Marvel Imagines

Steve Rogers-Numbers

[I really want to write a story like this but I tend to give up on a lot of things I start.]

You keep your head down as you speed through a mission report, typing how many people how died and how they did and by whom. You saw each other of their Numbers dwindle, but you kept up with the mission and saw more and more soldiers with ten seconds left in their lives.

See, your superpower isn't something you'd call a blessing. Above everyone's head is a clock counting down the time they have left to live, but you're the only able to see it.

At first, you were seen as crazy and possessed as you went around warning people to be careful today and look both ways before crossing the street.

But you're never able to know how a person dies, only when.

You were recruited on the Avengers team, but you refuse to look at their numbers. It may have happened once or twice when you couldn't look away and saw the way their numbers counted down, but then they'd be pushed out of the line of fire and then their numbers would multiply from ten seconds to live to two or three more years.

That's the thing about the numbers. They can always change, or they don't. You never know until the persons either dead or shell shocked from the near death experience.

"(Y/n)," Steve walks into the room, but you don't look up as he stops in front of you. "Almost done with the-"

"Just finished," You say quickly, snapping your laptop shut and standing.

"Hey, wait, I-" Steve cuts himself off as you turn, keeping your gaze on his shoes.

"Yes?"

"Don't you ever get lonely?"

His question surprises you, but you suppress showing any emotion and shake your head. "I'm perfectly happy."

"You never smile, you don't go out with us to eat Shwarma. All you do is go on missions and type up the reports. Doesn't it ever bother you that you're alone all the time?"

"You're aware of my ability, right?"

"Well, yes, but how does that-"

Your fists shake in silent rage as you clench your teeth. "It's not something I can turn off."

"I understand, but that doesn't mean you should hole yourself up all the time."

Taking a deep breath, you force yourself to look at his Numbers and freeze.

"Uh oh-"

You leap forward, shoving him to the floor and narrowly miss one of Tony's Iron Man hands soaring into the wall.

Quickly, you turn and check his Numbers to see them multiplying and sigh in relief.

"Thanks," Steve breathes out, staring at the hand that's stopped moving. "So that would've killed me, then, huh?"

"You think I was acting?" You snap, picking up your laptop to leave only for Steve to stop you.

"Hold on, (Y/n), I just-"

"Excuse me," You brush past him, nearly sprinting to your room and almost run into Natasha along the way.

00yrs 01day 34hrs 21seconds.

"Be careful," You say lowly. "Look both ways before crossing the street."

She nods. "Thanks. I will."

You sigh, rushing into your quarters and settling on the bed before tears spring to your eyes and you start sobbing.

You don't notice the door opening nor a figure slipping inside. But you realize that someone's entered when arms wrap around your shoulders.

"Steve?"

He nods, hugging you gently. "I hope this alright."

You sniffle. "It's.. fine."

"And don't worry about Natasha. She'll be sitting out on the next mission to stay in the safe house."

"Thank you?"

"No problem."