Author's Note: Back from Japan! Sorry this took so long for me to upload but hopefully it's worth it. I do apologize in advance for one word that would be considered a racial slur today but please remember the decade Steve is from and understand he meant no insult. No flames on this subject, please.
Thanks once again to FluffleNeCharka for helping me write this chapter!
Chapter Two
Steve Rogers lived his life according to three tenets: hard work, honesty, and love of country.
His parents worked hard to give him a better life than they had had when scarce food and even scarcer employment drove them from Ireland to Ellis Island. His father, Joseph, worked all day on a construction crew and swept floors and washed dishes at a pub half the night. A stray girder took him from his family when Steve was just a lad, too young to really remember the man except for a strong pair of rough hands that tossed the boy into the air and a seraphic voice at Mass. To support them, his widowed mother found work at a textile mill and took in other people's washings, often going without meals to keep her son from dropping out of school to get a job. Sarah Rogers contented herself with threadbare clothing and third-hand shoes to keep her darling son in proper footwear and warm coats. That contributed to her early death from pneumonia while Steve was in high school. He often blamed himself for not noticing how thin and careworn his mother was and carried the guilt around with him even as he excelled in school as she wished, going on to become a fine arts student with a specialty in illustration.
Steve wanted to illustrate children's books especially. His mother would tell him fine tales of piskies and will o' wisp, brownies and goblins and strange pale women who lived on the bog. He remembered thinking other children should get to hear them too, even if his classmates laughed at him for wanting to draw for children. They didn't understand; they were born here and so were most of their parents. They didn't know what it was like to do without books, like his parents had. Both were barely literate but insisted on their son's education. Books had opened up a hundred new worlds for Steve, ones where everything was possible and good always conquered evil. He loved all kinds of mythology – he loved the clever ways humans could outwit the monsters they faced, the constant theme that physical strength wasn't the only thing that mattered. Steve was not in the best shape himself, and appreciated the message even if it was a bit heavy handed sometimes.
That wasn't to say he didn't love American legends, too. On the contrary, Steve was fascinated by them. He loved the American tall tales about Paul Bunyan and his blue ox, Johnny Appleseed; Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone. They weren't stories brought from the old country like the ones his mother recited at bedtime, they were purely an American invention, of ingenuity and bravery.
Sarah and Joseph also instilled strong feelings of honesty and morality in their son. They raised him to be a good Irish Catholic and lived and died by the Ten Commandments, especially honoring one's father and mother and bearing false witness. Young Steve chose to interpret that to mean no falsehoods. He never lied, even to avoid punishment. He might not tell the whole true to spare someone's feelings, like when their neighbor, Miss Crabtree wore that horrid puce dress. George Washington and Abraham Lincoln were honest men and the young Rogers admired them enough to want to emulate them. He'd heard it said that one of the oldest American proverbs was 'character is what you are when no one is watching', and his parents had taken that phrase very seriously. They were never rich or famous, but they were good people who were never two faced and who had never lied to him about anything. And in a way, that made them richer than anyone else he'd ever known. He liked to think so, anyway.
The Rogers family were proud patriots of their adopted country and flew flags and cheered at parades harder than anyone around them. Sarah especially was convinced that her son's birth on July Fourth signified her son would do great things in the service of his country. Steve loved his birthday and as a child was convinced the fireworks were in his honor, even if they frightened him at times. His father laughed at his conceit but humored him as well. They loved their country, where people of all kinds banded together to make the world a better place. The Italian family on the corner that sold home grown vegetables, the man from India that Joseph had worked with who had helped pay for Sarah's immigration to the United States, the gentle old black man who'd tell the school children stories – this was America, Steve's mother had explained. In America everyone was American and everyone was free to do what they wanted, free to come together, to build a better future, to live in peace. A lot of it went over his head as a child. Then World War Two broke out, and he began to learn just how awful other countries could be.
