Exactly one week after Steve had woken up in this brand new century, they told him his team was still in storage, and that his singular PC box was still intact, he'd nearly cried. Along with that, the nice and understanding nurse who he'd met with first in this century, told him they'd found his Serperior just a short ways away from him inside the ship, similarly intact in the ice. After they'd both been defrosted, Serperior was given a full medical examination and checked off with a clean bill of health. After about a week of hovering by Steve's bedside forlornly, the nurse had decided it would just be better that the poor thing was put back in his PC for when Steve was officially and successfully revived.
Rogers was then told by the nurse he couldn't retrieve them yet. "A few tests have to be run, to make sure they've still been... stored correctly And, in fact, just to be safe I'd like to confirm they're yours." The woman smiled sweetly and spoke sympathetically as her Chansey brought her an odd, flat device. After tapping on its luminescent window several times, she held it out for him to take. "Do these look like your Pokemon, Mister Rogers?"
Steven's heart stopped. There they were, his motley crew, his team of misfits he'd raised since his early days in Brooklyn. "Y-you can tap on their icons to get more info about them, to make sure." The nice nurse added. Steve took the advice. Then he began to cycle through his short roster of Pokemon.
No. 053 ● Persian ● Normal
Ralph ● Lv. 55 ● ♂ ● Hasty Nature
7/4/1928 ● Brooklyn, NY ● Met at Lv. 3 ● Good Perseverance
No. 628 ● Braviary ● Normal/Flying
Richard ● Lv. 56 ● ♂ ● Modest Nature
9/15/1930 ● Brooklyn, NY ● Met at Lv. 8 ● Often Lost In Thought
No. 078 ● Rapidash ● Fire
Martha ● Lv. 53 ● ♀ ● Adamant Nature
3/8/1933 ● Brooklyn, NY ● Met at Lv. 14 ● Proud of Its Power
No. 632 ● Durant ● Bug/Steel
Don ● Lv. 54 ● ♂ ● Rash Nature
5/22/1936 ● Queens, NY ● Met at Lv. 17 ● Somewhat of a Clown
No. 448 ● Lucario ● Fighting/Steel
Jack ● Lv. 55 ● ♂ ● Hardy Nature
7/5/1940 ● Brooklyn, NY ● Met at Lv. 21 ● Loves To Eat
No. 497 ● Serperior ● Grass
Lloyd ● Lv. 57 ● ♂ ● Adamant Nature
6/5/1943 ● Wheaton, NJ ● Met at Level 16 ● Sturdy Body
Sure enough, they were all there. Just as he remembered them. Granted, last time he checked his PC box (at the time, short for Pokemon Container, and after the Depression and the war that had come just before the second one, the government was only allowing a single PC box per person except in special circumstances), it was a bit more analog. Steve smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, they're all mine." He nodded, and couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Oh, good!" The woman smiled and took back the device. "Ah- and now, that I'm thinking about it..." She taps rapidly again on the screen and seems to choose her words. "We also had a second PC box on record for you.. Supposedly, transferred, from your old friend, Sergeant Barnes?" The nurse sounds apologetic. "Would you like to review these as well?" She hands the tablet back to Steve and suddenly, there were his best friend's Pokemon. It sent a jolt of hurt through his heart. Once at the mention of his name, and then at the note attached to the transfer.
"Hey, punk.
I guess I did my job right and you're alive to read this. Apparently, I've kicked the bucket, far before I meant to. But what else could I expect, going into the war and all? Eh, anyway. I'm not quite sure how to write this. I decided that you should get my team because you can give them all the adventure they thrive on. They already know you way better than my ma or Rebecca or anyone, so I figured you were the best fit anyways. Please don't be too hard on them, will ya? I think they're a little bit softer than your rock-steady team. But we already know they're best of friends. Ugh. I'm rambling again.
