AN:Hello and welcome everyone to the second chapter of Hancock Initiative! In this chapter, Steve and John will be reunited after more than seventy years. As a result, this chapter will not really have a lot of action, though I have tried to stay as far as possible from angst. Also, this chapter is a fair bit shorter than the first chapter. In order to make it up to you readers, I have already started on the next chapter, so that should be out somewhere next week or the week after, depending on how much time my exams will swallow up. That chapter will jump back between Captain America: The First Avenger and The Avengers, so a lot of action to look forward to. And I just realized how often I just used the word chapter. Oops?

But first! The reunion between a god on earth and a supersoldier.

Chapter 2: Meeting old friends. Really old friends.

As John Hancock soared through the air at supersonic speeds, the ground far below him turning into a blur, he couldn't help but grin widely. Even is his darkest days, flying had been a source of light to him. The sheer freedom of blasting off into the sky, where there was only him and the occasional bird, was a feeling that was difficult to put into words. Of course, since the last few years, there was more in the skies than just birds, but that didn't diminish the sentiment. Each time he took off, there was a brief rush of adrenaline, an undeniable feeling of excitement, running through his veins. Even after eighty years of casually doing what humans could only dream about, it was still as exhilarating as the first time he disobeyed the will of gravity.

Banking slightly to the left, the sub-urbs of New York sped into view. At the speed he was flying at, he reached them within seconds. Quickly slowing himself down, John fell to the ground.

Until four years ago, John would have simply let gravity take its hold over him again and crash down to the ground, trusting in his invulnerability to come out unharmed. While this method had never failed him, the people of L.A. had been less than pleased at their destroyed roads and pavements.

However, after deciding to become a hero, John had tried to cut back on his destructive entrances, instead trying to touch down without the force required to shatter concrete. During the first couple of months after turning hero, this had been somewhat problematic, given John's enormous speeds when flying. The kinetic energy that build up during his flight was immense and had to go somewhere, and when he landed, that somewhere turned out to be the ground, leading to the various potholes that littered Los Angeles.

During those few months, John had made rather… undignified entrances. Usually this involved a lot of flaying about with his arms, trying to come to a slow before he smashed into the ground. Sometimes this didn't work and he still shattered the road, just with his head instead of his feet. One time a miscalculation saw him not slowing down, but instead speeding in the opposite direction, leaving a bewildered criminal looking confused at a rapidly disappearing Hancock.

Not really wanting to embarass himself any further, John decided that training was in order. However, since this training would be embarassing in and of itself, John searched for a remote trainingspot. Somewhere far away from anyone who might see it. Well, nobody would be watching, say, the moon, right? So a few weeks after going back to the moon, making use of the lower gravity there, John had managed something that was as awesome as it was… silly. He had managed to hover.

While this ability in itself was nothing impressive, it was extremely useful in not completely ruining his entrance. Or the road. It also made for great intimidation, he found out to his surprise during his crusade. Simply crash down into the middle of a terrorist camp, nobody cared about the condition of their pavement anyway, sending people and equipment flying about. Then, slowly for dramatic effect, straighten up, and float out of the crater you just made. Then hover slowly forward, all the while simply shrugging off bullets and the occasional rocket. From what John saw on newsreels and the like, it looked awesome.

However, seeing as he was visiting a friend living in the outskirts of New York, there was no need for awesome entrances, so, catching himself a few hundred feet above the ground, John slowly floated down, touching down on the road with barely any sound. Quickly scanning his surroundings, John saw that the streets were deserted for now. Not wanting to get caught in the open, and risk blowing the cover of the S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse, John stalked forwards towards the nearest house. The house was completely unassuming, made of the same red brick that made up every single other house in the street. There was literally nothing that stood out about it, no decorations or anything that showed at the personality of the inhabitant. In short, it was as ordinary as houses came. Which made it the perfect cover for the extraordinary.

Stepping onto the porch, John pressed his finger to the doorbell. There was no sound of a bell ringing, but then again John didn't expect it to. A blue flash, barely visible under his finger, showed that his fingerprint had been scanned and that he was allowed inside. His super hearing picked up several automatic locks and seals slowly hissing open before the door suddenly swung out, almost hitting John in the nose. Quickly John stepped inside, the door automatically closing behind him, shrouding the hallway in darkness. Not that that was really problem for John, who could see equally well in both darkness and light.

After a few seconds, several TL-lights came to life, lighting the hallway in a cold white. Stalking through the hall, and ignoring the other rooms, John came at the door leading to the basement. He put his hand to the doorknob before pausing. John leaned in slowly, pressing his ear against the polished wood. Grunts and the sounds of flesh impacting something heavy in a rapid tempo drifted up the stairs. John grinned, barely managing to keep himself from chuckling, not wanting to alert the person in the basement.

'Time to say hi.'

With that thought in mind, John pushed the door open, and descended the stairs.

