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Dealing with a super soldier tends to make everything more difficult. It’s a lesson the Avengers have learned well. From old enemies that can’t seem to die to powerful moves that never waned under time to a bull-headed stubbornness that didn’t melt when the ice did. Another lesson they learned is that Captain America was pretty consistent, no matter what enemy they were facing. Good old human ingenuity and guts were better than any technology. An old shield never failed to do the trick. He was their calm voice of reason, often taking leadership when the worst of the worst happened.
Along with the enemies that just don’t seem to die came along their barrage of weapons. A lot of them were outdated, sure, products of minds born in previous generations, but many of them remembered the threat that Captain America was. Many of them remember how he came to be. And many of them knew what to do to handle such a powerful foe.
That’s how Steve found himself lying on a slab in the Avenger’s Tower med-bay, getting every inch of his body scanned. He should have known better, really. But when they got word of possible Hydra and Cabal movement, they had no choice but to check it out. Even if the Cabal was half-way disbanded, even if half of the villains couldn’t stand to look at each other for more than a few seconds at a time, they couldn’t risk the alliance getting stronger. Steve just didn’t expect getting locked in a broom-closet sized room and sprayed with some kind of weird purple gas. He’d called it in, warning the others to stay away unless they had proper gear, and had resigned himself to a world of testing when he got back.
Blood draws, swabs, respiratory panels, and now a full body scan. What a wonderful day Steve Rogers was having. He tried to be a responsible patient, tried not to move when important things were happening and tried to be honest about his injuries. It didn’t do anyone any good to lie about your status in the field, and prolonged healing times usually meant less time working. He just…hates these rooms. No matter how much time had passed, they all smelled the same. It made his heart start to race, memories of illnesses as a child and then experimentation once he joined the Super Soldier program forced to the forefront of his mind. Memories of waking up after the ice to find himself completely displaced in time, thrust into a world where everything had moved on around him.
The only issue with these tests is that a lot of them take time. Turns out going so far into the future means they can see a hell of a lot more from your blood, and with it comes more tests. A full check-up takes more tests and more time than he likes. Some facilities will let him either wander the halls or return to his room if the situation allows for it, but sometimes they force him to stay in the room the entire time. No breaks. No fresh air. Just stale chemical cleanser and too bright lights. And the memories.
The light finally disappears, the scanner retracting into its position on the roof. Now Steve just…has to wait. Wait until Tony reads off the results JARVIS finds, wait until someone figures out whatever the hell he’d been dosed with. Most stuff just bounced off him thanks to the whole Super Soldier with a Super metabolism think. Drugs wore off quick and most poisons would only give him a mild stomach ache before he worked them out. Steve had a sneaking suspicion that was not going to be the case this time.
Tony turned to the nearest holo-screen, ignoring the rest of the Avengers staring at his back. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with here.”
Steve tried not snap. He really did. It was just bad manners, and it certainly wouldn’t make this situation any better if tensions were high. But he really needed a minute outside of this place, and Tony’s flair for the dramatic was not helping anything. “Well?”
“Wow. Okay. JARVIS says it’s a poison, but it’s not dosed for a normal human. You were definitely the target, Cap. This is some nasty shit.” Tony rubbed the back of his head. “It’s designed to work slowly even with your metabolism. You’ll start experiencing some flu-like symptoms and mild delirium. The longer this thing stays in your body, the worse you’ll get. If it goes on long enough, your brain will literally cook inside of your skull.”
“Lucky me.” Steve sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the…what could you call this? A cot? A stretcher? A metal slab that made him feel like he was in a morgue?
“Ah buh buh!” Tony hissed. “Freeze right there. This shit works faster the more you move, so you either lay there or you pick a spot and you sit your ass down until I can synthesize you a cure.”
Oh. Goodie. “Well, I’m not staying here. I can only take the stench of this room for so long.” Steve stood up, grabbing his shield from where it had been set down. There was no telling how long it was going to take to make this thing, so he better find a place to get comfortable.
“The lounge will be the best place. You don’t need to be alone right now. Clint, go ahead and grabs some blankets and stuff to keep him comfortable. Any TV shows you’ve been interested in watching, Cap?” Natasha insisted, already making it clear no was not a viable answer.
“Guys, this is unnecessary. I feel fine right now and I can handle myself. The rest of you should be focused on finding out who set up the trap. Sam and Tony can handle the cure efforts.” Steve tried. He would feel much better about the situation as a whole if he knew the entire Avengers team wasn’t watching him slowly get sicker and sicker.
“Steve, do I need to remind you that you are single handedly one of the worst patients SHIELD has ever seen? You absolutely cannot take care of yourself because you push yourself too far. You’re already sprouting a fever.” Natasha raised an eyebrow at the super soldier.
“I just don’t enjoy being cooped up in medical. I’ve seen enough doctors for two lifetimes. So while I appreciate the concern, there’s better things you could be doing with your time.” Steve protested. This certainly wasn’t the first time that Steve had been poisoned and it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d brushed with death, but they were acting like he was suddenly a helpless child.
“Did you miss the little bit about delirium in Tony’s spiel? You’re going to start losing your awareness, and if you push yourself, that’s going to happen all the sooner. So you better get real comfortable with the idea of a babysitter for the near future.”
