Contrary to what most people believe, Steve has lied a lot in his life.
Like.
A lot.
It's been necessary at times. And it's never been to the detriment of someone else.
His lies have usually revolved around making sure others don't worry.
No, ma, I promise I'm fine. I don't feel sick.
It's just a bruise, nothing to worry about.
No Bucky, they aren't bullying me, I promise.
My heart feels just fine.
Yes, Buck, I got enough to eat today.
I have enough money for rent.
They musta heard wrong, I'm not working at the docks, I'm working over on 37th street, don't believe every idiot with a story.
Then it was the 'official lies'.
Steve Rogers was born in 1918
Steve from Queens or Manhattan or Paramus.
It was funny how people never questioned his age. The army guys weren't checking documents too well anyways. They needed bodies. And if an idiot kid was dumb enough to sign up? That's his fault.
Once Bucky was gone, there was no one left alive who knew the truth. And that made the lie easy. So what if he was a few years off? He already looked like an old man with his hunched shoulders and stiff jointed hands, so no one questioned when he said he was older. Just one of those shrimps who didn't grow right. He spoke well and was mature for his age anyways. So they believed him.
And when Erskine made him a human lab rat, making him look significantly older than he'd even been lying and saying he was, well… who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?
—-
"I'm just saying," Clint just says, "it's weird and not normal."
"It's just fruit, Barton." Tony huffs.
"But it's hot." Clint makes a retching sound, "that's disgusting."
"Come on," Natahsa says with a smirk as they make their way deeper into the facility, "I'm sure Cap here loves hot apple pie."
Steve sighs, "I actually am with Barton on this one. Hot fruit is not my thing."
Clint crows, "see!"
"What's that?" Bruce calls, his flashlight illuminating a half opened lab door.
Steve steps forward swiftly and peers in, it's dark inside but he can see some flashing lights, maybe computers they can get documents from. He steps back and catches the label outside the door. Trial Room 6: Veracity
Another experimentation room, Steve thinks with a grimace. "Let me do a quick sweep," he says, "then come in after me." Tony steps forward and the close proximity makes him instantly step further away. Thankfully Tony doesn't notice.
"I'll go with, just in case it gets dicey." Tony's voice is mechanized inside his suit.
Steve rolls his eyes, "it's an empty room, Tony."
"Remember Clint's "empty" room three missions ago? With the baboon in the locked cage and the scorpions running wild?"
Steve pauses, he grimaces, "you're right. Okay, let's check it out." They've only run three missions together as a team since the Battle of New York, and he's still learning to trust them.
Clint, Natasha, and Bruce seem perfectly content to stay put in the hallway.
They step inside and use their flashlights,Tony's palms, and his chest to illuminate the room. Empty lab tables and broken equipment lay scattered about.
Sir, I'm picking up active machinery
Steve hears Jarvis' comment in his comms too. "Roger that, J. Try to find the source."
"Hey," Steve calls quietly, something eerie making him feel like he has to whisper, "there's a bank of computers over here, wanna plug in? Maybe it has some intel on their human experimentations."
Tony nods and walks over, his suit clunking against the ground. A few seconds pass and he finds a port he can utilize.
But it goes comically wrong in a matter of a minute.
As if they were in a bad action movie, the door slides shut with a thunk, and the reverberating locking mechanism engages loud enough to make them jump. Then red lights begin to flash and Steve blinks at the onslaught.
And the funniest, and equally not so funny part is when the audio system starts blaring out its alarm.
Intruder alert, countermeasures activated.
Intruder alert, countermeasures activated.
Intruder alert, countermeasures activated.
Intruder alert, countermeasures activated.
Over and over till Steve wants to rip his ears off just to shut it up.
But then the countermeasures activate.
Gas starts to fill the room.
Steve's eyes go wide, and he turns towards the door. He runs over, slamming his shield on the ingrained handle. Nothing.
He tries again.
A small dent is all it shows. So he tries again and again. "Tony!"
"I'm trying!" The man says frantically, "it won't let me disengage from the port!"
The gas gets thicker, his lungs fighting against it. He's eternally grateful that it's not Natasha and Clint in here.
Speaking of Natasha and Clint. They're banging on the door from the outside.
"Steve?" Tony calls, "what are you doing?"
He looks down at his hands, and they're shaking. "I'm—" he starts. But his throat feels funny.
Like a sore throat.
He hasn't had one of those in ages.
"I'm—" he doesn't get that thought finished. Because now his lungs are really fighting for air. "Air." He rasps out, lifting the shield to try again. Another dent appears, and another, but then no more dents appear. But he's still hitting the door. Why are no more dents appearing?
Someone's calling his name. He squints, trying to see through the fogged up glass in the door.
Maybe it's Natasha.
"STEVE!"
He turns, "huh?"
He can't see Tony's face, the faceplate blocks that. But he can hear Tony's panicked voice. "Oh geez, Steve. You're bleeding!"
Tony's panicking?
That's unusual.
He wonders what's wrong.
Steve tries to suck in a deep breath of air, but is left coughing.
Then it's like he's swimming. Except no… No, he's familiar with this sensation. This isn't swimming. This is sinking.
