A/N- Hey everybody! I have returned! Now, on with the story!

Oh, and kitsune738, don't die... That would make me very much sad.


Sunday, August 8, 1943 - Steve Rogers

The crowd was still screaming, chanting his name after he had left the stage, and Steve honestly didn't know what to do with himself. Even though he was no stranger to his new line of work, the number of Las Vegas citizens who showed up to see his performance was staggering. God help his poor eardrums. He swore one of them started bleeding when the auditorium's volume reached an all-time high at the moment his fist made fake contact to Hitler's jaw.

"Mr. Rogers. The autograph booth is all set and ready to go." A voice called behind him, pulling him out of his thoughts, and the blond man, still in costume, rose to his full height and stared down at the mouse like man in front of him, or as he was better known as, the venue's manager.

"Can we just skip on the autographs this time?" He pleaded, resisting the urge to rub his temples. He wasn't the best at math, but he knew that if he got a headache while his ears were still ringing, it would equal disaster. He could not afford to jump into the chaos of the crowd once more. He would most likely end up doing something he would regret.

"Fraid not, sir. We got a quota to met ya' see? We charge a pretty penny for those scribbles of yours, and the more of 'em we sell, the higher the prophet."

Steve groaned, "Shouldn't we have made plenty of profit on the ticket sells alone?"

The man's greedy eyes bulged. "Mr. Rogers, there's no such thing as plenty o' profit. And even if there were, we could always do with more." The man stated firmly, and Steve could see it in the beady eyes of the smaller man that their would be no convincing him to reconsider. Beside, the little slime ball probably had already talked his manager into it, meaning that if he said no, there would be hell to pay later.

"Lead the way." Steve growled, and the man's face broke out into a grin, and he didn't hesitate to lead him down the dimly lit hallway.

"You won't regret this Mr. Rogers," the man explained as he led Steve to a pair of wooden double doors, complete with a fancy, golden-colored handle, "I talked to your manager earlier this evenin' and ya' know what he told me? He said the he'd be takin' half the profit and sliptin' his half with ya'. That'll pay for a good night on the town!" The man said with enthusiasm, but Steve could hear in his voice about what he thought about splitting the profit with his manager. The greed of them both made him queasy. This was what he had been reduced to? This was the soldier he had become?

But it didn't matter, because the venue manager had already swung the door open and pushed Steve out into the crowd.

Steve was frozen. Flashes of light were everywhere. Noises engulfed him like a tidal wave, and he could feel the heat of the crowd pushing in on him from all directions. He knew that the autograph table would be somewhere to his left, but he couldn't pick his feet up, let alone move. He was paralyzed as the crowd swarmed him. He couldn't breath, it was like he suddenly developed claustrophobia in three seconds flat. He had to get out and quickly.

His body went on autopilot, and he felt his hands push people out of his way. He was like a a caged animal fleeing from its entrapment. Some part of him was holding onto an ounce of self control though, because, despite his rough treatment of the crowd, none of them had went flying across the room. He was almost free, he could feel it.

However, that's when he saw her. A little girl, no older than thirteen was standing by the doors that led to his freedom. A smile lit up her olive-toned face, and her black hair was tied back in a ponytail. But what caught Steve's attention was her black-brown eyes. They were the darkest eyes he had ever seen in his life.

Then he took a closer look. In her hands, she was clutching a worn green hat and a pen. He knew what she wanted, but he could not give it to her.

Only pausing by her for a second, he said, "Sorry kid, no autographs." Before he stormed out the door, but not fast enough to where he didn't catch the devastated look on her face.

One thing was for certain, Steve Rogers would never forget that little girl's eyes.

Nor would he forget that hat.


Thursday, May 3rd, 2012 - Steve Rogers

The damage from the battle was astounding. They may have won the battle for Earth, but New York City had become a zone of pure destruction. Buildings had been collapsed, debris coated the streets, and cars were being found in places ranging from the tops of buildings to inside mostly undamaged offices. How that happened baffled him, but if he had to place his bet on how it happened, he would guess that the Hulk, at one point, had himself a nice, good tantrum. That must have been the reason, Bruce was ready to collapse in exhaustion last time Steve saw him.

Heck, Steve was ready to collapse exhaustion.

