Chapter 2
Steve stares at the skyscrapers sparkling in the sunlight as he slowly stands up. He reluctantly pulls his eyes away to survey his soundings. He’s in a park, and not even a very big one. Not far from him he sees a woman pushing her daughter on the swings. A human woman with her human daughter. A grin works its way across his mouth and he sets off towards the skyscrapers.
There are cars in the streets, real cars! He never thought he’d those again. And men and women reading newspapers and carrying briefcases. Steve stares at them all, and gets some very odd stares back. He looks down at his uniform, silver star splayed across his chest, and the shield in his hand. It’s all a bit out of place, but he hadn’t been expecting people, much less a civilization. He needs a change of clothes…and money…and a place to stay…and possibly a job. Suddenly he has a host of challenges he wasn’t expecting, but it’s better than camping.
He wanders around the city. There are signs in English! He stops in front of a rack of newspapers. The top one proudly proclaiming it to be The Daily Planet. The date in the corner reads July 10th 1994. 1994. He’s in the past, sort of. Still a long way off from the 1940’s though. He looks up at the skyline. It doesn’t look like New York City. He grabs a copy of the paper and skims the headlines. Metropolis. He’s never heard of it before. And Superman? Steve slows down to read more carefully. A blurry picture of a man in a red cape accompanies the story. The man reads like Thor, but without the lightening. He files that information away for later and goes back to skimming the headlines. There are more differences between this earth and his home. No Stark family that he can see, but Bruce Wayne seems to have taken the place of billionaire playboy philanthropist with a tech business. Bill Clinton is still president. It looks like the Afghanistan war started a few years early here, but judging by the article about the recent Independence Day celebrations, World War two had still happened on schedule. All good things to know for when he begins working on a cover story, but for now he needs a change of clothes and a place to stash his shield.
He begins looking for a thrift store, his eyes drifting up to the skyline as he walks. Metropolis. It’s not New York City, but it has a certain ring to it.
Steve finds what he’s looking for on the corner of 28th and 9th in the form of a small but clean white building. A sign with faded lettering welcomes him. Steve pushes the door open. He’s greeted by an elderly woman who Steve can only assume is visually impaired because she makes no reaction to his uniform or shield. Instead she directs him to the men’s section in the back of the store. As Steve peruses through the racks of out of style shirts and oddly sized pants he spots a flaw in his plan; he has no money.
It is, however, a problem Steve is very familiar with. He remembers, when times were really tight, having to trade services for goods instead of money. A few hours sweeping Mr. Mahoney’s shop could earn a nice dinner for himself and Ma, and Mrs. Lenore always needed help around the house in exchange for her tailoring skills. With that in mind, Steve approaches the cash register.
“Excuse me, Ma’am.” He says. The old woman, whose name tag says Gladys smiles in a grandmotherly way at him.
“Did you find everything alright, dear?” She asks.
“Well, actually I haven’t really looked.” Steve says, “I’m a bit down on my luck money wise so I was wondering if maybe we could strike a deal. I’ll clean the store, move any boxes you need me to move in exchange for a few pieces of clothing.”
“Oh that would just be lovely.” She says, “Normally Clark comes in a helps with that sort of thing, but he’s been so busy recently.”
She grabs the keys from the cash register and sets off. Steve follows.
“Just down there, the whole thing needs tidying I’m afraid.” She says nodding at a flight of stairs, “and all the blue bin need to be brought up and all the green bins need to be moved to the back wall.”
Steve nods along as she flicks on the light.
“Do that for me and you can have your pick of the clothes.” She says, waving him down.
“Can do ma’am.” Steve says. She giggles.
“So polite. Boys your age rarely are these days.”
Steve smiles and doesn’t point out that he is probably older than her. He heads downstairs.
Four hours late he emerges triumphantly. The floors are scrubbed army clean, the bins are stacked in their proper place by color, and several burnt out light bulbs have been changed. Gladys had beamed and kept up her end of the bargain and now Steve carries with him a bag filled with three dress shirts and three pairs of pants. In his other hand is a different bag, a large canvas one, meant for carrying large canvases of paint. Steve had had one like it in the 30s when he had thought a career in art was his future. Now instead of a canvas, sits his shield.
Steve feels a bit more normal walking through the streets in his new civilian clothes and canvas bag; he’s certainly not getting odd looks anymore. He’s still having trouble keeping his eyes from wandering back up to the unfamiliar skyscrapers around him.