Steve thinks about arguing again. This is a waste of resources. The others should still be working, not fretting over him like mother hens. He’s aware that he can push a lot of his limits with the serum, but a poison made specifically for him isn’t anything to mess around with. He’s mentally resigned himself to being stranded on the couch until Tony can whip up the cure. That’s more than he likes, and he certainly doesn’t need every free Avenger wasting their time when an investigation needed to begin.
Instead, he’s met with the sight of everyone staring at him expectantly. They’re all working together against him on this matter. He’s going to be observed and coddled, whether he wants to be or not. Even he’s aware of this tactical defeat. Every second he spends arguing with his team means another second he’s not focused on the poison slowly spreading through his body. He’s painfully aware of where it is, a constant itching in his lungs reminding him of his younger years. The years where he contracted every disease possible, where he never felt well long enough to recover before he was battling the next illness.
Steve sighed. “Fine. Just do me a favor and work out a schedule. We still need to figure out who was behind this particular batch of nastiness. One person at max staying with me. I’ll leave it to you guys to work everything out while I change.” He turned to walk away. That was as far as he was going to concern himself with the situation. Hopefully (and he can’t believe he’s thinking this) they’ll argue for a while and he’ll be alone long enough to go to sleep. He’s a people person at heart, the country’s most notorious extrovert, but there’s only so much human interaction he can take before he needed his privacy.
Steve is outside of the med-bay door before anyone else can chase after him, breathing in the scent of the tower. It was a much more pleasant smell, the kind of cleanliness that came from tender care and inhabitance rather than sterile healthcare driven cleansers. He’s dreading this more than getting called to Tony’s lab, and he dreads those days. It’s not that he’s scared of tech or that he doesn’t understand it. He’s done a lot of research on his own and he’s come to appreciate a lot of modern technology; his fighting style just doesn’t combine with technology well. It’s something he can’t seem to get Tony to understand.
He leaves his uniform and his shield in his room, swapping out for a comfortable sweatshirt and shorts. If he’s going to be stuck in one spot, he’d rather try to be as comfortable as possible. Being sick sucked and was thankfully something he didn’t deal with often after the serum took affect. Being poisoned was even worse, usually because it implied someone was out there watching for your demise. This time he had several someones, the majority of them making up his teammates.
This was not going to be fun.
Steve can hear the bickering before he ever steps foot into the lounge, stubborn minds disagreeing with every plan that wasn’t theirs. It seems the others had decided to move their schedule-making conversation into the very room where Captain America was undoubtedly supposed to be resting as much as he could. Movement making the poison worse, and all that jazz. He’s sure someone would argue that yelling at his teammates to quit squabbling like children would count as movement.
“I see you guys are doing so well with deciding your rotations.” Steve grumbled. The couch was already made up like a bed, a soft pillow pressed against one arm and several thin blankets layered on top of each other. There’s a table that was dragged over filled with Gatorade bottles and dozens of snacks, already stocked up to keep the soldier from leaving the couch. Even a few paper copies of Steve’s most read books are stacked up on the side.
“Funny you say that, because we actually do have our order figured out. We’re just…loudly making our cases on who should stay with you first. For instance, I’m stubborn and sane enough to keep down a wandery Captain America without smashing him to pieces.” Clint threw the words in Hulk and Thor’s direction.
“All the more reason for one of us to do it now, before he starts losing his hold on reality. Besides, an investigation must be opened, and your scientific minds are far better equipped at starting such a task.” Thor argued.
“Hulk won’t smash Cap. Hulk will smash Hawkeye if he keeps talking.” Hulk snorted, growling at the archer.
“You’re all mad and acting like children, thus clouding your judgements. We need someone sharp and focused as the symptoms are setting in. That’s why I need to be here.” Natasha frowned.
Steve resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead. “Has anyone started the investigation?” He sighed, lowering himself onto the couch. Home sweet home for the next…however long it would take Stark to make this cure.
The four heroes glanced at each other. Of course they hadn’t. “Figuring out who has possession of such a lethal poison should be your priority. Natasha, Clint, we’re going to need your eyes and expertise to begin this process. You’re also going to want some extra protection in case they go back. Hulk, are you calm enough to stay here or do you need to be out in the field smashing things?” It was bad enough that he was quarantined to the couch. It was worse that he was still needed to act as a denmother.
The green creature grunted. “I’m fine.”
“Good. Hulk can pull the first watch. Thor, you’re going with Widow and Hawkeye. Keep your eye out for anyone unsavory, but try to look for clues where you can. Radio in what you find and be cautious. Bring respirators. If this stuff is formulated for me, it’s extra dangerous for the rest of you.”
“That’s…fair. Alright people, let’s get this show on the road.” Clint huffed, walking out of the room with Natasha and Thor following shortly. One good thing about Clint: he tended not to argue with injured parties. As long as they hadn’t gained the injury through stupidity, that was. Everyone had heard the sarcastic lectures pointed at Tony or Natasha when they tried to get away with not reporting injuries, and that was usually before Steve got a hold of them. It was strange, considering Hawkeye liked to hide his own injuries until the very end of a mission.