As a young man, Steve began to read disturbing stories in the newspapers about the Third Reich and even though his classmates laughed at him, tried to enlist in the armed forces. He was a tall but sickly man by then. Yet he knew instinctively Hitler wouldn't stop at taking over Europe, he'd want to take out the only nation that could truly be a threat to him after England fell. And even though by then he didn't have any flesh and blood family left to take care of, he had memories of people of all kinds and their generosity that had allowed him to make it in this life. The rumors of Nazi atrocities towards the Jews sickened him. He didn't know any more about their beliefs than the next person but everyone had the right to worship how they pleased by golly and murder in the name of "racial purity" was disgusting and any thinking person knew it. Steve had to be restrained by his friends from picking fights with American Nazi sympathizers. There was no justification for murder in Steve's eyes, other than striking down evil, and innocent civilians were just that, innocent. Besides, children went into those ovens and gas chambers same as adults and how could anyone, no matter what their religion or nationality, do such a barbaric thing? The concept was as foreign to the young American as wearing pants on his head. With every passing week the rumors grew, the stories got wilder, and the scariest thought was that so many people couldn't be wrong. If these stories were true, if Hitler was really slaughtering people like this, then Steve felt he had no choice but to fight against the madman.
The army rejected him when he couldn't pass the physical and Steve thought his chances were over. He received a reprieve from General Chester Philips who was looking for brave young Americans to volunteer as test subjects to create a new kind of warrior; a Super Soldier. Steve did not have to be asked twice. He passed all of the tests with flying colors and was selected as the very first to receive the serum.
There was not much of that time Rogers could remember. Most of his memories involved a strange soreness at the base of his spine and days upon days of utter exhaustion. The taste of the strange oral medicines still burned on his tongue and he had a vague recollection of receiving bursts of "Vita-Rays". All of this was tolerable if it meant he could serve his country and pay America back for all She had given him and his family. All of it was tolerable if he could protect the people who had made the American Dream come to life. He thought of the Irish tale of the changeling Saaski and how she'd gone into Hell to get back the human children stolen by the fairy folk, to pay back the humans for their kindness raising her after the folk killed her birth parents. He felt a new kinship for her, swallowing a bitter spoonful of medicine that burned like fire and knowing there was a purpose to his actions.
The whole process was draining physically but the results were undeniable as his entire physiology changed. He became stronger, faster, enhancing his reflexes and becoming the epitome of human efficiency. Steve Rogers was physically transformed, the first of a new breed of human. He lacked the medical knowledge to understand the scientists babbling, but he heard talk of using the formula on children with birth defects to keep them alive and felt his heart soar. America had come up with a cure to the incurable, and he had been part of making that dream a reality, to say nothing of what this would do for the war efforts. Steve had felt triumphant before he'd even been in battle.
All that changed when a Nazi spy revealed himself and shot Doctor Erksine, the scientist in charge of the project. The spy intended on stealing the formula but the good doctor never wrote it down, just committed it to memory and in his death spasms managed to destroy the existing serum.
Steve remembered a red haze that clouded his vision and he vaguely recalled chasing the traitor. His heart had been pounding in his head out of fear instead of exhaustion and he had every intent of dragging the man to court. Some vindictive part of Steve's mind knew that the good doctor had had more than enough lawyer friends to make this a media circus. Unfortunately, Steve never got a chance to make that a reality. The panicked man ran straight into some machinery and died horribly as Steve watched. His mind had blocked out most of it, but the scream still made him shudder. No one deserved to die like that, especially not without a fair trial. Even spies weren't meant to go that way. Steve hadn't been able to eat meat for a week after that particular incident.
With no way to duplicate the Super Soldier serum, all the hopes of the project came to rest squarely on Steve's shoulders as the army decided to train him as a counter-intelligence agent and a strong symbol of American hope to rally the troops to victory over the Axis powers. He was given a red, white, and blue costume and sent under cover to Camp Lehigh with the codename: Captain America.
