctors that it was psychosomatic and psychological therapy could prevent such a thing.

"Bucky?" he asked hoarsely. There was no answer. Steve frowned. "Hey, Buck?" he asked a little louder. Again, no answer. Steve felt his body tense and his heartrate speed up even more. He tried to force himself to calm down. He slowly sat up and assessed where he was. He was in an Italian graveyard near a small stone church. His bag and kit were nearby where they fell when he had to attempt to run. He saw no sign of anyone.

Steve took a deep breath and found his handkerchief, blowing his nose into the soaked fabric. There were puddles all around him. He stood up slowly and walked towards puddles in the mud. He squinted and decided they looked like footprints. It looked like there were a lot of footprints, maybe a struggle. He saw a hand print in the mud where someone fell. He found Bucky's pack and then saw two sets of prints flanking what looked like drag marks. The pack Bucky carried with their provisions were nowhere to be found.

Steve felt his chest tighten painfully. He gasped, coughed, and wheezed. He had smoked an asthmatic cigarette that morning, but the herb blend could only do so much against the rain. He stumbled back to his own pack, falling into the mud as it became increasingly harder to breathe. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Steve gestured to his bag and continued to wheeze. The priest opened Steve's bag and found the Benzedrine inhaler.

The drug made the pain in Steve's chest worse and his head light as his heart raced ever farther. He gasped for breath and eventually found it. The priest helped him into the church and then retrieved Steve and Bucky's bags. Steve mumbled something in broken Italian about lying down and the priest allowed it. Steve stretched out on one of the pews and tried to slow his heartrate. He closed his eyes.

Almost two years ago, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. Steve tried very hard to enlist, but asthma was considered a mental illness and his heart problems, eyesight, deafness, and family medical history was too troubling for service. One of his professors from art school told Steve about the Monuments, fine Arts, and Archives program that initiated earlier that year. Steve had an art degree and a desire to do something to subvert the Nazis. He could still remember Bucky's face when he told him.

"What?" Bucky had asked. They were walking back together from Bucky's work where he helped build engines. Steve spent the day helping his professor get ready to go to Italy.

"I'm going to go to Europe and keep the Nazis from fucking with culture," Steve said. "I mean think about all the stuff they're going to steal and destroy. I guess I can't punch Nazis in the face, but I can keep them from erasing our allies' pasts."

Bucky frowned. He studied Steve's face and put his hands in his pockets. "I'm going with you," he said.

"What do you know about art?" Steve asked. "Going to cover the temple of Asklepios with camo?"

Bucky snorted. "I'm not sure what that looks like, but we could always fill it with cotton and hope for the best." He put an arm around Steve's shoulders. "You tell me what to do. I'll carry stuff. We'll save the Louvre from these bastards."

Steve was pretty sure the Louvre was already a hundred steps ahead of them, but he let his shoulder relax. "I've talked to my professor. She's going to help get us over there too." He set his jaw. It was not how he wanted to confront the Nazis, but it was more than the military would allow.

When Steve opened his eyes in the church, he could still hear the rain. He sat up and removed the blanket that the priest placed over him. The priest was at the front of the chapel sweeping. Steve rubbed his forehead to try and relieve pressure on his sinuses.

The priest said something nearby. When Steve did not respond readily, the priest repeated a little louder, "Soldato?"

"No," Steve answered. "Artista." He stretched slightly, trying to relieve the pain in his back. Even sleeping in a normal bed aggravated his scoliosis. Lying on the ground and sleeping on benches made it even worse.

"Per favore," the priest said and motioned for Steve to follow him before slowly walking out of the chapel. Steve folded the blanket and followed. The priest led Steve to a dining area. There was warm broth and other food meant to help Steve's congestion.

"Grazie," Steve said. He took small but grateful portions.

The priest did not speak English. Steve spoke enough Italian to communicate the most basic things and answer the most common questions. Steve's heart was no longer racing, but his mind was. He knew the longer he remained here, the less information he would have to find Bucky. He also knew if he did not rest, he would not be able to help Bucky either. He helped the priest clean and did what he could to repay his host before leaving in the morning.

Bucky's pack was significantly heavier than Steve's. Steve could not carry both. He took some things from Bucky's pack and put them in his own for when he found Bucky again. Steve tracked the drag marks until it lead to the road. He could not tell which way they took Bucky. He looked for their motorbike, but it was gone. Steve set out on foot and tried not to think about why the soldiers did not take him as well.

Steve moved slower and rested more frequently than he would like. He watched for signs of threat and any vehicles. He heard an animal muffled in the distance. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and he stopped walking. After a few minutes, the roar repeated, closer this time, but Steve could not hear it clearly enough to identify it. His heart rate increased. Something about the noise sounded out of place in southern Italy.

A car horn sounded several times. Steve managed to get out of the middle of the road before the jeep screeched to a halt beside him.

"What the hell are you doing?" the driver asked. Steve recognized him as Howard Stark. Howard had a woman officer beside him in the jeep. Her eyes were looking in the direction of the roars Steve heard.

"I'm trying to get to…I don't even know," Steve said. "My friend got taken by the Nazis. I've got to find him."

There was another roar. Peggy looked at Howard. "He's coming closer," she said. Her eyes shifted to Steve and then returned to Howard. "He's one of the people helping with art restoration. I remember his description in the report."

"What?" Howard asked Peggy. He then eyed Steve. "Can't leave you out in the open anyway. Not with that thing roaming. Get in the back."

Steve heaved his pack and kit into the back and then climbed in just in time for Howard to speed off down the road.

"Are you ready?" Howard asked Peggy.

"Of course," Peggy said. She had a gun at the ready on her lap.

"What's going on?" Steve asked. He tried to find a way to sit in the jeep to minimize the pain of each jostle.

"It's more of a show than tell," Howard said. "You won't believe it until you see it."

Peggy made sure her gun was cocked and brought it up, her body reaction to something on their left. Steve followed where her gun pointed and then he began to hear thumping coming rapidly towards them from mountains. The creature was very, very large and muscular. It charged towards them. Peggy shot and a dart hit the creature in the chest. The creature grabbed the dart and crushed it in its fist.

xxx"Shit," Howard said. "Shit! Hold your fire," he said. He then made a three point turn as best the jeep would make one. "Okay, you can shoot again."

Peggy shot the creature again, but it did not slow. The creature reached out for the bumper. Steve grabbed his metal kit full of art and medical supplies and hurled it as best he could into the creature's face. The creature stumbled back and the kit fell onto the road. The creature paused and Peggy hit it with another dart to the neck.

The creature stumbled and then staggered. Howard got a good distance from it before gradually slowing the jeep. The creature continued to wobble around, slowly shrinking and changing until a naked man fell face first into the mud.

"Holy shit," Steve said. He glanced at Peggy. "Sorry."