It wasn’t long after the door closed that the Hulk started shrinking down, revealing Bruce Banner. Steve is suddenly very glad that Banner and Stark had invested in stretchable clothes for the scientist. “Hey, Bruce. Nice to see you again. Thanks for letting him out, Hulk.” He grinned.
Bruce sat down in the armchair next to the couch. “We both agreed I was a better fit for this situation. You should focus on resting. I think we both know what’s coming, and I would rather not add sleep deprivation to your symptoms.”
Steve couldn’t help but chuckle. Good old Bruce, laying down the law of the land. Smart as a whip and quick on his feet. “Yeah. I’ve been down that road before. They never tell you how hard it is to sleep with pneumonia until you’re drowning in your own lungs.” Steve laid out on the couch, throwing a few blankets over his body before turning to stare at the ceiling. It didn’t normally take Steve long to fall asleep after missions like this. Once everyone had reported a relatively clean bill of health, he would retreat to his own room and sleep until he was woken up by his alarm clock or nightmares. He hoped that would be the case this time too.
“You’re handling this well, all things considered. The last time Clint got poisoned, he started writing out his will on the stretcher.” Bruce chuckled.
“That’s the funny thing about being me: I’ve had so many chemicals shoved inside my body that this feels like another Tuesday for me. I’m sure I’ll reconsider once this stuff really starts hitting.” That was the truth. When he was younger, his family tried everything feasible to get him better. Antibiotics were expensive since they were so new, and old family remedies not working tended to leave people discouraged. Steve had also learned that a lot of the medicines they were using back then were either now outlawed or devastating in the long run, which had been an…interesting discovery.
Bruce just…laughed. “Get some sleep, Cap. I’ll wake you if we need to.”
Steve was a soldier first and foremost, and that meant following orders. He closed his eyes, ignored the way his lungs were already starting to ache, and tried to mentally prepare himself to be sick again.
—
When Steve wakes up, he’s distinctly aware of his sore all of his joints are. It’s one of his least favorite parts of being sick, and he’s actually a little peeved that this one made it into the poison. Having a fever and struggling to breathe or struggling to keep any sort of food down was hard enough without every single movement taking an astronomical amount of effort. Well, it’s a good thing he’s not supposed to be moving much anyway.
Captain Roger’s temperature is currently 100.6 degrees fahrenheit, Dr Banner. JARVIS’s robotic voice echoes throughout the lounge, pulling Steve even further from sleep. His temperature is slowly getting higher. Most days, he wouldn’t care. Thanks to the serum, he ran warmer than a normal human did. 99 degrees was not concerning to him the same way it was for Clint or Natasha. Normally, he wasn’t infested with a poison and a version of Tony’s voice rattling around in his mind.
If it goes on long enough, your brain will literally boil inside of your skull.
Not comforting words from anybody, but especially from a man like Tony Stark, who had little to no bedside manner.
Steve peels his eyes open to see Bruce looking down at him, concern morphing all of his features into an exaggerated frown. “Hey, Cap. Wasn’t trying to wake you. I thought I told JARVIS to lower his volume, but apparently he missed the memo.”
“S’okay. Things happen. How long have I been asleep?” Steve mumbled. Some of the blankets he had been under were bunched up at his feet, likely kicked down there at some point during his nap. Several others had been peeled away from the top of the pile by Bruce in an effort to try to keep the blond from overheating so easily.
“A few hours. Tony and Sam are still in the lab and the others are still out investigating. No word from them yet, so I’m running on the assumption they haven’t found anything. How are you feeling?” Bruce grabbed one of the Gatorade bottles from the couch, cracking it open and handing it over to the soldier.
“Good news bad news. Good news, I’m still in my right mind. Bad news, I’m sore and tired and I have a feeling that it won’t take much longer.” He tried his best not to slur, accepting the bottle and letting it wash over his tongue. His mouth felt oddly dry, the kind of dry that makes everything feel like it’s sticking together.
“Anything I can do to help?” Bruce asks. No matter what anyone said, Bruce was a kind person. He always did his best to help, to make others feel better. It just tended to…get masked by all of Hulk’s anger.
“No. Just make the others promise not to record this.” That’s the last thing he needs. Captain America, the Boy Scout’s Boy Scout, leader of the Avengers, the shining example of the now extinct Super Soldier Program, poisoned out of his mind. There’s a chance he’ll have some comedic moments, but there’s an even greater chance that he’ll break down completely at some point with unwanted memories.
“Now that I can handle. I’ll be keeping an eye on your vitals, but you should go back to sleep.” Bruce gently patted Steve’s leg.
“Is that our answer to poisoning now? Just sleep through it?”
“When it’s a poison we’ve got to make a cure for? Sure is. Now sleep before I let the other guy come and knock you out. JARVIS, please put your volume as low as it can go here in the lounge.” Bruce steals the empty bottle from Steve, already fussing the blankets back into a comfortable position. The threat is empty for now, but Steve imagines if he becomes the stubborn patient everyone is waiting for him to devolve into, it may not remain empty for long.
No use arguing with a doctor (even if he’s not technically a medical doctor).