Sorry I'm gone. I didn't mean to leave you high and dry like that, however I died. But don't be all callous and hide your feelings like you did when Sarah passed, okay? Just because you're strong on the outside now doesn't mean you have to hold it all in. You're my best pal, and I wouldn't want you to get all hurt inside.
You're brace, and you're going to go far, if you don't do anything stupid. So be safe, and tell my Stoutland that Becca loved him. Very, very much.
Your jerk pal,
Bucky"
It made Steve's eyes sting to read it again. Underneath the recorded letter, Steve found all of Bucky's Pokemon. Except one.
Llewellyn, Buck's Stoutland, died shortly after its owner as a result of trying to save his life. The entire side of the train car had peeled off as it tried to save Buck from the fall of two thousand feet straight down. Steve was there for that. He ducked his head as he thought of them both; thick as thieves, the two of them were. And Llewellyn got along famously with Steve's Serperior and Persian.
"Yeah, that's them," Steve replied, handing back the tablet and trying to smile. The woman seemed to empathize. "Excellent, sir. Sorry for the delay. We'll get working on letting you get your Pokemon." She started to exit the room with her Chansey in tow, before stopping and turning back. "Would you... Like Mr. Barnes' Pokemon as well?" She asked softly. Steve mulled it over a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. I think I would, thanks."
The day after, they were running their final tests on Steve. Making sure his heart wouldn't fail, that his cells weren't breaking down, pretty much making sure he would live to see tomorrow. Of course, he was perfectly fine in every sense. 'You're strong on the outside now', Barnes' words flowed into his mind. 'You're gonna go far.'
'I'm just sad you couldn't come with me.' Steve thought back.
Steven spent about an hour in the waiting room before the same nurse came to him. "Captain Rogers,sir, your Pokemon are in perfect health and ready to be taken home." She smiled sweetly. Her Chansey reverently presenting Steve with two boxes of Pokeballs. Steve grinned again. "Thank you very much." He tucked them under his arm. "Miss...?"
"Joy," The woman smiled bashfully. "Steve nodded. "Thank you very much, Nurse Joy. Have a nice day." It took a lot for Steve not to run all the way to his new apartment.
Steve's apartment was S.H.I.E.L.D assigned. Not too cushy, but certainly not a dump. No doubt it was better than every other place Steve had ever lived. The paint wasn't peeling, none of the faucets leaked, it was all he could have asked for. And now that he was going to have his team around, things, were going to feel a bit more like home. He threw his keys on the table and flopped into an armchair with the boxes on his lap. Sleek silver things, which had snaps on the front and everything. One was labeled 'Barnes' and the next was labelled 'Rogers'. He opened his first, and on the inside of the lid was neatly printed, six Pokemon species and their nicknames. Corresponding in position, were six Pokeballs neatly-placed in the bottom of the box in indented black foam. Steven supposed all he had to do was call them out. He sighed. "Here goes nothing," he says shakily, picking up Lloyd's ball and clicking the button open as he aimed it at the floor.
A solid light exited the ball and accumulated quickly in a mass on the floor, slowly forming into the shape of Rogers' Serperior. When the light faded, Lloyd laid in its absence curled in a tight coil. A worried look painted its face and its eyes were screwed shut. As he realized he'd been summoned, he slowly opened his eyes, to look up and see the face of his master. Its slim features turned to an expression of shock and glee and it sprung up out of its coil to stand tall, then launching by its tail in Steve's direction. With an "oomph" from Rogers, the heavy, large snake collided square with his chest and quickly wrapped itself around his torso.
Steve shared the sentiment. He hugged Lloyds neck and started to choke up, as his army-mandated starter nestled its head on his shoulder. After all these years, he still smelled like the sweetest of freshly cut grass, and the solid green leaves of springtime. Smelling it made Steve's heart ache for a different time. And for an old Brooklyn. The Serperior cooed sweetly as it gently squeezed around Steven's middle. "Yeah, hi buddy." Said Steve roughly, grinning from ear to ear and eyes wet. "I missed you too."