"Nothing I haven't heard before," Peggy said. She got out of the jeep along with Howard. Steve followed. They approached the man. Steve retrieved his kit and Peggy took the pulse of the naked man. Howard and Peggy conversed quietly while Steve took in the area around them.

Peggy eventually approached Steve after helping Howard put the man in the back of the jeep.

"I suppose it's classified," Steve said.

"Yes," Peggy said. "I'm Peggy Carter. That's Howard Stark. If the Nazis did take your friend, they've probably taken him into enemy territory. We can take you to Naples. It's the farthest north we've liberated."

Steve frowned. "Thanks," he said. He shifted his weight. When Peggy smiled, he gripped the kit tighter, hoping he would not drop it awkwardly. He followed Peggy back to the jeep. Howard had thrown a blanket over the naked man who was still unconscious.

"When will he wake up?" Steve asked.

"Uh…I don't know," Howard said. "He can see reason. I don't think he'll transform in the jeep."

Steve got in the back, Peggy got in the front of the jeep, and they were off towards Naples.

When they arrived at Naples, Steve sneezed. He let out a small groan, but sneezing was always a good sign that his sinuses might just unclog. His work in Europe was a partnership with the military, but did not make Steve part of the military. The archivists, art historians, and other experts entered liberated cities and worked to rectify the damage done to the cities during the war. Steve was not an expert, but he was there so he could help the experts do what they assessed had to be done.

The brunt of the air raids over Naples happened earlier that year. Naples was an Axis port until it was liberated. Only two months ago, while targeting a submarine base, the Allies destroys Santa Chiara, a basilica that had been a part of Naples since the 1300's. The basilica was still in ruins. It wouldn't be until ten years later that the reconstruction finished. Steve looked at it. It was supposed to be his first project, but his mind kept going back to Bucky. Steve knew if Bucky was still alive, he must be somewhere horrific and hellish.

Steve headed into the city. He was not sure where the information he needed was, but he had to find it. If helping the Santa Chiara really was his only option right now, he could respect that and work on it, but he did not think it was. Bucky came to protect him and Steve knew he had to protect Bucky now.

Steve rounded a corner and almost walked into Peggy. She grasped his arm briefly to keep him from falling. "Sorry," she said. "I should have been watching."

"It's fine," Steve said. "Are you looking for that thing again?"

Peggy shook her head. "No," she said. "I heard that there was an American asking a lot of questions," she said. "They said he wasn't military."

Steve pulled his handkerchief out in time to sneeze into it. "Excuse me," he said and blew his nose. He put the handkerchief back in his pocket and tried not to sniff on reflex. "Yeah," he said. "I need to find out where the closest Axis prison is," Steve said. "I figure if Bucky's anywhere, he's got to be there, right? Why take him to Germany?"

"What are you going to do if you find out where he is?" Peggy asked. She began ushering them subtly towards the breeze from the sea, thinking that might help Steve's airways.

"Rescue him," Steve said. He put his hands in his pockets. The weather was a little warmer than New York at the same time of year. "I know I'm not a soldier, but I'm not going to make Bucky wait until this is all over. I'm not taking him home in a box."

Peggy held his gaze. Steve mentally counted in his head, waiting for her eyes to soften and for her to put a hand on his shoulder. Instead, Peggy's eyes looked around them and she touched his arm very briefly. "I can't talk you out of it, can I?"

"No, ma'am," Steve said.

"Then come with me," Peggy said. "If you want to get to your friend, you've got to move quickly."

"Is there going to be a raid?" Steve asked. His legs were shorter than Peggy's, but he kept up with her swift pace.

"I can't tell you that. I shouldn't be telling you what I'm going to tell you either," Peggy said, "but I'd rather you do this with good information than do this with bad information."

Steve knew it might also be so he would not be in the way depending on what the Allies planned to do next. Peggy led him to a subsided building. Inside there were structures in place to keep it from collapsing. Peggy hit the door with her boot twice and then knocked normally. Howard answered and let them in, opening the door as little as possible.

When the door closed, Howard asked, "The artist?"

"He would end up at the facility on his own," Peggy said.

"So, this is more than just Bucky," Steve said.

Howard and Peggy looked between each other and then Howard said, "That big guy you saw, there are two others. One of them is in a research facility just north of here, that's probably where your friend is. We need to get the creature back before Hydra figures out how to create their own."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. "What are they? The one in the jeep was a man."

"They were supposed to be super soldiers," Howard said. "Three different candidates, no criminal records, none of them ever raised a hand to a woman. No alcoholics. The head of the project was adamant, they all be exceptional, good men, men above others." He ran a hand through his hair. "At first we thought nothing happened, then the third man turned into that creature on the floor. He destroyed everything when a bomb went off. We found the others, they could change too, all of them monsters when we were hoping for the ultimate soldier."

Steve frowned. He looked around the room. It was someone's home but it was empty of things people could carry easily. Howard had his own things spread out that looked as though they could easily roll right back up and go away with Howard in a rush if necessary. "What makes you think Bucky's there?" Steve asked. "Why not a POW camp?"

Peggy held Steve's gaze. "Your friend fits the definition of a super soldier candidate. They probably watched both of you a while before acting," she said. She watched Steve's frown deepen farther. "We will supply you with a means into enemy territory and supplies. We can't offer much more."

"You're very confident in me," Steve said, "or desperate." He pulled out his handkerchief in time to sneeze into it. He could feel his sinuses popping as they continued to drain slowly. "No troops?"

"Too many people and they'll notice," Peggy said. "We have someone who can sneak you in. Your size will be your advantage."

They began laying out the plan to Steve, giving him enough details that he could say no if he chose while divulging only things Steve would need to know. Steve's decision to rescue Bucky never wavered.

"How will I defend myself if I get caught?" Steve asked. "I don't know how to shoot."

"What kind of fighting do you know?" Howard asked.

"Street stuff," Steve said. "Usually grab whatever's available and try my best."

Howard nodded. He started rummaging through his files of things. "When we get you suited up, I'm going to bring you something." He eyed Rogers. "You're what? Five-foot-two? Over a hundred pounds?"

"Yeah," Steve said. He watched Howard approach and start to slowly circle him, analyzing Steve's body. "What are you doing?" Steve asked.

"Thinking," Howard said.

"We would like to move in the next three days," Peggy said. "We'll need to make sure you're prepared as much as you can be."

Steve nodded. He shifted his weight to help ease the ache in his back. "Alright. When do we start?"

"We can start now," Peggy said. "There's a place outside of the city we can use for training."

Howard began rolling up his things, making what he brought as compact as possible so he could fit them all in his bag. "What I have to do should take a day, maybe two if the Nazis try to retake the line."

"We'll leave with a five minute delay," Peggy said. "I'll rendezvous with you two blocks south of here," she told Steve.

Steve nodded and headed for the location. When he was gone, Howard latched his bag. "Dr. Erskine would have liked him," he said.