"Stay with me!" Tony's still shouting. Is he sinking too? "Steve!" Then he hears a lot of cursing. He hopes Tony's ma isn't nearby. That could be bad. "BRUCE GET THE HELL IN HERE! TEAR THROUGH THE DOOR!"
Steve chuckles, feeling something warm leave his mouth as he does so.
He uses the back of his hand to shakily wipe at it, not liking the feeling.
Someone is yelling directly into his ear.
But he's tired.
Too tired to respond. He takes another breath, or he tries to. Does he have pneumonia again? He hasn't had that in a while either.
Man Bucky is going to be so mad.
—-
He hears them before he sees them.
"His vitals are leveling off. Be patient, he will wake up."
"Patient?" He hears Tony snap, "The man was bleeding out of his eyes—"
"Tony, we got him out in time. It was just hard on his system. It wouldn't have killed him."
"You didn't see it first hand," Tony hisses. "It was like a fucking horror movie."
And Steve's too tired to reassure him. He'll do it in the morning.
—-
Steve keeps his promise, waking up the next morning and when he finally alerts a nurse that he's conscious, having her call someone from the team to tell them he's okay.
Then he's ready to get out of the bed. So he gingerly unsticks himself from the basically useless meds and the IV and everything else.
Alarms start beeping at him but he ignores them, looking for his clothes.
Of which he can't find.
He frowns. This was a new dirty trick Bruce was trying to keep him in medical for longer.
So he rips off a sheet and is about to wrap it around himself when speak of the devil.
"Whoa! Whoa whoa, Steve! Get back in bed!" Bruce steps closer and he steps back, his shoulders tensing.
"I'm fine—"
"I don't care, you just had a massive toxin over take you and you need to—"
"Get some fresh air." Steve says, suddenly really needing to breathe fresh air. "I'm fine. I swear. I feel fine." And it's funny, because it's actually true.
"The toxin is still in your system. You breathed in like a lot of it. You need to wait to make sure there's no late blooming symptoms!"
"If they show up, I'll just come check in with you."
"Steve." Bruce sighs, "can't you just for once stay in the bed?"
"I'm honestly, fine Bruce. I promise." Bruce reaches out but he skitters around the hand and is gone. Unceremoniously tugging the sheet into place and leaving, finding the elevator and heading to his floor.
—
After showering and checking his skin to make sure he actually didn't have any residual issues or injuries, Steve gets dressed and decides he should eat, as he doesn't know how long it's been.
"Jarvis, how long was I out?"
Just under 11 hours sir.
"And my vitals? They're good?"
You seem to be functioning at full health, but your last blood scan did show massive amounts of remaining toxin
"Any idea if it will turn on me? Or is the serum fighting it?"
As of this moment, I am unsure. Would you like me to monitor your vitals just in case?
"Yeah." Steve allows, finding Jarvis to somehow be less of a privacy concern than the rest of his team, ironically. "Thanks, Jarvis."
My pleasure, Captain.
—
"Steve." Natasha calls as he walks into the common room, "how are you feeling?"
"I feel fine." He says with a shrug, "I think the serum took care of it."
Clint looks at him with a wary grimace, "you looked pretty rough when Hulk finally tore into the room."
"Oh yeah?" He asks, "what was wrong?"
Bruce appears in the doorway to the kitchen, "Your eyes, ears, nose, and mouth were all bleeding. The toxin or gas in the air was really abrasive to your soft tissues, and caused them to hemorrhage."
Steve grimaces, "yikes. Thanks for getting me out of there."
Bruce nods, "of course."
Then Steve wants the subject to change, so he looks around, walking to the fridge, "when is Thor due back?"
"He was dropping off Loki to Asgard, doing some digging about who was holding Loki's leash, and then supposed to come back relatively soon, so I don't know, soon?"
Steve nods, "sounds good. Hopefully he's back before we need him on mission."
The construction paper on the far side of the room flaps in the wind and Steve remembers the way he'd looked up from the ground level at the tower being destroyed. Now Tony was in the process of rebuilding it, a floor for each of them already finished.
The Battle of New York was only two months behind them, but it already felt like a lifetime ago.
—
When Steve wakes up, he doesn't feel any different.
Jarvis mentions nothing.
All is well.
Until he's in the common room.
And someone asks him a question.
"Steve, you want some tea?"
"No." His response is quick. Like it was snatched from his mouth. He hadn't even thought about it. Just answered.
Bruce looks at him a bit in surprise, "oh. Okay." Then the man eyes him for another moment before turning back to the electric kettle.
Steve has always said 'yes' to Bruce's tea. It's impolite to refuse a beverage someone is offering you. His ma taught him that. It doesn't matter that he doesn't actually like hot tea. He's just always accepted it, drank as much as he could manage, and dumped the rest.
"You okay?" Natasha asks, looking up, "your stomach is okay?" Her hand sort of moves out, as if to brush his shoulder but he twists, stepping back and pretending to fill up his water glass.
"My stomach feels fine." Again, the answer escaping his lips before he can even think.
"Okay," she says, shrugging.
And it's fine.
Everything's fine for a while, until Clint walks in. "Listen to this!"
He tells a joke that makes Steve cringe. Gross bodily humor has never been his type of humor. The room is silent when Clint finishes and he pouts, "aw, come on, that was a good one! I tell good jokes! Right, Cap?"
