Sorry for the delay guys! Unfortunately this is one of those boring chapters that are necessary. I also thought I should point out that the events of The Winter Soldier have not taken place. Happy reading!

Steve threw a punch into the punching-bag as the radio burbled meaningless behind him. It hurt, it usually did, perhaps because he had incorrect technique, but pain was good sometimes.

Pain helped him forget.

It let him forget a lot of things.

Like waking up after the sensation of being asleep for a few seconds, waking up to a messed up world that was so needlessly complicated and everything good had gone. He woke up, still 27, feeling like it was only days since Bucky had fallen and gone. Peggy had a family and had grown old, and after that her memory had holes torn through it. He visited her several times, and each time she sobbed. "Steve!" she said. "You're alive. It's been so long!" And then she would have a coughing fit, and everything would start all over again.

After he visited her he went to the sand bag and pummeled it until the chain broke and it burst open on the ground.

He wouldn't pick up another one that day, mostly because he frequently destroyed punching bags and it seemed a waste. He heard a lot now about people in countries far away, people that starved to death with their children, earning the equivalent of 5 cents a day. That punching-bag cost enough to feed one family for a long time.

Steve had never heard about this when he was living in the slums of Brooklyn. He supposed it had always happened, but people were so much more focused on their own life that they never were told about the people in those poor countries.

It hadn't improved much over the last 70 years. People suffered still and everyone else knew about it, they just found they couldn't spare the time to think or care about it.

In any case, Steve wasn't beating up the bag to forget the war, or how the world had barely improved.

He was trying to forget about Spider-Man.

Steve swatted the bag one last time before he let his arms fall to his side, once-combed hair falling limply in his eyes. The bag swung a few times, like Spider-Man did on his webs.

He shot out a hand and stilled the punching-bag.

Steve really didn't like getting angry. He hated that feeling of burning fury in his chest and behind his eyes. But he couldn't think of Spider-Man and Director Fury without that volcanic heat boiling up under his skin.

How dare Fury.

How dare he manipulate Steve into trying to take out a child in a costume, a child that was doing what was morally right. He could hear Fury's voice now.

"Captain, this vigilante has been committing crimes all around the city and is responsible for the death of the NYPD chief. He is dangerous. You need to take him out or bring him in."

An uncomfortable redness built up around his peripheral vision. Stop, he reminded himself. There is nothing you can do about it now except look out for Spider-Man. He bit his lip and bent his head down, staring resolutely as he unbandaged his hands. Think about something else.

But what was there to think of?

Everything he understood, everything that was home was gone. Bucky was dead, Peggy was as good as, Howard was too, and when he tried to find any remaining Howling Commandos, he found that he had woken up one month after the last one, Jacques Dernier, had died peacefully in France.

Steve disliked sulking as much as anyone, and it was exceedingly out of character for him, but he really couldn't help it this once. He folded the bandages up and put them in his pocket (waste not, want not, right?)

"Earlier today, it was revealed that there had been one civilian injured in the attack on Spider-Man by Captain America and the Iron Man, Tony Stark." The woman on the radio said tonelessly.

Steve's head shot straight up and turned to the radio. It, like everything else, was unnecessarily complex, but he had it figured out pretty quickly. Honestly, who wanted to record music from the radio when the internet existed?

One good thing that 70 years of inventions had brought.

"The photographer of The Daily Bugle, 19 year-old Peter Parker, was severely injured in the fight between the super-heroes. Fortunately it seems that there will be no lasting damage, as he was present at the earlier press conference at which Tony Stark argued profusely with Parker's employer, Mr. J. Jonah Jameson-"

Steve tuned out again as the reporter started talking about Tony.

A child had been injured in the attack.

That brought the tally up to two. How many more people would they find that had been injured because of him?

Steve's reverie was broken as he heard the familiar sound of repulsors outside.

"I don't need this right now," he said aloud. His words didn't block out the sound of Tony tripping over various objects and swearing. It was bad enough that he was partly responsible for the beating of a relatively innocent person and an extremely innocent person.

"Hey! Steve!" It was worse now that the other perpetrator was in the room with him at that very moment.

He heard the uncoordinated sound of Tony's shoes scuffing through the remaining sand from a previously ruptured punching bag.

"I've got good news!"

Good news? That was news.

"About what?"

"The kid that got beat up when we were getting Spidey!"

"I don't understand how that's good news, Stark."

Tony stood in front of him, and Steve was struck by how much shorter Stark actually was. The suit put a good two inches on him.

"It's good because I've talked the kid and I know exactly how to make it up to him."

"I hope it's a good idea, because being savagely beaten warrants an apology."

"Yeah, I apologized," Tony said with a wave of his hand. "Sort of. The news is that he lives in Queens."

"Queens."

"Yeah, Queens. I'm paying for all his family's bills for the rest of their lives and I'm gonna give him and his girlfriend jobs if they want them."

Steve's eyebrow had been making a steady incline, but the last bit surprised him and it dropped down to its normal state. "Jobs? At Stark Industries? You mean as receptionists, right?"

"Nah, I had J.A.R.V.I.S. look them up, and they're both geniuses! The boy's parents were famous geneticists and it's rubbed off on him. His lady friend, Miss Stacy, she just seems to have gotten the genius gene from nowhere. Her dad was a police officer, and if I remember, not that bright."