Peggy nodded. "Yes," she said. "I'm glad we aren't turning him into another monster."

Everything that Peggy gave Steve belonged to the military with the exception of a blue helmet with an A on it that she got from a dancing girl passing through. Peggy built on what Bucky taught Steve about fighting, adding techniques that could utilize Steve's size to his advantage. They sat on the ground after training on the second day. They took regular breaks so Steve would not aggravate his asthma if possible to conserve his inhalers. Steve was drinking a ration of raw liver juice, which would give him an enzyme his body lacked, which helped absorb B12. Without B12, he risked brain damage and death.

"What does that taste like?" Peggy asked.

"Blood," Steve said, "mostly." He drank it down as quickly as possible. "They used to make me drink more of it. Maybe in another twenty-some years, they'll have a pill or something." He wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked towards the north. "If they inject him with that stuff, what happens next?" he asked.

Peggy smoothed out her skirt and considered her words. "When you return, both of you will be under quarantine and observation. There will be tests to make sure neither of you turn into monsters. When a monster, the subject loses their sense of humanity. We need to make sure for the safety of everyone, we find all the monsters."

"And cage them indefinitely?" Steve asked.

"Until an anti-serum is derived," Peggy said.

Steve frowned. He wondered what he was going to do if Bucky transformed into one of those things. He could not imagine it. Peggy touched Steve's arm briefly and he looked at her before following her gaze. They both stood.

Howard approached them swiftly, waving. He spoke in a hushed, hurried whisper that Steve could not discern. Then Howards unstrapped a shield that was ever so slightly wider than Steve's shoulders from his back and presented it to Steve.

"It's a metal from Wakanda, I got the last of it," Howard continued, this time loud enough for Steve to hear him.

Steve took the shield carefully. It was heavy and he almost dropped it. He put his left arm through the straps in the back of the shield. It was made in such a way, it made Steve think of a giant flying disc toy. He stepped back from Howard and Peggy and moved around with the shield, getting a feel for it.

"What do you think?" Howard asked.

Steve strapped it to his back. His uneven shoulders became more pronounced. It reminded him of his very short-lived paperboy days before the stock market crash. "It's good," Steve said. He thought he could manage it better than a gun and no shield. "I'll bring it back in one piece."

"You better," Howard said. "I don't want to deal with something that could break the strongest metal on Earth."

When the day came for Steve to infiltrate the research facility, Peggy and Howard helped him into a very large crate filled with bandages. They were going to sneak him into a cargo shipment to the research facility via a double agent. Steve knew once his crate transferred to a van, he would be on his own with only the Axis around him.

It was cramped in the crate. There was a special removable shelf above Steve's head piled with bandages. There were little tiny slits in the box that looked natural and allowed him to breathe. Steve closed his eyes. The trip was long. He could hear muffled Italian and German as he sat, waiting for transfer. Once on the van, it took him north to the Monti della Laga, a mountain range north east of Rome. The ride became increasingly bumpy as the van climbed into the mountains towards the research facility.

Eventually, the van stopped, but Steve had to remain in his crate. His legs ached and he was tired of the shield laying against his arm. There were more muffled voices and people transferred his crate somewhere presumably in the research facility. Steve's heart began to palpitate. He kept his eyes closed and tried to keep his breathing calm. Someone set his crate down and walked away. Steve kept listening. He had to wait for an hour until he could leave the crate to ensure he might be alone. Then he heard something overhead, a thumb and then several scoots. Steve's heartbeat increased even farther and he began to sweat. Someone set a crate on top of him. It made sense. He was a crate of bandages. There were probably more and they would be so stackable.

Steve opened his eyes and looked at the interior of his crate. The little slits let in very minimal light, but enough that he could tell he was blocked from behind, above, and his sides. Straight ahead, he could still see the slits. He closed his eyes and tried to calmly count to 3600 slowly to mark an hour. Steve sniffed quietly occasionally to avoid sneezing. His cold was almost completely gone.

When Steve made it to 3600, he took a deep breath and listened. He could not hear anything muffled or vague noises. He was not sure if there was anyone nearby. He decided that he had to try and take what came with it. He had slight wiggle room. He began to carefully work his shield from where it rested at his right up so it rested above his knees. He then rammed it forward as best he could. The noise was loud. He paused and listened intently. After a very long silence, he rammed his shield into the side of the crate again. He did not have much strength, but the shield was resilient and after several small sessions of ramming it against the crate side, the wood began to splinter. Steve crawled out through the hole and moved to the side in time for the weight of the crates above he one he vacated to collapse the roof of his crate. Steve rolled into the shadows and caught his breath. He heard people running towards the crates. Steve tried to make himself as small as possible and made sure his shield did not catch the light. He resisted the urge to hold his breath.

The guards looked at the crates and began to argue in German. Neither looked in Steve's direction. Steve waited until they left before he left the storage area, sticking to the shadows as best he could. He put the shield on his back. He did not know where to go, so he let the shadows guide him, trying to avoid detection.

Steve periodically hid behind what he could and waited for a guard to pass. Sometimes he waited longer than others. He worked his way lower and then he heard a loud, "Eindiringling!"

"Shit!" Steve turned his back to the voice in time to hear a bullet hit his shield. He dove through the first open door he found, which led him to a stairwell. Steve tried to run down it as fast as possible. He could hear people coming towards him. He took the shield off his back and prepared to ram into anything coming at him with it.

Steve hit the guard with full force and they both fell down the staircase, landing at the bottom. The edge of the shield cut the guard's chin and blood flowed freely. The guard groaned in pain. He was younger than Steve. Steve scrambled to his feet, hearing more boots echoing down the staircase. He grabbed his shield and skittered around a corner and skidded to a halt. There were several cells full of prisoners of war. There were more of them than there were guards rushing in behind Steve. Steven smashed his shield into one of the locks nearby. The door unlatched. He moved forward towards the next lock as the men in the first cell flooded the hall, creating a barrier between Steve and the guards. The more prisoners of war Steve released, the bigger the buffer between him and the guards became. The prisoners swarmed the guards.

"Bucky!" Steve called out once all the cells were open and the guards for now, unconscious or dead. "Bucky!" There was no answer. Steve worked his way through the group.

"Who's Bucky?" Gabe Jones asked.

"Tall guy," Steve said, "James Barnes. He's got dark hair, brown eyes. From Brooklyn."

"Shit," Gabe said. "He's been taken to the room."

"Then I've got to go to 'the room,'" Steve said. "Where is it?" He hoped it was close.

"The room's on the other side of the building," Timothy "Dum Dum" Dugan said. "We don't have time."

"Then don't come with me," Steve said. "Just tell me where this room is, and I'll go myself." He coughed and his breath caught on the third cough. He hoped it would not turn into an asthma attack. When the coughing fit passed, Steve cleared his throat. "I came here for Bucky. I'm getting him out," he said and wished his voice sounded as strong as his intentions.