"No."
All three turn to him in surprise and Natasha has a grin, "see, even Cap hated that one. Clint, you gotta stop getting your jokes from toilet paper."
Clint looks mortally offended, "I'm the best joke teller in this tower!"
"No." And that word again repeated without his consent, like a fly drawn to a light, he can't help himself. And all three of them stare at him, "I'm sorry." He says quickly.
"Don't apologize." Bruce says with a surprised grin, "Clint, being crass is not a type of humor."
"If Tony was here he would laugh."
Natasha pats him on the head, "not a win for you." Then she turns to the group, "what do we want to do on this rare free day?"
"Draw."
Steve's voice is quick. It cuts through the room and he furrows his brow. He does want to draw. That's true. But he's never mentioned the desire to anyone else. That's a Steve Rogers thing. Not a Captain America thing, so they don't even know about that.
Bruce looks at him, "you like to draw?"
"Yes." And a dread fills him at the way he has no control over his answer. Realization settling into his skin.
Veracity.
The door had said veracity.
They were developing a truth serum!?
That's the toxin that's still in his blood. He grimaces internally. Of all the things to actually affect him.
But they're staring at him and he needs to leave. "Bye." He snaps out, heading back out the door and bolting down the stairs to his room.
—
It's not five minutes later that he hears a knock on his door.
He stays quiet. He knows Jarvis could technically rat out that he's here, but he doesn't think he would do that unless it was an emergency.
Then a suspiciously cheery voice speaks loudly through the door.
"Steve? You there?"
"Yes." SHIT. He curses himself as he hears a couple different voices laughing.
"Come on," Natasha says in a sing-song tone, and he can just picture her grin, "we just want to talk to you."
He clamps his mouth shut.
"Are you scared of what you'll say!?" Clint asks through the door too gleefully.
"Yes." He answers, then slams his palm against his forehead. He has to get out of here. He has to get out of here right. Now.
"Come on, Steve." Tony intones, "we won't bite, just come out and let's have a fun little get to know each other chat."
He hears Clint and Natasha laughing. It doesn't sound cruel, just amused. He stays quiet, looking around at a way to get out.
"Come on! Tell us something interesting about yourself, we wanna know all the gory details." Tony's voice is full of glee and amusement.
He stays silent.
"Steeeeevvvveee—-" Clint whines, "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy!"
He hears a thud, "he's not going to get that reference, idiot."
"What!" Clint asks with incredulity, "he hasn't seen The Shining? Steve, have you seen The Shining?"
"No. And I don't want to."
Silence.
"WHAT! But it's a classic!"
"And that doesn't make it good!" He snaps, "most of the stuff you guys show me i don't like." He winces at his own harsh words.
A whispered argument and then he hears Natasha's voice, "Steve, will you please come out? We promise to behave." Her last words sound like she's glowering at Clint and Tony who make huffy sounds.
But he listens, walking out the door and looking at them. He grimaces, "it's getting worse. I can't stop talking."
And he's glad they look partially worried behind their amusement.
"Jarvis, let's take another blood sample and analyze. Steve, you okay with that?"
"No." And he tries to stop, tries to reign in the next words. But he can't, "I hate the medical ward."
"I mean," Clint says slowly, "we kinda guessed that. You never stay down there for long."
"It reminds me of hospitals. I hate hospitals." Now he's not just speaking the truth to questions. His thoughts are starting to spill.
Now they do look worried. "How about the common room." Tony suggests. "Bruce can draw blood there, okay?"
Steve nods, keeping his lips tightly sealed.
—
They kindly don't ask him any questions or speak to him while Bruce draws a few vials.
But once the blood has been whisked to the lab and they all have returned. He can sense the shift.
"I'm going to go." Steve says, "it's not fair."
Natasha reaches out, in a rare show of affection and grabs at his hand, but he yanks it away. "Don't go." She says, her face a frown, "You're always so reserved and private, this could be a good thing!"
"Then you have it." He snaps. He winces, pulling his hand from her grasp. "If it was any one of you, you would be locking yourselves away. But you're using manipulation tactics against me to guilt me into staying because you know it will work."
SHIT.
He huffs and covers his face with his hands.
And Natasha's voice is quiet. "And why would it work on you, Steve?"
"Because I'm supposed to do whatever anyone needs or wants me to do. That's my job."
Clint's voice is flat, "What's your job?"
"Being the captain. The one who sets the example. Captain America." He grits his teeth closed. Shut up shut up shut up.
Bruce walks forward and crosses his arms over his chest, "how often do you say 'yes' to things that you want to say 'no' too?"
He winces, "all the time." He huffs, "stop. Stop talking to me. It's not fair, I can't shut up!" He slams a hand over his mouth and bolts from the room.
—-
Sir, Jarvis' voice cuts through the room. The toxin is fully present in Captain Rogers' blood. At this time, it's too prevalent and recent to determine if it has latched on and will require an anti-dote, or if it will fade over time. However, it does not seem to be having any adverse side effects.
"Define adverse." Tony sighs and looks at the group who are still sitting in the common room after Steve's quick exit.
"Blood to toxin ratio," Bruce starts, "how long are we looking if it is a fader?"
The effects would probably start to fade in a week, sir. By my estimate.
