Chapter Text
Things began to improve after Thor's death, though not everyone believed he was actually dead. Steve didn't really mind all that much, he understood what it was like to try and deal with the loss of a friend. But Thor wasn't human, so perhaps there was some possibility that he was alive. Bruce had insisted that they not bury the casket and instead wait for the Asgardians to come to Earth to retrieve it. Whether or not they actually would couldn't be confirmed by anyone, as Loki had disappeared at the end of the funeral. Loki was planning something, Steve knew that much, but for some reason he knew it wouldn't be anything too difficult to handle. Not yet anyway.
Tony took it upon himself to restore every piece of technology that had been destroyed by the horsemen, and an entire branch of Stark Industries became devoted to the top-secret task. Money was funneled in from all kinds of sources that Tony had connections with—or something like that, Steve didn't really remember. Tony refused to touch Thor's room too, and permanently locked the floor from any elevator access, waiting until Thor showed up to tell him to turn it back on.
Tony thought Thor's death was his fault, of course, and no matter how long Steve tried to console him and tell him that Thor's death was Loki's fault, Tony wouldn't listen. Even so, Stark Industries hit a new high after the horsemen mission, which kept Tony busy for most of the week.
The whole ordeal had made them all closer. Natasha no longer skipped team dinners and Clint attended every Avengers briefing and training session—even if it conflicted with SHIELD duties. Natasha and Clint even moved into Stark Tower to control their operations from there instead of the still-damaged SHIELD Headquarters building. Tony didn't skip meetings anymore and Bruce tried to go on every mission that he possibly could. There were almost no independent missions any longer, which had made Nick Fury very pleased.
For Steve, life had changed a lot. He moved out of the retirement community and rented a space (Tony called it a rundown penthouse) on the street where he grew up. Some mornings he swore it was still the early 1930's and 40's, but then a modern taxi would drive by or a kid would run out into the street with a cell phone in hand. Steve no longer had to go to therapy sessions—even after Fury insisted that he start up again, and he credited that to his new living space.
For 21st century New York, his apartment was massive, but to Steve it was small and cozy. He had a little living room with a couch, coffee table and TV that he never watched, a bedroom that barely fit his bed and a nightstand, a bathroom, a little dining room, and a kitchen. Tony had custom furniture and appliances built to look like they were from the forties, but with all modern technology therein. It certainly helped Steve adjust to the newer things, though he felt bad about not being able to pay Tony back for it.
"Hey, Land of The Free, wanna go to Starbucks?" Tony asked over speakerphone as Steve made his way to the couch, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. After figuring out that Tony had been trying to make him read about history, Bruce had decided it would be a good idea to have him watch a movie series about each decade. Along with his books, Steve felt he was starting to understand things a lot better, and he actually understood most pop culture references.
"Not really. I just made a mug of hot chocolate and I'm about to watch a show on the nineties," he replied, taking a sip of hot chocolate.
"Oh come on. I can teach you about the nineties, just come out to Starbucks with me."
Steve smiled. "No thanks. I don't really want to have to defrost my car."
"Did you leave that Mustang outside?!" Tony asked with horror. "That car is worth more than your apartment! I told you to take care of it!"
"I was kidding. It's in the garage out back, perfectly safe. But the roads aren't. there's supposed to be some sort of blizzard tonight, remember?" He peered out the window where fat snowflakes were already starting to fall.
"Yeah, I can see why you'd be scared of snow." He could hear the smirk on Tony's lips.
Steve took another sip of hot chocolate and snuggled into his fuzzy blanket that he'd left on the couch. "I'm not scared of snow. But I don't want to go walking around in it, and I really don't want to drive in it. Not all of us have heated driveways."
"You're a real smartass now that you've watched all of your old man history shows," Tony grumbled. "Fine, stay home and watch your stupid movie. Bruce and I are going to have a hell of a time without you."
Steve laughed. "Okay, Tony. Be careful out there, it might get bad."
"Yeah, yeah, we'll be home by ten, Mom. Bye."
Steve grinned, then flipped his phone shut. He turned on the TV and the Blu-ray player (he knew a lot more vocabulary now), and settled in for a night of the Backstreet Boys and Mary Kate & Ashley.
By midnight, the snow blocked the view of the streetlights outside of his window. Steve had only experienced similar conditions in Germany. The wind tore at the apartment and screamed bloody murder, but Steve wasn't alarmed. Blizzards were awful, but Tony had sent a text saying that he and Bruce had gotten home safe (sent by Bruce, Steve guessed that Tony was slightly drunk and that they hadn't stayed at Starbucks for very long), so he had no one to worry about. A bit of snow and ice was not going to keep him up all night. They had a training session the next afternoon, and Clint wasn't going to cancel just because of a few feet of snow. Steve made a mental note to bring something warm to wear the next day. They were probably going to go snow tunneling or something.
He changed into an old t-shirt and a pair of loose sweats, glancing out the window another time. The snowfall was so thick that he couldn't see anything but a moving canvas of white. The house creaked and groaned as the wind changed direction, but Steve hopped into bed regardless and pulled out a novel he'd started reading about Vietnam. A gruesome war, according to everything he'd ever read about it. Made worse by the fact that people didn't even appreciate the solders' work. He thumbed through the pages for another half-hour or so until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.