"I'll go with you," Jim Morita said. "I've been there once."

"Alright," Steve said.

"If the Jap's going, I'll make sure it's not a trap," Dum Dum said.

"I'm from fucking Fresno," Jim said.

"Anyway," Steve said, "sooner we go, the sooner we get the hell out. Lead the way," he said to Jim.

Gabe joined them along with Jacques Dernier and James Falsworth. While their small force began making their way to the room, the rest of the prisoners spread through the base, working to escape while killing any Axis supporter they encountered.

"Don't you feel that A on your helmet is a little conspicuous?" James asked.

"Verses my giant shield?" Steve asked. "No."

James murmured something Steve did not catch. Then he heard Jacques say, "Not 'Captain Arse,' Captain America."

"Same thing," James said.

Before anyone could say anything about the nickname, a guard appeared ahead with his back to them. Dum Dum snuck up from behind and knocked the man out, taking his gun. Dum Dum turned the gun on more guards up ahead. As they worked closer to the room, everyone had a weapon.

Steve needed to rest but he could not. He was now the last person in their group that Jim still led. When they got to the room, Steve's heart was in his ears. He was sweating and everything ached. Steve said nothing and concentrated on moving forward. A foul odor like rotting meat grew stronger as they approached the room. There were fewer guards, the others dealing with the mass of prisoners elsewhere. There were signs that the important figures in the research facility had left or gone underground. There were things torn from walls and equipment missing from the hallway that Jim remembered.

The room was deceptively small. When they opened the door, there was a flash and a small boom in the corner. Flames began to spread from a nearby trashcan. There were two bodies on the slabs in the room. The larger, grotesque monster body was cut open and its organs missing. Bucky lay on the other slab. His eyes opened. Steve managed a strangled "Bucky," before the stress and smoke caused him to cough until he fell to his knees, gasping for air.

"Steve!" Bucky called out.

Steve was aware of people moving around him. He could not catch his breath. He fumbled into his pockets for an inhaler. He could hear everyone talking and he could hear feel the fire growing warmer. Someone grabbed him roughly by the arm and hauled him to his feet, taking Steve's shield before picking him up. They shoved Steve's inhaler into Steve's hands and Steve managed to use it while they rushed through the hall. Steve's breathing evened and his chest hurt. When they reached the outdoors, Bucky set Steve down. There were dead Axis personnel across the yard where the other prisoners made a path to freedom.

Steve looked up at Bucky and Bucky looked back at him and then squeezed Steve's shoulder briefly. "Let's get out of here," Bucky said.

Their small group joined the others. Bucky gave Steve the shield and Steve strapped it to his back. They had to keep moving. They could not linger in enemy territory or the mountains. No one spoke. The large group worked together. Bucky took things at Steve's pace, though the rest of the group did not move much faster, everyone exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry.

The group remained together and slept in shifts when they could risk sleep. After days of traveling, they entered Naples. The Allied troops brought them to the lead commander, Colonel Chester Phillips. They were all put into quarantine, but no one turned into any monsters. Once they were all cleared, they were brought before Colonel Phillips. He stopped at Steve and made a sour face. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Twenty-five," Steve said.

"He's Captain America," one of the men Steve did not know the name of said. "He's the guy who broke us out."

Colonel Phillips' eyebrows furrowed together deeply. When Peggy approached, he looked over his shoulder. "I should have known you knew him," he said.

"He's an artist who's been helping Mr. Stark and me," Peggy said to Colonel Phillips. "Mr. Stark needs to speak with him."

Colonel Phillips frown deepened. He motioned for Peggy to follow him and they spoke in hushed tones away from the group.

"Look at you," Bucky said to Steve. "Not bad."

"She's interested in someone else," Steve said. The people he found amazing were always taken or interested in other people. Peggy seemed so close to Howard that Steve assumed they had something going on together.

"You sure?" Bucky asked.

Before Steve could answer, Colonel Phillips returned to the group. "Rogers and Barnes, you're free to go. Get out of my sight."

Steve and Bucky fell into step with Peggy. As they walked, Steve introduced them. There was nothing else they could talk about in the open. Peggy led them to a shop where there was a secret ladder that led to the Naples underground.

The underground was a series of tunnels with guards posted strategically. Howard was in a large chiseled room with candles as his light. He looked up from his work. "You did it," he said with a giant grin.

"I did," Steve said. "This is Bucky."

"Howard Stark," Howard introduced himself and shook Bucky's hand.

Bucky glanced at Steve as though to say, 'HOW?' and then looked back at Howard. "James Barnes."

"I wasn't able to bring anything else back," Steve said. "When we found the lab, there was an incendiary. I think your man's dead. There was a monster on a slab with his organs missing."

Howard frowned. Peggy sighed. Bucky looked at them and his brows furrowed. "You're the two he kept talking about, the people who talked him into it with some Jewish doctor."

"We didn't do anything to him he didn't volunteer for," Howard said.

"Did he know what he was volunteering for?" Bucky asked.

"No," Peggy answered. "He was the first. The other two were aware of the potential consequences."

"You didn't inject him with that stuff, did you?" Bucky asked and pointed at Steve.

"Nobody's injected me with anything," Steve said. He carefully removed the shield from his back. "I was going to rescue you, they gave me a way there in exchange for keeping the Nazis from making an army of those things." He gripped the straps of his shield tight. "They've still got what they need. What are we going to do when they succeed?" He looked at the small group before him. "We can't let that happen. I haven't completed our deal yet. I've got Bucky, and you're still where you were before. I came here to keep the Nazis from destroying culture, and isn't subverting a monster army protecting culture?" They were all looking at Steve now. He did not look away. "There are men here who want vengeance after what was done to them and those around them. We get a group of them together and we go after the Nazis who got away. We hunt down those organs, that data. We make sure this stops before it can begin."

Bucky looked away.

"We need to know where they've gone first," Peggy said. "We need to make sure you head in the correct direction." After a moment of contemplation, she began to strategize and soon Steve and Howard joined her. Bucky observed all of this quietly, answering questions when asked.

When Steve and Bucky emerged from the underground, it was almost curfew in the city. Bucky put an arm over Steve's shoulders and walked at Steve's pace. They did not speak until they found a place they could settle for the night. They only had Steve's sleeping bag and a blanket between them. They unzipped the sleeping bag and used it to cover the ground and Bucky let Steve have all of the blanket. It was not the first time they shared a sleeping space.

Steve curled up in the blanket until he felt the cold ebb away. He looked up at Bucky who was sitting on the sleeping bag. They were with the other artists and some refugees who were helping rebuild things around them. There were also people watching the skies and the streets while others slept. "You haven't slept much," Steve said. Bucky always seemed to be keeping watch when they traveled with the prisoners.

"I'm not sleepy much," Bucky said, speaking loud enough for Steve to hear but quiet enough his voice did not disturb the others around them.

