The elderly leader gulped audibly and raised his hands, scooting away from the nightstand.

"Iron Man," he nodded towards the metal suit. "Black Widow," he tilted his head toward the woman silhouetted in the window. "Hawkeye," he curtly motioned towards the arrow sticking out of his bed.

"What can I do for you today?"

"You can call off the hit on Captain America, for starters," the metal voice of Iron Man replied. "Then maybe move to another hotel cos seriously, I crunched six roaches just walking up one flight of stairs. I thought evil geniuses were supposed to stay in five-star hotels with their own personal butlers and all the steak and caviar they could eat."

"It's not so easy to afford all that when your home has been burned to the ground."

"I can't say I'm sorry considering what you did to the Captain."

"He stole my life's work," the older man shrugged. "What was I to do?"

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. Iron Man lifted one arm, the palm glowing with white light, and the evil mastermind struggled to keep the fear off his face.

"Not trying to kill Captain America would have been a good start."

The man grinned ferally. "You misunderstand my intentions. Killing him will be a last result. I only want my…item…returned."

The three Avengers instantly picked up on the change in tense.

"You've hired someone else," Clint said evenly, his face impassive.

"It wouldn't be any fun if I confirmed that statement, now, would it?"

Natasha loaded a bullet into the chamber of her handgun. "Not for you, at least. I, however, will have a grand time getting you to reveal the assassin's name."

The elderly man didn't look amused. "You Americans have your laws, your rights, your ideals. You cannot kill me—not without a fair trial."

"Kill?" Natasha scoffed. "That would be too merciful."

The man blinked owlishly but said nothing.

"Let's clear something up," Iron Man said. "There is no possible way you break into my Tower and kill Captain America—the odds of you being successful are astronomical. There's no way you're that stupid."

The man laughed. "And that is why your system will fail, Tony Stark. Your arrogance blinds you to your building's weaknesses. You must know this is true or else you would not be so concerned about my plans."

"I don't like leaving things to chance," Iron Man countered.

"Threatening to kill him isn't going to work," Hawkeye spoke up, having silently been analyzing the man's actions and guarded words. "He's not afraid to die—he'd rather be a martyr for his cause than to give up its secrets."

Natasha recognized the truth behind her partner's statement and quickly switched tactics. "Let's take him back to headquarters then," she holstered her weapon and pulled out her handcuffs. "Stark, how difficult would it be to manufacture a document that details his full cooperation with S.H.I.E.L.D. and any other federal agency in exchange for a lighter sentence?"

"Child's play. Leaking it to press will be even easier," he looked pointedly at the man. "I wonder what the rest of your group is going to say when they hear you narc-ed on them…Can't imagine that will go over well when you're all sharing a wing in county."

"You wouldn't," the man spat, emotion coloring his face for the first time.

"Oh, trust us. We would."

The elderly man's glare was deadly.

"With that on the table, let's review our options," Clint began. He nodded to Natasha who pulled a S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue cell phone from her belt and tossed it onto the bed. "You contact your man and arrange a meet to discuss new developments in Stark Tower's security or we run that story. You tip him off in any way and we'll unleash the Widow." He paused for dramatic effect. "Then, we'll run that story."

The man stared at the device lying on the brightly colored comforter but made no motion to pick it up.

"If that wasn't incentive enough, I can see Hawkeye's getting a little tired holding that bowstring back so…I suggest you hurry," Iron Man added.

Noticing the man's confident front faltering slightly, Stark turned to the Widow. "How should we title the article, Romanov?"

"I think 'Self-serving bastard who sold out his organization to save his own ass' has a nice ring to it."

"JARVIS?"

"I am writing it as we speak."

The man's stoic exterior lasted for all of sixty seconds after that declaration. He deflated noticeably, his shoulders rounding as he slouched against the headrest.

"Wait," he sighed and reached for the phone.

Ninety minutes later, the dead silence was interrupted by a loud squelching.

"Number nine," Tony grumbled as he lifted up his boot to reveal the remains of a cockroach smeared across the wood flooring.

Natasha didn't even look up from the weapon she had systemically stripped down and was now cleaning. The elderly man, who continually refused to reveal his name, was sitting in the far corner, handcuffed to a sturdy wooden chair. Clint appeared to be casually leaning against the wall though Natasha knew he was listening intently to the feeds from microphones he had placed in the hallway.

