Steve's bike stuttered to a stop in front of a dimly lit diner. He had no idea where he was but he couldn't keep going. His bike, a gift from Fury for his help with the Manhattan incident, had started wobbling and puttering out about five miles back. Steve forced the bike to go as long as possible and pulled off to the side of the road when he saw the diner. Steve tried to look through the rain obscuring his helmet and made out a watery "Cassy's Diner." He looked around and saw some other unlit buildings. A few buildings down, he saw a flickering Motel sign and sighed. A bed would be nice, Steve just hoped it was better than some of the other sketchy motels he'd stopped at.

Steve's stomach grumbled and he decided that food would come first before securing a room. He stepped off his bike and walked it the rest of the way to the diner. He gently propped it up on the porch and wrapped the lock around one of the support beams. Steve took off his helmet and quickly put it under his arm, rushing in to get out of the rain. As Steve pushed the door open to the diner, he froze.

It felt like he was back in his time. Steve faced a long white counter with a dozen red barstools, waiting to be sat on. To his left and right were red-leathered booths with white tables in the middle of them. Behind the long counter were some coffee machines and an assortment of empty containers. They looked to be pastry containers but seeing as it was evening, the pastries were gone. An old song from his past was playing. Was that Doris Day and Les Brown? Steve couldn't quite shake himself to act normally. He felt like he was home.

"Oh sweetheart! Come inside before you catch your death out there," an elderly woman cried, taking him by the arm. Steve blinked and allowed the woman to seat him at a table to the right. She set a plastic menu in front of him and babbled about the awful weather and their specials for the night.

"I'm sorry," Steve interrupted her, "Is this Doris Day and Les Brown?" The woman blinked at him and then smiled.

"Why, you know your music! Not many people your age can recognize the oldies. Charlotte!" the elderly woman exclaimed, hands on her hips.

"Yes Nana?" a woman with messy blonde hair poked her head out of what Steve assumed was the kitchen. She had large brown eyes and a smear of flour on her face.

"You're not the only one of your age who knows the oldies!" the elderly woman pointed at Steve. The woman with the messy hair smiled and Steve's eyes widened. The smile wasn't embarrassed or flirty, it was genuine. A genuine smile that showed how happy the woman seemed to be upon hearing of his knowledge of music. Steve grinned back awkwardly, his eyes flitting between the women.

"Nana, don't embarrass him. You don't want to scare away the customers," the smile widened. The elderly woman laughed and turned back to Steve.

"So what will it be sweetheart?" she asked. Steve blinked and then fumbled with the menu.

"Uh…I-um-"

"How about we start you off with some coffee and I'll come back for your food order?"

"That would be great. Thank you ma'am."

"Oh darling I haven't been called ma'am in ages," the woman laughed, "Call me Betty." Steve nodded and the woman walked off, talking to several other customers. Steve sat back against the booth and tried to blink the nostalgia and confusion out of his eyes. He felt like he was back in the 1940s but one look around reminded him he was in the present day. A man and woman two booths down were both on their phones, swiping and tapping on the screens. Steve felt inside his coat and pulled out his phone, another gift from Fury. Should he have it out like the others to fit in better? This was the part that made Steve's head spin. How do you act normal when you're from another era? Steve put his phone back in his jacket with a sigh and decided he would focus on something he could understand. The menu.

Steve scanned the menu and his mouth began to water at practically everything. There were eggs, pancakes, meat pies, burgers, so much food that it was hard to choose. Steve finally decided that the breakfast special sounded the best. What was the normal amount to eat? After the serum, Steve had noticed that he ate twice as much as the average soldier or person. So should he get one order of pancakes or two? Steve scratched his head and tried not to get frustrated. He had chosen to take this road trip by himself so he would figure out how to blend into society.

"If you're looking at the breakfast special, get a batch of pancakes and a batch of waffles," a voice said. Steve looked up to find an elderly man with a slight hunch talking to him. He had a bucket of dishes under one arm and a rag in the other. The tag on his apron read Nathan.

"Both?" Steve asked, surprised. Nathan chuckled and pointed his thumb over his shoulder.

"Lotte back there is the best baker in this entire state. Even if you don't eat all of it, you have some for later. And trust me, you'll want it later," Nathan's eyes gleamed with a fatherly pride. Steve nodded his thanks and Nathan moved on to the next table. He looked back at the menu and was trying to decide between bacon or sausage when Betty came back with coffee.