Steve sighed, his eyes too heavy and body too painful to argue it until morning. He rolled closer. Bucky ran his fingers discreetly through Steve's hair. Steve closed his eyes and did not wake until morning.

It was a while later that Gabe, Jacques, Jim, Dum Dum, and James joined Bucky, Steve, Peggy, and Howard at the table in the bar. It was several weeks after the liberation of the prisoners. It was rainy and much warmer than Brooklyn at this time of year.

"I'm going," Steve said. "I can use the shield. You might need someone who is my size to get somewhere none of you can."

"You had an asthma attack at a crucial moment," Gabe said not unkindly. "What if you're faced with that Zola guy alone and you start wheezing? What are you going to do?"

"Steve, you've done a lot," Peggy said. "You've done more than we could ask of you. You're good at strategy and where we need you is where you are now, part of the group that's going to make sure they won't go in blind."

Steve looked around at all of them. He ran a hand through his hair. "And when you go? Then what can I do about this?"

"You fight the Nazis in your own way," Jacques said. "You're Captain America, yes?"

Steve could not believe this. He finished his glass of water. The group broke up soon after, each going their separate ways into the night. Bucky and Steve walked in silence, heading back towards the place they stayed with the artists.

Steve put his hands in his pockets. It was cold but not freezing. His eyebrows furrowed. "They're right," he said. "I don't want them to be right, but they are." The gnawing pain in his stomach every time he breathed said as much. The coughing fit he had in the bar did too.

"Whatever you decide to do, I'll follow," Bucky said.

"To the end of the line," Steve murmured. He sighed. "What do you really want to do?" Steve asked. He stopped walking. They were alone in a heavily bombed area of the city. "Are you going to follow me? Are you going to let the Nazis get away with what they did to you? Are you going to let them do it to other people?"

Bucky looked at Steve. Steve held his gaze. "Who's going to keep them from doing that to you?" he asked.

"I am," Steve said. "If they wanted me, they'd have grabbed me with you."

"That was before you infiltrated one of their Hydra bases," Bucky said. He ran a hand through his hair. "Steve, if you don't want me around anymore, I can go."

Steve grabbed Bucky's hand. He held his gaze. "I don't want to make the choice for you. I know what you want to do. You should do it."

Bucky licked his lips. His eyes moved to the left and then the right. He was listening for something, anything. Then his eyes returned to Steve. "Are we still talking about going after Nazis?"

Steve swallowed. "What else do you want to do?" He did not look away. His grip tightened on Bucky's hand. "Because you should do that too."

Bucky listened again, making sure patrol was not about to come around the corner. Then he kissed Steve. Steve kissed back. One kiss became several and then they pulled back to catch their breaths. "Patrol's coming this way," Bucky said. He led Steve through the rubble and away from patrol. They let go of each other's hands soon after, uncertain when they might run into someone who would see them. They did nothing most of the world considered punishable by law, but that did not mean someone would not claim it was indicative of something more than kissing.

There was a lot of information to sort through. Some was incorrect and other information was correct. Things began to point to southern Germany. There were reports of citizens missing in the area that could not be attributed to warfare. With winter came reports of a yeti in the Bavarian Alps. The more reports of the yeti, the more their attention turned to Bavaria. There was word of a facility in the Bavarian Alps along with a sighting of Zola near Christmas. The Howling Commandos formulated their plan.

It was in-between Christmas and New Year's when Bucky and Steve were alone in the remains of a building, away from prying eyes and ears. They had little time alone away from others. Bucky would rendezvous with the other Commandos soon and leave for the Alps. They sat on two chairs abandoned by owners likely no longer living and leaned against one another, not speaking.

Bucky looked at his watch. "I have to leave soon."

Steve did not say anything immediately. He looked up at the ceiling. "What if you get more missions? Where do we meet when the war is over?"

"Iceland?" Bucky asked. "At least until the rest of the world starts coming around."

"Where in Iceland?" Steve asked. "Should be something we can find without knowing what it looks like."

Bucky thought. "The cathedral in the capitol city? It's the only landmark I know."

"That's more than the amount of Icelandic I know," Steve said. He stood up and then moved so he could stand in front of Bucky. He put his hands on Bucky's shoulders. Their foreheads rested against one another. Bucky's hands rested on Steve's hips. "Give them hell," Steve said.

"Will do," Bucky said.

They kissed. Bucky squeezed Steve's ass and Steve tugged on Bucky's lip with his teeth gently. They pulled before they were tempted to leave any telling marks. Bucky stood up and ran his hand through Steve's hair. "We're going to put an end to this. We'll see each other again soon." Steve nodded and watched Bucky leave for the rendezvous point. Steve could not follow since the point was classified. He sighed and looked around at the abandoned house he stood in. He left to help analyze the debris from the Santa Chiara.

As the front line expanded, Howard, Peggy, and the monsters had to move with it. Steve's professor from art school was in contact with him for the first time since they parted ways after coming to Italy. Steve wanted to start working his way into France so he could make it to Paris once it was liberated. Steve had his bag and wore the helmet from the dancing girl. The helmet was good to have while helping clear the debris from Santa Chiara. He stood outside Naples with Peggy and Howard. Steve had to go west while Peggy and Howard were heading north.

Howard held out the shield. "It'd be a waste to take this with me," Howard said.

Steve looked at the shield. It was hard giving it back to Howard after it helped him do so many amazing things in the rescue. He never thought he would be get the opportunity to use it again. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," Howard said. "You're actually going to use it, so you should test it." He held out the shield, which Steve took. "After the war, I'll need you to tell me how it goes."

"I will," Steve said. The shield was still heavy in his hands, but it felt nice to hold it again. "Thanks." He strapped the shield to his back.

"Good luck," Peggy said. She gave Steve a hug.

Steve hugged back. "You too," he said. "Both of you." When he parted from Peggy, he shook Howard's hand. Then they parted ways and Steve headed towards the sea.

Raven Darkholme was old enough to be Steve's grandmother. She liked to joke that she knew the Irene Adler from the Sherlock Holmes stories. She was a wealth of historical and artistic information. She met Steve in Lyon, France soon after its liberation. "I bet this has been one long cold for you," she said after greeting him.

Steve blew his nose and excused the gesture. His sinuses ached as much as his back and feet. "It'd be one long cold at home too," he said. "At least I can do something here."

"Where's Bucky?" Raven asked. She led him through the city.

"He's a mercenary now," Steve said. He looked around at the buildings.

"Must be hard," Raven said.

"He's good at it," Steve said. "He saved me when I was supposed to be saving him." He felt like he was going to sneeze, but he was still too congested to sneeze yet.

"I meant being apart from each other," Raven said. She led them to a building in the middle of a row of shops.