—
Something’s wrong. He can feel it deep in his bones, settling on them heavily like a guilty conscious. What’s going on? He couldn’t remember getting here. Where even was here? He hurt, in a way he hadn’t experienced since he went into the machine, since he was physically augmented into becoming something more than human. That wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to feel that way. He wasn’t supposed to feel weak like this, like his body was crumbling and locking up and failing.
Everything felt wet. His skin, the surface he was laying on, the strange fabric that covered his body. Why was it all wet? He wasn’t anywhere near water, last he remembered. No assistance to the Navy, no Hydra boats to sink, no hidden bases to overtake. It wasn’t raining, but he was soaked, so he wasn’t outside. He had to be near some sort of water source, though.
A shiver ran through his body. Why was he suddenly so cold? That wasn’t right. That wasn’t safe. Cold water was dangerous for anyone.
Oh.
Oh no.
Steve was back. Back in that godforsaken ship, back in an environment too cold for anyone to survive, doomed to be frozen and to lose another 70 years of time. No no no, not again, not again, not again, he couldn’t do it again. He had to get up. He had to get out of here. The cold was horrendous, threatening to freeze his body and put him back in his inescapable slumber. He had to move. Movement meant body heat. Body heat meant the ice couldn’t claim him.
His legs barely cooperate. They ache from days of combat, from the rough contact with the ocean, from running and kicking and fighting with every piece of his spirit to prevent the loss of innocent lives. They resist orders, groan under the weight of a frantic man trying to evade cryogenic stasis, nearly buckle once he gets to his feet. It’s nothing pretty, but it gets the job done. Now he has to go, to get out of this sinking hunk of metal and up to a higher vantage point. He’ll figure it out from there.
Everything is dark and cold and he can’t stop shivering. Even as he keeps moving, through hallway after hallways to his freedom, the cold threatens to claim him. It’s in his core now, in the very center of his being.
Ice pumps through his veins.
His heart is frosted over.
His lungs are filled with nothing but crystalized air, scraping against each inch of his bronchioles and alveoli.
His muscles are all threatening to stop working, to freeze him in place in the wasteland. He needs to move faster.
Voices drift over his ear. He doesn’t recognize them. They call his name, tell him to stop, he’s sick, he’s only making himself worse. Who are these people? They’re not from any of the bases he’s called temporary homes. They’re not any of the big-wigs trying to make plans to end this war. They’re strangers. Hallucinations maybe? Steve has seen soldiers before who had failed their fights with the elements, crying and begging for people who were not there. Yes, that’s all this is: a hallucination. An attempt from his brain to get him to lay down and surrender and accept his fate.
He refuses. He’ll never accept this fate. Never.
—
It shouldn’t have been a big deal. Steve was sound asleep, just like he’d been for hours now. When Bruce got word the others were back, he was hoping to meet them at the door to keep them quiet. Steve was going to need all the rest he could get to fight this poison off, and the last thing he needed was a team full of loudmouths waking the man up. His temperature had plateaued and he was peacefully sleeping. Everything had been fine.
And then suddenly it wasn’t. Bruce had been explaining the situation to the other three when Steve suddenly shot off the couch, walking like a new fawn and hands fumbling to find any purchase to hold himself up. It was clear even from a distance that Steve wasn’t in his right mind, eyes glassy and frantic with ragged breathing.
“Woah. Hey, Steve, take it easy. You’re okay.” Bruce felt the words slip out naturally as he moved, ignoring all the others in favor of assessing Steve. The man looks ill, skin flushed from the fever and essentially drenched in sweat. He’s leaning heavily on the walls, like he might fall if he lets go. But the worst part about it is the clear panic in his eyes, the fear that shudders through every inch of his body. This is not an emotion that Bruce sees often on the war hero. Captain America is one of the strongest men in the world. He feels no fear.
It seems Steve Rogers missed the memo.
“What the hell is going on?” Clint damn near growled, placing himself in front of Steve to prevent the man from moving forward anymore.
“He’s getting exponentially worse. He’s been sleeping for most of the night, but his fever started to shoot up. JARVIS, full body scan on Captain America.” Bruce cursed. If this was delirium, then touching and man-handling Steve could make things a lot worse. Instincts would kick in, would tell him that he was surrounded by enemies and he needed to fight them away. The Other Guy could take a beating from a super soldier any day, but Bruce would prefer not to.
Captain Rogers is experiencing moderate delirium due to the poison. His temperature is now 101.1 degrees fahrenheit, his heart rate and blood pressure are both elevated, and his distress level is increased from his baseline, which normally indicates a flashback. He appears to be displaying several of the flu-like symptoms, including diaphoresis and chills. I have alerted Mister Stark, who said that he will be arriving shortly.
Oh fuck. This was all painting a very, very bad picture. “Goddammit. Of course it just had to be formulated for a super soldier. Of course it just had to put Steve out of his goddamn mind. Of course we have no cure simulated yet.” Bruce cursed.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Natasha hissed, assisting Clint with holding the soldier in place.
“The symptoms. Sweating and chills. He’s freezing, delirious, drenched, and fighting a flashback.”
“He is imagining the plane crash that froze him in time.” Thor sums it up beautifully, his eyes hardening with understanding. Thor knew, sometimes better than any of them, just how real old memories could be. Sure, they all had nightmares, but only a few of them experienced flashbacks. Steve, Thor, and Tony were all in that group.