However, he couldn't bring himself to stop his current job. After being first on the rescue scene after the aliens disappeared, he appointed himself to organizing some of the emergency response teams. People were still trapped under the rubble, and he be dammed if stopped to rest while they needed his help. After all, he helped make their home the way it was.

"Cap. Let it go. We need to report back to S.H.I.E.L.D pronto." The familiar nagging of his fellow Avengers reached his ears once more.

"I can't leave yet, Stark. There's still people trapped out there." He snapped back at his best friend's son. He didn't have time to worry about Fury or his organization that had been practically holding him hostage since he had been de-iced. Let alone sit through a meeting that could just as easily be held without his presence. He was a soldier and soldiers helped people. He knew that his time could be spent more effectively where he was. "My time is better spent here. End of discussion." He said, stating his final thought out loud.

Steve had hoped that Stark would leave it at that, and just take his answer how he gave it. He should have known better than to assume that the billionaire would drop the subject. It appeared that by saying the words 'end of discussion' that would just make him feel like he'd been offered a challenge.

"First of all, we just saved the world together, call me Tony. Secondly, you can play knight in shining armor later. As much as I hate to admit it, we need to leg it before the press shows up." Tony insisted. "You've been out here for hours, and you've done good, but its time to call it a day. The police can only do so much before the reporters start crawling out of their bunkers."

"Not yet St-Tony. There's a few more out there, and I have to help them." Steve said, and he felt a metal encased hand land on his shoulder. He resisted the urge to shrug it off. There was no way he could leave the mess in front of him. The covered street they stood on was one of many. He had to help.

"There's always going to be one more. You can't save everyone, believe me, I know." Tony said grimly, and Steve could hear the grief in his voice. "It's quittin' time Rogers. You need rest, food, and to be interrogated over every decision you've made in the last twenty-four hours." He said sarcastically.

Steve sighed, he knew Tony was right. Especially about the hunger and being tired. After all, he was starting agree with Tony of all people, if that wasn't proof of insanity through sleep deprivation, he didn't know what was.

"It's Steve." He mumbled.

"Awesome." Tony smiled, "Hey, and with any luck, we'll be able to grab some shwarma on the way-" Tony rambled on, and Steve let his words fly in one ear and out the other as he let the younger man guide him through the destroyed streets to wherever they were going. Steve wasn't really paying attention to their destination. He was too lost in his own brain dead state.

"Son of a bitch."

"What did you say?" Steve snapped, looking at Ironman in shock. He knew that language was different in this time, but saying things like that out of the blue threw him for a loop.

"I said, I wonder if the tower could use an extra pool." Tony repeated with a confused expression on his face.

"Nevermind." Steve cut him off, he could have sworn he heard-

"Help me." The voice called again more clearly.

This time he knew he heard it. "Wait." Steve whispered, pulling away from Tony's hold on his shoulder with ease.

"Steve, what's going on?"

Steve ignored him, and continued searching for the source of the voice. Scanning his eyes around his surroundings he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. The street hadn't changed since the last wave of emergency response had gone through it looking for survivors. "I swear I heard something."

"You sure your time in the ice hasn't cooled down your brain, Cap-Sickle? Could be your imagination."

Steve shook his head, "I don't think so." He said, and ignoring Tony for the most part, Steve crept forward as quietly as he could, hoping to hear any indication of the voice's presence. All he needed was one more sound and he could find the source. He would be prepared for it this time.

"Cap-"

"Be quiet, Stark!" He yelled, and the two fell into complete silence.

Minutes passed and not a sound was heard. Steve was starting to doubt himself a little. He was so sure that he had heard someone. Maybe Tony was right. Maybe he was just imaging things.

"H-help." Steve's eyes widened and darted to the mouth of an alley only a few yards away. Metal sheets appeared to have fallen all around the area, as well as chucks of drywall and a few bricks. He knew that's where the voice was coming from. Steve couldn't help thinking, I knew it.

Steve wasted no time slipping into action. Once again becoming the Captain America the world was familiar with, he jogged to the alley, and using that momentum, he began throwing pieces of the rubble to the opposite side of the street. In a matter of seconds he reached the bottom of the junk pile, and what he found startled him.

Staring back at him were a familiar pair of black-brown eyes and a green hat that brought back memories of a time long ago he had tried so hard to forget.

"Steve, what are-"

"Tony! Get paramedics! There's a kid here!"


A/N- There. A nice warm up to get me into the swing of things once more.