Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers, the X-Men, or Captain America. There has been no money made in the writing of this story.

A/N: Trigger Warnings for the first part: Steve is suicidal at the beginning of this. It will get better, but if this is going to affect you adversely, please just skip this one over.

This is a crossover story with X-Men, but I didn't put it in the crossover section because I have basically used the characters to make my own X-Men team. See later in the note.

I have a tendency to pair Steve with everyone. I love him. Please let me know what you think if you have a moment and if this is worth continuing. I would appreciate it! Thanks!

For The Avengers the fandom is mainly the movies. For the X-Men it's rather ambiguous. My own version of them, if you will, so some of the ages will be wonky and some characters will not interact with each other in expected ways. But, I guess that's kind of what fandom is for. :)

It was a pleasant surprise to Steve that upstate New York in the autumn was almost exactly the same as it had been when he was young. Riding his bike with the cool air blowing through his hair and the sound of the leaves crunching under his tires, the memories were almost palpable. He could almost feel it as if it were happening all over, the excitement that practically buzzed through him, as he and his mother went to Penn station for the very first time and boarded his very first train. It was so much bigger than the subway cars he and Bucky frequented. He could remember closing his eyes and lifting his nose to the open train window as the air came cleaner the further away from the city they got. The crispness in the air, the fresh smell of the wet leaves and grass, even the way the sun filtering down through the reds, oranges, and yellows in the trees all served to make him feel like he was sixteen again. Sixteen and desperately pretending that the trip upstate that both he and his mom knew they couldn't afford wasn't her way of trying to gently tell him goodbye. In his mind's eye he could still see her sad smile, the thinning hair that he tried so hard to brush softly for her when she was too tired to lift her arms, and the beautiful sky blue dress that she'd filled out in stunning fashion just weeks before their trip hanging off of her frame in what would have been a comical manner if it hadn't been so very heartbreaking. He'd saved the tiny bits of scrap he could find for months for the money to buy her the fabric to make it. She'd been buried in it just weeks later. Even thinking about it so many years later could still bring tears to his eyes and he felt no shame as he reached up to wipe one away.

Even with the slight sadness in his heart at his memories and the tracks of tears on his cheeks, with every mile he travelled he felt lighter. It was like he hadn't realized that he'd been having trouble breathing until finally he could again. It was an almost dizzying kind of relief. He'd expected there to be guilt. But, all he could feel was free. When he was younger, fighting in a war that made sense to him, a war that had felt so black and white at the time, good against bad, Hitler and Red Skull against the rest of the world, he'd always been very aware of the all too real possibility that he might give his life in service to his country. It was something he'd accepted the moment he'd first tried to enter the army. It was something he would have gladly done. Of course no one wanted to die, especially when they had so much to live for, but it was something he'd come to terms with. It was price he'd been willing to pay. As much as he hadn't wanted to die when he forced Schmidt's aircraft down, he'd been content that he'd led a good life and he'd done all he could to make the world safe and better for all mankind. And as the ice covered him, even as his lungs screamed for air and his body went numb, he hadn't been afraid. He hadn't been angry. He'd been ready.

Waking in a world that no longer appreciated the mind-sets of his time, a world where people called the ideals he once held dear outdated and naïve, a world as foreign to him as Asgard, was as shocking to his system as the ice that had preserved him in the depths of the ocean. He'd tried. He'd tried so hard for three years that felt more like thirty. He'd tried to make the new time he found himself in his own. He'd made his lists and tried to catch up with the modern world. He let Stark inundate him with technology that overwhelmed rather than simplified as it was supposed to. He had forced himself into the city he once loved that was now never quiet. Not that it had been all that quiet in his youth, but now…now there was just so much noise. Even in his apartment in Brooklyn that bordered Prospect Park, there was no place to escape the constant sound of too many people out at all hours. And when it wasn't people it was cars. Why were there so many of them? He just couldn't make himself fit in a world that had moved on without him.

