Day 3 . Imperfect Soldiers . MCU x Sleepy Hollow
Title: Imperfect Soldiers
Author: jedibuttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not
Rating: PG-13
Prompt/Prompter: for maevebran - "Ichabod Crane and Steve Rogers having adventures coming to terms with the 21st Century."
Spoilers: Current for Sleepy Hollow; after Captain America (2011) and The Avengers (2012)
Notes: Title's a reference to a Captain America quote: "not a perfect soldier, but a good man". The story of the drunken fiddler is real, a folktale from Orkney thought by some to be Irving's inspiration for Rip Van Winkle.
Summary: Steve might not have jumped so quickly to suspicion if he hadn't recently met a pair of thousand year old princes who acted like spoiled teenagers, and fought against an entire army of creatures from outer space. But somehow, he didn't think this guy was just an Oxford Professor on loan to Sleepy Hollow. 2100 words.
"Captain, if I may ask a rather impertinent question...."
Steve glanced away from the brewing altercation between the SHIELD agents who'd accompanied the two available Avengers to Sleepy Hollow and the local police ranged behind their own Captain to take in the tall, solemn man at his side. The contrast between the official authorities' behavior and the politely formal man who'd claimed to be some sort of consultant specializing in Revolutionary War legends was sharp enough to make him feel more lenient than usual.
He'd been asked a lot of impertinent things in the years since Dr. Erskine chose him to test the serum, after all, and not just since he woke up in the future. He doubted anything Mr. Crane might say could compare to the questions shouted at him every time he wore the uniform in public-- never mind all the things SHIELD's doctors claimed to need to know in order to recreate Erskine's formula. How was it anyone's business but his own whether all that time spent on ice had affected his fertility?
"Ask away," he shrugged, shoulders shifting under the stiff material of his Captain America suit.
Crane frowned rather than looking pleased at that answer, though, and leaned slightly toward Steve as though he didn't want to be overheard. "When I asked Leftenant Mills about the source of your... notoriety," he said, glancing down briefly to take in the entire red, white and blue ensemble Steve was wearing, "she said that a soldier by the same name fought in, ah, the Second World War."
Steve raised an eyebrow at that. "That's right," he replied, cautiously.
"And that according to some sources on the... Internet, you are that same soldier, restored after a sleep of some seventy years," Crane continued.
It was Steve's turn now to look the other man over in more detail. A lot of things stood out, now that he was paying attention: the pause before the mention of the Second World War; the same pause before the mention of the Internet; the fact that he'd even had to ask Lieutenant Mills why Steve was famous; the antique look and hand-stitching of the coat and trousers he wore; the dated style of his hair and beard; and those boots. Where was the guy even from?
Steve might not have jumped so quickly to suspicion if he hadn't recently met a pair of thousand year old princes who acted like spoiled teenagers, and fought against an entire army of creatures from outer space. But somehow, he didn't think this guy was just an Oxford Professor on loan to Sleepy Hollow.
"And what does that have to do with your question?" he asked warily.
Crane's eyes settled on Steve's face, meeting his gaze with an intent, wry expression. "I was simply wondering how you coped with the adjustment. The changes in technology, the differences in culture; I am reminded of the old story about the drunken fiddler who played for the trows, and returned home to find that fifty years had passed and that he was a grandfather." One corner of his mouth turned down sharply as he spoke, and his body language visibly tensed; the subject obviously meant a lot to him.
"I hope you're not suggesting that you're Captain America's grandson," he replied sharply. There were a lot of possible reasons for the man's behavior, ranging from him being crazy to Steve's club of one suddenly expanding to two; but he thought he'd get the most personally distasteful out of the way first. "Because I hate to break it to you, but that's not possible."
"More so than you know." The man didn't-- quite-- snort. "Although... I suppose it would be all of a piece, at this point, if the reverse turned out to be true. I don't suppose you have any Cranes in your family tree? Or... Van Tassels?" A strange, half-pained and half-hopeful expression crossed his face.
Almost as if... Huh. Option B it was, then.
But if it was true... how did SHIELD not know about the guy? Especially if, as Lieutenant Mills and Captain Irving had implied, he'd been helping them fight off a lot more of those revenant things over the last several months? Sleepy Hollow wasn't all that far from New York City; how had no one picked up on what was happening there until the latest magic-using super villain had gone looking for a particular object of power amongst the former Sheriff's possessions?