Steve opened the door and let her through first before following. He nodded. It was hard being apart from Bucky. Steve had no idea how Bucky was or where he was. Steve just had to keep looking towards the end of the war and Reykjavik. "What are we going to do here?" Steve asked.

"We're going to recover things hidden from the Nazis," Raven said. "There's a box and several rolled paintings." She led him to the back of the shop and opened a trap door. "After you," she said.

Steve nodded and tried not to cough as he headed down the rickety ladder to the tunnel below. Raven led the way once they were both in the tunnel, using a flashlight to light their way. They reached an intersection and she pointed to their left. "Go that way. We're looking for a door with a lion painted on it."

Steve went to the left while Raven went to the right. There was graffiti throughout the tunnel. The fourth door he came to had a lion drawn on in paint. Steve turned the doorknob, but it was locked and there was no keyhole. He looked up and down the hall. There was no sign of Raven or anyone else. He removed his shield and rammed it down against the doorknob until it tumbled to the floor. He put his shield back on his back and then eased the door open with his fingers carefully.

It smelled awful. There was a skeleton huddled in the corner. Beside the corpse was several rolled canvases and three small decorative boxes. There was a lock on the door on the inside. Steve grimaced and began to cough. He felt a hand on his back and Raven helped him into the hall. By the time the coughing subsided, Raven had the boxes in the hall and the canvases in her arms. "Pick those up and let's get out of here," Raven said. "We need to take them to my car and then we need to go to the countryside until we can take them to Paris."

Steve nodded. He blew his nose and then picked the boxes up carefully. They were all decorative. The largest, flattest box had runes on it. He continued to follow Raven through the tunnels until Raven led them up into a bakery at the end of a street. From there, she led them to her car nearby. They put the canvases in the backseat along with the two smaller boxes. Raven covered them blankets and a large military grade canvas to help protect them from the weather.

"What about this box?" Steve asked, still holding the larger box with the runes.

"If the Nazis find us, that's the one they'll want most of all," Raven said.

Steve looked down at it. He ran his fingers over the runes and the runes glowed a faint blue. His eyes widened.

"Put it at the bottom of your pack," Raven said. "I'll drive."

Steve got into the car and Raven sped off towards Allied territory in France. Steve emptied his bag and put the box at the bottom and repacked it. He put things he could no longer fit into his pack in his pockets. "I heard Hitler's obsessed with the occult and ancient religions."

"He thinks that the objects hold power," Raven said, "and they do."

"What does the box do?" Steve asked. He hoped the bumpy ride did not cause the box to do something hostile. He did not know what to make of the glowing he saw.

"No idea," Raven said. "There are rumors that the Nazis are sending people to infiltrate liberated cities looking for hidden relics. We can't let them find it."

The Allies were reclaiming France from the north and the south, with Vichy France in between their gains. Lyon was on the edge of the southern Allied gains. Paris was liberated a few weeks before Lyon's liberation. Steve and Raven were not sure if there was territory between Paris and Lyon that belonged to the Allies yet.

They decided to risk the trip to Paris. Raven did not want to be responsible for the Norse box for too much longer since they did not know what it could do. Raven headed north to try and make the trip as short as possible. Sometimes she took the car off the road to avoid detection. While off the road near Avallon, there was a sudden explosion under the car. It flew up into the air and flipped, dumping passenger and cargo onto the ground. Steve landed near his shield. When he opened his eyes, a small French girl was poking his face with a stick.

Steve looked up at her. Her eyes shifted from him to something behind him. Steve could smell fuel and fire. The girl reminded him of Raven. He blinked and then scrambled to his feet. He grabbed his shield and slid his arm through it. "Ms. Darkholme!" he called out. "Profess –" his breath caught when he saw the car engulfed in flames.

The little girl grabbed Steve's free hand. She put the strap of his bag in it. "Cours," she said. "Cours!" She began to run towards the trees.

"Hey!" Steve said. "Wait!" He looked back at the car. The flames were too intense. Raven was likely already dead. He put his pack on his back and scurried after the girl. He could not see her and he could not run. He saw a bullet hit a tree near him. He turned around in time to use his shield to block another bullet.

There were two Nazis coming for him. His heartrate skyrocketed. He began to sweat. Something blue with red hair kneed a Nazi in the face. The creature was slimmer than the monsters that Howard and Peggy created. Steve tried to move as fast as his body would allow, but it was slowed by his shield and his pack. He knew he could not abandon either. He dove behind a residential stone fence and emptied his pack. Steve repacked it, keeping his inhalers, the box, and two cans of raw liver juice. Steve lost his kit when the car flipped. He fastened the pack back up and put it on his back. It was significantly lighter without his kit, clothing, and other supplies. Steve picked his shield back up and paused. His sketchbook lay in the mud, flopped open to a drawing of what he imagined the Santa Chiara might have looked like before it was destroyed. There were other, smaller drawings in the margins, leaving no white space. There were drawings of the people Steve met in that book along with other things he saw and experienced. He had not filled this sketchbook yet. Steve took a deep breathing and felt the pressure in his sinuses pulsate. He looked away and began walking towards a road nearby. The box was more important.

Steve walked towards the west and eventually found his way into Allied territory. The soldiers he encountered were from the UK and their commander aware of the Monuments Men program. One of the Royal Army medics recognized Steve's anemic state and he spent a day recovering. The next day he went with a messenger to Paris. In a car, the trip took a few hours. Steve told no one of the box. He needed to get it to the Louvre.

The Louvre still stood without damage. Other parts of Paris were not so lucky. The bombs that fell on Paris were from the Allies while Paris was under Nazi control. What saved Paris from Nazi bombs was the rapid acquisition of territory once the Allied forces began taking control of France. Steve saw the destruction still remaining from the April bombing of Le Porte de La Chapelle. It was one of the deadliest Allied bombings of the European front. Steve and the messenger said nothing to each other. The messenger left Steve near the Louvre and then left to deliver his messages.

Steve walked up to the Louvre with his pack on one shoulder and the shield on the other. He removed his helmet and entered the building. There were many artists helping restore recovered artwork stolen by the Nazis. During Vichy France, the Louvre operated as a place for the Nazis to organize, clean, and ship items stolen from their victims. Steve already heard of the curator who had saved many artworks that the Nazis would have burnt publically otherwise, but there were still works lots forever in public bonfires during Nazi occupation.

One of the secretaries told Steve she could take him to the curator. The curator was in the lower levels still uncovering artworks hidden from occupying Nazis. The room she led Steve to was unlike the others underneath the museum. Once Steve entered, the door closed behind him. He looked over his shoulder and then at the man standing near stacks of rescued pieces. The man was not the curator. He was a Nazi and there were Hydra symbols on his clothing.

"A short American with deformities carrying a shield," the man said, speaking English with a thick accent. "People call him Captain America, the man who will do what abled bodied men will not." He pressed a lever beside him and the floor began to vibrate. He turned to look at Steve as the walls began to lower, revealing the room to be some kind of cockpit. "When my men in Avallon told me what they saw, I knew you'd bring the Tesseract to me."

