A Poisoned Touch

He sat at the edge of the building watching the world ebb and flow below him. It’s become his normal now, sitting away from everyone. Never close enough to touch. Never close enough to feel anything except distance. It chokes him, the distance. Makes his throat swell with anger and sadness. But he is used to it, which may be the saddest piece of it all. His existence has been marred by the lack of touch for years now. He doesn’t often look back anymore, there is no point to it he’s learned, but sometimes, when he’s feeling the lack of touch the most, he wonders if he would have stepped into that capsule had he known how he would come out of it. He’d gone into it small and sickly, a good man who could do more if he had more, and he came out of it big and strong and monstrous.

They call him an angel, but he’s not. He’s a monster, no matter what they want to call him. No matter how hard he tries to use this new powerful body for good, he is still monstrous. It had been slightly easier to deal with when he was in the middle of a war. When he had a fight that was worth the change he’d undergone. It hadn’t hurt so much then, when he couldn’t touch because he was doing good every day. Fighting a fight worth his own pain. But now, now he had down time. Now he had days, weeks where there was no fight. No bad guy hell bent on world domination. Now he had time to miss touch.

And he did miss it. A lot. More than he wanted anyone to know.

He spent a lot of time removed from the people around him. His teammates, the people he calls his friends, he sees the pity in their eyes when they all dogpile onto a sofa after a mission and he is always there, just out of reach. He’d taken to wrapping his wings around him like a blanket, just another layer in between him and the rest of humanity. A way to keep himself separate, only this time it’s his choice. That is cold comfort, of course, but he holds onto what he can to keep himself sane.

It’s part of why he finds hismelf sitting here on the top of the Chrysler building alone so often. Watching the others interact, it gets to be too much. For a group of seriously fucked up people, they were all very tactile. Dogpiles, hugs, backslaps, noogies, ruffling each other’s hair, it was all a daily occurrence and it left him out on the fringes. It didn’t matter that he was the captain. It didn’t matter that out of all of them, he needed touch the most, he couldn’t have it.

He was touch starved. Probably more severely than even he knew. When he’d been found was the last time he’d been touched in any form that wasn't a fight. It had only taken Fury the loss of two agents before he realised Steve’s condition. Condition was the word Fury had used. Steve, well, he knew what it really was. A curse.

In the months that he’d been alive in this century he’s proven to his team that everything that they thought they knew about him was wrong. Laughably wrong. He didn’t know if it had been Peggy or Howard, but someone had scrubbed his files. So when Fury defrosted him, the wings had been nearly as much a shock as the power to kill had been. Fury wanted to study him, and probably would have had Stark Junior not shown up right away. Months later Steve still felt a deep gratitude towards Tony. The man might be loud and often obnoxious, but he was loyal and a good friend, He’d been Steve’s voice while he was still reeling from being awake. He’d stood up to Fury and the government. No tests had been done, his back pay had been released to him, and a new outfit had been designed.

Tony had been adamant that the world needed Captain America but Steve wasn’t sure they could handle the truth of him, so he’d held out. It wasn't until the Chitauri came through a portal led by a face that Steve swore he’d killed, that he pulled on the red, white and blue. Together with Thor and his brother Loki, he and the team defeated the Red Skull for sure this time. The chitauri were defeated and the city began to rebuild. That had been six months ago.

For six months he’s talked about his abilities with Bruce and Tony, both of them trying to make the science work for them. A way to undo what had been done, but Steve knew there was a missing piece. Something Erskine had kept close and that died with him. It was the only thing he could think of for why Bruce became the Hulk instead of like him. When they were alone together, just the two of them, a pot of tea and the soft rain of a fall night, they could admit to each other that the change had left them both monsters. The others didn’t understand, likely never would, but Bruce got it. Just like he got what Bruce was going through.

There was a difference between them though, because Bruce was still looking, still trying to undo it. Steve had accepted his fate. There was no way to undo what had been done. Not if the ice hadn’t done it. No, he was stuck like this. Powerful white wings anchored into his back and a poisoned touch.

He was pulled out of his musings by the sound of thunder. The sky was clear though and that could only mean one thing. One person. Sure enough a few seconds later Thor landed gracefully next to him, maintaining the ever present foot of space that was the least he allowed.

“Steven.”

“Just Steve, Thor. I know I’ve told you that.”

“Ah yes, but you won’t allow me to call you by your rank, which is proper, so you’ll have to allow me to at least use your given name. I know I told you that.” Steve had to shake his head. He might not be getting the touch he needed, but he had made friends in this time. He had. He sometimes just needed a reminder of that.

“Okay, I’ll let it go. What brings you to my perch?”

“Have you changed your name? Should I add you to the ‘bird bros’ that Stark calls Clint and Samuel?”

“I mean, between the three of us. I am the one with actual wings. I am not sure why I'm not automatically thrown into that anyway.”

“I believe it is because you are our captain. You do not belong lumped in with any of us. You are your own group alone. I have been in that position before.” He looks out to the city below, obviously thinking of something from his own past. Steve doesn’t want to rush him, he understands needing time to parse out your thoughts. “It can be harmful to your mind, to be exalted. I will work on that. It is only that I admire your strength.”

“Thor, you’re leagues stronger than me. If anyone’s strength should be admired here...”

“Nay. Your mental strength. To have to hold yourself apart always? That kind of burden would fell a lesser man. You are now, and always will be, stronger than I.” He shook his head, the long blonde hair fallong softly around his shoulders and he grinned big at Steve. “Come. I did not find you to stew in our melancholy. My brother has returned for a visit and requested your presence. I believe he has something to speak to you about.”

He could admit he was curious as to what Loki would need to speak to him about. The man was not the friendly sort, he most often resorted to making fun of Stark whenever he dropped by to visit. Steve wouldn't say they were friends, just sometimes teammates. But the grin on Thor’s face was enough to get him to stand, the muscles in his legs crying out from where he had been sitting cross legged for so long.

“Okay. I’m coming,” He rolled his shoulders, letting his wings unfold and shaking off his sedentariness. He watched Thor’s face again, looking for pity or anything other emotion but all he found was awe. And not the weird kind he got from fans or the people who often wanted to study him.

“Race you!” Thor shouted as Mjolnir pulled him into the sky. Steve smiled then, a real one. He might be unhappy a good ninety percent of the time, but racing with Thor through the skies was always a fun time.

Steve flew past him, his wings working efficiently to pass the magic hammer. “See you at the tower slowpoke!” The last thing he heard was Thor Letting out a boisterous laugh.