His dreams had differed since the horsemen. Sometimes he saw Death, watching him from the shadows as he ran down deserted streets. Or he was back in Germany, riding his motorcycle as fast as he could with War riding right beside him, his horse burning as bright as flames. Conquest appeared too, like during the dream about somebody's wedding. He didn't remember whose wedding it was, but Conquest had been there, handing out bottles of champagne and laughing softly whenever men approached her. Then she would look at him and he would wake up drenched in sweat. Dreams of Famine were less common, probably because he'd never actually seen him. Nonetheless, sleep wasn't easy.
Steve's eyes flew open at the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut. His pulse quickened to a rapid pounding in his chest…until he realized that the wind had come through the window, shutting the door. He grumbled incoherently as he got out of bed and meandered over to the windowsill. Snow blew in, coating his waist in white fluff as he rammed the window shut again. He blinked, glancing outside into the blizzard.
The window wasn't supposed to be open.
The silenced breathed as Steve stepped away from the shaft of moonlight, brushing the snow from him shirt. No burglar was stupid enough to break into his house—everyone knew that this was where Captain America lived. But there was no way a window could open by itself. He glanced at the floor, but there were no wet spots to indicate that anyone had been inside. Even so, he ventured into the kitchen, fists clenched and ready to punch the living daylights out of anyone who dared to jump out at him.
After a search of the apartment, he found nothing. He considered calling someone, just to make sure this wasn't a trick or some training routine he didn't know about, but he could only imagine the laughter that would ensue from Stark if he called Stark Tower. Whatever it was—whoever it was—they hadn't done anything. There had been plenty of chances to attack him from behind while he searched the rooms. Nothing was missing either, and the JARVIS-esque security system that Tony had installed showed nothing. So Steve decided to go back to sleep after locking every window in the house. Once he was snuggled into the sheets, his nervousness evaporated in the form of a deep sleep.
He woke up to the room still dark around him. The blizzard still raged outside, but the window was shut and everything seemed normal. Steve sat up and was about to sigh when something heavy landed on his bed. A face appeared in the pale wash of light in the room, and Steve instinctively shot a knee up to throw his attacker off. Instead, hands clasped around his neck, freezing cold hands that felt like Death all over again. He kicked up with all of his strength, but the man didn't move his grip and only squeezed harder. Steve brought back a fist and punched the man straight in the chest but the man merely grunted and drove a knee into Steve's stomach.
Then the moonlight caught the man's face again and Steve's mouth fell open in surprise, his body relaxing immediately. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't Death's tricks. This wasn't anything supernatural at all. He could feel it in his bones that this was real. As unbelievable as it was, he knew that face.
"Bucky?" he gasped, fighting for air.
The man froze for a moment, then snarled as the hands came away from Steve's neck. It was Bucky, it had to be. There was no mistaking that face.
"Bucky?" Steve repeated, moving up to prop himself on his elbows.
"Wrong," Bucky growled, and Steve caught the shine of a metal on Bucky's arm. Bucky Barnes. Bucky Barnes was alive. A metal fist connected with his temple and everything went black.
Eight hundred miles away, a park ranger was jolted awake by an alarm. Groaning, he rolled back in his office chair to glance at the monitors. No one could possibly be stupid enough to think they could just walk all over the park at this time of night. Especially with the storm system that was headed their way—destined to freeze and pound the Northeast with even more snow. That's what the weatherman had said anyway. The park ranger wasn't the type to sit at the TV and watch weather systems crawl over the country. He pressed a few buttons and the alarm stopped. The camera feeds switched to the entrance and night vision showed nothing but rain.
"Great" he grumbled, tapping a few keys to look around the park. Nothing looked off and there weren't any footprints in the mud. The only movement in the park besides a few deer was that of the team assembled to watch the bat activity at the south entrance.
The park ranger fumbled for his walkie-talkie and changed the channel. "This is Park Ranger Brad Turner. Is everyone accounted for, over?"
He waited a few moments before a voice sounded from his device. "Copy, Mr. Turner. This is Dr. Donald Blake. Everything is fine here, over."
Brad shifted the speaker closer to his mouth. "Dr. Blake, I'm afraid you need to evacuate the cave system. Weather is coming in fast and setting off all kinds of alarms, over."
"Copy. Way ahead of you. Our equipment is loaded up—we were about to call you, actually. " There was a pause. "Er, over."
"I'm picking up your signal from inside of the cave system," Brad said, squinting at the monitor. He didn't have time for these scientists' need to keep studying. Bats didn't doo much in rainstorms anyway. "Leave the caves immediately, over."
"Roger. Give me a minute," said Dr. Blake.
"Look, doctor, I don't have a minute. You need too—"
He was cut off by a brilliant stream of lightning that illuminated his entire booth. It was the thickest bolt Brad had ever seen, and it didn't go away, it just kept streaming more electricity into the ground. His monitors shut off and the power went out, but Brad didn't notice—he was too tranfixed. The walkie-talkie fell to the ground and suddenly the lightning stopped.
He hurried outside to get a better look as the thunder shook the ground. When the lightning next flashed, he saw something massive fly off into the night, bigger than any bat he'd ever seen. It was gone before he had time to process. No storm was ever this intense—he was pretty sure it wasn't even possible for lightning to go on for that long. The emergency phone rang and he ran back inside and held the receiver to his ear.
"Mammoth Caves, Park Ranger Brad Turner speaking."
"Hello, Mr. Turner. My name is Agent Coulson of SHIELD. My team and I are waiting at the entrance to this park and we'd like to pay you a visit."
It took a moment for Brad to regain his thoughts. "Uh, sorry. There is no admittance to the park after dark, government or otherwise."
"I don't think you understand," said Agent Coulson. "You've just seen something that was not supposed to be seen. You're coming with us."