Do I even have to say it? I don't own. So Don't think I do. We have a problem if I need to say it.
I also go off of the Comics birthday for Steve Rogers, because in all honest they are what was first. So Steve was born on July 4, 1920 and received the serum in March of 1941, when he was still 20. And then I say that the Battle of New York occurred in 2012.
Now, I've been rewriting this for a while. Some chapters have disappeared because I'm trying to rewrite and compose my thoughts. I am not, nor will I ever abandon this fic. I'm just struggling with getting college, work, and writing juggled now that I'm working, in college full time, and working as a CNA. It's long hours and I'm also fighting increasing medical issues (those that include a back condition that makes it easy to dislocate ribs. Hurts like hell, guys). But give me a while and I will be able to get this done.
Cross-Posted on AO3 as well.
-.-.-.-.-.-
After the Chitauri attacks on the world as a whole, Steve had barely had a chance to breathe. Everything since then had been about rebuilding. Mostly, rebuilding had been in New York and the surrounding areas, but Steve and Bruce had been the ones to do a lot of it. With their super strength, it had been nothing but a piece of cake.
The only person that Steve really, really didn't get along with was Tony.
-.-.-.-.-
Steve flopped onto the couch as Clint turned on the TV, his eyes showing the intense exhaustion they all must feel. But that was the thing, not everyone felt it. By this time, six months after the whole Chitauri incident, he was really the only one still exhausted. Maybe it was because he was doing so many missions and not sleeping at all.
Clint sat down beside him, settling his feet down on the coffee table as Natasha plopped down next to him and against the armrest. He stretched and slyly looked over to Steve, who had immediately begun to drop off. A smile graced his lips and Natasha quickly raised an eyebrow at him.
Clint tipped his head towards the sleeping Steve in answer. The Super Soldier serum, it seemed, could only really keep someone going just as long as you had the nutrition to do so, and Heavens know that they'd been running around like crazy people the last six months.
Natasha smiled at Steve and then dropped her legs over Clint's, reclining back against her armrest as she did so, acting as if she owned him. And to be quite honest, she probably did.
"Как ваша жена?" How is your wife? She asked. Clint rolled his eyes, but smiled.
"Лучше, чем у вас," Clint joked pleasantly. Better than yours.
Natasha raised her heel and then brought it down on his groin and he doubled over her legs. She just smiled, acting like she hadn't done a single thing. Natasha was pretty good at that, though.
"Stop fighting," came Steve's breathy, sleepy reply to all the commotion. His voice was so quiet that they would have missed it if it weren't for the fact that Clint normally went silent when he was unfortunate enough to be groin-hit.
"Sorry Steve," both said together. Steve grumbled something under his breath again before he settled back down. Natasha liberated her legs from the grips of Clint. She strolled her way to the other side of the room and grabbed a throw blanket. Natasha placed the blanket over the Super Soldier's chest and legs. The young man- For really, he was only 25- grabbed the blanket and pulled it close to his body.
Natasha returned to plop down next to Clint and then reclaimed her spot for the legs. Slowly but surely, everyone else filtered into the room and Tony began to speak. At first, he seemed to ignore what Steve was doing.
"Bruce," Tony said suddenly. Bruise raised his eyes from the tablet he was working on and quirked his eyebrow up.
"Yes, Tony?" he drawled. But he wasn't listening, not in the least. Bruce reached for a small syringe that sat on the coffee table, just taking a good look at what was in it. Then he would look back down at the tablet and press a few different buttons.
When there was absolutely no answer from Tony, Bruce and the others finally looked up from what they were doing and found Tony nudging Steve. While it was very obvious that Steve was out like a light and needed the rest, Tony didn't care. But the fact that Steve was out mean that nothing short of a tsunami would wake him. (Or, you know, Fury.)
"Let him be, Tony," Natasha said. She turned the page in her book and gave Tony a very pointed look.
"He gets up at the ass-crack of dawn every day and most of the time we don't get back until about three hours before dawn breaks," Clint commented idly. He looked over at Steve, who had his chin touching his chest now and letting out tiny snores. "And he hasn't really slept this week. JARVIS, how many hours has Steve slept in the last week?"