As his fist impacted the punching bag, causing it to shudder on its chain, Steve Rogers was deep in thought. It had been almost two weeks since he had woken up in the future. He had found it somewhat simpler to simply think of this time as the future. It was easier than accepting that he had travelled forwards into time instead of time simply passing him by. He simply couldn't wrap his head around that. Not yet.

Giving a final punch that would have crushed a man's ribcage without effort, Steve groaned in fustration as the bag couldn't take the abuse anymore and it broke free from its chain. Steve watched dispassionately as the heavy bag sailed across the room, only to smack into the far wall. It slid down the surface to join a pile of its brethren, all having endured the same fate as the newcomer.

Steve sighed. Even after almost half a decade of almost non-stop battles and fighting in the most brutal war in the history of mankind, he still wasn't completely used to his strength. Everything that was supposed to be heavy was almost as light as a feather to Steve, while regular things were crushed almost without any effort by the supersoldier. He remembered the first year after his transformation; he had been forced to drink out of a metal cup after the nurses got fed up with continuously pulling glass shards out of his hands every time he tried to have a drink. The metal cup had been dented beyond recognition within a week.

Trying, and failing, to put these morose thoughts out of his head, Steve walked over to another pile of punching bags, effortlessly hefting one of the heavy bags on his shoulders. Still deep in thought he hung the bag on its chain, and took his stance again. When he had been put into this safehouse by S.H.I.E.L.D. the room had been filled with state of the art exercising equipment. The room had been filled to the brim with S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists, hoping to test the only recipient of the finished Rebirth serum, and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents eager to see if the man lived up to the legend. Both left wide-eyed and mouths agape when Steve accidentally broke every machine, either tearing it apart, or completely overheating it. From the rumours he had heard, the treadmill was still nothing more than a molten slag.

Having broken everything, Steve was left with just the punching bag, since there wasn't really anything high-tech or expensive about it that he could break. Also, they could be easily replaced.

Having settled into his stance, Steve began punching again, his fists almost a blur to the untrained eye. He had been doing this for six hours on end now, only stopping for small meals, before getting right back into it. Despite the grueling workout, and while sweaty, Steve was barely breathing any harder than usual, not even feeling remotely tired yet.

Steve had wondered about his limits a lot of times. The purpose of project Rebirth had been to turn regular men into another Hancock, who was as close to a god as the world had ever seen. Naturally, turning men into gods had been far out of reach of the technology of the 1940's, but the fact remained that Steve had left the realm of Man far behind him. Erskine managed to tell him before he died that Steve had turned into the perfect human, everything about him as high as possible as a person could achieve. Steve sometimes doubted that. After all, the project had tried to duplicate Hancock, who was many things, but Steve didn't think human was one of them. Not fully, anyway.

Hearing the stairs behind him creak, Steve automatically turned around, arms raised and feet spread, habits born from years and years of heavy-duty combat, not all of which had taken place on the battlefield, forcing themselves on his body and mind. Fully prepared to leap forward and pummel the possible threat into the ground, Steve regarded the figure warily. It stood on the stairs still concealed in shadow, making it impossible to make out his features, though Steve could tell it was a tall and well-muscled male. The time travelling Captain cleared his throat.

"How did you manage to get in here? This is a secure S.H.I.E.L.D. base. Identify yourself!"

There was a moment of silence as Steve simply kept a wary eye on the unresponsive figure. Suddenly it burst out in loud laughter, confusing Steve. Intruders usually didn't start laughing when discovered. Then the unknown man spoke, shocking Steve to his core. Because he recognized that voice. He had heard it when he had been fighting as Captain America, now more than seventy years ago.

"What's the matter Steve? You don't recognize an old friend? Guess what they say is true then, memory is one of the first things to go in old age."

Steve couldn't answer, staring at the figure with his mouth hanging open. It had been the first time since he woke up that he recognized something. The voice hadn't even changed since he last heard it, several weeks-, no decades ago. Taking a hesitant step forward, still wary but oh so hopeful, Steve managed to force out a question.

"John?"

He could almost feel the figure smiling, before it took a step forward, finally standing in the light, allowing Steve to properly see the man. A dark skinned man, with close cropped hair and a cleanly shaved face, was smiling broadly at him. The face was familiar, but the suit was not. His eyes were hidden by futuristic sunglasses, and he wore a black suit that covered his entire body save for his head and hands. The suit had several bright yellow highlights, Steve dimly noticed. Looking back at the man's face, he saw the grin widen even further, showing two sets of pearly white teeth.

"Hello Steve."

John figured he couldn't sneak up on the supersoldier. He had never really been good at stealth, and Steve's senses were high enough to detect someone who was. So he simply settled for surprising the time-displaced soldier. Judging by the wide eyes and open mouth, John had succeeded. He walked up towards the younger man of 93 and clasped his shoulder, snapping him out of his shock.

"But… how?"

John snorted.

"What? If you can live for close to a century then so can I."

Steve furrowed his brow, an expression that John was very familiar with. He had been the cause of it often enough, after all.

"You have lived for a century?"

