Just a short fic in preparation for my upcoming Avengers fanfiction. A brief look into Captain Steve Rogers.

Every night, he falls asleep knowing it's 2012. He wakes up every morning in 1943.

It's always the same. Awareness slams into him before he even opens his eyes. He's lying in bed, his back against warm sheets, his face cooled by the air blowing in from an open window. He remembers falling asleep in his apartment in Brooklyn... Or was that just a dream? His thoughts are muddled, he can`t focus on what`s happening in his head. So he focuses on his surroundings instead.

The first thing he notices is the noise. It's constant, loud and clamoring; louder than he ever remembers New York being. People are shouting; some in salutation, some angrily, some happily. There is a constant, never ending din of speech permeating the air. Horns are honking furiously and something is banging ceaselessly across the cobbled streets. This Brooklyn is louder than the one he knows; it's different.

The second thing he notices is the smell. His sense, so much sharper since the injection of the super soldier serum, can smell and taste a burning, acrid odor that settles unpleasantly on his tongue. The polluted air wafts across his face with each gust from the open window. It carries with it the smell of coffee, freshly baked bread, and a sharp tinge of rusted metal. It smells like the city, but not as he remembers it. This city is not as clean as Brooklyn as he remembers it.

The third thing he notices is how bright it is. Sunlight pierces through his closed eyelids, tingeing the world a bloody reddish hue. He opens his eyes quickly, squinting as the harsh light meets his face. Then his piercing blue eyes have adjusted, and he stares at the ceiling above him, finding shapes in the puckered texture of the paint job. It's white, perfect and pristine. The paint is flawless, not even stained and almost fresh. It's not the faded, peeling off-white shade of the roof of his apartment at home in Brooklyn. Where is he?

His reflexes, lightning fast and almost unconscious since his transformation, kick into action, and he springs from beneath the soft blankets covering him. His hands curl into tight fists, raised defensively up to his face. He lands on the balls of his feet on a warm, carpeted floor. The floor of his apartment in Brooklyn is wood; hard and cold year round. His body is tense as he whirls around, searching the room for any signs of a threat. There's nothing. He's alone.

Slowly, he lowers his fists and stands more upright as he takes in his surroundings. A bed lies in the centre of the room, sheets mussed from his sudden awakening. Beside it, a small table holds a shaded lamp, and several framed photographs. A shot of Peggy, the same one enclosed in his compass. One of him, dressed in full uniform, standing with several other men and a red-haired woman. An older, tea-stained photograph of him next to a smiling Bucky. On the wall across the room, a shiny black screen covers a large area of the wall, reflecting his wide eyes and gaping mouth back to him. A window is open in the room, looking out on to glass and metal and brick; buildings stretching from the ground to the sky and beyond. Every tower looks new, some are still under construction. Repairs after the damages caused by the Chitauri attack.

It all comes flooding back to him then. Where he is... When he is. It's 2012, and he is in Stark Tower, home of the famous Avengers. Earth's Mightiest Heroes. He is Steve Rogers, Captain America, the First Avenger. The leader. The one who always has a plan. The one who everyone counts on. The one who is never, ever hesitant, who never, ever shows his fear, and who always knows exactly what`s going on. If only his team could see him now.

He trips backwards a step and sits down heavily on the bed as the full weight of this realization hits him. It's 2012. He's 70 years out of his own time. Everyone he knew; Bucky, Peggy, Howard, Dr. Erksine, Timothy... all dead. Peggy, the woman he loved, dead after waiting 70 years for a dance. His right partner. His face burrows into his hands and he sighs. Every night, he dreams about her. About all of them. About his time, living during the war. He dreams of fighting alongside them all again, combating against HYDRA. Every mission, every bead of sweat, every drop of blood feels real to him.

He falls asleep in peace. He wakes up back in the war.

Someone is banging on the door to his room, and he's tempted to tell them to just go away. But he doesn't. He never does. Every morning he gets up and does what he needs to do. For the team. It's Bruce, quietly reminding Steve that breakfast is ready, and would he like some coffee? Bruce leaves, and he's alone again. He dresses for the day, in clothes that went out of fashion years ago. Much like he did. Captain America was a hero for another time, when being an American meant something more. When it still had ideals to fight for. He does up the last button and sighs again, taking in his reflection in the full length mirror on the door of his closet. Today, he pledges to be Steve Rogers: Captain America. He will lead his team. Because they need him, almost as much as he needs them.

Every morning, he promises himself that it will all get easier. He tells himself that this time will become his again; that he'll find someone new to love, he'll find himself again and he'll adjust. He'll learn to wake up in the morning knowing who and where and when he is. Every morning, he swears to himself that it will get a little bit better.

Every morning, he prays that he's right.

Reviews?

Who knows, maybe I will do one of these for every character... Does any one have any preferences? If I have time, I'll write the others.