"Captain Rogers has slept a total of 6 hours in the last week, eaten half of his daily needs for each day, and has drank a lot of water this week. I believe him to be suffering from slight malnutrition and PTSD-Induced nightmares that wake him. He has just passed into his REM cycles, Mr. Barton," JARVIS answered promptly.
Clint provided Tony with one of his 'Told you so' looks. Tony settled down and sighed, mumbling something about his own creation being against him.
There were about twenty minutes of only Steve's snoring before Bruce let out a sigh of annoyance and stood.
"Still nothing," he grunted as he closed his tablet up. He started his walk to the elevator, seeming upset about everything.
"I'm going to get a tea. Anyone want anything?"
Clint's hand flew up and he opened his mouth.
"I'd like a chai latte from the Starbucks," Clint supplied and hopped up. Natasha stood up as well and followed Bruce and Clint to the ground floor.
Steve remained asleep through the commotion, his chest rising and falling evenly. Every so often, you could see Steve twitch in his sleep, but there wasn't much else to do. Tony leapt up and left the room a few minutes later, planning on going to the lab.
July 1st, 2014
11:12A.M.
Stark Towers
Bruce flipped a pancake and took a drink of his tea after just a moment. It wasn't normally Bruce who made the food, but Steve wasn't up yet and they didn't want to wake him, not when he was probably finally just sleeping. The last six months had been hard on everyone, but especially Steve, who had been thrown from the ice and then right into another war situation with no time to adapt.
Tony stumbled out of his room ten minutes after Bruce had started making food, drawn out by the smell of it. He grabbed a cup of coffee before he flopped into a chair and put his head on the counters. It was a normal thing for the morning time, though.
Clint was the next one in the room, doing a similar routine to Tony's. But this time, he climbed up to the top of the refrigerator and settled himself there was a nice cup of coffee.
Thor arrived soon after Clint did, but bypassed the meal being made and went directly to the pantry for the blessed poptarts. With his brother not around, Thor didn't have to worry about his food being nicked from the pantry. Loki, while he seemed very regal and had a 'Holier than thou' attitude, he absolutely loved Poptarts.
Natasha and Steve, however, didn't arrive. When it hit 11:45, Bruce looked up at the clock anxiously and furrowed his eyebrows.
"They're not up yet," he muttered. They were usually the first ones awake and moving. Maybe Steve was taking a longer run than normal? Maybe Natasha was pulled onto a mission early?
"JARVIS?" Tony started as he sucked down his seventh cup of coffee. "Where is Cap and Little Red?"
There was a moment of silence from the A.I., who seemed to be attempting to locate them. Then, JARVIS spoke. The A.I. sounded bewildered by what he found.
"Sir? Captain Rogers is not in the building, but there is a smaller heat signature in his room. Ms. Romanoff is in there with him, and she seems very distressed. The smaller signature is very upset as well; their heart rate is in the high 190's and there is screaming coming from the room," the A.I. answered.
Bruce, though not a doctor, immediately became exponentially worried for the smaller signature. A heartrate in the 190's was severe tachycardia. It could go from bad to worse in just seconds. And the screaming didn't seem good.
"JARVIS, tell Natasha we're coming up." Bruce put his spatula down and immediately made way for the elevator. Tony, Clint, and Thor followed him as well.
"What do you think's going on?" Bruce asked Tony as they rode up. The scientist shrugged and shook his head, his asshole persona gone now that there was a situation.
"No idea, Brucey-bear. It could be just a mouse, could be that there's something really wrong here. Who knows, maybe Cap was changed into a baby." The joke fell flat and Thor furrowed his brow.
"Shield-Brother Tony, there are spells to do that. But my brother is on Asgard with our mother."
Tony patted Thor's finely muscled shoulder and shook his head.
"I'm just joking, Thor. We'll get there and there will be nothing. Steve will come home from his run and we'll save our Russian Assassin from a mouse," he explained. Bruce breathed out a sigh, hoping that it genuinely was a mouse that had scared Natasha.