"Actually I have lived for thirty centuries, but that's neither here or there."

Seeing Steve's mouth fall open again, John couldn't help but laugh.

"Better sit down Steve, this is going to take a while."

John sipped from his mug of tea, observing Steve with a critical eye, as the supersoldier stared ahead deep in thought, his own mug forgotten on the counter. They had retreated to the kitchen in order for John to tell Steve what he had happened to him after Steve went into the ice. Now, after close to three hours, John was finally finished with his tale.

While Steve was distracted, John examined his old friend as covertly as he could. He had seen Steve before he had received the serum and every time he looked at the soldier, John was amazed. Steve seemed like a different person when he stepped out of that test-tube, almost twice as large as when he went inside it, but somehow still recognizable as himself. Now though, John had trouble recognizing his friend who he knew to have a will even stronger than a pissed off Hulk.

The bags under his eyes and lines in his face almost screamed at John that Steve was immensely stressed. He wasn't really surprised. Fighting in a brutal war, beating the snot out of Red Skull, then deciding to sacrifice yourself in order to save the entire world, only to wake up almost a century later in the future. Everybody would be stressed, even a supersoldier. However, that was not what worried John. Steve was strong, both in body and mind, and he would adjust to his unique situation.

Eventually.

No, what worried John was the look in Steve's eyes. The soldier looked… lost. As if he wasn't sure what to do with himself now. John could sympathize; he had worn a similar look after realizing that he wasn't needed anymore after ridding the world from war and major crime. However, the look in Steve's eyes was far worse than his had been. Understandable, of course. Steve had been created to fight Red Skull and his Hydra forces. Captain America was meant as a weapon and had been used as such almost without any pause during the war.

Only now the war had ended. No Red Skull bent on world domination and having the power to do so. No Hydra forces armed with terrible weapons the world wasn't ready for. Steve had succeeded. The Allies had won. So what now? Despite being born over ninety years ago, Steve was still in his mid-twenties. Not usually an age in which one accomplishes his life goal. So what do you do once you do complete it? What is next? What purpose do you have, when the goal of your purpose has been fulfilled?

John didn't say anything though, simply sipping his tea. Steve didn't need any prodding, or a helping hand. It would simply be received as pity, and Steve had never liked receiving pity of any kind, not when he was big, and especially not when he had been small. Should he need help, then he wasn't too proud to ask for it. So John would simply wait until his help was asked for. Suddenly Steve let out an explosive sigh, and picked up his mug, sitting down across from John. Staring into the swirling liquid, Steve spoke up.

"So, you are a member of an superpowered, immortal race, though you don't know anything about it, just that they lose their power when they get close to their mate. And you have lived for over 3,000 years."

It wasn't really a question, so John didn't answer, simply humming in agreement.

"And you learned all that four years ago, when you accidentally met your mate, only to almost die after that."

Again, John simply hummed.

"And then you vandalized the moon."

At this John chocked on his tea.

"I thought it was a nice gesture to Ray. It helped him out a lot!", John spluttered in his defense.

Steve looked up from his mug, pinning John with a flat look.

"The moon, Jonh. You graffitied the moon."

John simply shrugged his shoulders, causing Steve to sigh and look back into his mug of tea. A silence fell over the two friends, only broken by the sounds of birds chirping by the open window and the honking of a car a few houses further down the street. Suddenly Steve sighed again.

"And then you rid the world of crime and war."

Before John could hum in agreement again, Steve let out a bitter laugh.

"You created a world that didn't need a soldier."

Closing his eyes, Steve continued in a sad voice.

"Let alone a supersoldier."

Seeing his friend, who was probably the most optimistic person he had ever met, after Ray of course, looking so downtrodden, spurred John into action. His fist slammed down on the table, breaking it nearly in half, startling Steve, who looked up with wide eyes.

"So, you'd like the world to experience war again? Is that what you want?", John almost growled.

Steve looked horrified at the accusation.

"Of course not! I wouldn't wish war on anyone!", Steve shouted in outrage, a fire filling his eyes again.

"Then stop pouting about not having to a war to fight!", John roared back.

Steve's face dropped in shame, the fire leaving his eyes.

"But what else is a soldier to do? What do I do?", Steve said softly, before looking up at John with desperate eyes.

"The war is over John. Skull is gone. Hydra is gone. And I am left. So what do I do now?"

Pulling himself up to his full height, John looked down at his friend with the most confident grin he could muster.

"You become a hero."

AN: Sorry if this was too sentimental for you folks, but rest assured! Next chapter will show the impact Hancock has on WW II, so expect a lot of murder and mayhem. A lot of it is already drawn up, it just needs to be written and edited, so it won't really take all that long before I can upload it. Until then, and please drop a review? :D

Fun Fact: Dave Chapelle was seriously concidered for the role of Hancock. Just think about that for a while. Dave Chapelle. As Hancock. And you thought Nicholas Cage as Superman was a dodged bullet. (Is that even an English proverb? Meh, it is now.)