It was cold. Steve had never been this cold back in the states, or even when he was stationed over in Germany. As he sat up, he realized that he had no clue what was going brushed snow, shrapnel, and pieces of glass off of his once bright uniform. Now, the colors are less bold, dulled by age and stained with blood. Steve tried to stand up out of what seemed to him like a pilot's seat, but his leg was trapped under a giant piece of steel covered in dials. He lifted it up as though it was a child's toy, although it would've taken two regular men to lift it. He looked around him, but he was clueless as to what he was looking for; he couldn't remember what had happened. He took his first step forward and crumpled to the ground. He could feel a fresh puddle of blood beginning to stain his suit just below his knee. As he hit the floor, his left hand slammed down onto something small, round, and made of glass. He picked up the golden compass and opened it. Behind a layer of shattered glass, Peggy's chestnut eyes stared back at him.
One month. Thirty days. Seven hundred and twenty hours. It felt like a year. Even though she was still hoping that he'd show up one day, she knew he wouldn't. He'd crashed in icy water and none of the wreckage had ever been found. It was a "lost cause..." or so she was told by everyone involved. She picked up another beer and told herself that she would forget about him today. She would pull herself away from the suffocating grip of the pain of Steve's death that consumed her for just one night. Raising her bottle to the sky, she said, "here's to you, Rodgers. I hope you found your partner up there."
He tucked the compass safely in his belt as he made a second attempt at standing. He could feel the blood pulsing in his leg as he attempted to maneuver himself out of the wreckage. Clumsy, tired, and confused, he stumbled around until he was standing a few feet away from the piles of shredded metal. He wrinkled his nose, shading his eyes from the powerful gusts of wind blowing snow into his face. He turned around a few times, trying to make sense of what was going on. Where am... I thought... This doesn't make any sense... I shouldn't... Am I dead? I should be dead. His mind was racing as he tried to figure out why... why he isn't dead, why the ship looks so old and rusted... nothing made sense to him anymore. Not knowing what to do, Steve just started walking. He didn't know what he was walking into, or even what he was walking away from, but he had no other choice.