Chapter 1
Prologue
Steve stood with Sam, his hands shoved in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. Natasha told him to meet her at Fury’s grave, but she wasn’t there, and Steve was full of nervous energy. His cheekbone had healed itself three days ago and his ribs reattached themselves to where they should be inside his chest two days after that, and still he was stuck in DC, and Bucky was who-knows-where.
“So, you’ve experienced this sort of thing before?”
Steve turned at the sound of Fury’s deep voice, and there he was, strolling up in a hoodie and sunglasses. A far cry from his usual menacing black trench coat and eye path.
“You get used to it,” Steve said wryly, glancing down at the grave in front of him.
“We’ve been data mining Hydra’s files,” Fury said. Steve’s heart thumped louder in his chest at the word Hydra, his breath came a little tighter. “Looks like a lot of rats didn’t go down with the ship.”
Steve took a deep breath through his nose, like his mom taught him back when he used to feel an asthma attack coming on, and said nothing. He had no obligation to fight Hydra anymore. Or at least, that’s what Sam said repeatedly over the last few days.
“I’m headed to Europe tonight,” Fury said. “Wanted to ask if you’d come.”
Steve glanced at Sam, whose eyes were wide, waiting to see what Steve would say.
“There’s something I got to do first,” Steve answered.
“How about you, Wilson?” Fury asked. “Could use a man with your abilities.”
“I’m more of a soldier than a spy,” Sam said.
“Alright then.” Fury looked down at his grave again, and then offered a hand to Sam. Sam shook his hand, and Steve followed suit. “Anybody asks for me, tell them they can find me right here.”
“You should be honored,” came a voice behind Steve, and he turned away from Fury, his heart leaping in his chest when he saw Natasha was carrying a folder under one arm. “That’s about as close as he gets to saying thank you.”
“Not going with him?” Steve asked, walking towards her.
“No.” Natasha smirked.
“Not staying here?” Steve said, knowing the answer the question already.
“Nah. I blew all my covers, I got to go figure out a new one.”
“That might take a while.”
“I’m counting on it,” Natasha said. After spending so much time together as everything fell apart around them, Steve could finally read the laughter in her eyes. “That thing you asked for,” she said, and the smile slid off her face. “I called in a few favors from Kiev.”
She handed Steve the folder and he stared down at it. It felt a little like he was holding his entire world in this small beige folder.
“Will you do me a favor? Call that nurse.”
“She’s not a nurse,” Steve said, looking up at her. This was familiar territory, at least: thinking about Bucky while talking about a girl.
“And you’re not a SHIELD agent.”
“What was her name again?” Steve asked.
“Sharon,” Natasha responded. “She’s nice.”
Steve knew this was Natasha’s way of saying goodbye—or at least, see you later—but he couldn’t stop thinking about the folder in his hands. He wasn’t sure what was showing on his face but it must have been something, because Natasha leaned forward, grabbed is shoulder, and planted a light kiss on his cheek. He looked at her quizzically, but she was already turning to walk away.
“Be careful, Steve,” she said. Then she turned towards him and her face was completely serious, no laughter in her eyes. “You might not want to pull on that thread.”
But like a magnetic force was dragging him to it, Steve looked down at the folder in his hands and opened it. Bucky’s face, his eyes closed and hair long, sat behind a cold blue sheet of glass, and clipped to the bottom of the picture was the Bucky Steve had known. His sergeant’s hat just slightly askew and his mouth half open as if he was about to tell Steve off for doing something stupid.
“You’re going after him.” Sam was looking over Steve’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to come with me,” Steve said, knowing Sam wasn’t asking a question.
“I know,” Sam said. “When do we start?”
Chapter 1
Steve wanted to board the first plane and fly straight to wherever Bucky was holed up, but that was not the kind of intel Natasha gave him. No, what she gave him was much, much worse.
Sam finally took the file away while Steve was dry heaving over his toilet with tears running down his face.
“Hey, Steve. Breathe. In and out, copy my breathing.”
Sam’s hand was solid and grounding on his shoulder and Steve forced himself to look into Sam’s calming brown eyes. Deep breath in through the nose, deep breath out through the mouth. Slowly, his chest stopped heaving and he sat up, leaning against the bathtub.
“You want to talk about it?” Sam asked. He hadn’t read the file. Steve wouldn’t let him.
“They tortured him,” Steve whispered. His voice sounded very small. “They—more than torture. They erased him.” Steve’s whole body shuddered and his breath hitched in his throat.
Sam grabbed a glass of water from the counter-top and handed it to Steve, and Steve drank gratefully.
Sam waited until Steve had finished the whole glass before asking, “What do you mean, erased?”
