let's just call this CA:TWS, the Life on Mars remix
Captain America teaser, 470 words of what would be epic if I followed through on it...
(genfic | pg | Steve Rogers and...)
Everything hurts. He must have gotten hit hard enough to get knocked out. The last thing he remembered was running toward where Thor and Tony had been fighting, but now he was lying on a stretcher somewhere safe, although no doubt still in Houston. He was too woozy to open his eyes to see more and even moving his hand on his chest forced out an involuntary gasp of pain.
"Stay where you are, Cap," a voice ordered him gently. "The Army still hasn’t built any bed you can’t break if you try to and General Sherman might’ve slept on this one."
Steve chuffed out a laugh that sent fire down his arms and legs. Spinal damage, maybe, and he resigned himself to a ride home on a stretcher and an evening of lying on an MRI bed instead of the couch. Tony’s fancy new Avengers clubhouse had everything, but a way of getting out of medical treatment was not one of them, not with JARVIS able to chase you down.
"Matching museum pieces, then," he said, mostly to see if he could talk without pain. He could.
"Museum pieces my ass, young buck,” was the bemused reply and Steve did open his eyes then because he knew that voice, the timbre and tone and the sarcasm that covered up near-paternal fondness for his younger teammates.
Dum Dum Dugan was sitting on a stool next to him and even in the dim light of a half-shielded kerosene lamp, Steve could see the concern on his face.
It had been a while since he’d dreamed of the Commandos. He’d always been woken up by the nightmare of watching Bucky fall from the train - especially after they found him again as the Winter Soldier - but he’d stopped dreaming as often about the others. He felt guilty about that, about abandoning his friends, but Sam had told him to quit it, that this was part of healing and his friends weren’t going anywhere because they were still in his heart.
"We thought we’d lost you, sir," Dugan said quietly. "Helluva fall you took. You’ve been out for three days. We moved you while we could, but you were getting worse, so we set up shop here and Dernier and Morita went ahead to Toulouse to rustle up some help."
Steve, feeling tears prick at his eyes, could only offer a weak smile, not trusting himself to nod or speak. He didn’t remember any falls like this, so maybe it was his brain accommodating his modern-day injuries. Nobody knew how brains worked, something he’d been told constantly as they’d searched for Bucky. Maybe he was hurt worse than he’d thought and he was already back in New York.
Or maybe Thor’s stories about the orange gem that could control time were true...
This would require so much work to write.
Also posted at DW.
(genfic | pg | Steve Rogers and...)
Everything hurts. He must have gotten hit hard enough to get knocked out. The last thing he remembered was running toward where Thor and Tony had been fighting, but now he was lying on a stretcher somewhere safe, although no doubt still in Houston. He was too woozy to open his eyes to see more and even moving his hand on his chest forced out an involuntary gasp of pain.
"Stay where you are, Cap," a voice ordered him gently. "The Army still hasn’t built any bed you can’t break if you try to and General Sherman might’ve slept on this one."
Steve chuffed out a laugh that sent fire down his arms and legs. Spinal damage, maybe, and he resigned himself to a ride home on a stretcher and an evening of lying on an MRI bed instead of the couch. Tony’s fancy new Avengers clubhouse had everything, but a way of getting out of medical treatment was not one of them, not with JARVIS able to chase you down.
"Matching museum pieces, then," he said, mostly to see if he could talk without pain. He could.
"Museum pieces my ass, young buck,” was the bemused reply and Steve did open his eyes then because he knew that voice, the timbre and tone and the sarcasm that covered up near-paternal fondness for his younger teammates.
Dum Dum Dugan was sitting on a stool next to him and even in the dim light of a half-shielded kerosene lamp, Steve could see the concern on his face.
It had been a while since he’d dreamed of the Commandos. He’d always been woken up by the nightmare of watching Bucky fall from the train - especially after they found him again as the Winter Soldier - but he’d stopped dreaming as often about the others. He felt guilty about that, about abandoning his friends, but Sam had told him to quit it, that this was part of healing and his friends weren’t going anywhere because they were still in his heart.
"We thought we’d lost you, sir," Dugan said quietly. "Helluva fall you took. You’ve been out for three days. We moved you while we could, but you were getting worse, so we set up shop here and Dernier and Morita went ahead to Toulouse to rustle up some help."
Steve, feeling tears prick at his eyes, could only offer a weak smile, not trusting himself to nod or speak. He didn’t remember any falls like this, so maybe it was his brain accommodating his modern-day injuries. Nobody knew how brains worked, something he’d been told constantly as they’d searched for Bucky. Maybe he was hurt worse than he’d thought and he was already back in New York.
Or maybe Thor’s stories about the orange gem that could control time were true...
This would require so much work to write.
Also posted at DW.