Steve took a gulp of air and charged at Thanos again, hoping that the rest of the gang would be a big enough distraction that he could finally get the job done. There was a flash of blue, a disorienting dizziness, and he crashed onto the asphalt of a street. The world was quiet except for a skipping chant, which broke off as the girls on the sidewalk noticed a dirty, bruised man tumble to the ground ten feet away.
He took a moment to roll onto his back and look up at the old trees that shaded the street, listening to the birds chirping and the whispers of the girls as they discussed what to do. Finally, one of the girls elected herself the leader and led the others over to him.
She took a long look at him and said, surprised, "I know who you are."
Steve pushed himself up into a sitting position, moving slowly so as not the scare the girls. "Yeah?"
"Yeah", she nodded. "My brother had your picture in his room."
"And now he doesn't?"
"The picture is still in his room, but he's just dust."
For the first time, Steve took a good look at the girls. The leader had brown hair and eyes, skinned knees, and a knee sock that had fallen to her ankle under her purple dress. She was accompanied by a tiny blonde girl in a blue dress, a girl with flyaway black curls in sneakers and a dusty white dress, and a brown-haired girl in a white blouse and red skirt. "Sorry, kid."
"Me too", the leader said. "But mom says sometimes bad things happen. We stop the things we can, but we can't stop everything bad. I'm Michelle." She held out her hand, and when he shook it she pumped it twice.
"Steve Rogers", he answered.
"Nice to meet you", she said formally. "You'd better come with me."
She turned to the girls still cowering behind her. "I'm taking him to my house. My mom will know what to do."
"Maybe we should ask my dad", offered the blonde.
"No", said Michelle. "My mom will know." She turned back to Steve and held out her hand. "Let's go."
The other girls went back to their game as Michelle led him down the street to a large brick house. They went past the old-fashioned-yet-brand-new black and white car in the driveway and around to the back door, and Michelle led the way inside, yelling "Mom!"
A middle-aged woman poked her head out of a room to the side. "Michelle! What are you hollering for for?" At the sight of Steve standing awkwardly behind the young girl, still dressed in his cowl and suit, she took a step closer. "Who is this now?"
"This is Mr. Steve Rogers," Michelle explained. She turned back quickly. "Mr. Rogers, this is Mrs. Henderson. She looks after the house and makes sure I don't get into too much trouble."
"Some days more successfully than others", Mrs. Henderson added. "Where did you find him, Michelle?"
"He fell into the middle of the street. Is Mom here?"
"She's at work", the housekeeper answered, glancing at the clock. "But she should be home shortly."
She turned to Steve. "I'm not sure why you're here, but perhaps you'd best be on your way."
"I understand, ma'am. I don't mean to be any trouble."
"Mrs. Henderson", Michelle said sternly, "Mr. Rogers needs to talk to my mom. Can you stay for dinner?", she asked, addressing Steve as if she hadn't encountered any opposition.
"Maybe I should go", Steve answered.
"You have to stay", Michelle answered, in the confident tone common to self-assured little girls. "Don't worry, remember I told you Mom will know what to do?"
"And she'll be here soon, so you'd better go wash up", Mrs. Henderson said, shooing Michelle up the stairs.
"Is there somewhere I can wash up, too?" Steve asked.
Thirty minutes later, Steve had removed his cowl, washed as best he could, and been dragged upstairs to admire both the Captain America poster in the pristine room of a boy who no longer needed it, and the chaotic jumble of toys, interesting rocks, and branches in the room of a girl who was very much alive.
When she'd given him the tour of her most precious possessions, Michelle led him back downstairs to a neat room with comfortable furniture clustered around a fireplace. Michelle casually gestured at a framed photo of a smiling family sitting on top of the piano. "That's Jimmy", she said, and Steve saw a dark-haired boy with a mischievous glint in his eye. He stopped in his tracks, taking in the entire family. "Michelle?" he asked, "what's your mom's name?"
Before he'd finished the question, the door opened.
In the eight months since she'd woken one morning to find her husband and son had crumbled to dust while they slept, Howard had failed to come up with any reasonable explanation as to why half the world seemed to have just stopped existing. Peggy had been forced to chalk it up, along with super-soldiers and mind control, to another seemingly-impossible thing.
When she walked into her drawing room to see Steve Rogers standing there, alive and well, she added another item to the list. He was a little older, a little more battered, but he smiled at her the way he used to, the way she'd forgotten he could smile.
"Hi P…"
Her daughter interrupted. "Mom, we've been waiting and waiting." Belatedly remembering her manners, she made her introductions. "This is Mr. Steve Rogers. He fell out of the sky and I knew you'd know what to do. Mr. Rogers, this is my mom."
"Yes", Peggy said, "I see that. Hello, Steve."
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