But deep down, he knew that a mouse really wouldn't scare Natasha.
-.-.-.-
Once on the floor, it didn't take long for the men to realize that it was not, by any chances, a mouse that had scared Natasha. The first thing they heard after the elevator doors opened was the screaming of a young child, most likely a boy. Then the screams broke into coughs before returning to a scream.
Bruce was the first one to break from a shocked state. He took off running to where he knew the bedrooms were and crashed through the door. What he found on the other side shocked him, to say the least.
Natasha stood in the middle of the room, cooing to a small, obviously malnourished child. The child had blond hair and stunning blue eyes that were only characteristic of one person, Steve Rogers. And unless they were all mistaken, Steve's sleep clothes sat on an unmade bed, a big no-no for a soldier like Steve. The man always made his bed and folded his clothes, even if they were dirty. There was no other way for Steve to do it.
But here holding a blond-haired, blue-eyed naked toddler was the most badass Russian assassin. And Natasha looked absolutely terrified.
"What's going on?" Bruce asked. Natasha shook her head and swallowed hard.
"This would be Steve Rogers," she said, with a small shake in her voice. "I came down because we-"
She broke off when Steve let out a particularly loud, ear-piercing scream of unhappiness. He threw his hands behind his head and pulled at his short hair, like he was trying to pull it straight out of his hair. Natasha quickly thrust the small body to Bruce, who took the boy immediately. Bruce began to bounce him lightly in the vain hope that Steve would calm down.
"I came down because we were going to spar this morning before brunch. Steve was like this, swaddled in the clothes he'd been wearing last night when he fell asleep on the couch. He'd probably walked himself to his room early this morning after falling asleep on the couch, and went back to sleep. But he woke up like this. I'm thinking Hydra," Natasha explained.
Steve kicked his feet and caught Bruce in the stomach. He doubled over a smidge and grunted, holding on to Steve still. He had a rather powerful kick for such a young age.
"Probably," Tony said with a slight hum. "It was most likely them. Any news from Bucky in the last 48 hours?"
The whole room fell silent at the mention of Bucky. Steve looked up at Tony, hiccupping and letting out tiny wheezes as he stared up at the older man. Everyone's head whipped to the now-silent boy and wondered what the connection was.
"Bu-Buck-ee?" the boy hiccupped out. He scrubbed at his eyes and sniffled. "Wan' Buck-ee!"
Thor reached over to take Steve, smiling at the young babe.
"Shield-brother Steve, we shall find Bucky for you," Thor said. He tossed Steve into the air and then caught him again. Steve let out a scream of terror and clung to the God when he was caught again. The scream turned into a wheeze and a round of coughing that made even Thor wince.
Clint glared and took Steve into his own arms. He set Steve up so that the boy was sat up in his arms, back against his chest and legs dangling down.
"You don't throw kids up and down when you don't know how old they are, Thor!" he almost yelled. Steve let out a whimper and kicked his feet as he struggled to take in a good breath. Clint put his hand on the boy's wrist, subtly taking his pulse. It was racing and Clint could hear a tell-tale wheeze in the boy's chest.
"Bruce, I think we need to get him to Medical," he said suddenly. "He's got a wheeze and his heart is racing."
"I know. Try and find him a blanket or something. I'll take him," Bruce said. He allowed himself to take a tiny boy and settled him so that Steve was able to push his face against his neck.
He rubbed the boy's back and continued to bounce him up and down, treating him like he would a small child. Steve hiccupped and the coughed hard, his throat working hard as mucus moved from his lungs into his throat, almost blocking the airway.
"Wh-Wheh's Momma?" Steve questioned. HE tried to scrub at his eyes, but his movements seemed uncoordinated and weak. His hand didn't curl up in a fist like a normal child's would.
Natasha looked up at Bruce as the man contemplated what to say. Clint appeared with a nice thick blanket and the wrapped Steve in it quickly, wishing they had any type of clothes for Steve. Was he even potty trained at this point? Was he able to use a bathroom? Could he walk, or was he a slow walker? God, he was tiny too. He wasn't as big as one of his thighs had been previously and his little legs looked like toothpicks.