It was there he met James "Bucky" Barnes, the camp's teenaged mascot. He was a good kid, if overeager to prove himself to the troops, all older men with families. Steve was an only child and mourned the fact his siblings had both been stillborn and Bucky was a lonely orphan so the two became friends, almost brothers. Bucky had been different than the other men around Steve. He was genuinely good hearted, innocent in a way that most other human beings lacked, and it was hard not to like the kid. For all his childish 'gosh golly' moments, at least he was honest and open. In these harsh times he was like a breath of fresh air.
"That," a general had said once, gesturing with his head towards Bucky, "Is what we're fighting for. The young people of America. They're our brothers, and hell if we're going to let them end up the Germans' whipping boys."
Bucky eventually became Captain America's sidekick, Steve took special pride in training his adopted sibling and the two of them fought the Nazis together, eventually earning the attention and gratitude of President Roosevelt himself, who presented Captain America with a special shield. The president handed it to Rogers himself, hands shaking as he did so. Steve pretended not to notice the awe in the man's eyes and gratefully shook hands with a man he considered a greater hero than he could ever be. For a time, just for a few months, it had seemed like everything was looking up. He held dreams of the war ending, of going back to his normal life. He had gotten far too used to being gawked at and bowed to by people for his own good. Looking back, he couldn't help but wonder if his pride at being a national hero and the pride he took at being a mentor blinded him to unseen faults. Perhaps if he had been more humble, more careful, tragic events would not have occurred.
Baron Zemo was trying to destroy an experimental plane army scientist were sure would tip the balance of power in the Allies' favor and launched the craft with a bomb on board. Brave, doomed Bucky had tried to disarm the bomb only to fail and explode with the plane. Well, not fail, exactly. His efforts had kept the explosion from turning into a nightmarish fireball that would've hurt both sides. He had succeeded even in failure. Steve never should have brought the boy into that situation; his new body chemistry had saved him, Bucky was just a child. An innocent child who trusted his big brother to protect him, save him. Did he die blaming his hero for his demise? Steve hoped with all his heart Bucky never even saw Death coming and the boy was in heaven singing along with Sarah and Joseph Rogers, for they were three people who truly deserved salvation. Later in his life Steve would learn from Tony that explosions happened so quickly that, before the blast even hit Bucky, something called Sudden Nerve Trauma had killed him. The shock from the explosion itself had caused the brain to simply switch off. He never even felt the fireball touch him. But Tony wasn't there at the time to provide medical analysis, and Steve had spent more time thinking about the loss of the last true family he had left than he'd ever let alone know.
Steve was no longer sure what the afterlife held for him after what he saw as his unpardonable sin of pride. His new "life" held even more uncertainties.
He just hoped America could still use a hero.
Presently he was out of the lab for the first time since he'd woken up. Rhodey had advised Tony against it, saying something about 'future shock' and 'being unplugged' that was apparently a reference to some kind of story they both knew that Steve didn't. In the end Tony had simply talked him out of it with the logic that Steve wasn't about to go Johnny the Homicidal Maniac on them. "He just needs to get his bearings, see what America's like nowadays. You know, get pretzels, find some new clothes, look at some books, that kind of thing. It's like a field trip through modern day NYC." Rhodey had looked uncertain about the whole venture, but had conceded that it was probably an okay idea so long as Tony didn't overload Steve too much. The black boy would've gone with them had he not had a date. The brunette showed Steve a picture of the lovely couple on his cell phone.
"Mr. Stane lets his daughter date colored men?" Steve asked, earning a double take from Tony.
"A, don't say 'colored' ever again unless you want to start a New York street brawl. B, yeah. Rhodey's smart, sweet and he's not abusive like her last boyfriend." Tony's voice took on an extraordinary level of animosity on those last words. "Of course, after what happened last time I'm sure anyone looks good, but Rhodey's a really nice guy, even if he does mother me around a lot."
Steve grinned. He remembered being called the mother hen of the troops on more than one occasion. It was a title he'd never denied. Maybe he and the black boy had more in common than he thought.
