Work Text:
1
“The world needs heroes,” Fury says.
“But--”
“More than ever before.”
“I’m not--”
“The world needs you, Captain. The Avengers need you. We need a man with your experience, with your capabilities, with your reputation. You don’t understand how fragile the peace and order are in the modern world.”
“Right,” Rogers says, a hollow echo to his voice.
“The world also needs you to pull yourself together and drop that goddamn hobo look,” Fury says, and looks pointedly at Rogers’s hobo sweater and his rough stubble. “Tomorrow, 0700, in my office. Wear your suit. And your face better be smooth as baby’s ass, Rogers. We’ve got some damn important people to impress.”
---
Alexander Pierce frowns at Rogers’s dark brown hair, as Fury had expected. Then he says with a polite, concerned voice, “Please, do not take this in the wrong way, Captain, but since the public has very clear expectations on what Captain America is like… I suggest you wear your helmet.” He raises his eyebrow. “Often.”
Rogers’s face turns to a pout, which is frankly even less Captain American -like than his hair, and only proves Secretary’s point.
“A great suggestion, Secretary,” Fury says.
The pout intensifies, but Rogers nods reluctantly. He looks like a sullen teenager. Fury suddenly remembers how much he hates young people.
Didn’t people grow up faster in the good old days? Who the fuck gave Rogers permission to drop all the Depression-time maturity to embrace the modern moody young adulthood?
After Pierce has left the room, Fury points at Rogers, who still looks like a brat with a mouth full of lemons. “Alright, out with it. What’s the goddamn problem?”
Rogers gives him a glare. “It’s a fucking stupid design.”
Fury waves his hand. “The helmet can be redesigned.”
Rogers doesn’t look any happier. If anything, he manages to look even sourer.
Fury narrows his eyes. “Alright. Try again. What’s the real problem?”
“Nothing--”
“Rogers.”
“I fucking hate wearing the tin hats, okay?” Rogers snaps. “You know how ridiculous they make your hair look like? You sweat your head in that pot for few hours, and take it off, it’s all flat and sticky and completely ridiculous--”
Fury puts his face in his hands.
Rogers says in a surly, martyr-like voice which suggests that he’s making a great personal sacrifice, “But since it’s so important to y’all, fine. I’ll wear it.”
2
“So, what’s the plan, oh our glorious tactical genius?” Tony asks.
“Uh,” Steve says with a deer-in-headlights expression. Then he shakes it off, and straightens his posture. “Right. We, uh. We go in. Hulk smashes. Kaboom. Job’s done.”
Silence.
“Kaboom,” Tony says flatly.
“I like this plan,” Clint says.
“But how are we going to deal with the force shield around the base?” Bruce asks. “The big guy, uh. He’ll get fried if we don’t get the shield down first.”
Steve stares back at him with a blank face for a moment. Then he smiles at them all and says, “Ideas, anyone?”
Tony starts to hum The Star Spangled Man With The Plan. It’s a catchy tune. Natasha joins in.
Steve glares at them. “Guys. This is teamwork, okay? That’s how the best plans-- Clint, come on, not you too--”
3
“Ouch,” Clint says faintly.
“Not a word,” Steve groans from the gym floor, holding his bloody hand up in the air to stop the bleeding. The shield lies next to him on the floor, looking all patriotic and innocent. “Fuck.”
“I start to understand why you insisted on getting a gun,” Clint says.
“I said, not a word.”
“You didn’t cut off any of your fingers, right?” Clint takes a pause. “Or does the serum regrow them too? Oh shit, does this happen often? How many times have you cut off your fingers when throwing that thing around?”
“Barton, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to cut your fingers off with that goddamn shield.”
4
“Alright, fellas,” Steve says and leans forward on the chair, his wide, fake smile directed to the camera. “So you’re getting picked on? That ain’t anything new. There’s always been bullies.” He gets a far-away look in his eyes, and his jaw tightens. “Goddamn bullies picking on everyone smaller than them, thinking they’ve got an easy prey in their hands.”
The director looks desperately at Natasha.
Natasha smiles back.
The director sighs. She checks her watch, and then seems to make the executive decision to not call for the hundredth cut, as Steve continues to ramble away, getting further and further away from the approved and carefully crafted PSA script.
“--and ya know what? Someone’s gotta show them there’s consequences. And I’ll show y’all what you gotta do.” Steve stands up from the chair. “You gotta show them you’re not worth the trouble. Look. Spread your feet, like this. Relax your knees. Keep your center of gravity low. They charge at ya, feint with your fist, and then, bam, you surprise them and fucking kick them.”
Steve demonstrates and grins at the camera. The camera man jumps. The director facepalms. Natasha raises her hand to cover her grin.
“First time, don’tcha go for the groin,” Steve continues. “That ain’t right. But if they don’t get the message and leave ya alone, fair’s fair, so do whatever it takes to teach them the lesson. Hey, you, come here.”
Silence.
Steve gestures towards the camera. “You, behind the camera. You look such a beanpole, you’re perfect for this. I’ll show ya how to fight. Let’s make this a proper lesson for the kids.”
The camera man adjusts his round hipster glasses and looks pleadingly at the director, who looks pleadingly at Natasha, who just keeps smiling serenely back at her.
5
Pepper finally manages to corner Steve after the dinner.
“Steve! I’ve been looking for you.”