"Not that I know of," Steve shook his head, marveling. "Just so I'm clear here... how long were you asleep?"
Crane gave him a tight, approving smile. "Miss Mills persists in rounding it to two hundred years; but the exact figure, I believe, is two hundred and thirty-two."
"How?" Steve asked. "Without some kind of... modifications, the human body's just not capable of surviving in stasis that long." It couldn't hurt to admit that much, even if the guy was playing a part for some reason; no one had ever been able to successfully recreate the Super Soldier Serum, and it wasn't exactly a secret that the stuff existed in the first place.
Crane nodded toward the agents in black, still facing off with the Sleepy Hollow police. Mills, a young woman in a tan uniform with a very strong personality, was currently poking a finger at Sitwell's chest; a little farther back in the crowd, Steve could see Barton grinning as he watched them face off.
"There have always been secret organizations," Crane said vaguely, "and secrets within those secrets. I served on the front lines of the supernatural struggle underlying the Revolutionary War, and other agents linked my existence to that of the Horseman after we mortally wounded one another in battle. As I was frozen in slumber, and he could not die, we both slept until he was awakened."
"That's... quite the story," Steve said. "Who found you? Why didn't anyone hear about this?"
"Perhaps because my name is not synonymous with patriotic heroism?" Crane shrugged, tone very dry. "George Washington recruited me, but I am not he. No one searched for me for decades; those who cared knew exactly where I was, and had interest in my remaining so. And by the time I emerged from the cave where I had been preserved to encounter a fast-moving metal behemoth I had no frame of reference for... my name had faded from the pages of history, and the world had reduced my life's purpose to the status of legend. In fact... the first persons I tried to explain myself to believed me an insane murderer. I only stand before you now because Miss Mills decided to take a chance that I could lead her to the actual killer."
By which he meant the Headless Horseman: an actual, physical being with no head who rode a red-eyed horse. Steve had seen it earlier, in company with the sorcerer they'd been sent to stop. It had reminded him uncomfortably of the Red Skull, who'd claimed repeatedly that he walked in the footsteps of gods before being destroyed by the very artefact Loki later used to trigger the attack on New York.
"You know..." Steve said slowly, deciding to take the chance. "They might have known exactly who I was when they woke me up, but they didn't handle it much better. They set up a room meant to look exactly like the world I left behind, right down to the clothes and the baseball game on the radio, and put me there. They wanted to break it to me gently, as if I wouldn't notice all the little details they got wrong. As if people aren't people, whatever century they live in."
Crane glanced back at Mills then, and his smile grew more genuine. "An astute observation. I still struggle with the noise and the terminology and the... the flimsiness people apparently put up with in the name of convenience. But I find that whatever the changes in the habits and beliefs and outward immodesty of those around me, their motives are generally quite familiar."
"Sounds like you've got a good friend there."
"Believe me, I'm well aware." Crane's smile faded then, and Steve felt a pang of recognition at the loss suddenly visible in his dark eyes. "I trust you do as well?"
What a lonely life that must be: only one person who even believed him, and no one who remembered the world he'd come from. No wonder he'd reached out to Steve, hoping to find understanding.
"Working on it," he said. He didn't know that he'd call all of the Avengers or the SHIELD agents he worked with friends yet, but they'd faced a lot of things together, and that was a start.
"You know, I should be asking how you cope. You didn't even have electricity back then, did you? No cars, no television, not even radio or telephones or any of the stuff we couldn't do without in my day. Everything's so much smaller and louder and more intrusive now, but at least I can guess half the time what something's supposed to do without being afraid I'll look like an idiot for asking."
"Every day does bring forth new conundrums," Crane admitted. "But I was a cryptographer, amongst other talents; I am quite adept at solving puzzles. And... Miss Mills decorated my room, those first few days, with numerous slips of sticky yellow paper with instructions written on them. Generally, a little experimentation and extrapolation allows me to interact with the objects around me without too much difficulty, though their inner workings still largely defy my understanding. Particularly those devices called computers: Miss Mills seemed to think that comparing one to a 'typewriter that remembers' would be helpful, and was quite surprised to find that 'typewriters' were after my time, as well."