The craft shot forward down a very long tunnel. Steve slid his pack onto his back and his shield onto his arm. He licked his lips and did not take his eyes off the Nazi in front of him.

When they shot straight up into the air, Steve fell back and tumbled into the sealed door. The Nazi remained standing, his boots magnetized to the floor. He approached Steve slowly, the technology still clearly in its infancy. Steve threw his shield as best he could. It ricocheted around the cabin and then cut a gash in the Nazi's leg. The shield slid down the floor and returned to Steve. The Nazi shot at him and hit Steve in the arm when the aircraft began to right itself so it could fly horizontally. Steve put his shield up and kept his back and the pack to the door.

The Nazi lunged for him, trying to break Steve's arm holding the shield. Steve kicked and tried to smack the Nazi in the face with the shield. The Nazi grabbed a strap of Steve's pack and yanked until the strap broke. Suddenly the aircraft faltered in the air. They slid across the floor to the right. There were sparks from the control panel where the shield hit it earlier.

Steve got to his knees and before the plane could lurch again, he rammed his shield into the Nazi's head. Steve did not look to see if the man was unconscious or dead. He worked his way to the cockpit. He began playing with the controls that still worked. He could not get the yoke to respond.

The radio crackled. Steve played with the frequencies and made his best guess. "Mayday, mayday I'm going down," Steve said. "Over."

The radio crackled with a language Steve did not understand. Steve kept trying to stabilize his controls, but nothing worked. He looked at the instruments, but he could not see them well enough. Steve spoke into the radio. "I'm Steven Grant Rogers of Brooklyn, New York. There's snow and ice. We left from Paris. I –" He let go of the radio when the plane went into a nose dive. Steve was thrown against the controls. He slid to the floor and rolled under the cockpit as the plane entered a steep descent. The body of the Nazi slid across the floor and landed nearby.

Steve closed his eyes tight and braced for the impact.

When he woke, there was rhythmic, steady beeping. There was something in his nostrils and something stuck in the interior of his right elbow. Steve's heart began to palpitate and several alarms added to the increased beeping. A man dressed in scrubs appeared. He noted Steve's temperature and pressed something on the large plastic rectangle in his hand. A medical team appeared in the room. Or at least, they looked like a medical team if Steve was stuck in a science fiction movie or one of Howard Stark's future technology displays.

"How do you feel?" the doctor asked with an accent that reminded Steve of the soldiers he knew from India.

"Where am I…?" Steve managed. He tried to sit up, but his body was too stiff.

"The Brooklyn Hospital Center," she replied. "How do you feel?" she asked again.

"Like Hell," Steve answered.

The Doctor continued to poke and prod at him. Steve's eyes swept the room. There was an bag attached to his arm. A plastic vice on his finger connected to a monitor with squiggly lines. There was a window to his right and a mysterious large black box with glass on the front mounted on the wall across from him. Steve could see the reflection of the doctors around his bed in it.

"What is that?" Steve asked.

"That? It's a TV," one of the residents said. "You know, The Lone Ranger. "

"I know him on the radio," Steve said. He did not see a radio in the room.

The doctor moved away to write something on her own black flat piece of plastic. It seemed to have something that lit up the doctor's face. Steve looked at his reflection in the TV. He blinked and then tried to move his left arm. His eyes slowly looked at the bed to his let. His arm was gone. His heartrate increased rapidly. He began to gasp for breath. Steve could not calm down, his blood pressure soon increased as well. His body prickled from head to toe. He could see and hear the medical team trying to stabilize him but he could not process the movements or what they said. He closed his eyes.

When Steve opened his eyes, he took a moment before looking around the room. The medical machines were still there and so was his IV. The TV was still there and his arm was still gone. He took a deep breath.

"Oh, you're awake," an unassuming man said from the doorway. He had a cup of coffee and a book about art.

"I guess," Steve said. He was not sure if he was dreaming, but his dreams usually had brighter colors as he imagined colors should look. "Who are you?"

"Phil Coulson," Phil said. "I've been reading to you for the last few weeks." He held up the book, which was covered in familiar paintings, but the book was too far away from Steve to read the title.

"Why?" Steve asked. His eyes took in what they could. The waist of Phil's pants were lower than they should be. The tie was also strange.

"Why not?" Phil pulled the chair near Steve's bed back. "May I?" he asked.

"Sure," Steve said.

"Must be confusing," Phil said as he sat. "Would you like some?" he offered Steve the coffee cup.

"Can't," Steve said. It would not be good for his heart. He worked to sit up. Phil pressed a button on the bed so half of it rose up to help Steve sit comfortably. "I guess you guys got my message," he said. "I couldn't read the coordinates."

"Someone in Iceland intercepted the transmission," Phil said. "It took a while to find you."

They lapsed into silence. Steve nodded to the TV for lack of objects to talk about. "I heard that thing plays the radio now."

Phil looked over at it. "Sort of." He looked back at Steve. "I was hoping we could move you to a less jarring room before you woke. We didn't want to throw you into this abruptly."

Steve glanced at his missing arm. He was not sure if waking in another room would have fixed that shock. He looked back at Phil. "So, what year is it? 1950? Looks like Howard Stark's been busy." He could not believe it was still 1944.

Phil cleared his throat and when he made sure he had Steve's gaze, he said carefully, "2011."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "Bullshit," he said.

Phil reached down and pulled a newspaper out from the bottom shelf of the table beside Steve's bed. He flipped through it until he found the car ads. He handed it to Steve.

Steve looked at the newspaper. Several instances of '11 and 2011 stared back at him. The words Camry, Prius, and Rav 4 were scattered through this section of advertisement. "Toy-ota? To-yota? Toy-o-ta?" Steve murmured. The cars looked strange and they were a wide variety of colors, not just the standard black.

"Toyota," Phil said. "Japanese company."

Steve squinted, trying to read the fine print, gave up, and looked at the large numbers with the ads. "$16,000.00 for a car?"

"The average price of a car now is about $29,000.00," Phil said. "Minimum wage is $7.25. The average doctor makes a few hundred thousand a year."

Steve looked at Phil. "I know Howard's got a sense of humor, but this is a lot."

"The Stark running Stark Industries is Tony, his son," Phil said. "A lot has happened in the last sixty-seven years. For example, you don't have to eat raw liver ever again unless you want to. I wouldn't chance it unless you know where the cow came from. "

Steve frowned. He grew quiet and looked at the newspaper but did not process it. His mind whirred. It was too elaborate for a ruse. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, trying to remain calm. A general, stinging numbness started at his toes and worked its way through his entire body. He opened his eyes and handed the newspaper back to Phil. "I can't…" his voice trailed. "I don't…" He did not like to say it. He could not afford medical treatment. He was not even able to get glasses in a world in which doctors still used a barter system for some patients.

