The machine hissed as it opened and as the smoke cleared, Steve could see the faces of all the onlookers and scientists peering down at him from their glass tower. The experiment could read the eagerness in their faces at his emergence. He couldn't pay attention to them for long, however, as the clearness of his lungs and looseness of his muscles suddenly captured his attention. Peering down he could see his new rippling muscles and could barely believe that after years of being the little guy he was finally not. There were still scars across his torso and thighs from the mine explosion weeks before but they looked old and mostly healed thanks to the serum. It would be easy to believe that years rather than days separated Steve from the worst day of his life.
In shock, he took an eager step forward to feel the world on his new, pain and sickness free body. However, with his first step he suddenly collapsed onto the ground. People swarmed him to help him up but not before he'd gotten a glance at the stump that remained begrudgingly on the end of his right thigh. He sighed heavily but realised that with his health now intact he could cope with an amputated leg as the rest of his body was fit enough to adapt.
His mind briefly flicked across the fact that the amputation would have pretty much been a death sentence for him either through infection or through his inability to continue his career.
He was helped up and pictures were taken. He smiled bewilderedly.
Doctor Erskine approached him with a smile, "Perfection. Now to get you a prosthesis and get you back on the battlefield, soldier."
"It didn't fix my leg." He spoke almost numbly.
The doctor sighed, "It wasn't going to."
Steve didn't know why he wanted to cry but he knew he wasn't about to let it happen moments after his life was saved.
—
A couple of weeks later and Steve had begun to work through his anger towards Erskine about lying about the possibility of his leg being fixed. But, he also knew that if the doctor hadn't lied then he probably wouldn't have been here at all; almost everyone was in consensus that his infection would have taken his life.
During the weeks, he had been learning to walk on a prosthetic leg which turned out to be more difficult than it appeared. He fell several times everyday and had even broken a metal leg during one particularly bad tumble.
His new leg was made of wood and leather so was heavy but with Steve's new strength it didn't pose much of a challenge for him. The joint was rudimentary and hard to manoeuvre but Steve didn't want to complain. The doctor promised to develop a high tech prosthetic to make it easier for Steve in the field and he knew that technology was always offering new opportunities.
The work he was putting into regaining his ability to walk kept him busy in the day but nighttime was completely different.
He was alone in his room every night which was sparsely furnished and cold. It was a stark difference from the camaraderie and community you felt when living amongst hundreds of other soldiers. He wasn't ashamed to say that he cried most nights at the loss of his leg, the loss of companionship or just the overwhelming experience he was going through.
Resting against his pillows, he flicked on the lamp beside his bed and, for the first time, fully took in his leg. His thigh stopped a few inches above where his knee would have previously been. The scar tissue was old and faded due to the serum so didn't have the angry red marks he would have had previously. With the gentle fingers of an artist, Steve's touch ghosted across his stump and he flinched at the illusion of pain. Phantom pain, he'd been told about it. The longer he inspected it, the more acceptance filled his heart. More than anything, he was just pleased it was him that stood on the mine rather than one of his squad.
That night, he slept easier than he had in weeks. However, little did he know that within a handful of months he'd end up under the ice and have to endure the longest sleep of his life.
—
When he awoke he leapt out of the bed immediately. The prosthetic on his leg was unfamiliar and he stumbled ungracefully, catching himself against the wall to stop himself falling.
"What the..." he muttered under his breath as he peered down at the green pants, he could barely see the angles and straps of the prosthetic under the fabric.
Looking around, he realised that he wasn't in the same place that he'd usually fall asleep on base. The golden light that streamed through the window also told him that he wasn't his usual waking up time. It was suddenly that the radio piqued his interest as a crowd cheered over a baseball game. Slowly, it dawned on him that he had been in attendance on that day. He peered around suspiciously with the realisation that this could be a Hydra trap or something.
The door opened and Steve span on the spot, ready to fight. The unfamiliarity of the light weight strapped to his leg made him nearly lose his balance; he'd adjusted to the old prosthetic in every way so a sudden change was throwing him off. He eased slightly when a woman in US uniform walked in. Her dark curled hair was long and rested against her shoulders. His mind registered the unusualness of her hairstyle for a war time.
"Good morning," Her voice was bright and friendly. She checked her watch to tease him, "Or should I say, afternoon?"
A crease formed between his brows, "Where am I?"
"You're in a recovery room in New York."
Steve could hear the familiar game over the radio. He eyed the woman carefully before asking, "Where am I really?" Even the air coming through the open window had a different scent to it, too clear and sterile.
She feigned innocence and frowned slightly, "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"The game, it's from May, nineteen forty one. I know, cause I was there. Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?"
She only managed to say, "Captain Rogers…" before a couple of men marched in to sedate him. Instantly springing to action, he threw them against the wall but they tore straight through which revealed the set up. He leapt through the hole he'd punched with their bodies and marvelled at how the prosthetic leg caught his shifting weight. The old leg would have buckled under the pressure of the leap and his quick movements but this one was close to natural.
He heard voices and ran as fast as he could while still minorly unsteady on his new leg. Somehow he managed to find the exit of the unfamiliar building and dart away. It almost felt like having his real leg back with how smoothly the device evolved to cope with his strides. The sound of his feet pounding against the tarmac echoed through his bones.
Suddenly, he stopped and peered around at the unfamiliar world around him. Could so much change in his short time abroad? His chest was heaving more due to the sudden surprise rather than physical exertion.
Cars surrounded him and a man in a dark coat and an eye patch approached him. Immediately Steve was suspicious as he'd learnt from the comics of his youth that the men with eyepatches were usually the villain of the story.
The man spoke, "At ease, soldier! Look, I'm sorry about that little show back there, but… we thought it best to break it to you slowly."
The soldier frowned at the man, "Break what?"
The man, he later discovered to be Nick Fury, answered, "You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years."
Steve's mouth fell open as he gazed around at the flashing billboards and modern cars. Blue eyes took it all in thoroughly but a part of him was still in disbelief. His tongue darted out to moisten his dry lips, an anxious habit he'd never managed to break.
As he looked back to Fury he could see a small smirk on the man's lips. He was enjoying this.
Steve couldn't help but allow his mouth to twitch slightly. A doctor once told him that he wouldn't live beyond the age of 12 and now here he was nearly 70 years later. All it took was a little help.
—
A week later-
Steve was just finishing up in the gym. He'd removed his prosthetic leg and was stretching out his muscles on the mats. Sweat glistened across his exposed back and torso. He hardly even noticed the scars marking his skin now that so much had happened to him. His brain was too busy dealing with the present rather than the past.
He heard Fury enter but didn't look up at the man. He hadn't yet decided if he liked him or if he was hiding something.
"You need me?" Steve asked from the floor, mid-stretch.
Fury looked down on the man with his cold eyes, "I think it's about time you got back to saving the world, don't you?"
Steve didn't have to answer. He just slipped his thigh back into his leg and stood up.
"I think the world has waited long enough."