"Here ya go hun. Nice and warm," she placed it in front of Steve along with some small packaged cups.

"Do you know what you want?" Betty asked, flipping a page on her notebook.

"Yes, I'd like the breakfast special with an order of pancakes and an order of waffles," Steve responded, handing her the menu.

"And will that be with bacon or sausage?"

"Uh-" Steve's stomach growled loudly and Betty smiled.

"I'll put both down. You look like a big eater."

"Thank you ma'am."

"I told you," Betty said, lightly smacking his arm with the menu, "Call me Betty."

"Right, sorry." Betty smiled and walked away, chuckling under her breath. Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his teeth. This whole being normal thing was a lot harder than he thought it would be. He'd lost track of how long he'd been unfrozen. He knew that he'd been awake for a couple of months before the aliens and Thor's brother attacked Manhattan. It had been about a month since the Manhattan incident. In that month, Steve had travelled across the country and was on his way back when his motorcycle had died in Wyoming. A month and Steve still didn't have a good grip on the 20th century. He knew it would take time but he hadn't expected it to take this long.

Steve looked at what had been placed before him and figured out that the cups were creamer. Steve shook his head in amazement at all the advancements of society and poured two in. The biggest shock Steve had experienced was the Internet. He grew used to the higher technology faster than other things but the Internet baffled him. There was a space where most of the world's information was stored and was available to everyone at any time? Oh and this wasn't a physical space but a "virtual" space. Steve couldn't quite wrap his head around it and had accepted the fact that he would probably never understand it. The coffee was good and warmed his tired bones. He'd been driving for a while and the warmth of the diner was comforting.

Steve looked around the diner and found only five other customers; the couple on their phones, a lone man at the counter, and another couple on the other side of the diner. Steve felt a mixture of longing and happiness as he observed the diner. It really did feel like home and Steve longed to go back to his era. But that was impossible and he had to move forward. Always look forward, never backwards, his father used to say. When Betty passed by him, Steve asked if she had a newspaper he could look at and she pulled one from behind the counter. Steve began to read all of the articles, no matter their relevance. He had realized that reading the newspaper was one of the best ways to begin to catch up on the decades he'd lost. By the time his food came, only the lone man at the counter remained.

"I'm sorry for the delay," Betty fussed, placing a heaping plate of food in front of him.

"Lotte will bring you your pancakes and waffles in a minute. The stove and waffle machine were being difficult," Betty explained. Steve looked at the mountain of food in front of him and his stomach growled in anticipation.

"Thank you Betty." Betty smiled and refilled his coffee cup. Steve folded the newspaper and put it to the side while he dug into his food. It was amazing, more than amazing. The eggs were fluffy, the bacon crunchy, and the hash browns perfectly browned. Steve tried to pace himself but he was ravenous. In a matter of minutes, his plate was empty.

"Oh, well it seems you enjoyed your food," Steve turned toward the voice and saw the girl from the kitchen. Charlotte. She was holding a plate in each hand, one filled with pancakes and the other with waffles. The smear of flour was still there but now Steve saw that flour covered her entire apron.

"It was fantastic," Steve said as she set the two plates down and took away his empty plate.

"Well I'm glad," she smiled, another genuine smile, "An empty plate is the best compliment to a cook. I'll be right back with some butter and syrup." She walked away and Steve turned back to the plates. The aroma from the plates stirred up an old memory and Steve was thrown back to a small yellow kitchen. He was a small boy, swinging his legs excitedly as his mother placed pancakes in front of him. She touched his head and kissed him lightly, telling him to dig in. He had smiled and poured half the bottle of syrup over his pancakes.

"Here you go," Charlotte's voice interrupted the memory and Steve looked up. He met Charlotte's brown eyes and blinked.

"Oh, right, thank you," Steve stammered, looking down at the table. Charlotte smiled and moved to clean a table. Steve buttered his food and poured most of the syrup onto both plates. I guess I haven't changed too much, Steve thought. Steve took a bite of his pancakes and nearly groaned in pleasure. The pancakes tasted like nothing he had ever had before. Fluffy and light yet it had a rich, creamy taste to them.

"Do you like them?" Charlotte asked, coming into view. Steve could only nod because his mouth was too busy chewing the pancakes from heaven. Charlotte smiled and leaned against a booth.

"I'm glad. I taught myself how to bake when I was little and I've been perfecting the recipe each year."