He really did sound a lot like the professor he claimed to be when he got going, Steve though with a wry smile, picturing Stark in Lieutenant Mills' place. He could easily imagine him doing much the same, only with some sort of computerized projections, if he and JARVIS had been involved in Steve's recovery from the start. Accelerating and compressing the culture shock, all at once. He'd have to mention it to him later, just to see his reaction.
"I did grow up with typewriters; but computers were barely coming into use on a governmental scale when I went into the ice," Steve admitted. "I wouldn't call them 'typewriters that remember'; more like 'typewriters that can think'. And the Internet? It's like...." He grasped for a comparison that would make sense to Crane. "A conversation around the campfire, only instantaneously connecting you to people on the other side of the world. It is a little alarming sometimes, especially since one of my teammates is... well I guess you wouldn't have any frame of reference for the name Tony Stark either, but he's pretty much at the forefront of modern technology. One of his computers can talk. Well enough that it's hard to distinguish from an actual person."
Crane looked alarmed at that. "And you're certain it's not possessed by a spirit?"
"Pretty sure, yeah." Unless there was a lot more to the Starks' story than he knew.
"The semblance of artificial life." Crane shook his head. "Another thing that it seems has not changed with time: the tendency of men to tread on the province of God."
"A lot of people don't even believe He exists anymore," Steve shrugged. "But then... they didn't believe in aliens before last year, either. Or things like what we fought today. Maybe they just need a reason."
"Faith is the evidence of things unseen," Crane quoted, in skeptical tones.
A lot of people had had faith in Steve, back before he was any kind of a hero; and given Crane's circumstances, he was willing to bet a lot of people had had faith in him, too. No one would tie their worst agent's life to the continued existence of an immortal evil, after all, guaranteeing that he'd be the only one left to pick up the fight if the evil ever returned.
"I guess we'll just have to carry that faith for them," he said.
Crane lifted an eyebrow at that, then nodded. "Well spoken," he replied.
Then he held out a hand as the argument in the background finally broke up. "I am very glad to have met you, Captain Rogers."
"Likewise," Steve said, and shook his hand. He would definitely have to keep in touch.
-x-
Author: jedibuttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not
Rating: PG-13
Prompt/Prompter: for maevebran - "Ichabod Crane and Steve Rogers having adventures coming to terms with the 21st Century."
Spoilers: Current for Sleepy Hollow; after Captain America (2011) and The Avengers (2012)
Notes: Title's a reference to a Captain America quote: "not a perfect soldier, but a good man". The story of the drunken fiddler is real, a folktale from Orkney thought by some to be Irving's inspiration for Rip Van Winkle.
Summary: Steve might not have jumped so quickly to suspicion if he hadn't recently met a pair of thousand year old princes who acted like spoiled teenagers, and fought against an entire army of creatures from outer space. But somehow, he didn't think this guy was just an Oxford Professor on loan to Sleepy Hollow. 2100 words.
"Captain, if I may ask a rather impertinent question...."
Steve glanced away from the brewing altercation between the SHIELD agents who'd accompanied the two available Avengers to Sleepy Hollow and the local police ranged behind their own Captain to take in the tall, solemn man at his side. The contrast between the official authorities' behavior and the politely formal man who'd claimed to be some sort of consultant specializing in Revolutionary War legends was sharp enough to make him feel more lenient than usual.
He'd been asked a lot of impertinent things in the years since Dr. Erskine chose him to test the serum, after all, and not just since he woke up in the future. He doubted anything Mr. Crane might say could compare to the questions shouted at him every time he wore the uniform in public-- never mind all the things SHIELD's doctors claimed to need to know in order to recreate Erskine's formula. How was it anyone's business but his own whether all that time spent on ice had affected his fertility?
"Ask away," he shrugged, shoulders shifting under the stiff material of his Captain America suit.
Crane frowned rather than looking pleased at that answer, though, and leaned slightly toward Steve as though he didn't want to be overheard. "When I asked Leftenant Mills about the source of your... notoriety," he said, glancing down briefly to take in the entire red, white and blue ensemble Steve was wearing, "she said that a soldier by the same name fought in, ah, the Second World War."
Steve raised an eyebrow at that. "That's right," he replied, cautiously.