“It was, um, electrical stimulation to the brain, I think it said.” But Steve had an eidetic memory, he knew exactly what it said. Direct voltage stimulation to the brain. Target the hippocampus and amygdala regions of the brain. Hippocampus to break memories, amygdala to reinforce fear. At least one 30-minute session in the chair—there had been a picture of “the chair” in the file too, and it looked straight out of a horror movie, complete with large shackles on the arms—followed immediately by at least 48 hours in cryo to inhibit healing. Longer electro-stimulation required after more time between cryo sleeps. “They shocked his brain until he no longer knew who he was.”
Sam’s face grew dark; his eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”
“I have to find him.”
Sam shook his head. “What if—I know what he means to you, man, and I just—how can you be so sure he remembers you?”
“He pulled me out of the river, Sam,” Steve said wearily. This was an argument they’d had several times already. “No one else could’ve. And—and the file said he remembered, sometimes.” Never allow the Asset to remain out of cryo sleep for up to a week. After 72 hours, the Asset will regain some basal memories and deviate from the mission. No maximum limit to cryo sleep encountered.
Sam let out a sharp breath. “Ok. Ok, Steve. I’m with you man. If this is what you want, I’ll help you. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”
Steve nodded and wiped his face. “I know what I’m doing.”
“If you say so.” Sam gave him a hand up.
Steve reached for the file on the bathroom counter but Sam snatched it up first. “Nuh uh. No more for today. Tomorrow we can start our mission, tonight we’re eating a large steak—” Sam’s eyes traveled down Steve’s body and back up again, “—ok, two large steaks, and getting a full night’s sleep. I haven’t forgotten you got shot three times like a week ago.”
“I heal fast, Sam,” Steve said.
“Yeah, yeah, you told me, magic man. But you also let slip how much you need to eat, and I’m sure even a super soldier like you needs some beauty rest.”
Steve rolled his eyes, but he felt himself smiling a little and his chest felt a bit looser. “Thank you,” he muttered. “You know, for everything.”
Sam just waved a hand airily. “Shut up, you can pay for dinner.”
“Yes, sir,” Steve said, and gave Sam a very sarcastic solute.
“Oh man,” Sam said, laughing. “Something tells me that by the time this is over, I’m gonna have some crazy stories to tell about Captain America.”
Steve shrugged that off and went to refill the glass of water. He’d heard there was still wreckage in the Potomac from the helicarriers and Nick Fury was traveling to Europe to continue dismantling Hydra, but Steve was going to eat a steak dinner with his friend. He didn’t feel much like Captain America anymore.
Sam changed out of his short sleeve shirt into a casual button down, and Steve fiddled nervously with the hem of his own t-shirt. Natasha had grabbed a few things from his apartment after the helicarriers went down, but nothing that Steve deemed good enough for a nice restaurant. In fact, she mostly just brought him the workout shirts he’d accidentally bought in a size too small, which Steve was pretty sure was her way of teasing him.
“Relax, Casanova,” Sam said when he emerged from his room and saw Steve standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room. “Just grab a jacket, you look fine.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you trying to set me up to look like a bum in a nice restaurant?”
Sam laughed. “No, I’m serious, man. I just changed because I know I’ll be sitting next to you all night. Gotta look extra sharp to compete with those cheekbones of yours.”
Well, Steve was pretty sure his face was burning bright red, and Sam laughed again. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
Steve shot a glance back at Bucky’s folder, now lying on the kitchen table, before Sam pulled him out the door.
Sam was right, it turned out; Steve was not underdressed for the restaurant. Although he felt like he should’ve been. Steve had never been to a place this nice. The ceilings were vaulted and covered in an intricate mosaic pattern and all the tables were covered in white tablecloths. It was the kind of place that Steve and Bucky would have stood outside when they were growing up to catch the scent of rich-people food. Of course, since he woke up in this century, Steve could afford to eat here, but he hadn’t had anyone to eat with. Despite Natasha’s best efforts, he didn’t want to ask anyone out on a date, and besides, between SHIELD missions and aliens emerging from the sky, there wasn’t a lot of time for fancy dining. At least that was over now. Well, the SHIELD missions were—and hopefully the aliens, too.
They sat down and Sam ordered a beer. Steve just asked for water.
“No alcohol for you?” Sam asked.
“Nah,” Steve said. “It doesn’t do anything for me. I metabolize it too fast.”
“Damn,” Sam whistled softly. “That’s like a crime against America. If anyone needs a drink tonight, it’s you.”
Steve shrugged. “It’s not too bad, really.”
“Well, how would you know if you’ve never been drunk?”
“Oh, I’ve been drunk,” Steve said, laughing. “I’ve definitely been drunk before.”
Sam’s eyes got wide. “Spill! What’s the story?”
