Steve Rogers. Steven Grant Rogers.
Steve’s past will never really go away.
He maybe has the best childhood of all the Avengers, minus Thor, but he's far from being without suffering, without hardship.
He remembers the time when he was happy, when his dad was still alive and he'd play with Steve during the days, the two of them, in the room reading, drawing, having fun while his mum was out in the bathroom doing laundry, or at the windows hanging out the wet clothes. He remembers the time when they were happy, just the three of them, a family, even if Mam had to take care of two invalids, because Pa had used to be strong and healthy, but then he got hit by mustard gas in the Great War.
But that was fine, because both his parents had good, steady jobs, his Pa an office job that didn't require much of his shredded lungs, and his Mam a washerwoman.
But then the Depression hit, and the stocks crashed, Wall Street crashed, money became a luxury and his Pa was retrenched, his Mam couldn't find a steady job. His Pa was forced to do heavy lifting manual labour which further destroyed his already compromised lungs, and he'd passed, not long after, and then Steve and his Mam were left to fend for themselves, one weak and sickly and basically helpless, the other weary and working triple -quadruple- jobs to make ends meet.
And sure, yeah, his life still isn't that bad, he's able to do a few art pieces, some commissions here and there that help bring in some money to the dining table.
And he has Bucky.
But then everything goes wrong.
First his Mam dies, then Mrs. Barnes passes, then he and Bucky are sent to the orphanage, and for the slightest amount of time he’s somewhat happy, after he gets over the grief and loss. He gets to hang out with Bucky, gets to go to art school, and he’s allowed to sketch and draw and read anytime he wants. So he’s happy, for a while.
When the war happens, he and Buck have been out of the orphanage for more than a couple of years already, and they have barely enough money to tide them through, but they’re not alone, at least. They have each other.
Then Bucky enlists, and Steve tries to follow, but of course, he’s rejected, 4F stamped on his enlistment. But still he tries. Again and again and again.
Finally, he gets in, under Erskine’s recommendation, and then the change. He rescues Buck and makes a name for himself, him and the Howling Commandoes, and he makes a family out of them, friends, brothers, warriors.
And Peggy, of course. Beautiful, headstrong, stubborn Peggy. He’s never loved someone as much as he’d loved her, and he’d always thought that after the war, he’d woo her properly, they’d settle down together, and they’d have their happily ever.
They’d live in a nice house on their pensions with their kids and Bucky’d be that weird, ridiculous uncle that the kids loved and the parents pretended to hate.
But, of course, things don’t go that way. They never do.
He remembers snow, white capped mountains, a train along the rails, along the side of a snowy mountain. He remembers screams, remembers fighting and yelling, fingers, knuckles, white and clenched, scrabbling for purchase on smooth metal. Reaching forward, running full speed, fingers slipping away from him, out of his grasp, out of reach. (Hang on! Grab my hand!) (Don’t let go).
He remembers the plane, the Valkyrie, filled with bombs, remembers that last conversation. (Gonna need a raincheck on that dance.)
He remembers the ice, the cold, the water filling his lungs and freezing his extremities, sending his limbs tingling and numb, just before everything goes black.
Light floods back in, he opens his eyes.
He remembers running, running, running out into unfamiliar ground, all bright, colourful lights and loud noises. (I had a date.)
All this, and he’s never going to forget it. No, it’s always in the back of his mind, his past is always haunting him, a string of memory that will never go away, people who stood for him, believed in him, made him the man he is today.
The memories hurt, burning and clawing at his chest on bad days, and sometimes they’re all he can think about, blood and fighting and screams and war. The feeling that he doesn’t belong, that he’ll never belong.
That he can’t belong.
He just wants people to see him for him. He wants to be seen, to be known as Steve. Not Captain America.
He's just a kid from Brooklyn, after all. Steve Rogers, the scrawny, undersized, sickly little boy, pale skinned and blue eyed, small, weak.
He needs to be treated as Steve, not some overrated superhero who can kill a man with a single punch.
But he can't seem to go anywhere without people pointing and going "Captain America! Guys, it's Captain America!" He can't even go to S.H.I.E.L.D. without the pointing and whispering.
Just once, once, he wants to be just Steve. Not Captain America, not Captain Rogers, just Steve.
He doesn't think that'll ever happen, though.
But, as always, he’s never right.
Because not only does he find that he can, in fact, belong in this new century, can find people who are friends, he also manages to make a life out of it, build himself a new family, and there’s a difference between surviving and living.
And he’s living.