Chapter 3
The next morning Steve drifts around the apartment like a restless ghost. He had woken up at 6 AM for his normal morning run before work, only to find that even a light jog is now beyond him. Slowing down, he tries to content himself with a refreshing walk, but the meandering pace only reminds him of all that he’s lost. Determined not to have his day ruined before breakfast, he cuts his “run” short and heads back to his apartment.
Bucky is waiting for him with a supersized plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. He sets the plate in front of Steve as Steve takes his seat at the kitchen table. Starving, Steve dives in. Only a quarter of the way through his massive breakfast his stomach forcefully reminds him that he doesn’t have a super soldier appetite anymore. Sighing, Steve pushes the plate, still overflowing with food, away.
Bucky's brow knits in worry.
"Are you sure you don't want to come to the shelter?" He asks, "we just got in a litter of kittens."
Steve smiles, "I'm sure."
"You can't just be kicking around Metropolis all day," Bucky says, "I know it's safer than Brooklyn, but you're a magnet for people's fists."
Steve snorts, "I am not."
Bucky shoots Steve a disbelieving look and crosses his arms. He looks ridiculous with an apron on and a spatula clenched in his metal fist.
“I can’t even begin to list the number of times you were punched in the head, and I’m not even including all the times it happened during the war.” Bucky says.
“I promise to try not to get punched in the head,” Steve says rolling his eyes. He has to fight off a grin through. Bucky used to make him promise similar things back before the war too.
“I was actually thinking about heading to Gotham. I want to see if Bruce has a lead on any of the criminals that escaped the other night.” Steve says.
Bucky nods, "try not to antagonize any Gotham villains until I get off my shift."
"No promises there," Steve says, laughing at the dirty look Bucky shoots him. Steve shoos him out of the apartment shortly after. He watches as Bucky heads down the street towards the shelter before heading in the opposite direction towards the train station.
The Metropolis train station is crowded, stuffed to the brim with commuters on their way to work. Steve is trampled by men in business suits and elbowed by woman in nice dresses. He had forgotten just how unnoticeable he was in his tiny body. Steve draws his arms closer to his chest and scurries to his train.
Maybe he should have waited for Bucky, even without knowing his story people instinctively give Bucky a wide berth when he walks through a crowd. Steve shook his head in disgust, banishing the thought immediately. He is perfectly capable of catching a train without help.
Once boarded, he finds an empty row in the back of the train. He sinks into it with a sigh. Minutes later a large man enters the train and spying the last empty seat next to Steve beelines towards it. Steve is immediately squished between the man's frame and the window without so much as an apology. He lets his head thunk against the window and settles in for an uncomfortable ride.
By the time the train drops him off in Gotham, Steve has been tripped, shoved, and nearly sat on. And Gotham train station is hardly any better. He fights his way through the crowd and into one of the many waiting taxis. Steve flops into the backseat and gives the driver Wayne Manor’s address.
Wayne Manor looks as stately as ever as they pull up to it, and Steve feels a bit of positivity return to him at the familiar sight. Alfred opens the door at Steve approach and Steve grins wryly. Alfred could give Jarvis a run for his money when it comes to being an omnipresent force of polite butlery.
"Good morning sir. Master Bruce is in his office and Master Dick is still in bed."
"Still?" Steve asks. Alfred gives him a put upon sigh, as if to say 'young people.'
"He insists that sleeping in is a crucial part of summer vacation."
Steve laughs, stepping inside. Zitka, Dick’s orange tabby, meows at him lazily from the chair. Alfred shoos her away.
"Not that I have anything against cats," he sighs, "but I do wish Sergeant Barnes would content himself with finding nice Metropolis homes for his cats. Fur, it’s everywhere."
Steve glances around the opulent foyer. It’s as immaculate as ever.
"Sorry, I'll try to curb his enthusiasm." Steve grins. Alfred's eyes twinkle.
"Well, perhaps a few more cats wouldn't be so bad. Master Dick does enjoy them so."
Alfred drifts away to dust and Steve smiles. That had been the most normal conversation he's had since waking up like this. No worried glances, no comments on his size… it’s nice. Steve is still grinning as he knocks on Bruce's office door. He hears Bruce grunt, which he takes as permission to enter. Bruce looks up.
"Steve? Is everything okay?" His pen is down in an instant.
“Yes, I just stopped in to see if you have any leads on The Joker and the others. I think we should try to get the jump on them, so they don’t take us by surprise next time.” Steve says, but Bruce isn’t listening. Bruce looks past him, as if waiting for someone else to enter.
"Did Clark drop you off?" He asks.
"No, I took the train."
"Alone?" Bruce says in a tone that Steve has only ever heard him use with Dick. It’s a mix of concern and exasperation.
"Yes alone." Steve says. He crosses his arms and tries to adopt a casual stance, but doesn’t quite manage to pull it off, "I don't need help riding the train."
"Of course not, and under normal circumstances I'd agree, but-"
Steve cuts him off. "No buts. I've been riding trains since before you were born."
"Captain, with three supervillains on the loose Gotham isn't safe right now, and you are not in fighting condition."
Steve scowls, his cheeks going pink with embarrassment. He wants to tell Bruce that he's gotten into more fights wearing this body than his other one. He’s not afraid of The Joker or the others and he certainly doesn’t need anyone else being afraid on his behalf. He holds his tongue though. Bruce has always had the mentality that nobody outside of Gotham is tough enough to handle Gotham villains, and the current situation is only exasperating that belief. Bruce doesn’t mean any harm by it. The idea of Bruce thinking him incapable does sting through.
