Living through the Dead
Steve Rogers sat quietly on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial looking east. In the distance, the Washington Monument proudly stood between his view of the Capitol. At least that hadn't changed. What had changed was between them. A Korean War Memorial, a Vietnam War Memorial, a World War II Memorial. Without his blue and white suit, Captain Rogers hardly looked out of place. The United States Army had gave him a new Army Service Uniform for him to wear, and so looked like any other veteran gazing at the beating heart of the idea he or she had sworn to protect, albeit one that had more metal on it than an average military dictator.
After the previous night, in which he visited Bucky Barnes' grave across the Potomac at Arlington National Cemetery, a heavy pall had cast itself onto his face, and while the spit-and-polish Captain was loath to admit it, he had indeed been feeling under the weather. While hundreds of tourists went about their business, Rogers quietly slunk off of the steps and made his way around the reflecting pool. The medals clinked against each other with each step, while his boots squeaked on the walkway. A breeze blew across the Mall and small ripples appeared in the otherwise serene pool. Intrigued, Rogers turned his head and into the pool and watched as the ripples lapped against the concrete retaining wall. Once the pool was still once more, Captain Rogers saw a brown haired man walking towards him, in the water. It looked an awful lot like "Bucky?"
James Buchanan Barnes stood in full relief quietly observing the Captain and the sky above. Gone from the eyes was the sheer terror. Gone from the hair was the light dusting of snow from Dr. Zola's train. This was Bucky as he was supposed to be remembered, as proud and as snappy as that day at the Stark World Expo. But as Steve bent over to get a better look, another breeze blew by and cruelly erased that image, the form slowly dissipating into the depths of the water.
As Captain Rogers slowly walked on, he reached the World War II memorial and, ignoring the rest of the monument, cast his sights on the Remembrance Wall. Each star represented a hundred Americans killed in the war. Captain Rogers remembered the families that had hung service flags on their doors with stars sewn into them. Each blue star represented a member of the family involved in the war. A gold star represented one that had fallen in the line of duty. On the wall in front of Captain Rogers was the United States' service flag. Four thousand and forty-eight golden stars, with each star representing a hundred Americans, hung in front of the Captain. He did not see mocking faces, feel any hint of condescension, or even sympathy, but the long held wounds that had been temporarily put at rest were being torn open as effectively as if by a Chitauri blade.
Who was he kidding? Captain America had indeed been a symbol of war, but how could he continue on when there seemed to be no such thing anymore. A global scale war would never happen again, and for that Steve was glad. But the idea of a limited engagement seemed jst as foreign to him as that of a microwave oven. The United States doesn't go into a war to lose, it goes to win . . .
"Captain", a voice boomed behind him. Snapped out of his reverie, Rogers turned around into a buoyant Norse god of thunder.
"Thor," Steve replied. "I don't believe you told me anything of your visit.
"Oh dear, Captain Rogers. 'Twas a truly desperate event. We have need of your services back in the New City of York. The Man of Iron has specifically requested your aid in this matter and entreats you to return."
Something was niggling at Captain Rogers. "How did you come back? I thought Loki's trial was not until next month."
Instantly, Thor's shoulders slumped and his eyelids drooped. For the first time since Steve had seen him on the quinjet from Stuttgart, he saw dark circles under his eyes. "My brother was murdered," was all Thor could spit out.
Rogers immediately asked, "Rogue factions, militias, what?"
Thor quickly turned around and began walking towards the Capitol. Captain Rogers silently followed. Halfway down Constitution Avenue, the god of thunder began to talk.
"Our journey back to Asgard had gone without a hitch. We appeared before Heimdall, the gatekeeper, to let us back in. Ever the faithful servant, he warned us that the Allfather was in dire need of his rest." Thor paused as he waited for the white WALK signal before he crossed the road. "What Heimdall did not tell us was that Odin's prime minister had moved to begin trial proceedings in Loki's absence."
Rogers slowly moved along as Thor wove his tale of despair. "And the verdict?" he managed to ask.
Dark storm clouds soon moved over Washington D.C. and, while they did not shower rain onto the hundreds of tourists enjoying what had been a fine day, they slowly simmered in the sky, bolts of lightning flickering within and between them. "Tell me, Captain Rogers. What is the punishment for treason in Midgard?"
"Death."
"Ah, but my brother never official received his sentence. He was killed by an assassin the night we returned. Since that day, we have been . . . dealing with the aftermath."