Bruce wrinkles his nose, "Cap's going to hate that. And I don't like the fact that he thinks he has to be Captain America." Bruce says softly, "he very clearly thinks that's his top priority—"
Sir, there's a call from director Fury.
Tony looks up at the rest of them in surprise, "oh shit."
"Answer it." Natasha says.
There's a two second silence and then Fury's voice comes through.
"Quinjet is headed your way. Pickup in 16 minutes." There's a silence and Fury must sense it. "No 'sir, yes, sir'?"
"What kind of mission?" Bruce asks, "do you need everyone?"
"It's robots from the Hammer Tech warehouses going berserk and terrorizing the town. They're strong enough to do major damage and not be taken down easily. But their wiring and controls are shit, hence why they've lost control. So yeah, code green is a possibility."
Except Bruce wasn't asking for himself.
"We may not bring Cap." Natasha says calmly, as if leaving their team leader was a normal occurrence. Which it definitely isn't. "But we will be ready for pick up."
"What's wrong with, Rogers?"
"Uh," Clint butts in, "last mission hit him hard with the gas attack, he's still recovering."
"That was days ago." They all grimace, knowing what comes next, "if he's still experiencing affects that's a bad sign. The serum isn't healing him?"
"It's not—" Natasha starts. "He just isn't feeling up to it."
And Fury's voice gets annoyed, "this isn't a dinner party that he can feel 'not up to'. Not feeling up to saving citizens in a town that is at this moment being ransacked with over 50 robots means he better be dying. Is he dying?"
"No." Bruce says through a tight jaw.
Fury must catch the tone, "what is wrong with Rogers?"
"Why don't you ask him." Tony says with a snap and then hangs up.
"What the hell was that!" Natasha shrieks, standing and gesturing wildly, "if he calls Steve, Steve won't be able to say no!"
Tony frowns at her, "yeah, but I doubt he wants us spilling his condition. I'm not getting the blame for that!"
"Tony," Bruce starts looking angry, "what were you thinking? Steve isn't in a position to talk to Fury!"
"Yeah but what the hell were we supposed to do?" Tony stands pointing at Natasha, "if we said he's sick, he'd send Shield medical and then he'd find out anyways!" He points to each one of them, "It's a mission! We don't ever go without, Steve!
"What a mess." Bruce says with a groan, rubbing at his eyes.
"What are we going to do?" Natasha asks, "if he comes we need to be careful what we ask and talk about. Steve's right, if it was one of us we'd be all hiding where no one could find us and a knife in our hands. We need to be fair to him."
Tony sighs, "I mean… yeah but… what could Steve possibly have to hide?"
—
Steve pulls out his phone, expecting to see one of his teammates trying to call him.
But it's Fury.
He grimaces. No way is he answering that.
"Woah!" A little voice says, "are you Captain America?"
"Yes." He answers, unable to stop himself. His eyes find two boys looking at him from a stoop.
"Wow! What are you doing in Queens?"
"Avoiding talking to my team."
He covers his eyes with his hands and he sighs.
"Uh—" one kid starts.
"It's a long story." Steve manages to get out, then he forces a smile and waves, "goodbye."
He walks quickly, but the longer he walks the more eyes turn towards him. Not even out here is safe.
Back alleys and round about streets is how he gets back to the tower. He chooses the back entrance and rides up in the elevator.
Captain, Mr. Stark wanted me to inform you that they've been called on a mission. They will be back as soon as they are able.
Steve freezes, a mission? He groans, that's why Fury had been calling him.
"What's the mission?"
The screen inside the elevator flickers and footage of rampant robots destroying a town play with quieted audio.
"Civilian casualties?"
One at the factory they burst out from. But they've only been loose for just over an hour and only 2 have been dismantled.
Steve sighs, knowing that even the fear of his team getting their kicks on his rampant truth speaking isn't worth the guilt he'd feel by doing nothing.
"Can you request a small aircraft to pick me up?"
I'll send the request through to Fury.
Not two minutes later he gets a call.
"Rogers, why the hell aren't you on that Quinjet?"
"I didn't know about the mission. I wasn't at the tower."
"You would have known if you'd answered your phone."
"I purposefully ignored your call." He squeezes his eyes shut at the admittance.
"And why the hell would you do that?"
"Thought you were calling for a different reason."
"I don't know what the hell is going on with you. Are you capable of leading this mission or not?"
"Yes."
"Good. Jet is on its way. Be on it this time."
—-
Captain Rogers is inbound, 7 minutes.
Tony rips the wiring out of the robot he's currently holding onto, and then blasts off, slamming into another and taking out its power source.
"Did anyone else hear that?" Barton asks, his breath in a huff. Tony looks up to see him swinging down from his high perch to stab a taser arrow into the neck of one of the machines and then rip it out. There were too many robots to be wasting arrows.
"Wonder how that conversation went." Bruce's quiet voice comes from the comms. Code Green hadn't happened yet, but they were getting dangerously close to being overwhelmed, Steve showing up meant they might avoid that.
"We need him on this one—" Natasha's voice snaps over the comms, "so no one say or do anything stupid. I know that's going to be real hard for two of you. But I mean it."
Tony rolls his eyes but doesn't disagree. Barton also huffs out a laugh, knowing she means him.
"I swear, I won't ask anything too personal."