"It's showtime," he whispered suddenly. He straightened up and reached for his bow seconds before a key could be heard scraping the inside of the lock. The repulsors in Tony's hand began to silently glow and Natasha pulled a second handgun from her belt, training it on the entrance.

The door creaked open and a dark-haired man entered, his gun moving from left to right as he cleared the space in front of him. As he passed, Clint quietly stepped out from behind the door and rested the barrel of his P30 behind the hitman's ear.

"Welcome to the party, pal," he quipped.

The man slowly raised his hands into the air, his weapon dangling from his index finger by the trigger guard.

"We've got him," Natasha muttered into her comm as she disarmed the hitman. Then, she pulled a set of handcuffs from her belt, tossed them towards her partner and kept her weapons trained on the enemy until Barton managed to cuff his hands behind his back.

"You betrayed me!" the newcomer hissed at the elderly man while Clint attempted to Mirandize him.

"I didn't have a choice," the man spat back. "Tell him!" he turned to Iron Man, his eyes beseeching.

"Oh, he had a choice," Tony walked over and pulled the older man upright.

"You won't get away with this," the assassin continued, lunging toward his employer.

"At this point, I'd worry less about what he did and start figuring out how you're going to survive in the pen," Stark offered helpfully while Barton tightened his grip on the incensed man.

"You do realize no one actually calls it that," Clint responded.

"Semantics," Tony lifted one shoulder indifferently.

The Avengers led their suspects to the door where two armed agents had magically appeared, waiting to take the men into custody.

"Yippee ki-yay, m—" Clint began as he handed the younger man to Agent Ward but was interrupted by the hitman who was bellowing far worse obscenities at the elderly man.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Really, Barton?"

"It's a gift," Barton replied, sliding his weapon back into its holster and stepping out of the doorway to allow the crime scene technicians into the room.

As they watched S.H.I.E.L.D. drag the struggling men down the hallway, Tony's face contorted into a scowl. "Officers, take him away," he shouted, even though the men were already out of earshot.

He turned back to Clint and Natasha and flipped up his faceplate. "That was overkill, wasn't it? I mean, Barton had that really great line and I wanted to slip one in myself," he waited for their input and winced when he didn't get any. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I rushed it."

He thought for another minute.

"I do love it when a plan comes together?" he offered less confidently than before.

Natasha grimaced and patted Stark on the shoulder. "Maybe next time."

Refusing to concede, Stark scrunched up his face and racked his brain for a suitable quote.

"Home, James?"

"Give it up, Stark," Hawkeye said, slinging his bow over his shoulder. "You and I both know you can't win."

"Them's fightin' words, Legloas," Stark's eyes narrowed, his palm repulsor glowing slightly.

Surprise flashed over Barton's face and he quickly reached for an arrow.

Natasha stared at the ceiling, begging for patience, and stepped between the two of them. "I'd stop before Coulson revokes your Steve-visiting privileges."

"It's my tower," Stark snapped unhappily.

Natasha tilted her head to one side and fixed Tony with an amused look. "You really think that's going to stop him?"

Tony thought for another moment. "Probably not," he replied sourly.

The light disappeared from his palm and he extended his hand to Clint. "Another time?"

Hawkeye cautiously shook Iron Man's hand, still leaning back slightly to make a quick dive if necessary. "Sure?" he questioned uncertainly.

"Much better." Natasha patted them both on the shoulder patronizingly. "Now, let's get out of here. We have more important places to be."

Beep.

It was dark. He couldn't really feel his arms and legs, but the feeling wasn't worrying.

Beep. Beep.

In fact, he wasn't all that concerned about it. The darkness was quiet…peaceful.

He's waking up.

He could get used to this…Wait. Who was waking up?

B-b-beeeep.

Him? Was he supposed to be waking up? Had he been asleep?

B-b-b-beeeppp! B-b-b-b-eeeepp!

Where was he? And why was it dark!?

Hold him down!

Who? Him? Was he moving? He didn't feel like he was moving…

B-b-b-beeeep! B-b-b-beeeep! B-b-b-beeeeeep!

Then he felt pressure on his wrists and ankles and he reacted, throwing himself against the people holding him down. He was probably in enemy territory. He needed to get out. Now!