Rogers shuddered as he thought of the "Asgardian Justice" that would have been dealt to Loki. Thor had to give several PowerPoint presentations on it to Barton just to satisfy him. Nobody bothered to ask how he managed to work PowerPoint. "So how have you been?"
"I wish I could say I am hale and hearty, but I sadly am not. Never can I say to you, dear Captain, that I can be truly happy."
Steve put on an expression of utmost sympathy on his face. It wasn't hard, not after he had been ruminating over the past day about the deaths that he had unwittingly ordered. Despite the sixty-five year difference, the wound was indeed very fresh, as Thor's was. "But the Avengers need you. Honestly, I feel very much the same way. After Agent Coulson's death, I attempted to bury what remained of my friends' deaths, but now, I'm not so sure."
The pair of them had finally reached the Capitol and, with their SHIELD passes giving them clearance, sat on the western steps. For a few minutes, they simply soaked up the majestic vista of a city struggling to identify itself. Thor, bright red cape billowing in the breeze, dismissed the storm clouds still present throughout the city with a wave of his hand. Sitting back down, he turned to Steve. "One of your greatest warriors gave a speech in this building. He told your council that 'Old soldiers never die. They just fade away.'"
Steve looked up, a haunted look still etched into his face. "Do you mean General MacArthur? My history studies have told me everything about his subsequent life."
"Aye. He was a good man, but in this case, he was wrong."
Rogers, well aware of his own legend fading away into the annals of history asked why.
"From what you have seen of me and of my brother's less than flattering description of me, you may be surprised at what I know. I sought information on the battles of all realms. And while I did indeed neglect my studies of magic, I became as proficient as I could in the language of warfare." Thor's pensive countenance steadily became more resolute as he continued on. "One of your great bards, O'Brien, was his name wrote that the dead do not die. They keep on living through the stories we tell.
"I know my brother lives on because he is right with me in my heart and my memories. The stories we tell gives him new life. But the stories I am about to share are enjoyed most agreeably with a tankard of mead."
The thunder god stood up and walked towards Constitutional Avenue. Steve followed him into the throng of people. Thor was not difficult to follow with his silver armor glinting in the renewed sunlight.
Nobody knew how Thor had done it, but he had successfully smuggled three casks of Odin's stocks of mead into his living quarters in Stark Tower. Just like his PowerPoint presentation, nobody really wanted to know either. Once Stark's Cessna touched down at LaGuardia and Happy had whisked the two men across the Manhattan Bridge into Stark Tower, Thor immediately had grabbed two large glasses and headed over to his suite.
Steve checked quite thoroughly for any sign of life within the living spaces. Tony Stark was hiding out in his lab, tinkering on a new prototype doohickey of some sort. Bruce, Natasha, and Clint were nowhere to be found. Once satisfied that nobody would be around to observe him drinking for the first time in nearly seventy years, Steve walked to the living room of the penthouse, ignoring the Loki-shaped hole in the center. Thor was already waiting for him, the Thunder god having shed his helm and cape and staring wistfully out at the city that his late brother had so nearly destroyed.
Sitting down on the couch next to Thor, Steve took a glass full of golden liquid and both men sat just as they had on the steps of the Capitol, hesitant to start telling the stories of their brothers in arms.
After a few glasses of the mead, the Steve could finally, for the first time, say that he would be affected by any alcohol. With liquid courage brimming in him for the first time, he began to speak. In no particular order, fantastical narratives began piling up between the two of them. How Loki successfully avoided getting his head chopped off by exploiting a loophole. How Bucky had crucially seen an aqueduct that allowed Rogers to flood an underground HYDRA base in Crete. The mead flowed quite quickly, and as Captain America and the god of Thunder eventually became inebriated, the both of them eventually sank into the quite comfortable sofas.
Tony Stark eventually came upstairs to find the two blond men sprawled out on his couches with several glasses of what smelled like mead scattered around his living room. After quietly fetching blankets and tucking them in, Tony slunk out of the room, and back into his lab. "JARVIS?"
"What can I do for you Mr. Stark?" JARVIS replied.
"Did you happen to prepare transcripts from the excitement last night?"
"Why of course, sir. I am uploading them to your tablet as we speak." A soft chime indicated the upload was complete. Tony picked up his tablet computer, opened a bottle of gin that he kept in his laboratory, and took out a crystal tumbler. This was going to be good.
Author's Note: This is my first "Avengers" project. Your response will determine if there is one more chapter or several.