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Three years into the blip Steve Rogers already established the little weekly strangers meet up. Falling back to his role as the hope and hero of the nation, even though it has halved than what it used to be. Everyone has lost things, no one is perfect in this new, devastating world. Steve, however, has lost a lot more ever since he woke up in the modern days, and so his mind isn't too surprised when another big loss comes his way. Or at least that's what he's training himself to think.
Sadness is obvious in everyone's faces and he tries his best to help them move on. Perhaps by doing so it will help him to move on as well. He rented a space in Brooklyn, somewhat feeling pulled there and perhaps as an excuse to flee from the tower where the silence is too loud on all levels. The team is broken, his friends are scattered across spaces he cannot reach. Even Natasha, whom he met just a week ago, staying vigil at the tower, managing comms and having shitty dinners of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Even she is far away.
Steve is aware she's not an easily broken soul, her past from what he knows and the years they have worked together side by side, have proved into shaping who she is today. But it cannot be easy losing her found family, ones that she chooses to be with in the present. Guilt, responsibility, and emptiness have filled into the void of their bodies, as they have spent one whole Tuesday night talking about.
Steve looks alright, better perhaps than Natasha, and he works hard to do that. He shaves, showers, and even puts gel on his hair just to resemble the old him, before this, before the blip, before Thanos. It's not easy, some mornings are just too demanding for him to do that. On those mornings, he slumped against the bedframe, head lolled up towards the ceiling, and just... be. At some point, the alarm he set, after growing familiar with this new habit, rings and he forces himself to move to bring some food and water into grabbing distance to last him the whole day. Then he sleeps. And wakes up the next day to see if he's well enough to go out or if he needs to repeat doing nothing.
He's not depressed, he refuses to call himself that. He doesn't need help, but he needs to help. Some other people have it harder than him. So he walks to the old sport hall, to one of the discussion room there and meet his new friends. People from all ages and background gather there once a week and retell their days. Some are able to find hope in this silent city, they meet up with new people and try to go back to some semblance of normal things like grocery shopping. Others might need a bit more encouragement as they meet with darkness instead of light, wishing to drown and sleep into the endlessness. Steve is there to help. He'd give long talk and discussion, empathy and sharing, sometimes even taking them on walks and dinners.
But these people, they're slowly getting alright and then he'd meet with a new batch of others. He's happy for them, truly, happy to be of use and service instead of staring at the ceiling the whole day.
When evening falls, Steve would be walking back to his flat, humming an oldies under his breath before finally deciding what to cook for dinner. He makes a simple pie, proud of himself when the taste is just right on his tongue after several trials and errors with burnt ones. Then he picks up a book and reads near the balcony, the hot tea and thick scarf beating the cold October wind.
He's not content, nightmares still haunt him from time to time, of everyone. He has no strength to shape them into words to think of in his mind, they're just wispy shapes and wordless screaming. He clutches his head, standing for hours beneath the shower, wrapping himself in thick blankets, lying on the cold floor, runs for kilometers, anything to make the memories go away. Yet it attaches itself to his side going into the fourth year, growing worse before bettering slightly in fifth.
The coldest winter happens in the fifth. But before the harsh winds settle in Brooklyn, in autumn, he meets someone.
Steve isn't fond of autumn, it's a dreary season where things stand on a seesaw, never really going forward or backward. The orange tinge just adds to his tired soul.
He plans to visit Natasha that day with a takeout. She's been eating too much crackers for dinner these past few months and Steve isn't liking it. The street is blotted with the warm color palette of fallen leaves, determined ones stick on his collar a few times. He greets an old friend from the sharing group, pleased to find her holding hands with her girlfriend. Apparently life is slowly getting better.
However, weirdly, the warm feeling vanishes not long after. Steve feels an emptiness seeping through his skin, making everything itch and suddenly too hot. His eyes dart frantically to find somewhere to sit as his fingers yank his scarf.
Suffocating.
It's like a rough rope trying to strangle him. The dinner falls on the stairs of someone's house and Steve finally succeeds in getting rid of his scarf. He breaks free from his coat and sweater before finally slumping down, breathing hard, head between his knees. It's too much. He's not sure why he's showing symptoms from last year—things he had managed to put into a box and shoved under his bed. He's better now, he knows he is. He has to be.
Steve isn't sure how long he stays there but at one point he feels someone tapping his shoulder lightly before shaking it when he doesn't respond immediately. He inhales deeply, thankful for the pull to reality. Not lifting his head, he murmurs an "I'm fine". Whoever it is, they're talking to him in a soothing voice, and even though it is drowned as if underwater, he can see the boots and the tip of a long grey coat.