—-
Tony's about to call in the Hulk when something red white and blue zings overhead, slicing the robot in half, crumpling it to the ground. Then Steve is there, snatching his shield off the ground and running, leaping up and slamming into another robot that is harassing a family trapped in a car.
Tony watches in surprise as Steve uses brute strength to rip its head off, then slices it in half with his shield.
"Welcome to the shit show." Tony calls over the comms.
"Thanks." Comes Steve's reply over the comms. Before he's running, sliding around a corner and heading for the biggest concentration of robots.
—
Steve tunes out most of what's happening in the comms. Ignoring the banter and only responding when it's directed at him. It's easier to keep his mouth shut in the heat of battle.
But all too soon the battle is over.
A pile of wreckage lays at his feet and a path of destruction lays in his wake. Robots are heaped and shorting out and snapping with dying electricity.
And he doesn't even feel out of breath.
And the comms are oddly silent.
His spine tingles and he turns to see his team standing at the far end of the street. Clint's face is in shock, as is Tony's with his faceplate up. Natasha has a concerned raised eyebrow and Bruce is standing there, looking at the wreckage like it's an architectural marvel.
"I don't think I've ever seen you that ferocious." Natasha whispers, her voice carried to the comm in his ear.
"Wanted this over quick." He answers without the ability to stay silent.
"Yeah." Tony scoffs, eyeing the mound of robot pieces, "clearly."
"Fury," Clint says into a phone, "clean up on aisle 12."
"Stupid ass joke."
Four pairs of surprised eyes snap to him and he pinches the bridge of his nose. He can hear Bruce's aborted snort of laughter from here and he yanks his comm out of his ear.
But Clint won't be deterred, "Did you just call my joke stupid!" He shouts.
"Yes." Steve responds at normal level. Thankfully the toxin doesn't make him shout it.
The team pauses as if they're being spoken too. "Quinjet inbound." Tony shouts, "our ride is almost here."
Steve trudges forward, hoping the ride home is silent.
—
But of course it's not.
"Steve." Clint pesters him, "what type of humor do you like?"
"Stuff I understand."
Clint winces, "okay. Fair. But everyone has a preference. And speaking of preferences, what's your favorite color?"
"Green." Steve bites out, "Clint, so help me—"
"Favorite season?"
"The fall—" Steve stands, glaring at Clint. But the archer is grinning from ear to ear and backing away.
"Favorite food?"
"Breakfast." The archer evades his quick snatch and he turns quickly, finding the rest of the team trying to hide amusement. "This isn't funny." Steve growls, "we talked about this."
"But this information is harmless!" Clint whines, "it's not like we're asking—-" then he pauses, "oops. Almost asked something personal."
"This is my life." Steve responds, "it's all personal."
"Whose fault is that? You're not exactly an open book," Tony comments, "we feel like we don't even know you."
"You don't know me." Steve snaps out.
He can see the question telegraph across all of their faces. What don't we know about you?
But thankfully none of them ask.
"You could let us get to know you." Bruce tries.
Then he groans and shoves his head in his hands, "this is my least favorite thing."
"This?" Natasha asks with amusement, "not being frozen in ice or fighting aliens?"
"Yes." Steve growls out, "this is worse."
She leans back, "why?"
"No control." His voice is raspy as he answers. He chose to go into the ice. It wasn't much of a choice. His life or the millions on the eastern seaboard. But it was still his. He chose to fight against Loki. He chose to be made into a lab experiment.
Bruce's face is meant to look calm, but Steve can see the tension in his shoulders, "and being in control is important to you?"
"Yes." His teeth are ground together but it still comes out.
"Why is that?"
"Because I didn't have control before."
They're looking at him and he's standing, turning his back towards them as if that will stop the truth from coming out.
"Control over what?"
"My life, my health. Anything." He wants to stomp his foot. He wants to whine and yell at them. "Stop." Steve commands, "you have to stop. I'm stuck in this jet."
"You're not stuck." Natasha says, "you're with your team—"
"Who is using this against me because you all think I'm boring and this is funny to you! I'm the in-flight entertainment!"
They're silent for a moment. "That's a good joke." Clint says quietly. "In-flight entertainment. That's good." Natasha slugs him and he glares at her.
"No one thinks you're boring, Steve." Bruce says finally.
"Tony does." He presses his knuckles against his forehead, willing the toxin to leave him.
"Wha—" the billionaire stutters, "No, I, I—" Steve looks up to see the man looking slightly panicked, "that's not— I never said that, I—" He looks positively helpless, "I don't think that."
Steve laughs with ire, "you're a bad liar." Then he pauses, because wow that must be true. The team gapes and Steve sighs, "it's fine. I'm used to people making their own assumptions about me. It doesn't matter."
Tony starts to collect himself, "now listen, I'm a talker, you can't be mad at me for that! I just say shit, you know? Daddy issues and all, right?"
"Howard was nice." Steve says, the strange change in direction surprising all of them, "he never questioned me. Never doubted me. That's why it hurt so much when you just instantly hated me. I don't even know why? What did I do?" The words sound pathetic even to him. He winces and covers his face, "I'm sorry."