"Was?"

"I think he got killed a few years ago. The point is, I'm making it up to the two of them because of the stress and whatever."

A tiny little petal from the great fucking flower of guilt in Steve's chest dropped off. There was the remaining flower left, though.

"What about Spider-Man?" he asked.

Tony shrugged. "I guess next time we see him, we give him a big apology and a hug." He leant against the punching-bag and hastily straightened again as he nearly fell over.

"Be serious, Stark."

"Really? I think we should look out for him. Make sure nothing else happens. Be his Guardian Avengers."

Steve let out a breath. "That's what I was thinking. Without the cliché titles."

"I thought they were cool."

"I am 95 years old and I know that they were not cool by any definition."

Tony folded his arms. "Well, I'm leaving to demonstrate how offended I am, and to accost a couple of teenagers. See ya around, Capsicle." He darted around Steve and the scattered sand and sped out the door. The familiar sound of Stark navigating through the junk at the entrance of the building floated into Steve's ears, before the blast that signified Tony's dramatic exit sounded.

Steve shook his head. Maybe Howard wasn't dead, he had just been replaced by his enigmatic son.

He was a friend, anyhow.

Peter kissed Gwen goodbye after she walked him home and watched her leave. The weather wasn't all that spectacular, so the wind had messed her hair up in the walk home. Her sleeves were wet with coffee from when they stopped at a café to buy lunch and she leant in a puddle of spilled latte, and she had absently ran her fingers through her fringe. This had led to coffee all through her bangs.

She still looked beautiful.

Of course, Gwen could dress as a tractor and still look beautiful.

Aunt May thought so too.

"You're a lucky boy, Peter," she said, coming to stand by him whilst wiping her hands on a tea towel.

"Yeah, I know."

Aunt May put an arm around his shoulder and gently took his crutch. "It's not often you find someone who is your equal. I was lucky in that case, too."

"Equal? You kept Uncle Ben in line with your spatula and kitchen knives."

Aunt May lightly slapped him on the shoulder. "That's not true, Peter."

Peter raised his eyebrow.

"It wasn't the spatula..."

Gwen's walk home was more memorable than she'd have preferred.

The rain was not memorable.

The wind was not memorable.

Even nearly getting hit by a cab was not memorable.

The billionaire in a flying metal suit caught her by surprise though.

Especially when he landed in front of her, in the middle of the sidewalk, where everyone started staring.

He landed heavily, in a puddle, and an elderly woman walking past was drenched. She gave Iron Man an evil glare and muttered something about "Youngsters and their high-tech nonsense" and carried on walking with her poodle.

"Hi, Miss Stacy," he said nonchalantly. "How are you? Where's Parker?"

"Uh-" Gwen floundered for words. "Fine, Mr. Stark. How do you know my name? And if you're looking for Peter, he's not here, obviously."

"I looked you and Peter up after the press conference."

Gwen's mouth stiffened. "That is an abuse of privacy."

"True, but it'll benefit you both."

Gwen folded her arms. "How so?"

Some unknown sound must have distracted him because he paused and remained completely silent for a few seconds.

"Yeah, that makes sense."

Okay, there was obviously a phone or something on the inside of the mask.

"Okay. Yeah. Nah, I know what you mean."

She pulled out her own phone and hurriedly texted Peter.

iron man just stopped me in the street and started talking 2 me

"What? When did that happen?" Mr. Stark said in disbelief to the person on the phone.

Bing.

Wow, it didn't take long for a reply. She looked at the screen.

wat.

Oh, Peter was so literate.

Bing.

what does he want.

"Are you actually joking? Tell Clint he's an idiot."

Bing.

if he wants to beat u up ill be there in 40 sec

Gwen smirked. The perfect example of her boyfriend's idiotic sense of humour and overprotectiveness.

nah he just said he was looking us up on the net and itll be to our 'benefit' somehow

"For fuck's sake, he put his hearing aid on 20%? Is he trying to piss me off?"

now hes bitching on the phone about some dude called clint

Bing.

i think thats hawkdude

"Yeah, don't worry, I'll tell her. Give Clint a punch from me. Yeah, whatever. Wh- bye, Romanoff."

Bing.

Another text from Peter came through, but Gwen stuffed her phone back in her pocket as Tony Stark hung up.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

He said 'yeah' a lot.

"How is you creeping on us beneficial?" Gwen asked.

The Iron Man suit shrugged, which was possibly one of the most unnatural things Gwen had ever seen in her life. "Sorry. I can't tell you until Parker's here. It mostly concerns him. Y'know, since shit happened to him in the attack, right?"

She didn't respond.

"I'll talk to you when you've got your boyfriend with you. Bye."

A hot blast from the repulsors dried Gwen's hair as Iron Man took off into the sky.

She took out her phone again. Peter's message flashed on the screen.

is it about the paying for college thing because i got the letter that said i got the scholarship

She quickly typed a message back.

he just said he couldnt tell me unless you were there

Bing.

asshole.

Hope you enjoyed the update, guys. It was actually really hard to write, which is strange since like nothing happened. And sorry for OOCness from anyone.