When Bucky had come back to him, ready to heal, ready to be helped, he'd thought that maybe, just maybe, he could be at home in his new time and his new role. That in helping Bucky come back to himself he could bring himself, the best self he'd in the war, back as well. But, as Bucky healed, as the brainwashed soldier became the good man who loved a hearty joke and cared so deeply for people that Steve had once admired so once again, Steve just became more isolated. Bucky became part of their team, in many ways more than Steve himself. He could joke with Stark and Barton, make Bruce and the twins feel at ease, slip into a drinking contest with Thor as easily as he could a tactical discussion, and even found ways to make Natasha and Sam feel comfortable around him. Soon it was very clear to everyone that his best friend, a man who had been tortured, brainwashed, and remade a hundred times over, fit into the time, into the team, better than he ever would. And then it felt like Bucky had left him behind as well.

In all honesty, as he'd laid on the ground after a battle that should have been easy, broken and certain that he was finally going to die, all he'd felt was relief. He'd been a good Catholic boy all his life and had feared Hellfire and damnation as much as the next so suicide had never been an option but sometimes he'd ached so much for release from everything that his life had become that he'd almost dropped his shield and simply given in nearly a dozen times. He didn't remember what it had been about that day that had made him decide it was time. Of course he'd fought, but he knew he could have fought harder. Did it count as suicide if he hadn't really allowed himself to be killed, he simply hadn't prevented it? As Bucky pulled him into his arms, held him and rocked him as he had so many times when they were younger and Steve's health was failing him, demanding that Steve stay with him, the only thing that Steve could think was that he was finally, finally going to get what he had been promised all of those years ago. He was finally going to get peace.

And finally, after so many years apart, and so much time trying to forget the one whose loss was like a stabbing pain in his heart every time he remembered, he allowed himself to remember. He remembered deep chocolate brown eyes that had so many years of hurt and knowledge, wisdom and love in them. He remembered a hearty laugh that could lift his spirits no matter what had happened. He remembered a fierce warrior who fought by his side step for step. He remembered a body molding to his own, loving him through nights when he thought that he'd fall apart from grief and bringing him more pleasure than any man had a right to feel when they were alone. He remembered a love so encompassing that it was a wonder he'd lasted as long as he had without the other half of his soul. And he remembered a kiss. That final kiss before they broke into the Hydra compound, the kiss Dugan rolled his eyes for and pulled them apart with a laugh because of. A kiss that made the others avert their eyes, but didn't make him feel any shame. He remembered a promise to see each other later and a final declaration of love. And finally, he allowed himself to whisper the name once more than he hadn't even let himself think for so long. And with that whisper he'd allowed his eyes to slip closed and his body to go lax with nothing but a grateful sigh as he let himself go.

And he'd woken again in agony and dark, not bothering to hold back when he realized that they'd dragged him back from death again. He'd raged against them, pulling the tubes out of his arms and his nose, pushing away those much weaker than him that tried to keep him on the hospital bed. As he'd opened his eyes and still couldn't make sense of what he was seeing, he hadn't cared how many people his strength was hurting. He saw Bucky and the rest of his team rushing into the room and all he could do was scream at them. Asking why they couldn't just let him die. Screaming the name of his great love over and over again as Thor and Bucky held him down and Pietro rushed to get breakable doctors out of the way while Bruce put together a concoction of drugs strong enough to keep him under. He hadn't even felt the prick of the needle, but he'd felt its effects almost immediately as it entered his bloodstream. His body began to relax against his will as Natasha stroked his hair and softly sung a Russian lullaby in his ear while Wanda hummed an eerie counterpoint. The last thing he heard was Tony's soft "Jesus Christ" before he slipped back into the darkness.