There's a deep breath from Tony. "You're right. I did hate you. My whole life. My dad… he never got over not being able to find you—"
"I wish he had." Steve sucks in a sharp breath, closing his eyes. But the words don't stop. "I wish he had found me. Then I could have lived when I belonged."
And he's surprised by the anger in Clint's voice. "What the hell, Cap. You belong here. With us."
"No." Steve growls out, "I don't."
Natasha's voice is hurt, "You don't believe that."
"I do."
"And why don't you belong here?" Bruce asks, his voice sharp.
"Everyone makes it pretty clear what they think of me with their jokes and their teasing." Steve's jaw is held so tight, but he has no control. "You all think I'm some stick in the mud and I don't know how to prove to you that I'm not. And maybe I am. I don't know how to act or fit in. I'm just—" he feels violently ill with how hard he tries to hold back the last words. "Lost. Alone." Their expressions make him feel so utterly pathetic that he can't breathe. "Please." He begs. "Please stop talking to me."
—-
When the Quinjet lands, Steve practically sprints out of it, heading for his floor and leaving them in his wake.
Tony grimaces, still sitting in his seat, "anyone else feel like shit? No? Just me? Fucking great."
"We've all failed." Natasha says softly, "I don't think any of us knew how bad he was feeling."
"He's only been awake a few months." Bruce sighs, "I thought that was just who he was. I didn't realize his behavior was a reaction to something."
Clint stands, grabbing his gear, "I mean… I knew we teased him. Especially Stark—"
"Hey—"
"It's true, Tony. You were the biggest a-hole on the helicarrier." Tony huffs at Bruce's statement but stays quiet.
"But—" Clint presses forward, "he's never acted lost. Or lonely. Or any of that. So my question. What do we even know about Steve? Because obviously he hasn't been sharing who he really is."
"I mean," Tony shrugs, "I know what my dad would never shut up about, but I'll be honest I tuned most of it out. So I know mostly what the history books say."
"And what do they say?" Bruce says with an annoyed snap, "that he's a soldier who fought and died? Except not really? That he was sick and then he wasn't? Those are just facts. They're not who Steve is."
"We all have other people we can talk to." Natasha says softly, "I have people I can call. People I consider friends—" she shoves Clint and he smirks, but there's genuine fondness there, "Tony has Rhodey and Pepper and others. Bruce, you have your family… who does Steve have?"
And that question has no answer.
"Just us." Natasha says firmly. "He has us. Now we just need to get him to believe it."
—
Steve hears the trepidatious footsteps and the elevated heart rates. They're nervous.
He looks at the headphones on the desk. And he shoves them on his head, turning up the music loudly.
There's a few minutes where he can't hear what's happening. But they must not be in the mood to leave him alone because soon his room lights are flashing and he groans.
He pushes the headphones off his ears and glares at the ceiling. Jarvis must get the message because the lights stop.
"Steve?" Natasha's voice is calm and cautious, "we just want to talk."
"That's what I'm afraid of." He whispers out.
But they can't hear him, so Bruce's voice is next, "come on, Steve. We're all new to this team. We want to help you."
He wants to say he doesn't need help.
But he can't.
Because it's not the truth.
"We promise to be professional about it." Clint says, and he sounds strangely subdued.
"Come on." Tony tries again, obviously trying to lighten the mood, "locking yourself in your room is so cliche," he laughs, "what are you a teenager?"
"Yes."
He freezes as the word escapes his mouth. No.
No. No. No. no. No.
Stunned silence is on the other side of the door.
A choked, "wait, what!" Reverberates from the hallway.
He has to get out of here. He has to leave, right now. Oh, this can't be happening.
"Steve." Bruce says very calmly. But if you know Bruce then you know that's the opposite of calm. "You open this damn door, right now."
He doesn't.
"Steve," Natasha's voice is more veiled, "please open the door."
"Jarvis." He hears Tony try when he still doesn't, "pull up Cap's birth certificate."
Steve winces, uh-oh.
After 30 seconds there's a huff. "This says 1918. He'd be 27." A moment of quiet. And Steve really shouldn't have taken off his headphones. "Steve, did you forge your birthday on your birth certificate!?"
"Yes."
He slams a hand over his mouth.
Steve turns, eyeing the window. Maybe if he can break it, he could slide down slowly… he knows that's insane. The tower's practically a 90 degree angle. And it's a long way down.
And Tony's fire suppression system means there's no need for a traditional fire exit.
He's trapped.
"Jarvis, put the tower on lock-down. And make sure Cap knows that maybe it would take me a day or two, but I can hack into my own building and get this door open."
Captain Rogers—
"I heard him." Steve snaps. But he doesn't move. How can he face them now?
Then Natasha's voice gets deadly serious. "Steve Rogers, if you do not—"
He walks forward and yanks the door open, lock and all. The splintering screeching of the metal makes them all step back. "What!" He growls.
Clint's quick. "How old are you?"
He tries to resist, but it's no use. "Nineteen."
Tony, Natasha, and Bruce's eyes go wide. Clint chokes out a "holy shit."
"How is that possible?!" Tony finally asks, then he waves his hands, "you look no younger than 25!" Then his voice takes on a strange raspy quality, "that would mean you were only 19 when you crashed that fucking plane."
Steve winces. He does not want to talk about this. He pushes past them. He needs to leave.