“Nothing too interesting,” Steve said. “I just ended up throwing up in an alley for a bit.”
Sam frowned. “You gotta stop doing that, man.”
“Doing what?” Steve asked, genuinely confused.
“Deflecting. Every time you get close to talking about something real, or about your past, you deflect.”
Steve shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t deny it; but he wasn’t expecting to be called out on it.
Sam’s gaze softened. “I see it all the time at the VA. Nice guys, the ones who have adjusted pretty well to being civilians again, deflect when people ask them about their tour.” He paused as the waitress came by and placed a glass of beer on the table. “Thanks,” he said, he took a small sip, and then looked back at Steve. “I get coping mechanisms, I do. I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready to be pushed. But just know that you can talk to me for real, if you want to.”
Steve took a deep breath. Sam was right, of course: he was deflecting. But maybe Sam was also right that he didn’t have to, at least not to him. “Ok, you’re right,” he said, smiling a bit. “There was more to the story. It was one of the first times I went on a double date—Bucky was always setting them up, finding two girls who really just wanted to go out with him and then draggin’ me along.”
Sam smiled and took another sip of his beer.
“I hadn’t really had beer before, and I was nervous, so I drank it too fast. My date was not very interested in me—they never were, really—and another guy at the bar must’a noticed. He came up and started flirting with her, and she didn’t seem to like that much, either, so I stood up for her. I told the guy to leave us alone, and if he had a problem with that, we could take it outside.”
Now Sam was chuckling. “Of course you did. Then what happened?”
“Well, we went out to the alley to have it out. The guy threw the first punch and hit me right in the side of the head. I got up and went to hit him back, but between the dizziness from the beer and the hit to the head, I just—” Steve cut himself off. He felt his face growing red again. “I, uh, threw up on his shoes,” Steve mumbled.
Sam burst out laughing. He had a really good laugh, and Steve found himself joining in.
“Now that is an amazing story.”
“Buck was mad at me for ruining the date, but he was laughing too hard to yell at me.”
“The first time I got drunk,” Sam said, “I was sixteen and my friend at the time—turned out he wasn’t a very good guy, but I didn’t know that then—he stole some of his dad’s vodka and we drank it in his basement. We got drunk and then snuck outside and wandered around a nearby golf course for a bit. I ended up throwing up in the second hole—”
Steve couldn’t help himself, he started laughing at that.
“Yes, yes, ha ha,” Sam said, but he was laughing too. “I had to sneak back into my house that night, which was terrifying—my mother would have grounded me for the rest of time if she knew I had been drinking that young.”
Steve nodded at that. “Yeah, Buck and I only went out drinking when my ma had the night shift. He would sleep over at my place to avoid his ma and pa, and no one wouldda been the wiser.”
“I like when your voice goes all Brooklyn,” Sam said, and Steve flushed again. “Nah, stop being embarrassed, it’s cool. Trust me, I know all about code-switching, you can stop trying so hard.”
“Code-switching?” Steve asked.
“Oh, it’s, um… basically, it’s the idea that certain people change the way they talk and act based on the environment they’re in. So, when Black people are around a bunch of white people or in a professional setting or whatever, we speak differently than when we’re just around each other or in a more comfortable setting.”
Steve thought back to the Howlies—how they acted altogether in the field, and how everyone changed a little when a film crew came with them or they had a meeting with the brass. Gabe would stand up straighter and over-enunciate his words and Morita always threw in some American slang when he spoke. At first he just thought they were just trying to show off, but when he got to know them better he learned they weren’t the kind of guys who showed off. He nodded. “I think I get it.”
“I’m not really sure if what you do would be officially called code-switching, but it’s essentially the same idea. When you talk about your childhood, like your mom and Barnes, your voice changes.”
“They gave me lessons,” Steve said. “When I became… Captain America. They sent me on tour to raise money for the war, but first, they gave me elocution lessons. I guess when I talk about growing up, I slip back into what’s normal.”
The rest of dinner was relaxing. Sam got Steve to continue to open up and tell stories about his past, including one particular story of the Howlies involving too many explosives, a top hat, and a literal sack of potatoes that made Sam almost spit out his beer with laughter, and Steve also learned a lot about Sam and his past. They enjoyed their steaks—Steve had two steaks, actually, because Sam told the waitress to bring two servings and she left before Steve could protest. By the time Steve was finishing the second one, he was feeling pleasantly full, a sensation he hadn’t had in a while.
When the waitress brought the check, she also brought a small slip of paper. She was blushing furiously and her hand was shaking. “I’m so sorry to ask, and we’re really not supposed to do this, but I’m such a big fan,” she said. Steve felt his face growing red. “You’re Captain America, right? Would you mind signing this for me please?”