"Your Momma dropped you off with us," Bruce said. "We're the Avengers, and we take are of people. She wanted the best of the best to take care of you!" He gave Steve's side a little tickle and listened as the boy gave a tiny giggle. That giggle turned in to a wheeze a few moments after, but Bruce tried to ignore it.
"My name is Bruce and I'm 43 years old. How old are you?"
Steve wrinkled his nose and seemed to think hard for a moment or two before he held up two fingers.
"I'm two yea's o'd, Mr. Boose," he explained. Then he coughed and spat out a glob of green mucus.
"Okay, Steve. The woman over there is Natasha. And the guy with the beard is Tony. The big guy over there is Thor and the guy with the purple shirt is Clint. He was holding you last, huh?"
Steve nodded and threw his hands out to Clint, wanting to be held by the archer again. The wheezing continued heavily as Clint took the young boy in to his hands and settled him so that he was chest-to-chest with the young boy.
Clint felt his shirt being grabbed in a weak grip and head the sniffles. Then Steve dissolved into hard coughing yet again. Steve stuffed his face in Clint's neck and whimpered.
"Okay. We're going up to medical. Steve, do you take any medicines? Does your momma give you anything?"
Steve slowly nodded.
"Uh huh," he muttered. Steve smacked his lips a few times before he continued. "Momma gives them to me. Don' like 'um, Mr. Boose. Make my tummy hurt and make me sleepy."
Steve's head suddenly tipped back. He brought his hand up again, trying to scratch and rub at his face, but he ended up only hitting his chin. His eyes clouded over and his hand rested at Clint's collarbone. Natasha, believing him to simply be upset, reached her hand over and stroked at the boy's cheek. She smiled sweetly, wondering if he would calm down with a little bit of comfort.
"Steve, buddy, do you know the names?" Bruce asked as Clint patted the boy's back. Steve, however, didn't look at any of them. He stared blankly out at the wall behind Clint's head. Tony waved his hand in front of the boy's face.
"Steve?" Tony questioned.
Steve stared blankly out still. He seemed to stare right through Tony's hand as the man tried to catch his attention. Just a moment later, a minute after his staring spell had begun, he began to make chewing motions. His eyes fluttered open and shut rapidly and his lower legs began to kick very, very weakly. His right arm twitched slightly and his head started to bump against Clint's forehead as his head moved left and right. Bruce was silent for a good second, trying to process what was going on.
Then Clint spoke up.
"Bruce, he's having a seizure!"
Tony! Go get the elevator open! Have JARVIS get all his medical files and history. We have to know what he was on and what doses. He's having a seizure and it's probably a complex Absent, but it could go into a Grand Mal."
Tony rushed off and made his way into the hallway in order to open up the elevator. Steve continued to semi-thrash in Clint's arms, struggling to bring in a good breath as the seizure spasms forced air out of his lungs.
Bruce stood beside Clint and put his hands on Steve's shoulder.
"Okay, Clint. We need to move him onto his side, but in your arms. We have to get him to Medical. Do what I say."
They flipped Steve around in Clint's arms, resting him so that he was on his side with his back against Clint's chest. He then braced a small blanket, more like a dishtowel than anything, under the boy's head.
"Okay. Let's go."
They arrived at the elevator to find Tony and Thor slamming the 'UP' button religiously, mentally praying to any God or Godly being not on this Earth.
"J, Dude! We need Steve's previous medical records. Actually, Scratch that, I need everything on him! Medical Records, School records, Anything and Everything, J!" Tony sounded violently upset. "I want where he grew up, when and who his neighbors are! Contact Fury and tell him what's going on."
Bruce tried to keep a good pulse on Steve as he seized, but it was rather difficult. Finally, Bruce gently wrapped his hand on Steve's chin, keeping it slightly to the side in case he was to vomit or produce too much spit. Clint found himself holding Steve close to his chest and trying to keep his body in a weak grip. He didn't want to drop the frail child.
Bruce and Natasha kept their eyes on Steve's face, having a rather bad feeling about what was going on. If he was right, Bruce had a bad feeling that Steve's seizure could run into a Tonic-Clonic if they weren't careful.