"What year were you really born, Steve?" Bruce asks shortly, his voice practically slamming in coiled tension against Steve's back.
And Steve knows he can do the math, but they're mad. "1926." He whispers out, unable to stop himself. He's almost to the elevator.
"Stop!" Natasha snaps. And for some reason he does.
"Oh geeeeezzz." Tony's saying, "you're kidding, this is a joke. It's a joke!"
Steve stays quiet, his back still towards them.
And then something dawns on Natasha. "Didn't you fight for two years before going into the ice?"
"Yes."
Tony's eyes practically fall out of his head, "You—" he chokes, "you we're only 17 when they were experimenting on you?! A literal kid. Jarvis, are his scans normal?"
Yes, Mr. Stark.
He can feel Natasha's eyes studying him, "why did you lie?"
"So, I could enlist."
At least he's not ashamed of that. Many guys younger than 18 did that. He wasn't even the youngest.
"Why not tell the truth when you woke up?"
"Didn't even think about it." Steve answers, the words spilling out, "didn't matter."
"It does matter! You're not even legal to drink!"
Steve rolls his eyes, "I don't drink anyway, Tony. Alcohol doesn't affect me."
The man pauses, "oh yeah." Then he frowns, "but still! You're just a kid!"
"I'm not a kid!" Steve snaps out. And there, at least that must be true.
"Fury is going to lose it." Clint comments with an expression of worry.
"You can't tell Fury!" Steve says, turning towards them in a panic, "please, don't tell him—"
"Why not?" Natasha asks, stepping forward.
"He'll kick me off the team."
They all pause at that, and maybe his voice does sound a touch more young and vulnerable than he would like it too.
"No one's kicking anyone off the team." Bruce says, obviously trying to keep his voice level, "we're just surprised." Then he tilts his head, his neck tight and a bit green, "who else knew?"
"Bucky." Steve admits, "that's it."
"Not my dad?"
Steve shakes his head, "I never told him. If he knew, he kept his mouth shut. Which… for Howard would be a shock. So, I don't think he knew."
"Aunt Peggy?"
Steve feels heat rise on his neck, "no. No. She didn't. But she was only early 20's. And we never did anything but kiss. And I was already 19 then." He says quickly as if that's the most important thing. They stare in awe at the candor.
"But…" Bruce is saying, his eyebrows furrowed together, "you're only 19. I mean, you're so—" he looks at the group. "That's a lot of pressure for a 19 year old."
"I— I'm doing my best." And the way those words shred out of his throat like glass.
"No," Bruce says as he waves his hands, "I wasn't talking about now. Although we're going to talk about that. I just mean… back then. You were the face of the American Army. You sacrificed a life you'd barely gotten to live yet."
"I had to." It's painful, like coals shoved down his throat. "The controls were broken. It was me or the east coast." Steve's teeth grate against each other, and he presses his eyes closed. "Can we not talk about this?"
"Steve, we need to talk about this!" Natasha says, stepping forward. "No wonder you feel lost and lonely—"
And it's like a knife to his heart and gut. His own words, stolen from his mind and forced out of his mouth, being thrown back against him as a reason for them to doubt him.
"I'm—" he starts to say fine. He tries. Really swallows heavily and tries to force out the word.
But it's not the truth. So it doesn't come.
They're looking at him like he might shatter.
And he feels like he just might. So he turns and slams through the stairwell door, leaving them behind.
—
"That." Natasha sighs, "did not go well."
"Go well?" Clint huffs, "how can it go well? We just found out our team leader is nineteen." Clint says with an exaggerated wave of his arm, "Nineteen! He's a literal infant!"
Natasha slugs him in the arm, "that's not how you use the word literal, you idiot."
Clint glares at her but doesn't snap back, just points to the door Steve left through, "he's a kid—"
"I think Steve stopped being a kid a long time ago." Bruce says quietly.
"If he's been keeping a secret that big—" Natasha asks, "what else has he lied about?"
"I bet he's going to avoid us like the plague to keep us from finding out." Clint responds with a sad shrug.
"J, is the tower on lockdown?"
Yes, Mr. Stark.
"Can you see Steve in your monitoring system?"
Yes, Mr. Stark.
"Can you tell us where he is?"
There's a brief hesitation from the AI, and then he speaks again, Captain Rogers has requested that I do not divulge that information. And since he is in no danger to himself or others, protocols dictate that I honor that request.
They all groan.
—-
Steve floats on the top of the water.
Since he's probably going to be off the team, he's trying to think of what he could do. Where he could live.
Who he has in his life that won't hate him for his lies.
There's that aching pang of lonliness in his chest.
The team had seemed shocked, unhappy. But Bruce had said that he wouldn't allow Steve to be kicked off. But what about Fury? Or the rest of them?
"Jarvis?" Steve asks, the echoey nature of the pool making his voice reverberate. "How much of the toxin is still in my system?"
You'll need blood drawn to make a comparison from your last sample.
He sighs, "oh. Okay. Thanks."
Shall I call Dr. Banner for you?
Steve shakes his head, "no. No, thank you."
—-
"We stake out the common room kitchen." Clint suggests. "Lock all of our kitchens too, station someone at his door and wait until he gets hungry." He smiles, "it's a genius plan!"