"And that according to some sources on the... Internet, you are that same soldier, restored after a sleep of some seventy years," Crane continued.
It was Steve's turn now to look the other man over in more detail. A lot of things stood out, now that he was paying attention: the pause before the mention of the Second World War; the same pause before the mention of the Internet; the fact that he'd even had to ask Lieutenant Mills why Steve was famous; the antique look and hand-stitching of the coat and trousers he wore; the dated style of his hair and beard; and those boots. Where was the guy even from?
Steve might not have jumped so quickly to suspicion if he hadn't recently met a pair of thousand year old princes who acted like spoiled teenagers, and fought against an entire army of creatures from outer space. But somehow, he didn't think this guy was just an Oxford Professor on loan to Sleepy Hollow.
"And what does that have to do with your question?" he asked warily.
Crane's eyes settled on Steve's face, meeting his gaze with an intent, wry expression. "I was simply wondering how you coped with the adjustment. The changes in technology, the differences in culture; I am reminded of the old story about the drunken fiddler who played for the trows, and returned home to find that fifty years had passed and that he was a grandfather." One corner of his mouth turned down sharply as he spoke, and his body language visibly tensed; the subject obviously meant a lot to him.
"I hope you're not suggesting that you're Captain America's grandson," he replied sharply. There were a lot of possible reasons for the man's behavior, ranging from him being crazy to Steve's club of one suddenly expanding to two; but he thought he'd get the most personally distasteful out of the way first. "Because I hate to break it to you, but that's not possible."
"More so than you know." The man didn't-- quite-- snort. "Although... I suppose it would be all of a piece, at this point, if the reverse turned out to be true. I don't suppose you have any Cranes in your family tree? Or... Van Tassels?" A strange, half-pained and half-hopeful expression crossed his face.
Almost as if... Huh. Option B it was, then.
But if it was true... how did SHIELD not know about the guy? Especially if, as Lieutenant Mills and Captain Irving had implied, he'd been helping them fight off a lot more of those revenant things over the last several months? Sleepy Hollow wasn't all that far from New York City; how had no one picked up on what was happening there until the latest magic-using super villain had gone looking for a particular object of power amongst the former Sheriff's possessions?
"Not that I know of," Steve shook his head, marveling. "Just so I'm clear here... how long were you asleep?"
Crane gave him a tight, approving smile. "Miss Mills persists in rounding it to two hundred years; but the exact figure, I believe, is two hundred and thirty-two."
"How?" Steve asked. "Without some kind of... modifications, the human body's just not capable of surviving in stasis that long." It couldn't hurt to admit that much, even if the guy was playing a part for some reason; no one had ever been able to successfully recreate the Super Soldier Serum, and it wasn't exactly a secret that the stuff existed in the first place.
Crane nodded toward the agents in black, still facing off with the Sleepy Hollow police. Mills, a young woman in a tan uniform with a very strong personality, was currently poking a finger at Sitwell's chest; a little farther back in the crowd, Steve could see Barton grinning as he watched them face off.
"There have always been secret organizations," Crane said vaguely, "and secrets within those secrets. I served on the front lines of the supernatural struggle underlying the Revolutionary War, and other agents linked my existence to that of the Horseman after we mortally wounded one another in battle. As I was frozen in slumber, and he could not die, we both slept until he was awakened."
"That's... quite the story," Steve said. "Who found you? Why didn't anyone hear about this?"
"Perhaps because my name is not synonymous with patriotic heroism?" Crane shrugged, tone very dry. "George Washington recruited me, but I am not he. No one searched for me for decades; those who cared knew exactly where I was, and had interest in my remaining so. And by the time I emerged from the cave where I had been preserved to encounter a fast-moving metal behemoth I had no frame of reference for... my name had faded from the pages of history, and the world had reduced my life's purpose to the status of legend. In fact... the first persons I tried to explain myself to believed me an insane murderer. I only stand before you now because Miss Mills decided to take a chance that I could lead her to the actual killer."
By which he meant the Headless Horseman: an actual, physical being with no head who rode a red-eyed horse. Steve had seen it earlier, in company with the sorcerer they'd been sent to stop. It had reminded him uncomfortably of the Red Skull, who'd claimed repeatedly that he walked in the footsteps of gods before being destroyed by the very artefact Loki later used to trigger the attack on New York.