"We've got some veteran's groups working with us and some friends," Phil said. "You can afford your treatment. You've earned it."

"I'm not a veteran," Steve said. "I didn't fight in the war."

"Like I said," Phil said, "a lot's changed in the last sixty-seven years." He picked up a magazine from the shelf and held it out to Steve.

Steve took it and adjusted its distance from his face until he could see it properly. There was a painting that seemed smoother than any painting Steve ever saw before on the cover. The artist painted him standing in the middle of an ice field with his shield painted with circles and a stark in the center instead of the unadorned metal it really was. "'Captain America Found,'" Steve read. He squinted his eyes and brought the cover closer. "'An amazing story of survival in the Arctic.'" His eyebrows drew together and he looked at Phil. "They're still calling me that?" It was probably better than Captain Arse.

"You earned it," Phil said. "You liberated prisoners from one of the Hydra facilities. That box you went down with contained a weapon so powerful, it could have ensured Nazi victory. You also saved the first super soldier from becoming a weapon for our enemies. You've been overshadowed in the last few years, but everyone grows up hearing about Steve Rogers, the kid from Brooklyn who did what nobody else was willing to do. You've been a military captain since 1958."

Steve's heartrate began to increase. His eyebrows drew together. He cast the magazine aside so it was face down on his bed.

"Sorry," Phil said and kept his voice calm. "Breathe. I said too much too fast."

Steve closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing slowly. He bit his tongue and then he asked very quietly, "And Bucky?"

"He's still alive," Phil answered. "He still lives in the city."

Steve's shoulders relaxed slightly. "He must be…in his nineties," he whispered.

"Yes," Phil said. "We honored his ninety-fourth birthday not that long ago. He wants to see you, but when you're ready."

Steve nodded. "I'm always ready," he said, his voice wavering. He looked at his hand. His skin was still unwrinkled and he had no age spots. He knew Bucky might bring reality with him, but it was a reality Steve had to accept.

"I'll let him know," Phil said. "Do you need anything?" he asked.

A time machine, a hug, an explanation, his arm, and many other things Steve wanted flooded his brain simultaneously. "I've got a lot of medical questions," Steve said.

Phil nodded. He stood up and picked up his coffee but left the art book on the table. "I'll let the medical team know," Phil said. He bid Steve goodbye.

Steve took a moment to let out a long, low breath when Phil was gone. He looked at his reflection in the TV. Someone had cut his hair to almost the same style he used to wear it. Other than the missing arm, he looked like himself, maybe slightly older. None of it made sense.

The medical team's theory was that Steve survived due to the temperature and speed of ice crystal growth when he crashed in the plane. There was also some debate if the relic in the box carried a property to ensure survival and slow aging. The bullet in his arm, however, turned gangrenous over the decades and the entire arm had to be amputated. The medical team started by explaining modern ways to treat asthma and showed Steve how to use a modern inhaler. The medical team told him that asthma was no longer thought of as psychosomatic and had not been for decades. They talked about medications and ways to manage the damage his conditions and treatments did to his heart and blood pressure. Each day came new discussions, new treatments. Steve wondered if he was still in the Arctic, dreaming of a future where everything he could imagine was medical possible. He kept worrying about the cost and how he would find a job in a world that was beyond even Howard Stark's imagination.

Phil came to visit every day. He always came before lunch. He told Steve Bucky had to do something in a desert, but he would return soon. Mid-week, a man Steve did not know came to see him after lunch. The man was a little taller than Phil and very muscular. "I'm Clint," he said and he spelled Clint out in sign language.

Steve watched him and then said, "I'm Steve," and spelled out his name in sign language.

"Wasn't sure if you'd know sign language," Clint admitted, continuing to sign as he spoke. American Sign Language began in the 1800's, but until the 1950's was not considered a legitimate language. Even had Steve access to a school for the deaf, he would have learned oralism, but would have had more exposure to American Sign Language as well.

"I know the alphabet," Steve said, "and a handful of other signs." He picked them up from patients at the hospital his mother used to work before she began manning the tuberculosis tents.

Clint sat in the chair where Phil usually sat. "If you want, I can teach you more." He continued to sign.

Steve watched Clint's gestures. "I want to learn," he said.

Clint's deafness was more profound than Steve's was. Clint acquired it when he was a child whereas Steve could not remember never having some trouble understanding the people around him. Clint told Steve that he worked with Phil and with Bucky too. He brought a book with large print and pictures of people signing for Steve. Steve ran his fingers along the cover of the book. It seemed too good to be true, to know the asthma was not all in his head and there were more options for people to communicate with him now.

When Clint was about to leave, Steve touched his hand very briefly to get his attention and then he said, "When Bucky gets back, let him know that I want to see him. He can't protect me from reality."

Clint nodded. "I'll let him know. If you think you're ready for that shock, you're probably ready."

"I just want to see him before I change too much," Steve said.

Clint nodded and waved goodbye.

Steve looked out the window. He needed to see Bucky. This world was shaping up to become something of a dream. Even if the doctors said they could not cure him, just help him, they could help him in ways that never imagined. It did not feel real.

The next morning, when Steve woke, there was a sketchbook and a pencil case on the table beside the bed. He blinked and looked at the chair where a young man sat in modern clothing. He looked exactly like Bucky did the last time Steve saw him, except maybe slightly older. Steve felt his stomach tighten. Of course, Bucky would have married and had kids who had kids by now.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but it looks stupid," Bucky said.

"How can it be stupid? You took all of it with you," Steve said. He sat up slowly, careful of the brace around his torso. He looked closely at Bucky. His eyes moved to Bucky's hands where there was a white birthmark right along the fleshy skin between Bucky's thumb and forefinger. He looked at the color of Bucky's fingernails and the way his hair grew.

"You know this is real," Bucky said. "You know what I am."

Steve remembered the dissected monster on the slab next to Bucky. He remembered Howard talking about how Bucky seemed like an ideal candidate for the experiments. He thought about what Phil said when he showed Steve the magazine and how Bucky rarely seemed to sleep after coming back with the prisoners. "You're the super soldier," Steve said.

Bucky nodded. "You guys found me after they injected me with the blood from that Hulk," he said. "I didn't turn into one of those things. I turned into this." He gestured to all of himself and then shook his head. "Others since haven't been so lucky."

Steve glanced at the doorway, seeing if anyone was about to enter. Then he reached his hand out to Bucky.

Bucky took his hand. His hand was warm and rough as it always had been. It was the first thing that felt real about everything in this hospital. "You don't have to check everywhere," Bucky said. "They aren't going to haul us away for stuff we've never done. Even if we had, there aren't laws like that now."

Steve's grip tightened on Bucky's hand. He knew this was real. He did not understand if it was the relic or the ice that saved him, maybe both. He was glad Naples was not the end of the line.

The End