When he awoke again the pain was less and masked under a haze of what he was sure were narcotics. He turned his head and wasn't surprised to see Bucky asleep in an uncomfortable chair. He tried to work up any energy or happiness at all at Bucky's loyalty, his friendship, but all he could feel was numb. His sigh hitched into a aborted when his lungs weren't as healed as he he'd thought. When he turned his head back to Bucky his intense eyes were open and focused like a hawk. They stared at each other for a long time, Bucky simmering anger and concern and Steve resigned and exhausted. It was Bucky who finally worked up the courage to speak.

"Why didn't you tell anyone, Steve?" His voice was carefully controlled.

"What was I supposed to do, Buck? Stand up in the middle of a meeting and say 'I want to die, but I'm too much of a coward to do the deed?'"

"Jesus Christ, Steve!" Bucky leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands under his chin as if it was the only thing keeping him from reaching out to take hold of Steve's shoulders and shake some sense into him, "We're not in the forties anymore. People talk about things like this now. There's medication and therapy. There's…it's not something that you should be ashamed of."

Steve sighed and looked down at his hands, clenched so tightly into fists that his knuckles were white. He took a deep breath and made himself relax them, "I'm not ashamed of it, Buck. I just…I'm done. I'm tired. War isn't supposed to go on forever. The fighting and the killing, the betrayal and everything we never should have seen. Aliens, the world tearing itself apart, Hydra resurfacing more powerful than ever. What did we fight for, Bucky? Why did we fight when it didn't make a damn bit of difference? Nothing's changed! What was the point of fighting then? What's the point of living now? The world doesn't need me anymore, Buck. The world doesn't need Captain America. The shield is a meaningless symbol now. And it's just too heavy for me to hold. I can't…I don't have the energy anymore."

"So put it down, Steve," Bucky said quietly, reaching out to cover one of Steve's hands with his own, "Retire Captain America. Leave the fight. Figure out who you are in this new world. Get some therapy. For God's sake, get some medication. But, don't make us watch you die. Maybe you're right and the world doesn't need Captain America anymore. But, don't you think for one second that that means we don't need Steve Rogers. To lose you, Steve, it would kill us all. I…I couldn't live knowing you're not alive somewhere."

Steve's could feel his breath coming in quick gasps as the tears filled his eyes. He shook his head and tried to speak, but found the words caught in his throat. A couple of tears slipped free and he felt Bucky move from his chair and sit on the bed next to him, wrapping his metal arm around Steve's shoulders.

"It can't…It can't just be that easy."

"Why not?" Bucky asked, "Steve, you were never made to be a soldier forever. It's not you. You're…you're the best man I've ever known. And now it's time for you to stop fighting and start living."

Steve allowed himself to sit up and lean on Bucky's strength. He didn't know if it was the conversation or the wounds he was still suffering from, but suddenly he was exhausted. He closed his eyes and tucked his head between Bucky's shoulder and neck. Bucky began to stroke his hair like he had when they were younger and Steve was fighting his way through an asthma attack.

"And what about you, Buck?"

"Steve, that's always been the difference between us. You fought to live. I live to fight. I belong here."

Bucky shifted and Steve knew from the tension in his body that he was about to bring up something that Steve wouldn't like. He was prepared for the stab of pain in his heart when Bucky finally worked up the nerve to ask, "You ever find out what happened to him?"

"No," he whispered after a time, "After the leviathan went down he just kind of disappears from all records. I asked Dugan before he passed. He said he went feral again, like he was before he joined The Commandos. Then one day he was just gone. There are so many soldiers from that time, Buck, that were never found again. I just…I just don't know."

"I'll help you find him, Steve," Bucky's voice was as quiet a whisper as Steve's, "If we can't find a grave at least we'll track down a battle or something. You need the closure, Stevie. You need to mourn him. You searched for me. I'll help you search for him."

"Thanks, Buck."

When he awoke next he instinctively kept his eyes closed and his breath even as he heard two voices talking quietly. He could feel Bucky's presence at his left, but was surprised to put together that the one on his right, with the hand resting lightly on his wrist, thumb against his pulse point, was Tony Stark.

