sporadic | avengers

TWENTY-EIGHT / when captain america had a late-mid-life crisis

i'm not quite sure if i should label it a 'late-life' crisis (since he's like ninety), or a mid-life crisis (since he's physically like thirty), so we're gonna call it a "late-mid-life crisis."

—

Steve had been draped in the Lazy Boy, reading that morning's newspaper by lamplight. He was taking a sip of chamomile tea when the doorbell sounded, yet again.

He set his tea down, and padded to the front door with his pointer finger tucked where he had been reading.

He opened the door, rather aggravated, to find his stoop empty, yet again. "I'll call the cops; don't think I won't!"

He heard leaves on the ground crunch in the most crisp of manners. "Get of my lawn!" He yelled at his street-lamp-lit yard and to the navy sky above.

His heart sunk. He went back inside.

"Nat?" He summoned throughout the house. Natasha came down the wood stairs, in pajamas, makeup-less and hair-messed.

"Yes?" she spoke with fatigue.

"I'm old."

"You're ninety something, Steve, darling. Have you not realized that?"

"But I—"

"I know, hon, you're young at heart and your body's frozen young. Your soul's old, though. You'll learn to accept that." She rubbed her eyes. "Can I go to bed?"

"Mhm," he mumbled sadly. She left as quickly as she came. Steve sat on the Lazy Boy again, dreading the next ring.

The bell rang just as quickly as Bucky got to the door. He threw open the door, and he and Steve discovered a young boy.

Thin, red headed, and nervous, the boy looked at the two super soldiers. Nat arrived at the top of the stairs, once more.

Her hair was tied back and her arms were crossed.

The kid looked at the three super soldiers. "I, um, I'm sorry," he said, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

"It's late. Go home, kid," Bucky said kindly, "Or do you need a ride?"

"I live next door." He began to back up. "I'm sorry. It was a dare..." he mumbled.

"We know. Get home safe, okay?" Natasha said from above. She turned back toward her bedroom.

"Uh-huh." The boy ran home, and Bucky closed the door when he saw him get inside.

"So, old man, what's happening with you?"

"Late-mid-life crisis," Steve said, his shoulders slumping.

"Don't be sad, man, you've lived a good life. You'll outlive us all. Then you can call yourself old." Bucky patted his back. "I'm going to bed." They hugged.

Steve's lips pursed to the side and when Bucky noticed, he made a point to kiss them until they stopped. "Goodnight, punk."

"Goodnight, jerk."