Little Situation

Chapter 31

The paint on the star had chipped away completely over the years. He had become a nomad, feeling like he didn't have much to live for. Not when he lost his second chance, a chance he shouldn't have even gotten and Steve was sure there wouldn't be a third. If you asked the old Avengers where Steve Wilson-Rogers— he couldn't bring himself to drop the Wilson in his name— was, they wouldn't know. They stopped knowing Steve's location by the middle of the first year. His social media went dead, most of theirs did. They didn't call him, he called them. Once every two or three months. A single voicemail sent to everyone to know he was alive and doing as well as he could.

He didn't really go by Steve either. On the off chance one of the Avengers managed to actually pick up Steve's call before he got it to voicemail, they didn't address him by anything other than Cap. He wasn't Captain America anymore, he had left the shield with Tony. But he also wasn't Steve— that was a name that belonged to his family. So he became Cap, staying in ratty motels around the world and helping people from the shadows but never staying for long and never being seen by many people.

The only time anyone truly knew it was Cap was the tattoo artist in Berlin. The man was starstruck but didn't say anything, the world— the half that still existed— had learned what he had gone through. So the artist worked on Steve in absolute silence: the outline of a large star on his left bicep and two more around it. There was also a secret, smaller tattoo. Another star in the same shade of pink as the star on Sarah's suit behind his right ear. When it was done, Steve paid the man and walked out to never be seen in that part of Berlin again.

Natasha and Rhodey got the most contact with him. After finishing a job he would send them a text of where they could pick up the bad guys he had tied up for them. There was always a hope that they might see Steve when they went to retrieve the people but he never showed. It went like that until the third year when he broke. He couldn't keep punching through his grief and eventually it all made him numb. So Steve went back to New York, back to his old home in Brooklyn.

Nothing was there, everything still in the apartment at the compound. And nothing was really added the longer Steve stayed. He became a grief counselor. He wasn't sure if it was because he hoped that helping other people process their grief would eventually help him or if it was because being a counselor was Sam's old job and it felt like being close to him. He told everyone they had to move on, learn to process but it wasn't easy for him so how could he expect others to do it.

He finally found himself slowly getting through it by the fifth year. And Steve thought he might be able to stop running now. So he got on his motorcycle after his latest counseling session and started to drive. The compound still looked the same. That was nice, at least one thing was still the same. Steve entered just as Nat was throwing a dry sandwich back onto her plate.

"I'd offer to make you dinner but that would be more depressing," Steve joked, it didn't come out as light as he used to.

Nat smiled a little just seeing his face. "You here for free laundry?"

"And to see a friend."

"Clearly, your friend is fine."

"You know, I saw a pod of whales coming over the bridge," Steve said.

"In the Hudson?"

"Fewer ships, cleaner water—"

"If you're about to tell me to look on the bright side, I'll throw this sandwich at you."

Steve laughed before taking a seat at the table. He apologized, the speech was a force of habit from being a counselor. Even he didn't really believe it. Steve was surprised that Nat was still in the business of being an Avenger. But her will was a little more than his. Although based on the woman in front of him, Steve suspected she would leave soon as well.