Bruce sighs, "head down to the cave. I just have some work to catch up on and then I’ll be down. Gordon sent some surveillance video that might be helpful."
Dismissed, Steve heads down to the batcave. It’s as dark and gloomy as ever, but Steve can’t help the fond smile that crosses his face or the way his shoulders untense when he enters it. He takes a seat in Bruce’s chair and closes his eyes, enjoying the sounds of bats rustling about above. After a half hour, a new sound greets his ears. He opens his eyes and sees Dick coming down the stairs, his hair sticking up at odd angles in the back.
"Hi Cap. Bruce said you were down here." Dick says around a yawn. Steve really hopes that Bruce didn't wake Dick up just so he could babysit him.
"Just checking in, seeing if there’s any updates on the case." Steve says.
“Oh,” Dick says. He shuffles over, kicking up a small cloud of dust. Despite Alfred’s best efforts. The batcave is still, in fact, a cave. Steve breathes in, inhaling a lungful of the cave dust. He has only a second to register the dry silty taste on his tongue before his lungs seize up. Deep hacking coughs wrack his whole body.
"Oh no! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Dick says. His hands flutter to Steve's back as if uncertain touching him will help.
"It's...fine..." Steve tries to gasp, but the words are lost in another round of coughing.
"I'll get Alfred." Dick says. Steve shakes his head, unable to choke out any words. He doesn't need Alfred, or worse Bruce, seeing him coughing up a lung. It's humiliating enough having Dick see this. Steve’s vision blurs as his head swims. The lack of oxygen burns. He takes slow shallow breathes. He knows how to talk himself down from an asthma attack, he just needs to be patient and resist the urge to give into the oxygen deprived panic that lurks on the edge of his consciousness. He counts his breaths, slowly letting them become deeper. It’s a well worn routine and Steve finds himself falling back into it easier than expected. 1, 2, 3, in. 1, 2, 3, out. He can practically hear Bucky’s voice in his ear telling him when to breathe.
Dick is still hovering anxiously by his side, babbling about getting Alfred and Bruce between apologies. Guilt churns in Steve’s stomach for upsetting him so. He tries to look as reassuring as possible as he rubs his aching chest and puffs out a few deep breathes. He doesn’t think he quite pulled it off as the fear never wavers from Dick’s pale face. Distracted, neither notice the quiet approach of Alfred.
"Tea, Master Dick? Captain Rogers?" He asks primly. If he's perturbed by Steve's pale and shaky state, he gives no hint of it.
“Yes, thank you.” Steve says, sitting back in the chair. Tea sounds exactly what he needs. Too often as a child tea with honey was the closest thing to medicine as they got. As if reading his mind Alfred turns to Dick.
"Master Dick if you could fetch the honey. I've seemed to have left it on the kitchen counter."
Shooting Alfred a grateful look for an excuse to leave, Dick scampers upstairs.
Alone with the aging butler, Steve looks away, embarrassed by what Alfred has witnessed. For his part Alfred doesn’t seem to notice the stifling silence as he pours a steaming cup of tea. He holds it out to Steve, who takes it, painfully aware of how flushed his face still looks.
"Sorry," Steve says, though he's not completely sure what he’s apologizing for; perhaps for adding to Alfred's burdens. He knows Alfred his hands full with Bruce and Dick, he doesn't need to tend to his needs as well. Alfred frowns at him.
"Whatever for?" Alfred asks, a polite frown gracing his face. Uncertain at how to put it into words, Steve doesn’t respond.
"Captain Rogers, there is no reason to be embarrassed."
Steve looks down at his frail excuse of a body and then back at Alfred pointedly. Alfred stares back at him steadily.
"I've seen enough soldiers injured in the line of duty to know there is no shame in it." Alfred lightly scolds, "and I should think you have as well."
“I’m not a soldier anymore,” Steve says honestly. It’s been a long time since he truly considered himself one and now even considering himself The Captain felt out of reach. He's just half pint Steve Rogers, who's pretty good at taking a punch.
"Well, neither of us will serving on the front lines anytime soon, but it hardly means we stop being soldiers." Alfred says primly.
Steve’s eyes snap up. He takes in Alfred’s aged face, lined with all the years he experienced while Steve was sleeping in the ice, and remembers that Alfred is technically a few months younger than him. Looking at old people and wondering just how much younger than him they were had been an obsession when Steve had first come out of the ice. Now it’s something that only hits occasionally, but always with a stomach clenching jolt.
He wonders what it would have been like to grow old normally; for his muscles to naturally weaken with age and refuse to work as they did, to have people go from seeing him as a soldier, to a veteran, to an old man. An old man who is underestimated at every turn because young people don't understand what it's like to be old. Perhaps, in his own way, Alfred does understand his situation.
"I..." Steve stumbles over what to say as the realization hits him. He settles on "thank you."
"You're very welcome Captain." Alfred says, his eyes twinkling, "now I should probably inform Master Dick that the honey he is looking for mysteriously ended up under the kitchen sink."
A startled laugh bursts out of Steve. Alfred is far craftier than any of them give him credit for.
"And make sure when he brings it down to put in at least two healthy squirts. That's what mother always recommended for lung issues. Three if it's the flu." Alfred instructs.
Steve nods. Ma had done it the same way. Perhaps all mothers do. Alfred leaves the whole pot behind as he heads for the stairs. Steve wraps his hands around his cup. He breathes deeply, letting the warm steam soothe his aching lungs, and settles back in his chair to wait for Dick. For the first time all day, he can honestly say that he feels if not good, at least okay and for now, that's enough.