After a long moment Lloyd uncoiled from his trainer with red eyes and wiped the tear from Steve's cheek with a leafy appendage, as it came back to standing proudly in front of its master. He glanced at the open box of Pokeballs and jerked his nose politely in its direction. Steve nodded and got it together. With a sniff, he kneeled down to the coffee table and took another ball out of the perfectly sculpted box.
Again, a light emerged from the Pokeball and manifest into the shape of a large cat on the floor.
Ralph the Persian was rolled up in a round curve, sleeping with a gloomy look on its face. Serperior nudged Ralph's forehead with its nose and his head rose to look. As he recognized his old teammate he jumped to his feet and pounced on Lloyd happily. Then as he saw his trainer after he and Serperior had parted, Ralph tackled Rogers to the floor and licked his face. Steve laughed heartily.
One by one, all of Roger's team was called out of their Pokeballs for the first time in seventy years, eventually piling onto their trainer with ecstatic faces and happy licks and nudges. Steve couldn't be sure, but trough his own vision, warped by tears of joy, he thought he could see his Pokemon crying with him. Steven was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. After they'd all calmed down, each of them lined up in formation, just like they were taught during the war. Lloyd, Ralph, Jack, Don, Richard and Martha, stood tall with their chests proudly puffed out before their master.
It felt a lot like the old lineups in the barracks at Camp Lehigh, where all the soldiers and their teams were inspected for all of their qualities. Your bed had to be made, your boots had to be spotless and your Pokemon had to be disciplined. Fully healed, well fed, and clean. And only one team matched to Steven's team, in terms of power, and complete quality. It was currently lying in a box on Steve's coffee table, and its true owner was somewhere in the depths of icy water in the north east. Unopened, it laid in wait. Each of Steve's Pokemon's eyes eventually drifted to the small box on the table.
Steve had two hesitations. The first being that his team alone was almost too big to fit in his tiny living room slash kitchen. In fact, it pretty much was, not allowing for breathing room of much kind. Second, Steven... just didn't want to. Bucky's team was a whole different thing. Buck wouldn't be there to reunite with them. Sure, they would see Steve, but would be crushed to learn that neither Barnes, nor Llewellyn their fellow team member, was with them anymore. Steve had even hesitated initially, when Bucky's Pokemon had transferred to him in the first place. They hadn't even been called out back then. So Steven sighed and pushed the box away, shaking his head apprehensively. "I.. I don't think I'm ready yet, guys." He said sorrowfully. His Pokemon each hung their heads, but they nodded in understanding.
Steve re-squared his shoulders and straightened up his back with a cough. "Come on, it's cramped in here, fellas. Let's get outside." He then forced a smile.
Steve's Serperior is big. Even for a final evolution starter Pokemon that's usually supposed to be almost eleven feet tall. His is sixteen. He supposes it was part of the package deal; if the super soldier was going to be so much bigger and stronger than the average man, than so should the starter he's given. Even at Lloyd's smallest, when he was just a Snivy full of spunk and energy among the other genetically enhanced Tepigs, Oshawotts, and fellow Snivies given to the recruitees of Project Rebirth, Lloyd was quite a size over all of them even still. Now that he was full size, he and Rogers kind of stuck out a little among the crowd of New Yorkers and their Pokemon, as bigger- and better- than everyone else.
The sun rose over Central Park as afternoon made its approach. A few people gave surprised looks to Steve and the gargantuan snake following closely behind him, slithering regally. Lloyd, even in his most comfortable posture, was at least a foot and a half taller than its master. Which did turn some heads for the other Serperiors and their trainers scattered around the park in his vicinity. But Lloyd kept his eyes up, and his gaze forward, just as he was trained to do. Though internally, he wished to glare down menacingly at the other trainers and their undisciplined starter Pokemon. They had no idea the kind of hero Steve Rogers was, nor the sort of legendary things they'd done and seen together.