"So…who's James? Obviously it wasn't you he was screaming for. Does Steve even know your name is James?"

A snort of laughter. Bucky had always had an easier relationship with Tony than Steve had, "James Howlett Jr. He was one of The Howling Commandos. Just kind of showed up in the middle of a battle one day. He…we thought maybe Hydra had experimented on him, too. He was always so strong and he walked away from some things he never should have been able to survive. He was rough and had some questionable morals, but underneath it all he was one of the best men I ever knew. Always willing to sacrifice for what was right. Never hurt a child. Fought like the devil to protect his team. And Steve…"

"Steve fell in love with him." It wasn't a question.

"They loved each other," Bucky corrected, "I've never seen two people who just…enjoyed each other more. James made Steve more sure of himself and his command. Steve made James a more gentle man, helped to tame some of the wild he had in him. They were completely devoted to each other. You know I wasn't there when the leviathan went down, but I can only imagine what happened what James heard that Steve wasn't coming back. I haven't been able to bring myself to listen to the accounts that the other Commandos recorded as of yet. But, God, it couldn't have been good. And there's no record of James dying in the war that Steve's been able to find, but there's no record of him past the war, either. The not knowing…it's tearing Steve apart."

"I'll find him, Bucky," The vehemence in Tony's voice surprised Steve, but he was glad to hear it. Tony had resources that he and Bucky could only dream of.

"Thanks, Tony." The gentle tone and the relief in it caused a fresh wave of guilt to rise in Steve's throat. He covered up clearing it by sighing deeply and shifting his weight. It was an almost entertaining thought that Tony would be shocked if he realized that Steve was purposefully deceiving them. Something about his actions must have struck a chord with Tony, though. His hand tightened slightly on Steve's wrist and his thumb rubbed comfortingly over the pulse point.

"He's never going to pick up the shield again, is he?"

"Do we really want him to if he's going to get himself killed?"

There was no hesitation in Tony's voice at all as he answered and it made Steve's breath hitch, "Absolutely not. Having Captain America isn't worth losing Steve."

"Agreed."

They were quiet after that and Steve wasn't sure how long it as before he fell asleep again, but the next thing he knew he was blinking awake in soft sunlight and a great deal of the pain was lessened. Bucky and Tony were gone, but Natasha and Bruce were sitting with him, the former looking a little worse for wear and the latter was sleeping heavily, his head back in what would probably end up in a very uncomfortable crick in his neck when he awoke. Steve considered reaching out to wake him, but thought that if he was sleeping that heavily in that position then the sleep was probably what he needed the most. He turned to look at Natasha and she blinked out of the intense study of the book in her lap to give him the half smile that he was pretty sure was reserved only for himself and the other Avengers.

"Can't decided whether to kill you or kiss you," She murmured.

"Let me know when you do…"

And it was just that easy with Natasha, Bruce was easy to talk to because he understood exactly where Steve was coming from. He was an outsider as well and he knew what it was like to sink so low that the idea of ending it all was the most comforting option. Thor was surprisingly quiet and supportive in his quiet as he and Steve spoke quietly about Asgard and the New York Steve had been raised in. Clint played the clown and had Steve laughing until the release of emotion brought o a storm of sobbing and shaking so badly Steve thought he would fall apart. Clint simultaneously looked understanding and terrified as he backed out of the room. But, the next thing he knew Pepper was in the room with him, wrapping him in her strong arms and helping him weather the storm. From then on it was either Pepper or Sam who helped him through his emotional times when they came. After a couple of months of healing physically and emotionally, allowing himself to accept his new life in a new time, and talking to a doctor who helped him find medications and techniques that made him feel more even and less hopeless, he decided it was time.