The world was a lot brighter than Steve remembered. Every shop had blinking lights and signs advertising sales that drove home to Steve just how much the value of currency had changed since he was last out and about. There were a lot of oddly dressed people around. Apparently jeans now came in every color of the rainbow and it was possible to have raccoon striped hair. Steve had no idea how that was possible and quite frankly didn't want to know. He wondered when dresses and skirts had gone out of style for women. He saw more pants and short hair on women walking to the subway station than he had in his entire lifetime. Every single person had a cell phone or MP3 player on them and people on benches were using laptop computers. He felt like he was on an alien world where he was the real alien among the indigenous people. Steve was like Saaski in the fairy tale, venturing into the mound where the fairies lived and the laws of man did not apply.
Unlike Saaski, nobody was trying to kill Steve. And he was fascinated by everything even as it threatened to overwhelm him entirely. There were still stores run by families, still people of all nationalities walking the streets of NYC, and still street performers trying to earn a little money where they could. This place was home buried under layers of new tech, but it was still home. At least, that was his thought until they took the subway to the real business district. The buildings touched the sky and went on and on forever, hundreds of floors. There were shops advertising things he didn't comprehend, phones, computers, electronics that seemed to have their own language to them. The crowd was thick with people of all backgrounds whose languages were an impenetrable wall. Cars went by that looked ungodly expensive. Tony looked right at home, greeting people with nods and smiles, leading Steve forward to a large three level building that was clogged to the brim with people. He called this den of strangely dressed people, screaming children and overweight adults 'the mall' and Steve wasn't sure what he wanted to stare at the most. He was well aware his mouth had been open for the past twenty minutes, he just didn't care and couldn't stop when there was a new marvel in every store.
Tony's explanations were not helping him. If anything, the teen's nonstop chatter was making Steve more confused than he'd have been had Tony not spoken. The mall had a lot of garish clothing Steve desperately hoped Tony wouldn't ask him to try on, and there was a store filled with gadgets that wouldn't have looked out of place in some kind of sci-fi comic book like the ones Bucky used to collect. He winced at the thought. Bucky would've loved to see this. Had things not gone down as they had, Bucky would have seen this. He tried not to focus on that as Tony rambled on about cliques, music and the mall's evil effect on women, which he was sure was greatly exaggerated. Rhodey was right, Steve really shouldn't have gone out so soon. Or at least, not with Tony, whose technobabble was a foreign language to him. Steve had to fight with him to go into one of the normal looking clothing stores, while Tony was practically falling over himself to get Steve into a store with outlandish looks outfits and even worse prices called Cyberia.
"I've been wanting to raid this place ever since it opened!" he complained. "Come on, it's tres cyberpunk."
Not only did Steve not know what cyberpunk meant, he was fairly sure that wasn't how the French word tres was supposed to be used. "I want to blend in and look presentable, sir, not wear things that look like they come from another planet." Steve noticed the way Tony's nose crinkled in disdain at being called sir and sighed. "And I don't think Rhodey would appreciate it if we came home with glow in the dark pants and no real civvies."
The brunette gave one last wistful look at Cyberia and the array of goggles in the front window. "But I wanted to at least get you a trench coat. It's bad ass."
"Watch your mouth," Steve reminded him automatically. Tony rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like 'yes, mom' as the blond man decided to concede defeat. "You're paying for everything, so… if you really think I need a coat, fine. I just don't want to put you into debt for it, and that store's awfully expensive."
The soldier was taken aback when Tony burst into genuine laughter. "I've got more money than God, Rogers," the teen replied with a smirk. "I could buy the mall and still have more in any one of my bank accounts than most people make in their lifetime. Roberta tries to keep me from blowing it all – some nonsense about learning responsibility and the value of a dollar – but there isn't anything here I can't buy." His expression went from arrogant to suddenly serious and somber. "Especially for Captain America. You're a legend. You gave your life defending your country. You've earned anything you want." He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the three levels of shopping around him. "The world's yours, just tell me what you want and let me worry about the price."