Rogers stopped at a bench and put his silver box on his lap, letting out all of Lloyd's other teammates. "Go ahead and romp around, all o' you. You deserve to stretch your legs for a good long time." Steve addressed them in formation. As they looked around, each of them acknowledged gratefully, stretched their legs, and took off bounding in all different directions. Lloyd, however, stayed standing stiffly beside its trainer. After a moment Steven turned to face it. "Lloyd? You can go ahead." He gestured to the wide open field, full of people and Pokemon alike, enjoying the nice weather. But Lloyd stayed at attention, glancing down to meet Steve's eye. Rogers sighed. "Go on, Lloyd. Enjoy yourself. No need to act like we're on duty, certainly not now. At ease, soldier." He said sympathetically. At last, Serperior relented after a moment of thought, nodded, and slithered off proudly. Steve sighed again and leaned back. He enjoyed the sun on his skin and closed his eyes. But his enjoyment was short lived as, after about ten mintues, he realized what century he was in. My best friend is dead. Everyone I know is most likely dead. It's not 1944 anymore. Nothing is the same. Nothing. His stomach lurched and everything spun for a minute. Oh God.
Steven put his head between his legs to catch some semblance of which way was up. A knot formed in his throat again, for the third time today. Jack, his faithful Lucario, came trotting up after a moment.
Rogers saw his Lucario's legs swing onto the bench and soon felt a big paw on his back. Not everything isn't the same. Steve caught his breath for a little bit before sitting back up. "Thanks, Jack.." His lips curled just slightyly and he sniffed back the tears threatening to form once again. Jack nodded when he was satisfied that Steve was steady, then dashed into the field of Central Park to rejoin a sparring partner he'd found.
This gut-wrenching feeling persisted on and off numbly, throughout the day. It became exaggerated when Steve turned the key to his apartment and opened the door later that day, and again saw the small silver box, still unopened on his coffee table. Steve hung his head and cleared his throat, stepping aside to let his Pokemon through. He avoidedd looking at it all evening as the sun set, making himself busy by setting up resting spots for his beloved creatures. His armchair and couch were taken up by Jack, and Martha the Rapidash. He lowered the bare clothing rod in a big empty closet for Richard the Braviary, set aside extra pillows and a comforter for Don the Durant, but both Ralph and Lloyd insisted to get comfortable in the empty space on Steve's king-sized bed. Even though these were temporary solutions, they were infinitely more comfortable than the cold, muddy ground on which Pokemon on duty were often required to rest on. During the war, for Pokemon out with their trainers inside enemy territory, they had to stay outside their Pokeballs for the duration of the occupation. And that meant a lot of dirty, uncomfortable sleeping quarters. This was a precaution, in case the Germans suddenly struck during the night and there wouldn't be enough time to call your Pokemon from their balls.
Ralph laid his head down on his paws with deep sigh. After all those years, the Pokeball habitat had gotten pretty cramped. After a long while, the Persian had given up hope that he would ever see his master again, and chose to go to into cryogenic sleep. He gathered that this is what the others had eventually done as well. Except Lloyd, of course. He seemed to share Steven's stiff posture and dark eyes. Something was obviously eating at them both, more than just the numb sadness that followed Roger's unwillingness to call out Barnes' Pokemon. And the absence of Barnes himself. Which, surely, they all felt.
Steven seemed to sleep peacefully and the tense line of his shoulder loosened ever so slightly. None of his Pokemon slept, however. They'd all had more than enough rest for the seventy years they had been stored away. After they could be sure that Rogers was sound asleep, Serperior silently slitherd off the foot of the bedd to patrol the apartment, Don burrowed deep in his pile of blankets to avoid the cold that made his metal shell so uncomfortable. Rich plucked and pruned at his feathers, stretching his wings and craning his neck. Martha and Jack polished their hooves and spikes respectively, and Ralph prowled the bedroom, watching out the windows for threats.