"Sir? I have your information."
"Tell us, J!"
"Steve Grant Rogers. Born July 4, 1920 to Sarah and Joseph Rogers. Suffered from a severe astigmatism, severe epilepsy, scoliosis, approximately 75% deaf at age of 5. Has an arrhythmia, heart murmur, generalized heart trouble, angina, high blood pressure, rheumatic fever, stomach ulcers, pernicious anemia, flat feet, problems due to scarlet fever, high risk for juvenile diabetes, acute and chronic sinusitis, frequent colds, nervous trouble, and chronic fatigue. I am uncovering the rest as we go. Captain Rogers also suffered from physical injuries constantly," Jarvis announced.
Thor's chest puffed out and he cocked his head to the side a bit.
"Shield-brother Steve was born on the 4th of July?"
"You have got to be kidding me," Clint mumbled, mostly to himself. "Cap was born on the 4th? The guys who picked him must have picked him just for that! 'Get that man a uniform!'" Tony scoffed a little and then shook his head.
"Sir, according to intel and his file, Captain Roger's father was an alcoholic, but a rather good man when not drinking. He died when Steve was four, in 1924. His mother lived until he was 12. At that point she died of an untreated and advanced case of tuberculosis. She worked until her last day to pay for Captain Roger's medical bills. At that point, he lived on the streets and occasionally in orphanages. Both his parents were immigrants and immigrated to the US from Ireland two years before Steve was born."
Bruce tried to ignore the voice, only listening to the A.I. when he spoke about Steve's medical condition. He had a child seizing right in front of him and there was very little he could do to stop that right now. Listening wouldn't do anything, and neither would not listening, but Bruce found himself focused on Steve Rogers as his little body thrashed.
Steve's hand began to twitch ad hit at Clint's chest in a rather rhythmic motion, his legs moving even faster than before. Natasha reached down and stroked her hands through his hair, cooing softly in Russian. For an assassin, she sure was the motherly type.
The doors to the medical bay opened and not a moment too soon. They all fought to get out of the elevator, but Clint was able to squeeze his way out just a few moments before everyone else. He ran over and put the boy down on the bed. Bruce followed them and began to grab electrodes and other sensors.
"Tony, get me an IV Kit and Ativan. We need to stop this seizure."
Bruce and Clint pulled the blanket down off of Steve and then began to attach the electrodes to the two-year-old's chest. He even grabbed a few EKG sensors and placed them where the sensors would go to pick up his heartbeat.
Clint turned to Natasha, reverting into Russian in the stress of it all.
"Poluchit' sogrevayushchiy odeyalo! On zamerzayet." Get a warming blanket! He is Freezing.
Natasha immediately rushed off to get the warming blanket from one of the warmers that was situated around the room.
"Thor, use the cellphone and call Bucky, please. At least try and get him on the phone."
Tony tossed Bruce the IV kit and rushed over with the Ativan. Steve's hands and legs were really beginning to twitch at this point and Bruce knew that he was probably falling into another seizure, this time of a different type.
Bruce found a vein after a moment of looking. He quickly disinfected the area and swiped it down with a dry, sanitized wipe. He got the needle ready and looked at Natasha.
"Hold his arm for me," he commanded. "I need it steady for when I put the IV in. We can't let it blow."
Natasha and Clint quickly took his hand and, at the same time, helped to hold the boy down so he wouldn't thrash around too much. Clint perched on the edge of the bed as Bruce slid the needle into the skin and vein successfully. He snatched the Ativan from Tony and proceeded to inject it trhough the port.
Almost at once, Steve's body relaxed and the seizing slid to a stop. Bruce let out a breath of relief and sighed.
"What was that?" Clint asked. Tony swallowed back a bit of vomit and then opened his mouth once he was sure that he was okay.
"That was Steve Rogers falling into a Grand Mal seizure from a really weird other seizure."
Steve's eyes peeked open sluggishly a moment later. He felt the warming blanket be laid over him and let out a slow breath of contentness. It was nice and warm, like when Momma laid with him in the hospital. He missed it. Steve blinked at the men and woman.
