Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 59 Ex-Soldiers

Steve had thought it would be a good day, and was desperate to reclaim any remaining normality. He'd gone for his usual morning run, and stopped to chat to the black guy with dogtags, He was called Sam Wilson, a veteran of the 58th Paras, working with the Veterans Association. They'd made an arrangement to meet up for lunch, so Steve headed there as if the disaster over breakfast had not occurred.

He arrived first at the café, and ordered a noticeably large amount of food. (His heightened metabolism needed the fuel, and SHIELD paid him well enough, considering Stark let him stay at the Tower rent-free.) The waitress gave him a curious look, and blushed as she recognized him.

"Hey, Steve!" Sam said as he arrived. "I was half-afraid you'd be called off to battle evil robot Nazis."

"Not today," Steve smiled. "Ah, would you care to order?"

"The usual, Ruthie," Sam told the waitress.

"Of course, Mr Wilson," she said. "Captain Rogers, your order will take a little longer than usual-"

"That's fine," Steve interrupted. "I get it; just do your best."

"I'll bring your drinks directly," Ruthie nodded, heading for the kitchen.

"Only thing about the war bond publicity tour I missed when I actually got to the fighting was the food," Steve reminisced. "Britain was stuck with rationing, and we SSR guys had it better, but there were still glaring shortages."

Sam laughed. "Food for the troops still ain't great, but it's enough."

"Oh, the food's much better this century," Steve said. "We used to boil everything."

Sam pulled a face. "Anything else improved?"

"Oh yeah," Steve grinned. "No polio's good; I was gutted to hear Roosevelt died before we won. And the internet; so useful. I spend ages trying to catch up on it."

"Leatherman album, 1979," Sam said. "Gotta listen to it."

"Leatherman," Steve repeated, pulling out his notebook to scribble it down. "Oh, er, thanks, miss."

The waitress had returned with BLT and coca-cola and Steve's soup and sandwich with coffee. "Your baked potato will be along in ten minutes," she told him.

"No problem," Steve said, self-conscious as always.

"Catching up on lost meals?" Sam smirked.

"Superfast metabolism," Steve shrugged. "So, uh, how did it go in the Paras?"

"Two tours, then I lost my wingman," he replied. "Riley and I were flying a night mission, standard PJ rescue op, nothing we hadn't done a thousand times before, 'til an RPG knocked Riley's damn ass out of the sky. Nothing I could do, like I was up there just to watch. After that, I couldn't really stay in the army."

"I'm sorry," Steve murmured. "You probably know I lost my best friend as well."

Sam nodded sympathetically. "I have a psychology major, so if you ever want to talk to someone-"

Steve sighed. "It's not – losing Bucky, not exactly," he said. "And I don't think it's PTSD really, either. I keep finding myself wondering, when do I get to go home? But I can't. And I can't sleep, either."

"Bed too soft?" Sam suggested.

"Like sinking into a marshmallow."

They were silent for a moment, eating their lunches. After a few minutes, Sam broke the silence. "I don't think anyone comes back from war the same. There's some who, having seen and caused death and destruction, are nervous wrecks. There's a few who find themselves still looking for the next kill – those ones are kept a watch on. A lot of people just have nightmares and are too jumpy, but we're working on it."

"We called it shell shock, or battle fatigue," Steve murmured. "I suspect that even if we'd known what PTSD was, we wouldn't have had much time for it."

"There'd have been fewer people executed for cowardice," Sam sighed. "You're probably right. We're lucky these days."

Steve finished the first course of his lunch as Ruthie returned with his baked potato and pulled pork. "Need any help down at the VA?"

"You're always welcome to pop in, but I'm not sure. I suppose you could come sometime and tell us war stories."

"Sounds like it might be fun," Steve mused.

The air blurred, and coalesced into Bart. "Cap, we're going to have a problem," he gasped. "You gotta get back to the Tower, Quinjet lifts off in about fifteen minutes."

"What? What sort of problem?" Steve asked, quickly shovelling as much of his lunch in his mouth as he could.

"Ah, we found out something and Rob's not going to be happy," Bart explained, wide-eyed.

"What kind of not happy?" asked Steve.

"The kind that involves body-slamming people who get in his way," Bart said grimly. "Come on, we've got to go."

Steve stepped down from the Quinjet with Thor and Tony on his heels. The Titans were nowhere to be seen, but Bart had rounded them all up. Rhodey had flown the Quinjet for them, and Bruce was trying to hold back from any possible action.

The door to the interior banged open before Steve could reach it, and Red Robin shot out. He ignored the gathered Avengers, heading straight for the edge of the Helicarrier. "Red, wait!" Steve yelled. "Where are you going?"

Bruce and Rhodey emerged, just as Red Robin jumped off the flying contraption. "What is up with him?" Tony asked, bewildered.

Red Hood came out, also sprinting. "Fuck out my way!" he snarled. He charged into the Quinjet, and before anyone could stop him, he took off.

Clint, Tasha, Fury and Hill emerged. "Where did the Reds get to?" Clint asked.

"They…left," Bruce said hesitantly.

The Titans emerged after the SHIELD agents. "That only went slightly worse than I thought it would," Cassie sighed.

AN: Ugh, so late. So I had Spiderman and Avengers in my head, and then Deadpool wouldn't leave me alone...

So there's five chapters up. This one; Jason and the Argonauts; Black and Red, and two from my new Marvel story. Well, one from the Marvel story and one from the story of how come Deadpool wouldn't leave me alone.

I'll try to be back next week, usual time, yadda yadda. See ya then.

Oh, and please review.

Katara