Suddenly Steve felt keenly aware of Tony's blue-gray eyes on him, the respect and awe shining in those glacous colored orbs, and it was enough to make all his previous tension at the situation melt away. All he felt was a strange emptiness where his heart should be. He neither deserved nor wanted this kind of effect on people. It was too much like how Bucky had seen him. Feeling choked up and not entirely sure why, Steve averted his Prussian blue eyes before Tony could see how deeply he'd accidentally wounded the soldier. A legend. Everybody knew him and yet nobody really knew him, knew who he was. The world had overlooked all his shortcomings. History was rewritten by the victors. But Lord knew it had never been that simple or clear cut on the battlefield and he didn't deserve this anymore than any other veteran did.
Luckily, he was saved from the lengthening awkward silence. "Tony!" a girl with chocolate brown hair and cerulean blue eyes yelled, emerging from Cyberia looking several kinds of angry. She had a waspishly thin waist and was dressed in what Steve recognized from a Betty Boop cartoon as a kimono. Yet this kimono barely covered the young lady's legs and appeared to be made of black leather with green trim. One arm was bare save for a fingerless fishnet glove and matching tights covered her legs so snugly Steve fought to look at her face and nothing else. Black knee high boots completed the ensemble and the time spanned soul wonder idly how her parents could have let her leave the house like that. "You smug douche, where the hell have you been?"
"Love you too!" Tony said cheekily, smiling as she scowled at him. "Kiel vi fartas?"
"Tre bone, dankon. Kaj vi?" She gave him an annoyed glare when he paused. "Kaj vi?" she asked again, looking increasingly irritated.
"Mia kusenveturilo estas plena je angiloj," he shot back after a thoughtful moment. She relaxed instantly, but only temporarily before her classically oval face regained its scowl.
"Well, nice to know you didn't turn stupid on us. Tony, where the hell have you been?"
"Busy. House guest," he added, gesturing with his head to Steve. "But I promise, I'm going to make the next meeting, okay? Just don't spaz out on me in public."
"Oh, you don't need my help drawing unwanted attention to yourself," she snapped, sky eyes blazing. "You do that all by yourself. Adieu."
"Well, that's the last time I offer to buy someone everything in the building. Jeez, you'd think I'd run around the mall screaming 'I am Iron Man' or something." Tony looked contemplative. "Anyway, let's get back to clothes shopping, shall we? Hopefully we can get this done in time for Attack Of The Show…"
"Tony, who was that?" Steve asked, looking at the retreating form curiously. "And what's this about a meeting?"
"Oh, that's Janet Van Dyne. Bit of a fashionista but basically a good person. Her dad and my dad were friends. She and her boyfriend Hank travel in the same social circles I do. And it's nothing important," Tony waved his hands dismissively. "At least, nothing you'd be interested in. We speak Esperanto, drink coffee, and talk about movies. It's just a thing I'm part of."
Steve allowed him to be dragged into the ordinary department store Tony had been so desperate not to go into before, and felt his eyes narrow. There was something wrong here. Now, it had been a long time since Steve had been out and about in the world. There were gadgets he didn't understand, things commonplace now that hadn't even been on the drawing board in his time, but one thing he understood was code. The girl had wanted a reply from him. It had been rehearsed and utterly incomprehensible to Steve, probably to everyone around him, for that matter. Once he'd said it she'd changed entirely – her demeanor had shifted from angry to worn out and frazzled. This was not what Tony said it was. He noticed the brunette boy seemed to be on edge. Steve frowned, drew himself up to full height and gave the boy his best 'tell me the truth' glare'.
"Boy, I've had enough lies in the past week to last me a lifetime. Now, what-"
"Keep your voice down, and act normal," Tony told him quickly. "Talk quietly, walk quickly. Don't look around or act suspicious. Pretend you care about kinds of cotton or whatever while I talk."
