Miracles, Magic, and (Im)Mortals

A Baccano!, Thor Crossover Collection


Catch and Falling Star and Put It in Your Pocket

-And Tap You On the Shoulder-

Steve stared at the projector screen, his super-soldier brain screeching to a halt. There was a new member, the duo had become a trio, but it was still them. The woman was wearing a magician's assistant's outfit, all sequins and sparkles with a domino mask, and the man was dressed sharply in a tuxedo, top hat, and a Guy Fawkes mask. Both had struck poses for the camera, sides pressed together, showing off the bag full of stolen loot.

It was like looking into a window to the past, gray tones of shadow brought forth into the vibrant present, and Steve couldn't really care that the third member in the still frame was attracting more of his team's attention than the other two thieves.

He was sketching when the two people dressed like mimes walked up to the pond, sketching as they opened empty potato sacks and proceeded to chase the park's ducks around. He laughed and made quick caricatures to capture the man's expression when he finally caught one and stuffed it in his bag. There were laws against this sort of thing, there had to be, but for the life of him he couldn't care. He laughed with the others that walked the trails as man and woman snatched up the fat, waddling creatures and made off with their quaking prizes.

He found out later that the soup kitchen was serving duck soup.

Fury didn't care why anyone would want to steal a collection of hundred-year-old hairbrushes. He didn't particularly care. What he did want to know was how they managed to get past the security -the hairbrushes were being stored near several more high-profile and, supposedly, dangerous artifacts- and who they were. Thor was going on about magic and the misguided deeds of his brother, how it was only luck that prevented Loki and his accomplices from taking the box of brushes instead of the box containing a rune-carved rock.

Steve shook his head and laughed, a few tears escaping to track down the sides of his face.

"Captain Rogers?" Fury questioned, expression hard and focused. Usually Steve was one of the few Avengers he could count on to be professional. "Something to share with the class?"

"I, uh-" Steve took a moment to catch his breath. "-I gotta get something, be right back."

The two thieves had been like a less aggressive Bonnie and Clyde. Modern day Robin Hoods, of a sort, stealing everything from clocks to candy with no clear purpose except, maybe, to lighten hearts with the sheer ridiculousness of their heists. He had been a bit obsessed with them -fanboy, he thought might be the modern term- combing through back issues of newspapers for signs of their passage, and compiled a scrapbook that he kept current even during the war. It had been a strange sort of stability for him. A remembrance for what he was fighting for.

When he found the scrapbook in storage, pages yellowed with age but whole, he'd smiled the smile of a wistful dream.

Steve had to fight to keep the boyish grin off his face when he returned to the briefing room, book flipped open to the clearest picture he could find: The woman dressed as a 20's flapper and the man in a pinstriped suit. The man was cheerfully waving a cane with one hand, blurred in the photo, with a long box tucked under one arm.

It was nice being the one with all the information for a change.

(He was looking forward to adding entries to his scrapbook.)