He walked into Nick Fury's office confident and sturdy. Phil Coulson had returned with avengence and Steve almost felt guilty at destroying his image of his childhood hero as he gave Fury his verbal resignation of his position both in S.H.E.I.L.D and as Captain America. But, he saw only understanding in Phil's eyes and he knew that Phil was perhaps one of the few men in the world who fully understood what it was like to give up a life for an ideal and then be told it wasn't good enough and more was needed. Phil has made a different choice that Steve was making. He wasn't as selfish as Steve, but Steve was learning to be okay with a little bit of selfishness. He was beginning to see that he deserved to be happy.

"Hang onto this for me?" He asked quietly as he handed Phil his shield, "I may need it again someday."

"I'll keep it polished," Phil agreed with a small nod.

And now here he was, travelling in upstate New York on his bike, admiring the autumn all around him and feeling lighter than he had in a long, long time. For the first time since Erskine approached him he had no plan, no goal. He only had a Stark Blackcard he wasn't going to allow himself to be ashamed of using, the clothes and toiletries in his saddlebags, his bike, and a vague idea of where he was going.

"There's a school upstate. Westchester. Something there I think you might be interested in." Tony had said it with such casual conviction that Steve knew he would have to check it out. But, whether or not he actually found anything at this…Xavier School one thing was certain. This was one hell of a beautiful ride.

The gate was closed when he approached it and it took him a couple of embarrassing minutes before he realized what the little box with the television and the button was for.

"Hello?" A pleasant looking teenager with a sweet, round face smiled at him on the screen.

"Hi," he smiled back uncomfortably, "Um…I'm Steve Rogers. A friend gave me this address. Told me to ask for Logan."

"Logan? Sure. Come on up."

As he rode up the long drive Steve wondered if maybe he had been a soldier for too long because the most prevalent thought in his mind was that security could be tighter. The sweet girl in control of the gate didn't know him from Adam but she let him in as soon as he dropped a single name. the last thing he wanted was a school to have a security breach because the young students were too trusting.

He rode slowly and spotted a young man standing on the lawn, looking up to the sky, and blinked hard when a large pair of beautiful, feathered white wings stretched out behind him and lifted him into the air. In the next moment a young woman with a white streak in her hair flew out of nowhere and made a grab for a strip of fabric tucked into the back pocket of the young man's jeans. He laughed and turned like a bullet before taking off across the grounds. Steve could feel the smile stretch across his face. It was a school for young mutants. No wonder Tony wanted him to stop here. He'd been interested in what he could do to help mutant rights since he woke up and mutants had come to the forefront of the world's thoughts. He was disillusioned with his government and his nation but the rights of people who just wanted to be free to live normal lives…that was something he could get behind one hundred percent. He was still smiling when he pulled up in front of the mansion and threw his leg over his bike. He stood, reaching his hands above his head to stretch and looked out at the grounds. They were beautifully attended. Off in the distance he could see the game of tag continued. A small child, black and red like molten lava, had joined in. He chuckled softly when he heard the indignant, "Hey!" as the angel-winged young managed to take the child's ribbon.

"Can I help you?" The voice, already on the defensive (Almost constantly on the defensive, Steve knew.) knocked the breath right out of him. His knees went weak and he had to put his hands on them to keep himself upright. It only barely worked and he knew that he could lose it any moment. He felt like he was drawing in his breath through a straw and finally managed to pull in a gasping breath when the little black spots began to dance around his vision.

"Something wrong, Bub?"

Steve let out a sound he never knew he was capable of making, half barking laugh, half sob, and finally turned around to look up into the eyes that he'd been dreaming of for seventy years.

"I never…" He swallowed hard around the emotion in his throat, "I never thought I would be so happy to hear you call me that again." He could see the confusion in the man before him. Confusion and no recognition and felt his heart stutter. He couldn't be alive and looking as beautiful as he had the last time Steve saw him so many years ago and not recognize him. It was too cruel. Steve knew he wouldn't survive it if he didn't remember.

"James…" he choked out desperately, reaching out a hand to the man in front of him.

Then the most beautiful thing Steve had seen in his life. Recognition dawned in the eyes he loved and his wild man took a step back in shock.

"Steve?"