The person sits beside him, rubbing and patting his back occasionally. Steve leans into the touch, grateful that somehow there is someone else to the rescue. He can think of embarrassment and self loathing later if he still has the energy. For now he focuses on this person.
"It's okay. I know it's not easy but you're okay, I'm here with you."
Ah, a female.
Steve falls into a coughing fit and she abruptly hands over a bottle of water. Her green bottle. "Careful," she softly warns when he swallows too quickly. Another few comforting rubs and Steve is finally able to choke out a thank you and look at her.
She looks young, perhaps in college or early years of employment. Brown hair, grey eyes. At one angle, they appear blue. They remind him of Bucky's. Her expression is soft and empathetic. He feels like he can jump into her embrace and she would welcome it without question or judgement.
"Thank you, truly."
"Your welcome. Are you feeling better?"
Steve nods and tries to smile but he feels it resembles a grimace. The young woman smiles back faintly, "Do you need anything?"
A hug would be nice.
No. No. You just don't do that to a kind stranger upon first meeting.
Steve clears his throat and manages to give the best attempt of a smile, "No, I'm good. Thank you, again."
"No worries, glad to be of assistance."
The woman clasps her hands on her knees and Steve already longs for its presence. She hands him his scarf which must've been laying forgotten on the street before, and his coat from the steps of the stairs. He accepts them gratefully and mutters another thank you, which this time is awarded with a brighter smile.
She seems hesitant but then asks, "If you don't mind me asking, where are you going? Because I'm pretty sure no one lives in this street anymore."
When Steve tries to remember where he's going, it must've been perceived as hesitance to her, so she adds quickly with hands on surrendering position.
"I'm just a bit worried if it's far. I mean, I can help you get there if you need, but if you think you'll manage, I'll leave you be."
Steve smiles, a bit bashful that she mistakes his pause as not wanting to spend more time with her. Even if it's their first meeting, Steve can feel himself somehow growing attached to his kind savior.
"I'm not ushering you away. Actually I wanted to go somewhere a bit far, but I think I'll just be going home. It's just five blocks from here."
She smiles shyly upon the revelation, "Oh, okay, that's um... good news."
Then she raises her eyebrows, eyes going wide as she realizes that her words can be taken the wrong way. A faint blush blooms on her cheeks as she waves her hands frantically, "No! No, I don't mean it the weird way! I mean it's good your house is close by- uh, good that you're not travelling far, you shouldn't be, it might be dangerous."
Steve laughs.
He hasn't had a good laugh for a long while. It feels freeing, opened and hopeful.
He chuckles more as she groans, "God, now I'm making myself look like a freak."
"A kind freak, if anything," Steve teases, wearing his scarf back for suddenly the wind feels a bit chilly. His chest feels warm, though, for whatever reason.
"Where are you headed?" he asks, picking up the takeaway and slowly standing up, a vague plan for the food begins shaping in his mind. He keeps his expectation low.
"It's, uh, the diner down the street."
"Having dinner?"
"Yes," she shoves her hands into her pockets, now standing, Steve can see that the top of her head reaches his chin at most.
"Do you mind helping me with mine? Seems like I bought too much." The takeaway hangs level with his face. Steve feels different, like a spirit is possessing his body. What's with him asking a stranger to have dinner with him? She'll see him as a freak. And not a kind one.
The woman blinks before understanding the whole concept with the takeout dinner. She grins, "Okay. Free food sounds great today."
They walk the street under the setting sun, making small talks and even jokes. She doesn't ask his little episode back there and he doesn't explain. After a block talking about food and weather, Steve grows curious about whether she knows him or not.
"Do you know me?"
She turns her head and tilts it up to see him in the eyes. Staring for a few seconds before shrugging a bit, "Yes and I'm not going to ask questions. Everyone has their own secrets and I'm not going to pry in. Besides you have offered me a free dinner."
Steve huffs a soft laugh, "Okay, but that makes us uneven. I don't know your name."
She opens her mouth to answer automatically before closing them and giving him a light smirk, "Do you have to?"
"Of course. Wouldn't want to keep calling you miss without a proper introduction."
She stops and he follows. Standing up straighter because she does, she offers him a handshake, "Hello, I'm Anna. What's your name?"
"Hello, Anna. I'm Steve."
"Nice to meet you, Steve."
"Pleased to meet you, Anna."
The grins they share completely make Steve partially forgets why he hates autumn. Some orange is nice after all.