Natasha rolls her eyes, "he can go days without eating." She states, "and he might, just to avoid us."
"Is the tower still on lockdown?" Bruce asks Tony who is glaring at a tablet.
"Yeah."
"Find anything?"
Tony looks up at Natasha's question and sighs, "no. From every note or scrap of information I can find, my dad really had no idea. And I should be mad, but look—" he pulls up a black and white photograph of Steve, obviously pre-serum where he's staring into the sun and squinting, dog tags around his neck. "He looks young, yeah, but he also looks old. His skinny joints and jaw make him look aged. So if he said he was 23 or whatever he said, I'd probably believe him too."
Clint's hand ghosts over the projection, "man… you really don't see him much like this. Do you have other photos of him at this size?"
"Back in the forties, pictures were expensive. And especially so to an orphan who worked two jobs and spent all his money on medicine, rent, or food."
They look up to see Steve standing there, already grimacing.
"Steve—" Bruce breathes out, "you're here."
He rolls his eyes, "oh, was that not the plan? To hustle me up here? Jarvis wouldn't let me off at any other floor."
Tony sucks in air through his teeth, "that was me actually."
"Yeah." Steve huffs, "I figured."
"Are there other photos of you before the war?" Natasha asks calmly.
"I'm not sure." Steve shrugs and walks forward, setting his phone on the counter, "all my belongings were either sold off and I don't know where they are, or they're in museums and I've been told they're of historical value."
They blink at him. "What?" Bruce asks, "you asked for your own belongings back and they said no?"
"It was more of a 'pretty please don't take these things you don't need them anyway'."
"Oh." Tony scoffs, "fuck that, I'm calling them."
"No." Steve orders, "you're not. It doesn't matter anyways. It's just stuff."
Natasha blinks at him, "you believe that."
"Yes."
Her jaw hardens, "because you think you don't belong here."
Steve's face morphs as they see him try to hold back the word, "yes."
"Come on." Clint says with a forced cheeriness, "I can prove you belong here just like us—"
"Clint—"
"You just need to see that things aren't so different—"
"Clint—"
"We just need to ask you questions about topics that everyone can answer."
"Don't—"
"Like you telling us what your favorite animal is?" Clint asks, his lighter, more genuinely cheery tone back in place. Obviously trying to lighten the mood.
"Bears." The answer slips out and he glares at Clint.
"Bears?!" The archer asks, "really? I did not see that coming! Not an eagle?"
"No." Steve snaps, the range of conversation topics making him dizzy, "not eagles."
"Favorite candy bar?"
"Kit Kats."
"Clint—" Natasha starts.
"Favorite soda?"
"Root beer." Steve picks up whatever is closest to his hand and chucks it at the man, "stop!"
The archer dodges it, "but I'm learning so much!" Clint whines, "favorite salty snack?"
"Soft pretzels—" Steve growls and lunges forward, finally managing to snag Clint's suit, "ask me one more question and I will snap your bow."
Clint pouts at him. "But I like learning about you."
They can see the comment catches Steve off guard, but he recovers quickly. "Too bad." He grits out.
Steve gives his Captain's glare and everyone in the room falls silent.
He drops Clint and takes a step back, sitting heavily on the chair and trying to ignore the awkward silence.
"What about a game." Natasha suggests, "we play a game, and everyone has to be honest. Then its fair."
Steve looks up, "no offense, but that's not really fair." He points to the group, "I don't trust any of you to tell the truth. Maybe Bruce. Maybe. But I don't have choice."
They all wince at his brunt honesty about not believing they'd be honest.
"I solemnly swear." Clint says with a serious face.
"Me too." Bruce adds, "I've got very little to hide you all don't already know."
"I'm always honest." Tony offers, then he winces, "I mean. When it matters."
"I will." Natasha says calmly, "I will be honest. Because I want you to feel like you belong."
"I'm not a kid who needs to be picked on the playground." Even as the words leave his mouth Steve already looks mortified by them. But he just breathes out and shakes his head, "I don't know."
"How about we don't do it in question format?" She offers, "it's questions that trigger it right?"
"I'm speaking whenever." Steve responds, "but questions do make it impossible to resist."
"Never Have I Ever." Clint suggests. "That way the game is totally self focused. Shouldn't make you want to pipe in."
"How does that work?" Steve asks.
"Someone makes a statement, like 'never have I ever eaten an apple' and if you have eaten an apple, you put a finger down. First person to put down all 10 fingers loses, the last one with a finger or fingers up is the winner."
Clint smiles, "since you're the youngest, you'll probably win!"
Steve grimaces, "I don't know about this."
"It will be fun." Tony offers, "we'll throw in some deep questions with the simpler ones."
Steve narrows his eyes, "what, the great Tony Stark wants to play a game with a teenager he hates?"
The room grows quiet as Steve winces and stands, 'it's getting harder. I can't even stop just speaking in general." He huffs, "one of the main reasons I left my hiding spot was because Jarvis said he needed more blood to know how long it would last."
Bruce stands, "why don't I draw blood, and while Jarvis analyzes it, you play the game."
"And—" Tony cuts in, "I don't hate you. Maybe I did. But that was when I didn't know you. Or assumed I did know you. I don't now."
Steve doesn't respond, just follows Bruce out to the elevator.
—-