A/N: Hey! So here is a Christmas fic inspired by the prompt in the Avengers forum by darkoraclegirl So Thank you darkoraclegirl so much for the idea! This story takes place after the Captain America movie. So I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, Marvel, or the characters used in this story. I am only using them for the entertainment of the world and myself.
Steve had just turned the corner on Fifth Street on his way back to the Avengers Tower. His run had been refreshing, and to his surprise there were not very many people out on the normally bustling streets of New York this morning. Granted, it was 5 A.M. and two days before Christmas Eve, but he still expected to encounter more than a handful of pedestrians and taxi cabs driving on the slush filled roads. The city itself was actually a spectacular sight in the light of all the colorful shops' windows that decorated the streets and sidewalks.
Toys glistened in the artificial light of the many toy stores windows on Fifth Avenue. The sweet smells of traditional Christmassy desserts wafted in the air from the local bakeries, along with the mouthwatering fragrances of various other savory food drifting from the open widows of the apartment buildings above his head. The people who were still doing last minute shopping, were coming out of the shops carrying brightly colored, wrapped bags out into the streets before proceeding to wave down any available taxi cabs.
However, these familiar sights were not the only ones bringing nostalgia back to the Man out of Time. All in the air was not the choking aroma of smog and muck that had become the New York City that Steve had to get accustomed to, but the clean crisp smell of cold and snow.
The snow did at one point bring back almost happy memories from his depressing childhood and upbringing.
He remembered having snowball fights and building snowmen with Bucky, watching the small specks of white drift from the sky as he and his family decorated the tree and cooked Christmas dinner, of him running—or jogging because of his asthma—down the sidewalk and sliding on the ice. Of sitting on his father's lap and listening to the radio broadcast the football game. Or his favorite, finding the biggest hill in the neighborhood and laying on his belly as Bucky gave him a push down the latest Everest slope.
Yes, he did have good memories, but if you live through war and tribulation…those good memories can easily be washed away.
Now his memories of the snow and cold were replaced by the nights he was so deathly ill, that he could no longer keep warmth in his fragile body. The freezing temperatures of Germany followed by the whiz of bullets flying over his head, the sound of his men wounded and dying in scarlet snow. Of watching helplessly as Bucky, his life-long friend, fell to his death on the train and into the unforgiving white. Then the latest memory, the one that still haunts his dreams, of him facing the frozen glacier blocks of the Arctic and promising Peggy to a dance before everything went dark.
Steve slowed to a halt, teeth chattering in the now seemingly unbearable cold. He slowly brought his arms up to his freezing chest and asked himself why he even came out here anyway? The Soldier remained where he was in the middle of the sidewalk as he pondered his predicament.
He obviously knew that it was cold when he stepped out of the Tower earlier that morning. Steve attempted to smile as he remembered Tony's indignant squeak at the sudden chill, when Steve walked out of the foyer of the Avengers Tower and into the cold. But that still didn't explain why he went out to run this morning. Yet, when he thought back on the beginning of his trek, it hadn't been snowing then. Had it?
Finally realizing that standing there wasn't helping him get to warmth any quicker, Steve started walking forward again heading to the place he now called home. Now he was suddenly grateful for wearing two pairs of thick sweats, three pairs of socks, running shoes, a hoodies, two undershirts, and one black underarmour turtleneck before stepping out earlier. Now he recalled that it actually hadn't started to snow until an hour into his morning exercise routine. And now that he thought about it, there was a treadmill in the gym on the floor above Tony's auto shop and one in his "apartment" in the Tower itself. So why in the world did he think it was a good idea to run in New York, three days before Christmas, in subzero temperatures, and when he hates the cold and ice?
Steve continued to run every scenario in his head from the time he woke up until now. He ran through a checklist of ideas that a typical therapist might have used on their patient.
Did someone persuade you to go out in this weather?
No, well, maybe? Natasha and Pepper have been talking about trying to adapt me to the winter again. But that was only with them agreeing to accompany me to do whatever it is they had in mind.
Did you need to get something outside of the Tower?