“He’s trying to keep from being frozen. That’s why he’s moving. The issue is the more he walks around the worse he makes himself, and the worse he makes himself the shorter our timeframe gets.” Fucking fuck. What were they supposed to do? For most people with fevers like this, Bruce would say just chuck a couple of Tylenol at them and see what happens. That wasn’t the case with a genetically altered superhuman. Normal meds didn’t do shit thanks to his heightened metabolism. They’d luckily managed to engineer a pain medication that did work, but that had taken months of research and trials. They didn’t have months now. Unless Tony had figured out something, they were looking at days, perhaps hours.
“So how do we stop him from moving? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Nat and I aren’t making a whole lot of progress with keeping him in place.” The struggling archer grunted out. Steve was still a super soldier even if he was sick as hell, and his strength hadn’t dwindled much.
Two sets of footsteps came running into the room. “We might have a temporary solution, but we’re going to need to hold him still.” Tony called, carrying a capped syringe.
“We haven’t had much luck with an all out cure yet, but we’ve managed to make a suppressor. It’ll push the poison back enough to give us some more time.” Sam explained.
“So what are you waiting for? Get it in him before he does something stupid!” Natasha snapped. She was trying very hard not to hurt Steve, but the more he pushed the more she was tempted to knock him out.
“Sorry about this, Steve. You’ll thank me when you’re healed.” Tony joined the ever-growing huddle, suddenly thankful for just how big and juicy Cap’s veins were. It’s easy to stick the needle in and inject the suppressant, and it’s even easier to back away quick before he meets the wrath of one poisoned Steve Rogers.
At least, that’s what he’s expecting. Instead Steve’s eyes start to drift closed, his body suddenly going limp. It a race between everyone to catch him, multiple hands latching onto whatever they can grab to lower his sudden descent. Somehow, miraculously, Steve ends up half-draped over Thor’s lap. He’s still feverish, still slowly losing the battle to this poison, but at least he’s finally still.
“That was…weird. Okay Bruce, if we’ve got time and the supplies, we need to get a proper IV into him. He’s got great veins, but I do not want to risk that again.” Tony panted.
“Agreed. JARVIS, how’s he doing?” Bruce leaned back, hands pressing on Steve’s wrist to feel his pulse.
Captain Rogers’ vital signs are stabilizing, and it does appear the poison is being successfully suppressed. JARVIS announced happily.
“Let’s move him while he’s still out. Thor, carry him back to the couch.” Bruce decided. Waking up in the med-bay would only freak Rogers out more, and as long as JARVIS kept an eye on his vitals they could work with leaving him in the lounge.
Super soldiers. Why did it always have to be the super soldiers?
—
Confusion. It’s the only thing he can register. Confusion. And pain.
The world had been an ice storm last he awoke. Now it felt like there was a fire underneath his skin, desperate to get out of his body. It was better than the cold. Anything was better than the cold. At least he could move in the heat. At least he was free in the heat. It was miserable, but he could move.
His blood, once frozen, was now a racing pool of magma.
His lungs were filled with awful smoke that ached with every breath he took.
His heart felt like a supernova had been ignited and then shoved into his chest.
Your brain will literally boil inside of your skull.
The words had been devastating the first time he heard them. Now? Now they didn’t seem quite so…arduous. Boiling was better than freezing. Freezing meant preservation. Freezing meant captivity. Freezing meant being removed from time for 70 years. Boiling promised death. An escape. A way out. Santa Muerte came for them all, as his ma used to say. Steve Rogers had avoided her call long past his due. Maybe this time, she would take him. Maybe this time, he would see his old friends again.
A strong voice shushed the man. “Easy, Captain. You are safe. You must rest to overcome this quandary.”
That voice. Steve knew that voice. But from where though? It wasn’t one of the Howling Commandos. Not Howard. Not Bucky. Not Erskine. Not his pa. So where did he know it from? And why did it bring him such a strong sense of comfort?
Something cool was pressed against his forehead, leeching some of the heat out from his skin. That’s right: heat wasn’t necessarily a good thing right now. It was better than the cold for sure, but it was a rapidly growing danger. He couldn’t die yet. The world still needed Captain America, and he wasn’t ready to give up again.
Steve managed to pull his eyes open, immediately noticing the tube sticking out of his arm. The clear plastic snaked up around a metal pole, connected to a bag of equally clear fluids. It’s…actually kind of relieving, to see that IV poles haven’t changed much since he was gone. Most everything else had. Healthcare nowadays was like nothing he’d ever imagined as a child. The treatments were all new and different and advanced. There was a lot of technology that went into it. But simple stuff like this? That was still the same. Some good things from his time had managed to survive decades.
Fuck. That’s right: he was poisoned. Now he can definitely confirm that delirium and PTSD do not go well together. He must have scared the others. How did they even manage to wrangle him back down? The last time Bruce had tried to move Steve without the help of the Hulk, he failed to make any progress. Maybe Tony and Sam had come to help? He would feel awful if he had to pull them away from their cure making efforts because he had a freak-out.