Steve gave him an incredulous look, but begrudgingly decided to go along with it. Mostly because he needed clothes. Thankfully modern stores seemed to have an excess of taller and bigger sizes, much to his relief. He noticed the way Tony shifted from foot to foot, trying to think fast. Suddenly it struck Steve that he had no idea who Anthony Stark really was beyond Iron Man and a genius, and the unknowns left a lot of blanks to fill. He knew Tony's basic back story from Rhodey, had been catching up on the history of the world, but he had no idea who this boy really was. Pepper was different, honest and open like Rhodey was. Tony was snarky and secretive. He was richer than God and knew a lot of rich and connected teenagers.
"Well, we'll start at square one. Do you know what Esperanto is?" Tony whispered, looking completely absorbed in the task of picking out a specific color shirt for Steve. Only the slight excited tremble in his fingers betrayed his anxiety. When Steve shook his head minutely, Tony sighed. "The one part of this that existed in your day, and you…" He sighed. "It's a language, Steve. A construct language. And it's what the resistance has used from the beginning. Simple to teach, incomprehensible to normal Americans. Perfectly logical. Which," he held up a shirt to Steve's chest with what passed for a calm expression on his face, "Is what we more or less run on. That, and copious doses of red pill blue pill philosophy." He paused. "You didn't get that reference, did you? Crap. Let me explain. If you want, you can go home now, forget this happened, ignore the growing problems in America and the imminent approach of World War Three. That's the red pill section of the philosophy."
"And the blue pill?" Steve asked, feeling distinctly uneasy with the way Tony was acting. There was a rehearsed sound to his voice even as passion and emotions wove themselves into his words. Steve found himself carrying a growing amount of clothing as they moved through the store, ignored in the chatter of ordinary people.
"You can admit that it's all shot at this point and step up to help. The police are corrupt, the government is filled with backstabbers and deal makers. Even SHIELD won't see reason anymore. Vigilantes are the only thing standing between us and total anarchy. Somebody has to step up and say enough is enough, you can't get away with this." Tony's hands had been twisting a T-shirt tightly beneath him; he released it, looking sheepish. "But since crime fighting is illegal for people without a badge, we're fairly underground, though we do engage in a lot of hiding in plain sight."
"Cyberia," the blond muttered.
Tony smiled. "Got it in one. That was Janet's idea. Open up a cyberpunk shop and nobody will think twice about people gathering around to discuss nerdy things in the backroom. After all, weak little geniuses are just like that. Not to say that Janet and Hank don't make profits off that store – are you kidding me? It's New York City, every subculture on Earth has its branches and roots here."
"So, then, why are you telling me this, when you've gone through so much to hide your organization?"
"Firstly, it's not mine, it's Janet's. She's the one who's been getting us all together, creating a network of crime fighters that's nothing like New York has ever seen. Secondly…" Tony leaned in, knowing the motion was obscured by a new coat display. "I want you to join us. Captain America, working to end crime in one of the most corrupt cities in the world, saving lives…" Steve swore he saw the teen's eyes get misty. "Think of all the good you could do."
"Do Rhodey and Pepper know about this?"
"No. They think I'm part of some nerdy club that speaks Esperanto, drinks coffee and talks about movies. Which we actually do, on occasion," he noted with a small smile. "So, what do you say, Steve? Will you be Captain America again?"
Author's Note Part Duh: *Loosens collar with a nervous chuckle.* Eh heh heh heh...MadroxDR pointed this out and I can't believe I forgot. Thanks again! Here is a translation of the Esperanto used.
Kiel vi fartas? is "How are you?"
Tre bone, dankon. means "Very well, thank you."
Kaj vi? is Esperanto for "And you?"
And lastly, "Mia kusenveturilo estas plena je angiloj," translates as "My hovercraft is full of eels." This is the phrase Tony and friends use to identify themselves. Because...yeah.