Why would I need anything outside of the Tower? Tony practically has the entire place stock piled with everything! And even if I did need something, I would have gotten it by now and be in the Tower trying to get away from this bone chilling cold.
Did a team member ask you to get something outside of the Tower?
Practically that same as the first question, except for Tony. He would ask Happy or Pepper to get the things for him, or better yet, ask Jarvis to put it on the "same-day-delivery" thingy. They all know I would do something like that for them, but they also know how I feel about the cold.
Has anything been bothering you lately?
No, just the same old crap that I am always dealing with.
What did you have planned this week?
Uhm, I would like to get some sketches of the team done and catch up on my reading and paperwork because no one else will do it otherwise. But otherwise, I have a free schedule until Fury needs the team.
How were you feeling this morning? Did something make you feel as if you needed to go outside?
Steve got stuck on the last question and let his mind ponder over it. What did he feel this morning? That's when it hit him. This morning he did feel a sense of urgency in his movements as he proceeded to get ready. Like as if someone was calling out to him, someone who needed help. He knew that it was an odd feeling to have at this hour in the morning, and not to mention only a day and a half after Fury let them go for Christmas, but Steve had still felt called to go outside for a run.
He just didn't know why.
The kid struggled against the tightening grip of the neighborhood thug.
He could feel the energy slowly slipping out of him the more he struggled, and the many wounds he had accumulated from the continuous abuse that these men put him through. He hadn't done anything to them, so the boy had no clue why they were even trying to bother him! All he wanted was to find any decent food in the trash cans behind the apartment complex. He didn't mean to step in the gang leaders way or on their turf!
The boy squeaked as the man brought his fist tighter over the boy's scrawny neck. Black dots began to hover in the corners of his vision, his mouth was making a show of opening and closing like a fish out of water, and now his body was beginning to lose the fight against consciousness all together the more he was suspended in the air. The man brought himself in closer to the kid's face. The boy tried to recoil from the dank scent of alcohol on his breath, but was not able to get very far.
The man snarled before revealing an evil grin that would have been more menacing if he weren't missing so many teeth. "Look at me boy."
When he didn't comply, the man pulled him away from the wall and thrusted him back against it, causing the boy to cry out as his head met brick. The gang laughed as the child's muffled groan as he clinched his eye shut against the pain exploding in the back of his head and body. He was trying everything in his power not to cry. The last thing he needed was for the group to find out that he had powers, then kill him in the middle of the dark alleyway. So he held firm.
"I said, look. At. Me!"
As much as he wanted not to, the kid opened his clear sterling eyes toward the thug. Despite the blurriness from his lack of oxygen and throbbing head, he could still make out the fine features of the man's face.
He was about thirty years old, tall, and dirty faced, but whether that was from the unshaved beard or dried mud the kid couldn't tell. The guy had tattoos up his arms and neck that were clearly visible under the thin dirty wife beater he wore. If it weren't for the cold, the kid would assume that the man had been tan but between his quivering arms and the 10 degree wind chill, he looked paler than a piece of paper. The holey smile was back causing wrinkles to form around his dark eyes as he watched the boy traced over his features.
"Checking me out, son? Or are you just being a sissy and acting all observant 'cause you too dumb to tell the difference between a man and a dog?"
The group laughed again, and the kid snorted…or, at least tried to. "Nope,' he gasped,' it's just that I've seen better looking dogs." He grinned at the man's expression of shock and horror before a fist the size of Manhattan came toward his face. Pain exploded from his left cheek, escalating the agony in his head and jarring the bruises from everywhere else.
The man then released his hold around his neck, only to continue the beating with his feet. Other members of the group joined in on the fun, laughing and taunting the child through the whole process. The boy took the beating by wrapping into a tight ball and placing his arms over his small head. He couldn't tell how many were hurting him because the fists and boots were everywhere. But the beating he could take, that he was used to living on the streets for the past eight years. It was just that words and names that they called him that really made the physical pain become unbearable, because words cut deeper than the sharpest knife.
The gang verbally insulted the boy between every kick, punch, pull, and slap, leaving no room for reprieve.