"You know..." Steve said slowly, deciding to take the chance. "They might have known exactly who I was when they woke me up, but they didn't handle it much better. They set up a room meant to look exactly like the world I left behind, right down to the clothes and the baseball game on the radio, and put me there. They wanted to break it to me gently, as if I wouldn't notice all the little details they got wrong. As if people aren't people, whatever century they live in."
Crane glanced back at Mills then, and his smile grew more genuine. "An astute observation. I still struggle with the noise and the terminology and the... the flimsiness people apparently put up with in the name of convenience. But I find that whatever the changes in the habits and beliefs and outward immodesty of those around me, their motives are generally quite familiar."
"Sounds like you've got a good friend there."
"Believe me, I'm well aware." Crane's smile faded then, and Steve felt a pang of recognition at the loss suddenly visible in his dark eyes. "I trust you do as well?"
What a lonely life that must be: only one person who even believed him, and no one who remembered the world he'd come from. No wonder he'd reached out to Steve, hoping to find understanding.
"Working on it," he said. He didn't know that he'd call all of the Avengers or the SHIELD agents he worked with friends yet, but they'd faced a lot of things together, and that was a start.
"You know, I should be asking how you cope. You didn't even have electricity back then, did you? No cars, no television, not even radio or telephones or any of the stuff we couldn't do without in my day. Everything's so much smaller and louder and more intrusive now, but at least I can guess half the time what something's supposed to do without being afraid I'll look like an idiot for asking."
"Every day does bring forth new conundrums," Crane admitted. "But I was a cryptographer, amongst other talents; I am quite adept at solving puzzles. And... Miss Mills decorated my room, those first few days, with numerous slips of sticky yellow paper with instructions written on them. Generally, a little experimentation and extrapolation allows me to interact with the objects around me without too much difficulty, though their inner workings still largely defy my understanding. Particularly those devices called computers: Miss Mills seemed to think that comparing one to a 'typewriter that remembers' would be helpful, and was quite surprised to find that 'typewriters' were after my time, as well."
He really did sound a lot like the professor he claimed to be when he got going, Steve though with a wry smile, picturing Stark in Lieutenant Mills' place. He could easily imagine him doing much the same, only with some sort of computerized projections, if he and JARVIS had been involved in Steve's recovery from the start. Accelerating and compressing the culture shock, all at once. He'd have to mention it to him later, just to see his reaction.
"I did grow up with typewriters; but computers were barely coming into use on a governmental scale when I went into the ice," Steve admitted. "I wouldn't call them 'typewriters that remember'; more like 'typewriters that can think'. And the Internet? It's like...." He grasped for a comparison that would make sense to Crane. "A conversation around the campfire, only instantaneously connecting you to people on the other side of the world. It is a little alarming sometimes, especially since one of my teammates is... well I guess you wouldn't have any frame of reference for the name Tony Stark either, but he's pretty much at the forefront of modern technology. One of his computers can talk. Well enough that it's hard to distinguish from an actual person."
Crane looked alarmed at that. "And you're certain it's not possessed by a spirit?"
"Pretty sure, yeah." Unless there was a lot more to the Starks' story than he knew.
"The semblance of artificial life." Crane shook his head. "Another thing that it seems has not changed with time: the tendency of men to tread on the province of God."
"A lot of people don't even believe He exists anymore," Steve shrugged. "But then... they didn't believe in aliens before last year, either. Or things like what we fought today. Maybe they just need a reason."
"Faith is the evidence of things unseen," Crane quoted, in skeptical tones.
A lot of people had had faith in Steve, back before he was any kind of a hero; and given Crane's circumstances, he was willing to bet a lot of people had had faith in him, too. No one would tie their worst agent's life to the continued existence of an immortal evil, after all, guaranteeing that he'd be the only one left to pick up the fight if the evil ever returned.
"I guess we'll just have to carry that faith for them," he said.
Crane lifted an eyebrow at that, then nodded. "Well spoken," he replied.
Then he held out a hand as the argument in the background finally broke up. "I am very glad to have met you, Captain Rogers."
"Likewise," Steve said, and shook his hand. He would definitely have to keep in touch.
-x-