First of all, massive thank you to everyone that has read, reviewed, faved and followed this story! It means so much :) This chapter and the next two will be relatively short, but they will be updated within two/three days of each other. That's about it for this A/N. Reviews, as always, are appreciated! Sorry for any OOCness that may arise. Hope you guys enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still don't own Marvel. It's a real bummer.


"Eight o'clock on the dot, and don't you dare be late."

"I had a date…"

With that, light began flooding his vision. It wasn't the light of warmth and security and whatever lay next. It wasn't the light that he had felt too many times in his life. No, this was the light bringing him back to the cold, harsh, hurtful reality. The one that at the moment, he felt inclined to leave behind.

But Steve Rogers was a fighter. So against the pain, against the brightness of the world, he opened his eyes. And immediately wished that he had kept them closed.

It was apparent by the pain in his side that he had ended up on a pile of rubble. The stone fragments dug into his skin, threatening to draw blood. Steve lay absolutely still. The scene in front of him was enough to paralyze. He had a clear view down a street, or, what used to be a street. The once empty space between the buildings was littered with debris of all kinds. Household items, tarps, scraps of metal, building pieces, all of them covered the street. Dirty brown water sat in pools and trickled down the broken avenue. It looked like a scene from a disaster movie, except this time Steve was in the middle of it and it was no movie.

Steve spotted a hand poking out from the rubble ten or so feet from him and immediately looked away. He didn't want to think about all of the people buried under the rubble; the ones that were less fortunate than him. Instead, he looked to the sky. The sun was low, which meant that he had probably been out a good ten hours or so and it was now early morning. He doubted that he had been out an entire day; emergency responders would have gotten to him by then and started cleaning up the mess. Steve sighed a little, glad that he hadn't been unconscious too long. He could feel the cold, hard metal pressing against his back and smiled slightly in relief.

By some remarkable miracle, his shield was still stuck to his back. He couldn't even imagine trying to find it in this chaos. He fumbled around in his jeans pocket for the issued phone that he had been given for the mission. Steve sighed in defeat as he pulled it out. The front was completely cracked and shattered. He pressed every button on it, and nothing happened. So instead, Steve turned his attention away from everything in front of him and focused simply on sitting up.

He gingerly turned his body so that he was laying on his back instead of his side. The pain from the rubble lessened as he moved. Slowly, he arched his back up until he was half into a sitting position. Steve took a few deep breaths, beyond grateful that his lungs seemed to be intact. The shield had spared his back and ribs from the most damage. Holding himself out of the water partially had helped also, although it was obvious that he eventually succumbed to unconsciousness from the water.

While his shield and holding onto the ladder had helped his upper body, his legs, on the other hand, were a completely different story. Steve's pants were ripped completely to shreds. They were a mix of dark blue fabric and an even darker crimson. The fabric itself was sticky with water and half dried blood. He peeled back one of the fabric shreds and hissed in pain. It was as if his entire first layer of skin had been ripped off and imbedded with metal. Shards of metal and rubble were stuck into the marred skin. And that was only his right leg.

Steve's left one was even worse. His knee was swollen and a strange shade of purple beneath the blood. He gingerly touched a hand to his head to try and calm the dizziness that had arisen. He was happy to find that his face was still in one piece, aside from a jagged line on his left cheek.

One by one, he went through each of his body parts. Steve started at the bottom and worked his way up. The thick boots had kept his feet relatively decent, although the boots themselves were trashed. His legs and thighs looked like they had been through a grinder. He preferred to not look at them. Torso and chest seemed okay, at least from what he could tell just by looking. Hands, decent. His one index finger had been dislocated. With a grunt of pain, he repositioned it. His arms had been mildly protected by the jacket that Natasha had thrown him before they had left.

Natasha. Steve instantly became more alert, as if he could do anything to find her. From his little pile of rubble in the middle of what looked to be a war zone, he was utterly helpless. He hadn't seen her since the wave had hit. He had heard her scream, and that was it. Then there was Clint calling out to him…

Both of his teammates were missing. In the middle of an unfamiliar city, in the aftermath of a natural disaster. Steve grunted in pain as he sat up further, trying to get a better look around. If he was still in pain, even with the serum, he couldn't imagine what Clint and Nat were going through. If they weren't already gone…-

Steve shook the thought from his head. They were master assassins and had probably endured worse. Natasha would definitely chastise him for doubting her abilities to survive this. Clint would make jokes about Steve being a worried old man.

But looking around at the destruction and the current predicament he found himself in, worry wormed its way through his head. He was their friend, and the leader on this mission. It was his job to protect them and he had failed.

"It's not your fault, Steve," he could head Natasha say. Still, Steve felt like he had to do something. He had to look for them. But first, he had to stand up. He tested out bending his right leg, and knew that if he pushed himself to the limit, he would be able to stand on it. He tried to move into a different position, but pain flared in his left knee from even the slightest movement.

He had to get up. Steve grit his teeth and tried bending his knees to bring his legs in closer. Almost immediately, his body rebelled and his legs went slack. Steve's vision swam as he tried to get his ragged breathing under control. If it wasn't clear before, it was clear now. He wasn't going anywhere at the moment. He was no good to Natasha and Clint if he was dead

So instead, he blinked away the black spots in his vision. He lay back gingerly against the rubble. In a few hours, hopefully the serum would help and he would be able to fasten some sort of splint and hobble down the city streets.

But he couldn't do anything at the moment. It burned in his soul to be so weak and unable to do anything. So Steve closed his eyes, forced away the feeling of helplessness, and tried to not focus on the sound of sirens in the distance.