Steve tries to focus. This may not be the wilderness, but he still needs a plan if he’s going to survive. He needs food and to figure out his living situation. He also probably needs a job. He wonders what type of job opportunities there are for ex-superheroes.
“Hey man, watch it!”
Steve’s bags and a young man’s camera crash to the ground.
“Sorry! Sorry.” Steve says scrambling to grab his shield’s bag before the other man could touch it.
“Its fine,” the stranger says, checking over his camera carefully
“Will your camera be ok?
“Yeah, no worries. It’s not the first time she’s met pavement.”
“Still, sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Too much time looking up.”
The man smiles knowingly, “New to Metropolis?”
“Yeah, just got here today actually,” Steve says picking up his bag of clothes.
“Nice, where from?”
“New York City.”
The smile fades from the man’s face and his brow furrows, “Where’s that?”
Steve freezes.
“Oh you know,” Steve says awkwardly, “It’s that big city right by Long Island.”
The man blinks, “…You mean Gotham?”
Steve feels his cheeks heating up, as the stranger continues to stare at him with a growing look of concern. He looks for an exit and dismayed to find no impending disaster to distract from this current disaster in the making.
“I guess so?” Steve says.
“You guess?” The concerned look on his face only grows.
“I have a head injury.” Steve lies, “it makes me forget things sometimes.”
The look of concern grows sympathetic.
“That sucks man. What happened?”
“The war,” Steve says vaguely and lets the man fill in the blanks about what war he’s talking about.
“Well, can I help you get home or anything?” he offers.
“No it’s fine. I’m still figuring that out. I just moved out here.” Steve says beginning to back up. He hopes the man takes the hint and ends the conversation. The man does not.
“Don’t you have family or friends?”
Steve shakes his head, “Not anymore.”
“You’re breaking my heart. Listen, why don’t you stay with me for a while until you’re back on your feet.”
Steve considers the offer. The man seems harmless and it’s not like Steve has any enemies yet in his new world. Besides, he’s not really in a position to turn down free housing. He smiles.
“I’d really appreciate that.”
“Great, I’m Jimmy Olsen by the way.”
“Steve Rogers.” Steve says shaking his hand.
Jimmy takes Steve back to his apartment. It’s a one bedroom with a pull out couch. Every inch of the walls are plastered with posters from bands and movies. A few names pop out to Steve, but most are completely foreign. He wonders if it’s another difference between the worlds or if his knowledge of the 90s is worse than he thought.
“Make yourself at home.” Jimmy says flopping on the couch. Steve sits on a faded green recliner that doesn’t match the rest of the furniture. He scrounges for a topic of conversation, anything that won’t make him look any crazier than he already does.
“So…What’s Metropolis like?” He asks.
“It’s great! You’re going to love it,” Jimmy says, “I mean, we’ve got Superman!”
“So I’ve heard,” Steve says, grinning at Jimmy’s enthusiasm, “Have you ever met him?”
“Loads of times,” Jimmy says and the reading the skepticism in Steve’s face continues, “It’s true. He saved my butt a few times. Everyone at The Planet has a story about him.”
“The Planet?”
“The Daily Planet. I’m a photographer there and Superman is a fan of us.”
Steve just nods, not sure if he believes Jimmy but without any proof to dispute him.
“So, what’s he like?” Steve asks curiously.
“Really friendly and so cool. Plus he’s got heat vision.” Jimmy says, “so that’s really awesome.”
“Heat vision?”
“Yeah and x-ray vision, and super speed, and super strength, and ice breath, and he can fly.”
Steve nods along as Jimmy regales him with stories of Superman, most of which Steve suspects are embellished. Assuming Jimmy isn’t pulling his leg, Steve would place Superman at around Thor’s level of power which is an impressive feat. He also seems to share Thor’s cheerful nature.
“I should head to bed,” Jimmy says, “Chief expects me in extra early tomorrow to get some of my most recent shots developed. Jimmy stands up and stretches.
“Hey, here’s an idea; why don’t you come with me to work tomorrow. I’m sure chief will be able to find something for you to do for some extra cash. He’s a softy like that.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Steve says, “and thanks. You really didn’t have to do all this for me.”
Jimmy waves away his gratitude, “It’s no big deal. Anyone else would do the same.”