For the next two weeks Steve wakes up at 4 a.m. or earlier in a cold sweat, his muscles spasming. He keeps seeing Bucky in his dreams, looking in his eyes, seeing the unadulterated fear there as he fell farther and farther towards the ice. It shakes Steve deeply. But there always are his Pokemon, to comfort him and calm him down. They're the one thing he can always cling onto, his one remaining teather to the life he used to have.
Steve notices that Lloyd is almost always on high alert. He senses that perhaps now that there's no more war left to fight, Serperior is suddenly unabl to fulfill the only purpose it was expressed to him he had. Thus, he acts as if he must be prepared to go back into the fray of battle at any moment. Which seems, in this new day and age- as far as Steve can reckon-, to be an improbability. But Rogers certainly understands the feeling. Now that he's suddenly been taken out of battle indefinitely, what is he supposed to do?
For Rogers' Persian and Lucario this disposition is less so, and the rest of his Pokemon seem more or less incongruent with this emotion. But an heir of melancholy hangs thickly over the entire apartment. Steven and his team often leave to escape it, but after a while, it follows until they have no choice but to return home. Rinse, repeat. Even the trips to Central Park and exploring the city, after a time, become stale. All the while the little silver box on the coffeetable stares at Steve expectantly. And he just can't look at it. After a month he shoves it in a little space on the top shelf in his closet far in the back, where he doesn't have to see it.
Steve decides to start actually training his Pokemon again. Each day for a few weeks, he takes different pairs of them out to relearn and sharpen their skills, and hone again their abilities. He scouts out a race track for Martha and Ralph to use, a good boxing gym for Jack and Lloyd, and a nice plot of forest for Don and Richard.
Rogers finds it refreshing to train his team by the comfort of his own freedom, just because they all want to, rather than working to the bone, day and night in order to reach the mandatory level of fifty required by the military for all active duty Pokemon. Now Steve and his team get to train wherever and whenever they like, and can simply stay inside when it's downpouring, or frigidly cold, or unbearably hot. It's somewhat of a luxury. Steve's Pokemon start enjoying their training time, and regaining strength feels good. He even manages to level each of them up a few times. It helps him keep his mind off the fact that the bottom has dropped out of his life, essentially.
One evening he wakes up drenched in sweat with his pulse pounding in his throat. He's dreamt about Bucky again, but this time, every detail. It feels as if he relived every moment of their lives, before again, Buck is ripped away. He feels the urge to get as far away as possible from his bedroom, and the little silver box he knows is in his closet.
Rogers grabs his keys, gently wakes Jack the Lucario from his place on the sofa, and takes him down to the boxing gym.
It's 11 p.m. when they arrive and it's 1 a.m. when they break. Steve sends Jack to the locker room to wash up, saying he'll be in soon.
Steven takes a few jabs at one of the punching bags hanging from the ceiling. He lets his frustration vent. Feels every impact jolt through his body, the slight pain of the force of skin on tape on leather with such speed and power. Instead of crying, or having a panic attack, he punches harder to relieve all his frustration and emotion. Memories broil to the surface. The Red Skull, the Howling Commandos, All the deaths and injuries and missing the chance to save Bucky, missing the date to dance with his girl. Sweat forms on his brow, and he hits harder, grunting as he throws his whole body weight into the punching bag. Harder, and faster, until—
The sandbag launches across the room and settles close to the wall, leaving a spray of debris in its wake from the tear in its side. Rogers catches his breath, and almost gets startled out of his skin when he hears a voice.
”Trouble sleeping?” Says Fury, strolling casually in. Steve knows this can’t be courtesy call.
”You here with a mission, sir?” Steve asks, looking down and unwrapping his boxing tape so he doesn’t have to look Fury in the eye.
”I am,” Fury replies.
“Trying to get me back in the world?”
”Trying to save it.”