A/N: Another three chapter update today. These chapters just keep happening in related chunks, so for now, we'll upload them as such :D

When Erskine had told him that the procedure might be painful, he had apparently neglected to add 'very very very' to the description.

Steve is not a stranger to pain. He's been weak and sickly all his life. He's been pushed around and beaten to a pulp for the crime of being small, and for daring to open his mouth to the wrong people. He's had every bone in his body broken at some point, and his back has been a mess since the day he was born.

All of that feels like lying on a nice soft feather pillow compared to sheer agony that's burning through him now, as he can literally feel his blood dissolving, bones shifting beneath his skin, muscle turning to jelly and stretching, straining beyond where it really, by all rights, ought to have torn right in half; but it just keeps stretching out like putty, roping back in on itself now and then.

He tries to keep silent, tries to hold his tongue, but he just can't do it. When he feels his eyeballs begin to stretch and melt into new shapes, it's too much. He screams, and can't stop screaming. His skin is on fire, his brain is trying to scratch its way out of his skull. He's pretty sure this is what dying feels like. He's dying. He's gotta be.

"Shut it down!"

The words cut through the haze of pain, rattling around his skull. They're going to stop the experiment. He's failed.
Something in him rebels at that. Like HELL he's going to fail at this. People are depending on him. This is important.
He came here prepared to lay down his life, and if that's what it takes-

"No!" He yelps around the pain, hearing the frenzy of activity grind to a halt as quickly as it began. "Don't! -I can do this!"
He's not going to let some stupid machine or vita-whatsis whip him. Half of Brooklyn tried and failed. His own body has tried and failed. He'll go down fighting if he's going down at all.

Someone takes him at his word. The pain gets impossibly worse, but they don't shut the machine down.
He can't scream anymore. His throat won't cooperate. He didn't know it could possibly get worse than his breaking point, but clearly fate has something out for Steven G. Rogers. He's close to blacking out when the power surges, slamming energy through him like a punch in the ribs. He's all but crackling with electricity as his body slowly re-solidifies again.

And then it's over…

Everything is quiet for a few moments as he catches his breath, eyes closed and head thrown back. He can feel himself dripping with sweat, and he's sure he looks like a drowned rat. He always does when he's worked up a massive sweat.
He's going to look like shit when he steps out of here, but he's just too damned tired to care right now. He survived.
Whatever they did, he survived, and he's damned proud of that.

When they help him down from the chamber, when he opens his eyes... the first thing he sees is Agent Carter.
...Peggy.

She was beautiful in shades of grey, and yellow, and blue, but colors he never realized existed grace her now. Soft warm shades that scream of heat and excitement gleam on her glossy lips. A gentler dusting flits over her glowing cheeks. A new, darker color adds a whole new dimension to intelligent eyes. It takes his breath away and he can't stop staring at her for a long moment.

Her hand ghosts over his chest before she seems to catch herself, looking embarrassed, and offers him his shirt instead.
"How do you feel?" She asks, sounding caught off guard.

"Taller." Is all he can manage.

Because fate really does have something out for him, he gets all of two minutes to take the changes in, before all hell breaks loose.