A large hand enters his peripheral vision, removing the cloth from his forehead. “I see you are awake! It is good to have you back, Captain.” Thor grinned, his voice booming like normal as he strained the water into a bowl. Of course. Thor. How could Steve forget? He’d fought side by side with the Asgardian for years now. He’d heard his voice on his best and worst days. Maybe this poison was boiling his brain faster than he thought.
“Hey, big guy. Didn’t mean to…to scare you.” Steve muttered. Hopefully the others had arrived back at the Tower because they were finished investigating and not because they received bad news about him.
“Fret not! Poison has brought many a warrior down, and your past fears did not assist you in any way. I have been poisoned many times in the past thanks to my brother, so I am very familiar with the emotional instability it entails.” Thor explains, replacing the cloth once he’s satisfied. Leave it to Thor to comfort Steve in an unusual but effective manner.
“Everything go okay with the investigation?” Steve asked. He could feel his mind becoming clearer as the minutes ticked on, like the fluids were somehow reversing the poison’s damage.
“Oh yes! We did not find any enemies sadly, but Black Widow and Hawkeye have begun working with SHIELD to trace some clues they found. I believe Barton’s exact words were: Those fucking cock-eyed bastards are stupid.”
Steve can’t help but laugh, even if it leaves him feeling breathless. That sounded like Clint, alright. The words sounded even more ridiculous coming out of Thor’s mouth. “That’s good. Any progress with the cure?”
“We’re working on it, Cap. Hate to say it, but this shit is stubborn.” Tony huffed as he walked into the room. Sam was close on his heels, typing notes into a holo-screen as he walked.
“So what’s that?” He motioned to the syringe in Tony’s hands.
“A suppressant. It’s helping buy us time until Sam and I can knock this poison out for good. It, uh, can make you very drowsy.” The billionaire chuckled nervously.
“I take it you weren't expecting that.” This certainly wasn't the first experimental drug Steve had taken before, and knowing his luck it most certainly wouldn't be the last.
“You can say that again. JARVIS, what are we looking at?”
Captain Rogers’ temperature is currently sitting at 100.8 degrees Fahrenheit. Blood pressure is lower than normal. Increased fluid intake is advised.
“Damn your super metabolism. You know I love it but I hate it, Mr Bottomless Pit.” Tony grumbled, attaching the syringe to the IV tube and pushing.
The exhaustion hit hard, forcing every muscle in Steve’s body to relax. “Oh, fuck. That’s…uncomfortable.” He shuddered, closing his eyes again.
“What kind of uncomfortable?” Sam asked, eyes flashing with concern.
“S’ not bad, just…weird. I'm not used to feeling like this. Tired. Feels like you shot me up full of muscle relaxer.”
“Anything else? Nausea, vomiting, itching, rash, mood swings, hives?”
“Nothing yet. Hopefully drowsiness is the only symptom.” That would be nice. Steve was familiar with a variety of side effects, especially before he was changed. Nausea and vomiting were among the most common. If he wasn't chucking up dinner from his sicknesses, it was usually from the remedies. He'd thankfully never experienced the hives before, but he remembered the itching. It was like an army of ants were constantly under his skin, wriggling and biting and making it unbearable to just exist. He had a lot of mood swings, but it was anyone's guess as to whether it came from the remedies or from the fact that Steve was just so fucking tired of being sick, of aching and vomiting and drowning in his own lungs.
“We'll have to keep watching. JARVIS, alert me if any of Captain Crunch’s vitals change drastically or if he appears to be facing any side effects from the suppression. All of the ones Sam just listed especially.”
“I'm not a cereal, Tony.” Steve protests half-heartedly. Tony had given him lots of strange nicknames in the past, but Captain Crunch was new. He was used to Capsicle, GI Steve, Tall Blond and Handsome, Rogers, Cap, and any other name he could think of off the top of his head.
“Sure you are. They even got a Red White and Blue box just for you.”
Tony receives his answer in the form of a snore.
—
“I just don’t get it,” Sam scowled, eyes traveling through lines of data. “Nothing is stopping this. We can slow it down, sure, but we can’t make a dent in the long run. In all of the simulations where we successfully wipe out the poison, we also take Cap out. If we try to keep him alive, the poison stays alive. Not only is the poison advancing, but it’s also rebuilding. So how do you knock out something that can regenerate itself without killing the host?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the same thing Red Skull has been trying to do for years. He wants to complete Super Soldier serum, but he doesn’t want Captain America playing around.” Tony hummed. Thirty attempts. That’s how many formulas they had developed for this cure, and none of them had worked. “ It’s almost like the poison is mimicking the serum. That’s what allows Sir Humble to regenerate so fast after every injury and it’s what makes his metabolism so annoying.”
“You know, it’s almost like the poison is a tumor.” Sam stood up, stretching his back. “ If it is mimicking the serum, that means it has to draw energy and nutrients from the surrounding tissue. It’s using Steve’s body as that energy well while simultaneously destroying it.”
“I have a feeling this tumor won’t respond to radiation or chemotherapy. We could try to mix the suppressant and the cure when we do figure it out. Push the poison down to a level where we can give the cure and not kill Cap.”