Steve smiles at her guiltily, his eyes sweeping for the exit route. “Uh, yeah. Look, Pepper, let me explain--”
“I’m so sorry I forgot to tell you about the live painting demonstration at the gala,” Pepper says, smiling brightly and lying through her teeth. Oh, she knew that Steve wouldn’t have gone anywhere near the charity gala if he had known that he had been booked as the honorary guest. “But I’m so glad it went well anyway!”
Steve looks at him with a confused expression. “It did?”
Pepper pulls up the news on her phone. “The press loved your ‘Red Square On A White Canvas’ painting, and the speech you gave. How there’s more important things to do in the world than sit around idly and paint. Your dramatic exit.” She shows her screen at him, full of ridiculous article titles all the way from ‘From Soap Ads to Modern Minimalism - The Evolution of Steve Rogers’s Art’ to (her favorite) ‘Top 10 Deep Meanings We Can Find In The Cap’s Square, From The Melted Earth to The Man-Out-Of-Time Feeling He’s A Square Peg In The Round Hole Of The 21st Century’.
Steve blinks owlishly and stares at her phone screen. “What.”
Pepper leans over and kisses his cheek. “I’ll let you know when the PR team has finished the plan forward. Keep your phone ready and empty your next week, the press is hungry to hear more about your painting.”
The horror in Steve’s face almost makes her poker face slip, but only almost. She’s a professional, after all.
x
Natasha isn’t surprised when Steve doesn’t come back after leaving her alone in his bedroom in the tower. She is surprised at herself when she climbs off the bed, puts on her clothes, and follows him.
She finds him on the roof, lying on his back and glaring at the night sky.
He glances at her and sighs. “Go back to sleep. Let the man brood in peace, Nat.”
“Nope,” Natasha says and goes to lie next to him on the cold tiles.
Silence. Or well, as silent as the late night in Manhattan can get. The wind is loud this high in the open and honestly quite chilly.
“They are beautiful,” Steve says.
“What?”
“The stars.”
Natasha squints. “Too much light pollution for the non-serumed eyes.”
“Oh.”
“Half of them are already dead anyway.”
“Well, not half of them. But yeah. Some of them.”
“None of this is good for you, you know.”
“I’ll ask your opinion when I want it, thanks.”
“No need. I’ll dump it on you anyway. You’re welcome.”
Steve snorts. “Brat.”
“Asshole.”
“If anyone, you should understand about sometimes needing a mask.”
Natasha sighs and rests her head against his shoulder. “I do. But I also understand how easy it is to grow too attached to that mask. Ja-”
“Don’t.”
“You do need to return one day. Stop hiding behind a dead man. That’s no way to live.”
Steve sits up and fumbles for the cigarette. He lights it up with trembling hands. After taking a drag, he finally answers: “Dunno. With our lifestyle, maybe I will never need to. Who says how long we’ll continue to be lucky and survive?”
“I’m going to drop this for now, but only because I’m going to go inside like a reasonable person.”
+1
Soldier grabs Captain’s hair in a tight hold and pulls his head roughly back. “Who are you? What is going on here?”
His prisoner groans and shuts his eyes. “Let go of me, punk. I’m already a mess because of WHAT THE FUCK, there’s no need for badly timed pants situations too.”
Soldier growls. He doesn’t care if the man shits his pants. He wants answers. He wants them now. “Why do you look like him?”
“Look like who?” the man asks challengingly and opens his eyes. His pale eyes stare straight into Soldier’s soul, not a hint of fear in them, even after waking up in the abandoned warehouse, tied down. “Say it. You remember me, don’t you?”
“It’s impossible,” Soldier says. “He’s dead. He’s been dead for decades. Who are you? What are you?”
The man isn’t a Skrull -- Soldier checked for that already while the man was still unconscious. Neither was he an android or wearing a face mask tech. A clone was a possibility. Maybe the Allied had raised him as a distraction-- for the sole purpose of catching Soldier off-guard--
“Stevie. Sweetheart. It is me. You know me.”
Soldier shakes his head. “Prove it.”
The man’s face softens. “Of course. But you gotta untie me for that. I can guarantee that one A class suckjob á la Barnes will drain ya from all that stubborn stupid in no fucking time and set the record--”
“Bucky,” Soldier scolds him firmly and gives him The Disappointed Eyebrows. “Is this really the time--” He stops. Frowns. Opens and closes his mouth for a few times.
Bucky’s eyes glisten in a way that Soldier knows he’s not allowed to point out. “Hi. I’ve missed you. A little.”
“Bucky,” Soldier whispers.
“Come on, untie me. We gotta go before—”
But of course, that’s when the door bursts open and the rest of the Avengers burst in.
Soldier raises his shield immediately and gets in between them and Bucky, which seems to shock the group enough to make them halt and stop.
“Turn around and get out of here, if you want to stay alive,” Soldier growls at the intruders.
Bucky thumps his head against the wall. “Fuck. I really hoped we could leg it out and make a run for awhile. You have no idea how long these couple of years have been.”
“Rogers,” the robot suit says in a scandalized voice. “Are you having a secret affair with an enemy? Wait. Why am I even surprised anymore? Of course you are.”
Bucky sighs. “Stevie, come on, untie me.”
Soldier ignores him. He isn’t going to turn his back to these people. He eyes the exposed beam above the group and calculates how he should throw the shield to get it to drop on them. “A moment, Bucky. I need to get rid of the pest problem first.”
“Wait. Wait wait wait. ‘Bucky’? Okay, what the hell is going on here-”
“Steve, no, they are friends-!”