Steve nodded and avoided Sam’s eyes. “Sure,” he said softly. “What’s your name?”
“Nicole,” the waitress said. “Thank you so much, Captain.”
Steve handed her back the piece of paper. It now read Thank you for a great dinner! -Captain America on it. “No problem.”
Steve quickly paid the bill and then he and Sam left the restaurant, walking back to Sam’s place.
“I thought you would’ve been more used to that stuff by now,” Sam said.
“What?”
“You know, the autograph stuff. You just looked really uncomfortable.”
Steve cringed. “Was it that obvious?”
“Probably not to her,” Sam said.
They walked in silence for a bit longer. Steve knew, logically, that he could open up to Sam, but that didn’t stop his brain from warning him that he would be laughed at if he said anything.
“I’m not really him,” Steve blurted out finally, taking the choice away from himself.
“You’re not really who?” Sam asked.
“Captain America,” Steve said. “I mean, I am Captain America, obviously, but like, I’m also not.”
“Go on,” Sam said encouragingly.
“Well—so, the Falcon is like your codename, right? And the Black Widow is Natasha’s—she is the Black Widow, but also the Black Widow is her. If the Black Widow does something, that’s because Natasha is doing something.”
“I’m not following yet,” Sam said.
“Ok, well, from the beginning it was a little different for me. I didn’t go straight into war, I was a symbol for the war effort at first. There was a whole play, with Captain America punching Hitler in the face… and comics and stuff too, I guess. When I got out in the field with the Howlies, there was already a separation between Steve Rogers and Captain America, but the lines were blurred. What I did in the field—at least the declassified stuff—that was also what Captain America did, because I was Captain America. But there was also all this stuff that they made up to sell war bonds: Captain America punches Hitler, Captain America singlehandedly raids a Nazi base, things like that. Those were things that Captain America did, but Steve Rogers didn’t do.”
Sam nodded. “Ok, I think I’m getting it now.”
“Right. And then I went into the ice.” Steve swallowed. “And for seventy years, Captain America lived on, but Steve Rogers—me, I was dead.” Steve stopped walking. They were only about a block away from Sam’s place now.
“What happened when you came out of the ice?” Sam asked, and Steve thought Sam might know where he was going already.
“Everyone I knew was dead,” Steve whispered. “Everyone except Peggy, and she wasn’t always lucid. There was no one left who knew Steve Rogers.” Steve shrugged. “It was so soon after I came out of the ice that the attack in New York happened, and I had to be Captain America. I had to save people, and that was fine.”
“And then what?” Sam prompted.
“And then it was just easier to be Cap. It’s what everyone already expected, anyway. Some perfect Boy Scout that came out of a machine ready to fight for truth and freedom.” He sounded bitter, even disgusted. “But that’s not really who I am. That’s not who Steve Rogers is.” He started walking again, and Sam did too.
“I’m really sorry, Steve,” Sam said quietly. “That must’ve been really hard—never being able to be yourself.”
“It wasn’t fun,” Steve said, “but I could do it. Being Captain America is a role I’m used to, even if it’s not the real me. While I was trying to figure out how to adjust to this century, it gave me something familiar to hold onto while everything else around me was different. But now…” he trailed off.
“Is it because Barnes is back?” Sam asked.
Steve shook his head. “Yes, but also no. Bucky knows more about me than I do—” he swallowed roughly to avoid throwing up his dinner, “—knew more about me than I do. And there were times that I think he resented the Captain America persona. But I’m talking about…” he waved a hand at the road closed signs that lined one of the streets, past which sat wreckage from one of the helicarriers. “Captain America was supposed to have brought down Hydra. Now we know that’s not what happened. If I were really Captain America, I would be dropping everything to finish that mission. I wouldn’t be spending time with you, or trying to find Bucky, I would be with Fury in Europe hunting down the rest of Hydra.”
They had reached Sam’s place, and Sam got out his key and unlocked the door. Once inside, Sam sat down on a chair in the living room and looked expectantly at Steve until he sighed and sat down across from him on the couch. “So you’re saying you’re not really Captain America.”
Steve shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Sam laughed. “Thank god. Do you know how old white conservatives used Captain America’s name when I was growing up? If you were anything like what they made him out to be, I never would’ve been friends with you in the first place.”
Steve grimaced. “That’s not who I am, Sam. And I think I’m finally recognizing that’s not who I want to be. Growing up, I always knew who I was. Then Dr. Erskine made me something else… or at least, gave me this body to look like someone else, and it was easy to slip into that persona because it was helping people. It gave them something to believe in during the war. But now… what Captain America stands for, it’s grown far past me. And I'm not sure I want to be a part of that anymore. I just want to be Steve Rogers again.”