“But how? Every attempt we’ve made has either been an equally deadly poison or another form of suppressant. We’ve had no luck making a tried and true antivenom. SHIELD is still investigating where this poison came from, but it could be weeks before they get an answer and Cap doesn’t have that kind of time.”
Tony sighed. The scene from the lounge would be one that replayed in his head for years. Steve’s eyes had been…haunting. Glassy and soaked through with fear unlike anything Tony had ever seen from the man. The kind of fear that sent most men into a downward spiral. The kind of fear that only resulted from trauma so devastating that it forever imprinted your brain and changed your way of life. The worst part was that while Steve might have been trying to save himself from his mind, he was playing right into the poison’s…hands? Molecules? Whatever the case, that little escapade could have costed them hours.
Tony can admit that he and Steve haven’t always been…on the same page about everything. Lord knows how many times Tony had tried to update Steve’s gear, tried to bring him into the modern century, and Lord knows how many times Steve had retaliated by completely pulling Tony out of his environment. More than that, Steve was actually…irritatingly intelligent when it came to technology. Nowhere near Tony or Sam’s ability, clearly, but intelligent enough that he’d figured out Hammer’s Adaptoid when Tony had completely glossed over it. He’d even designed several updates for Tony’s suit, which seems like it should be hypocritical somehow.
But they know how to put their differences aside. Steve has been adapting well to the modern era and Tony has come to appreciate some of the revelations the soldier brings. Steve is an incredibly effective leader, taking everyone’s strengths and weaknesses into account when formulating a plan and never hesitating to throw himself into the fray to help. Tony would say that they’re more that acquaintances now; he’d even go as far as to say they were like brothers. They had days where they annoyed the snot out of each other, but they cared for and protected each other. Steve never let Tony get away with bullshit, and Tony did his best to constantly improve Steve’s life.
Wait a minute.
Of course!
“That’s it.” Tony muttered to himself.
“What? What’s it?” Sam sat up eagerly.
“The serum. That’s why all our calculations are wrong. Nobody has really been able to nail down what exactly the Erskine used to make the super soldier program. Even if the people behind this were working with Hydra, Red Skull received a completely different mixture, so there’s no way for them to be able to make something perfectly designed for Cap. If the serum was working like it was meant to, Steve would have been able to work all this shit out easily. But what if the poison is working so well not because it was designed for him specifically, but because it’s messing with the serum?” Tony pulled another simulation up, tweaking the program.
“I…don’t understand.” Sam frowned, watching as a hologram of Steve appeared.
“This poison might not be regenerating because of its formula. It’s regenerating because it’s reaping the benefits of the serum and leaving Steve out to dry. It’s one of the few similarities between Skull and Cap, the reason Skull can keep kicking around at his age. That means that somehow, our poison is getting between Steve’s cells and the super soldier benefits. It’s why none of our formulas are working. It’s why all of our cures kill him. We’re basing it off the metabolism of a 6 foot 2, 240 pound genetically altered national treasure. We need to base it off the metabolism of a human at his height and weight. JARVIS, run lot 27 against the new parameters.” Tony commanded, trying to get his beating heart to slow. If this was right, this was the breakthrough they needed. This could be the thing that saved Cap.
“So then why was the suppressant working? We also based that off his most recent stats.”
“It almost didn’t. Remember how he collapsed the first time? And then when we gave him the second dose, he said, and I quote: it feels like you shot me full of muscle relaxer. Sam, we might have been overdosing him. We thought it was just a side effect because we didn’t know better.”
The simulation begins to run. The simulated poison fills Steve’s body again, mimicking his currently condition. It completely shadows his lungs in a sickly purple color, tendrils reaching out and snaking up towards his neck. Trying to get to his brain, trying to cause irreparable damage and death in a way the man can’t fight against.
Lot 27 had been introduced. It had been the mildest of their suppressors, but it could potentially be the cure. The medication, highlighted in yellow, begins to travel through Steve’s body. It pushed the poison back down, back towards his lungs, back where all of it began. Slowly, inch by inch, piece by piece, the sickly purple is pushed down more and more until it doesn’t exist anymore.
“Now all we have to do is wait.” Sam took in a deep breath, eyes locked on the simulation. Every earlier attempt, without fail, showed a resurgence of the poison withing five minutes. Without fail, the cure was always eradicated. Without fail, Steve always died.
One minute passed. Neither man were willing to look away. If even one speck of simulated poison reappeared, it would mean the theory had failed. It would mean Tony was wrong. It would mean they had wasted some of Steve’s precious time left. It would mean they were no closer to a solution, no closer to a cure.
Two minutes. Tony can’t seem to keep his hands still. His fingers tap on his arms, his legs, the table, his coffee mug. He scratches at his fingers, at the rough callouses developed from years of hard work. Sam plays with one of his synthetic feathers, the gleaming red a sharp contrast to his hands. He seems just as nervous, if not more than Tony. Of course, there’s a piece of Sam that stills feels like the foolish rookie who was playing with the real heroes. The one who was late on his first day because Tony intercepted him in the sky. The one who assumed Captain America didn’t understand technology because he was from the second world war. The one who had to constantly re-evaluate his teammates because they kept surprising him.