Bruce was still rubbing at his face when he heard Steve's pulse begin to race violently. He snapped his head up and looked to the heart monitor, noticing a notibly high increase in his pulse. Clint placed his hand on the boy's arm, avoiding any of the leads, and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Stevie, try and calm down for me," Clint said. He gave it another squeeze and knelt down so that he was almost face-to-face with the boy.
"It's only Bruce, Natasha, Me, Tony, and Thor here. Do you remember who we are?" Steve let out a shiver and raised his hand to rub at his face.
His movements were still sluggish and hard to control, which confused Bruce for a moment. HE watched as Steve pulled his hand back from his face, still curled up in the loose fist, and rub at his nose without using his fingers.
"T' Aveng'rs," he mumbled. He threw his arms out towards Clint, looking to be picked up again. Clint picked the young boy up, blankets and all. The warm blanket they'd draped over him was still extremely warm and Clint gave a small shudder at the nice warmth.
"Did Momma go fo' Father?" Steve asked. "He gots sick after they said no d'inking. He couldn't see, Mr. C'int."
Bruce nodded in understanding and found himself knowing what had probably happened with Steve's father. At age two, Prohibition would have been in full-swing for the US. And people were dropping like flies for drinking things they really shouldn't have been drinking.
Steve sniffled and pushed his head into Clint's neck. He wanted his Momma and his Father here!
"Ba mhaith liom mo mháthair," he whimpered, though it was steadily turning into a steadier whine and cry.
"Young Steve, we know that you want your mother," Thor answered smoothly, knwing exactly what the boy had said. "She went to go do her work and will be back soon, little one. For now, you are staying with us."
Steve sniffed and picked his head up to take a look at the God.
"Tá a fhios agat na hÉireann?" You know Irish?
"This is AllSpeak, Young Steve. I can understand everything you say. May I hold you?" Thor held his hands out to Clint, who awaited an answer from Steve before he went to pass Steve over.
The boy nodded and held his arms out to Thor as the archer passed Steve over, but it was a careful movement, especially after Steve had had a seizure earlier.
"An féidir leat a chanadh? Le do thoil, an tUasal Thor? Le do thoil!" Steve pleaded. He sniffled and grabbed on to Thor's cape as an achor. "Beidh Máthair chanadh mé a chodladh. Tabhair chanadh dom? Le do thoil. Aon amhrán."
"What is he asking?" Bruce asked as he tried to hone in on the language that Steve was speaking. It was new to him, not a lot of people spoke it these days, it seemed. She was a little surprised at how fluent the child seemed, though.
"He said 'Can you sing? Please, Mr. Thor? Please.' Then he continued on to say 'Mother will always sing me to sleep. Please Sing to me? Please. Any song.' He wants me to sing him to sleep, I believe him to be tired."
Steve nodded at the last comment, punctuating what Thor had said with it. Tony took a moment to take a good look at Steve and noticed the bags under the boy's eyes, almost filling his skinny face.
"Nightmares?" he questioned. Steve continued to stare up at them, his eyes pleading for a nice song. Thor nodded and bounced the young boy on his hip as he waited. Then Thor turned to the boy and Steve's eyes began to sparkle with excitement.
"Over in Killarney,many years ago
My mother sang a song to me
in tones so sweet and low
Just a simple little ditty
in her good old Irish way
And I'd give the world if she could sing
that song to me this day
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don't you cry!
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an Irish lullaby.
Oft in dreams I wander
to that cot again.
I feel her arms a-hugging me
As when she held me then.
And I hear her voice a-hummin'
to me as in the days of yore,
when she used to rock me fast asleep
outside the cabin door.
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don't you cry!
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an Irish lullaby."
By the end of the song, Steve had fallen asleep and was gently snoring in Thor's arms. The sight of a small boy in the big God's muscles actually created a serene picture.
They just hoped it would last.
Contact me at Tumblr ThatKidWithTheUnkeptHair if there's anything you'd like to see. I'm accepting prompts and will most likely be doing some oneshots as well.