"These are perfect just they way they are ma'am."

"Why thank you," Charlotte beamed, "But please call me Charlie."

"Charlie?" Charlotte blushed slightly and fiddled with her apron.

"I never liked the name Charlotte so all my friends call me Charlie. Well except Nana and Nattie, they call me Lotte. That's their special name for me that only they can use."

"Charlie it is then," Steve smiled. Charlie smiled back and Steve noticed again how genuine her smiles were. It wasn't often that he saw such genuine smiles. Usually, people smiled politely or, when they knew who he was, women would smile flirtatiously. But not Charlie. She just seemed happy. No ulterior motives or politeness, just happiness and warmth. Steve focused back onto his pancakes and he was just about to start devouring the waffles when Charlie spoke again.

"So you like Doris Day and Les Brown?" Steve looked over at Charlie and wondered if she was asking for information or just out of curiosity.

"Yes, they're one of my favorites," Steve answered, watching Charlie carefully. She grinned, "They're mine too." Steve couldn't see any reaction that was suspicious and he couldn't think of any reason that this conversation could be harmful.

"Do you have any other favorites?" Steve asked.

"I'm a fan of Bing Crosby, Artie Shaw, and the Glen Miller band," Charlie responded, walking over. She slid into the seat opposite him and leaned forward.

"What are yours?" she asked, eyes sparkling with interest. Steve was slightly taken aback. For one he hadn't spoken to a woman, a normal non-assassin or agent woman, for quite some time and two, he hadn't spoken of 1940's music in a very long time. Charlie's eyes widened and she grimaced slightly.

"Sorry, I don't mean to invade your privacy or anything like that. It's just, not many people know who I'm talking about so it's rare to find someone who know the 1940s," Charlie apologized. Steve smiled and shook his head.

"You're not. I guess I was just shocked that you knew 1940s music too. I like those artists as well as Jimmy Dorsey and Freddy Martin." Charlie's eyes lit up and they fell into easy conversation. Steve was surprised how easily they talked. Charlie would talk about what she liked about certain artists while Steve ate and chimed in occasionally. When they discussed one of Steve's favorite artists or songs, Steve would talk while Charlie smiled and nodded. Steve didn't even notice when the last customer left until Charlie looked out the window.

"Oh the rain's stopped," she said idly. Steve looked outside and then around the diner. He'd finished the waffles about a half hour ago but he'd been enjoying the conversation.

"Looks like I'm the only one left," Steve said, getting up. Charlie looked around and he saw surprise cross her face.

"Oh guess so. Let me get your check." Steve followed her to the cash register, running his hands over the smooth counter top. A pang of nostalgia hit him again and he sighed.

"Are you driving home tonight?" Betty asked, stepping out from the kitchen.

"No, my motorcycle's dead. I was hoping to stay at the motel down the road," Steve answered, fishing around in his jacket for his wallet. Betty clicked her tongue and folded her arms.

"That motel's not open right now. It was just closed because of water damage." Steve looked up as he handed Charlie the right amount for his meal.

"Really? Is there another motel in town or close by?"

"Only the one motel in town and not another one for twenty miles or so." Steve frowned and ran a hand through his hair. What should he do now? Twenty miles was nothing to his super body but it would look strange if he was just walking on the side of the road. Not to mention dangerous.

"Why don't you stay with us?" Charlie suggested, "We have a spare room you can borrow until you fix your motorcycle."

"No, I couldn't ask that of you. I've already stayed past closing time I'm sure."

"Oh don't be silly boy! You're staying with us," Betty said.

"I-"

"Granted it won't be free. You'll still have to do chores to earn your keep," Nathan chimed in.

"Stay until your bike is fixed. I promise, we're not psychopaths," Charlie smiled. Steve looked between the three people and sighed, giving in.

"Thank you, a place to stay would be much appreciated," Steve said. Charlie's smile widened and Betty nodded triumphant.

"Now if you're going to stay under our roof, we need to know your name boy," Nathan said, leaning against the back counter.

"Steve, Steve Rogers," he replied, without thinking of the implications of his name. He held his breath as he waited for the reactions, but none came.

"Steve, nice to meet you. I'm Nathan, this is my wife Betty and our daughter Charlotte or Charlie for short. Only we can call her Lotte," Nathan winked. Steve smiled and shook their hands. Looking at the three people in front of him, Steve didn't feel out of place for the first time since he woke up. For the first time, Steve felt normal.