Four minutes have passed. What if this didn’t work? What if they failed again? They couldn’t keep suppressing the poison forever, not if Tony was right and they were unintentionally overdosing Steve. What if they couldn’t make a cure in time and Steve died? What would happen to the Avengers then? The last time one of their own died, it had brought them all back together. What if it tore them apart? There were still enemies out there, foes too great for any one of them to handle individually. They couldn’t afford to break again.
Simulation complete. Poison remaining: 0. Chances of Captain Rogers making a full recovery: 100%. Well done, sir. I have calculated the appropriate dose for you. JARVIS’s voice finally breaks the tension, a syringe full of a clear liquid appearing on the table.
“I can’t believe it. Tony, that was genius!” Sam grinned.
“Don’t compliment me yet. We tested it on a simulation. Now we’ve got to see what actually happens. Come on.” For the second time in 24 hours, Tony and Sam ran out of the lab. They had a chance, a real chance to save Steve’s life.
They’re not going to waste it.
—
So it turns out that when Steve slept, he slept hard. Clint had always heard that soldiers tended to be light sleepers. They needed to be prepared to fight at all times, especially if they were in the field and had been discovered. They’ve never had a mission before where they had to spend the night outside of the tower, so he’s never really had the chance to put that theory to the test.
But now? Clint feels like he hasn’t seen anything but Cap sleeping. Sure, there was the whole delirium-driven-flashback thing, but as far as the archer knew, Steve had only woken up once. Whatever Tony and Sam were cooking up to keep the poison under control was also one of the few drugs on earth capable of knocking Captain America out. He barely reacted when Clint or Natasha did anything, including their impromptu watch party going back over the entirety of Friends. That should be a good thing. Steve was getting the rest he needed to fight off the nasty shit in his body. The drug was actually effective and was buying them precious time. It was also hard to move and run yourself into the ground when you were unconscious.
Steve sleeps through Sam and Tony bursting into the room like mad-men. He sleeps through the frantic explanation, sleeps through receiving the cure, sleeps through the others waiting in agonizing silence for any improvement. He sleeps through JARVIS announcing him poison free. He sleeps through the entirety of the Friends watch party. He sleeps through Hulk and Thor arguing about who ate the last of the pizza bagels.
He sleeps for four days straight. Well, not straight. He’ll wake up occasionally, but he’s never lucid. Most of the time it’s just to piss, his body naturally waking him up with the uncomfortable urge. Other times it’s to vomit. Apparently the full cure did come with a slew of side effects, including nausea and vomiting. They keep a bucket by the couch now, and several of the SHIELD physicians that have assessed the man helped tweak the fluids he was receiving to make sure his body didn’t do anything…weird.
The other Avengers continue their rotations, keeping an eye on the soldier at all times. It’s weird not having Cap around to keep them all in line. No matter how many times JARVIS reassures them all that Steve is clear of the poison and his fever is resolved, no matter how many times the SHIELD docs tell them Steve’s not in any more danger to boil alive inside his own body, it’s hard not to feel unsettled. Steve should be awake. He should be here. He should be going on his early morning runs and occupying the training room more than his actual room. He should be checking in with all of them, making sure they’re not injured and that they’ve eaten. He should be bickering with Tony and reminding them all how sarcastic he can be when he wants to.
It’s late in the afternoon of day 4 without Rogers, and Clint has finally managed to get Tony, Sam, and Natasha to all sit down and play Go Fish. “It’s a classic,” he’d said when they questioned the choice of game. “Plus, it doesn’t have a million rules to exploit.” He directed the last line to the assassin next to him.
Clint was so close to victory now. Just a few more pairs and he would officially be out of reach for Sam, who seemed to be a natural at this game. He only needed a nine, an eight or a three. Stark would be an easy victim, considering he had a large chunk of the deck in his hands. He also couldn’t risk Sam getting much lower or else the game might end too quickly.
“Got any eights, Barton?” Natasha asked, glancing from her hand up to his face. Dammit. He couldn’t lose this card. He needed everything he could get.
“Go fish.” He smirked. Play it off. Be confident. Don’t let the stealthiest individual in the Tower into your head too.
“Cheating isn’t nice, Clint.” A sleepy voice called from behind the archer.
The entire group turned around to see Steve, blue eyes open and clear for the first time in nearly a week. He’s wearing a tired smile, but he’s finally awake and he’s here and he’s chiding Clint like a child. Like normal.
“Cap!” Clint grinned, turning away from the game. “It’s good to see you up. You gave us all a collective heart attack.”
Steve chuckled. “I feel like I’ve had a heart attack. It is nice to be back in my own brain, though. Cured?”
“Yep.” Tony popped the p. “Completely poison free now. Turns out it was interrupting the serum response, which is why it kept replenishing and why you went down so hard so quickly. Uh, Sam and I may have minorly overdosed you with the suppressor, which is probably part of why you feel like crap right now.”
“Now that you’re awake, please do tell how Barton is about to die.” Natasha’s eyes flashed dangerously.
Steve smirked. “You know, I think I’ll let him dig his own grave.”
Ah fuck. “Thanks, Cap.” Clint grumbled, turning back to Natasha with a nervous grin. “Nat. You wouldn’t kill me over a game, would you?”