"You. Little. Idiot." "Jerk." "Dog." "Rat." "Piece of crap!" "Nothing!" "Butt-hole" (These are the nicer form of the words. I personally do not curse, but you are free to put the words there if you choose.)
He had grown up being called these words, but it was his choice on whether or not he decided to accept them. With every crack of bone, or bruise from fist came something new and old. The kid may have been used to the names, but he never accepted them as his own. So there he lay in the trash pile of an alley, being beaten to until he either lost consciousness or death finally took him. The assault seemed endless and the boy waited for unconsciousness to take him, but when the barrage stopped the world didn't fade into darkness.
His mind drifted on the thin border of the conscious and unconscious realm as some of the conversation drifted into his ears. "Who's coming?"
"From where?"
"Who dare…"
"Gotta go…"
The kid opened his one good eye to a slit as he watched the gang disperse from the alley in every direction. Just as they had suddenly appeared, they had vanished. The boy tried to sit up, but could not get his arms under his figure long enough without crying out in misery. He tried again, but only felt his broken ribs shift inside his multicolored chest. He coughed violently into his available hand and recoiled in horror at the sight of blood in his open palm. With nothing else to do and no way of moving out of the puddle of blood beneath him, he laid back down on the concrete.
With nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. And no one to care.
The boy curled even more into himself, if that possible with broken ribs and other bones, and cried. The city around slowed too little activity as soft, white flakes fell with his tears.
Rogers looked up from his feet and in the direction of the Tower. Judging from his perspective of the giant building with the Avengers logo on it and his current position, Steve calculated that he was about a mile and half away. He sighed and watched the misty vapor escape from his mouth as he lowered his arms and started to jog down the sparsely populated streets. Still thinking on the feeling he got that morning.
The few people he saw became fewer and father in between as he started to cover some more ground. The most he saw at one time was a group of at least five grown men walking in the opposite direction of him. The lead guy bumped into his shoulder then proceeded to glare at Steve, but kept walking. Steve detected the obvious scent of alcohol on the man's breathe, and judging by his clothing and staggered walk, Steve would not be surprised if he was a thug. He continued his jog while occasionally sending glances behind him at the retreating gang.
Steve kept up his pace as he crossed the second to last intersection before the Tower.
That's when he heard what sounded like whimpering. He slowed his jog to a fast walk and enable his serum enhanced ears to pick up on the sound. The weather was horrible, Steve will admit without denying that, but most people had a coat on. So, who was whimpering?
He had stopped only a few feet from the pedestrian crossing to catch the sound again. Silence permeated the air besides that of the people and cars further down the road, but other than that, Steve was pretty sure he could make out a pin drop. And that's when he heard it again. A faint, soft whimper followed by a sniffle.
Steve traced the sound to an alley way not far from the street light and headed in that direction. That was when that odd feeling from this morning came back to the Soldier. And the closer to the alley he got the stronger the desperation, almost a yearning, to find the source of the pitiful sound became.
His shoes crunched on the thickening snow around his feet as he approached the entrance to the alley. The soft cries never growing louder or softer the closer he got. Steve stopped just on the edge of the brick building, and listened for any other noise beside that of who he perceived to be a child. Then the Super Soldier completely turned from the wall and into the dark alley.
The area in itself was something very similar to the horror movies that Tony and Clint watched every now and then, and Steve half expected for something to pop out at him. Trash lay open and piled high along both walls as Steve steadily made his way forward. Rats and other small creatures scurried about his feet with every step he took, trying to get through the various piles of waste like stores in a shopping mall. Broken furniture, vehicles, and other sorts of odds and ends lay all over the hard concrete in whatever position seemed right. There was also no light in the passage, so Steve had to strain his eyes to ensure that he didn't face plant in a pile of refuse or dog feces.
Steve stepped in a piece of glass making a loud crunch that echoed over the trash and walls. The soft crying and whimpering stopped suddenly, as if listening for an enemy to arrive. Steve froze where he was with one foot in the air mid-step and waited for the sound to come back. When it didn't, he cleared his throat and spoke out in a voice one would use to call out to children.
"Hello?"