S'okay Steve! You're all right!

Like hell he was! He needed to get out of here! He thrashed harder against the remarkably strong forces pinning him to the bed.

Please do not exert yourself Captain! The healers are approaching!

He paused for a split second as he recognized the old-fashioned dialect that belonged to only one person.

"Thor?" he croaked without opening his eyes.

"FRIEND ROGERS!"

Steve winced as the loud tone drove nails into his already pounding head, now understanding why he hadn't been able to break free from Thor's incredible strength.

There was a sharp smack and an undignified cry of pain. "Lady Widow. I do not—"

"Keep it down Thor."

The Asgardian's next words were much quieter. "You've awakened, Friend Rogers."

There were some muffled footsteps—soft sneakers if Steve had to guess—then an unfamiliar voice spoke.

"Can you open your eyes for me, Captain Rogers?"

With great concentration, Steve managed to crack one eye open; it was a monumental task considering his eyelids felt like they were made of heavy metal. He stared at the blurry figures in front of him, managing to recognize Thor's blond hair to his right and a white lab coat to his left. He blinked lethargically and the world fell into focus.

"Welcome back, Captain," a male doctor said. "How are you feeling?"

He still couldn't feel much of anything, but from the general complaining when he tried to shift even slightly, he was sure that wasn't going to last long.

"S're," Steve decided after a second.

"Well that's to be expected, Captain. You've been asleep—"

Panic shot through Steve's system as he flew upright in bed, ignoring the pain in his chest and lower back as he did so. Someone else had begun a sentence in that exact manner and the results had literally stunned him into silence.

He was no longer lying in the hospital room—he was standing in the middle of Times Square, his retinas burning as the bright lights flashed advertisements for things he didn't recognize and his ears aching with the cacophonous sound of screeches and clashes. His unfocused stare had eventually landed on the man dressed in a black trench coat.

You've been asleep Cap. For almost seventy years.

Seventy years. Everyone he had ever known was gone: the Howling Commandos, Colonel Phillips, Howard. Peggy. He couldn't handle sleeping for another seven decades, not after he had grown to trust another team.

"Rogers!" someone shouted, snapping him back to the present. During his flashback, he had apparently reached out and grabbed the lapels of the doctor's coat, pulling the man's face inches from his own. Breathing hard, Steve cleared his throat and managed to mumble, "…Year's it?"

Embarrassment clouded the doctor's face. "It's 2012," he gasped in Rogers' tight grip but he made no move to pull away. "I apologize Captain. You've only been asleep for four days."

"Four…days?" Steve repeated as he glanced toward Natasha and Thor for confirmation. Despite looking exhausted, they didn't look starkly aged from the last time he had seen them. Natasha shifted slightly so he could see Clint who had pushed two chairs together and wedged himself under the arms. Even though the lines of tension were absent from his face during sleep, it helped corroborate the doctor's statement.

"And a long four days it has been while we waited for you to wake from your slumber," the god expounded while the female Avenger just nodded.

"Four days?" he repeated.

Natasha reached into a small purse and pulled out a cell phone. She tapped a few buttons and held up the device so Steve could see the digital calendar with today's date circled in red. Sure enough, the day marked was in the same year he had fallen asleep.

He released the doctor, who fell back into a chair, his face a shade of blue. "Sorry," he mumbled to the wheezing physician.

"Quite alright," the man rasped as he straightened out his lab coat.

Steve caught sight of the odd-looking machine in the corner and instantly remembered the reason he had been unconscious in the first place.

He glanced at his hands, taking in every detail from the tiny muscles firing as he moved his fingers to the deep lines in his palm. Then, he clenched his fists feeling the sheer power race from his shoulders down to his fingertips. Finally, he put a hand on his rock-hard pectorals, noting the smooth, unblemished skin where bruises had been just a few days ago.

"So…" he began with a goofy grin. "It worked?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers," the doctor said, standing to his full height. "The re-introduction of the serum was a success."

A smile spread over Steve's entire face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, until it looked like his cheeks were going to split in two. He glanced around the room, quickly realizing two of his teammates were absent.

"Where are Tony and Bruce?"

"Pepper stopped by last night and took Stark and Banner back to the Tower for a decent meal and some uninterrupted sleep," Natasha explained. Since the Cap had gone through enough in the past week, she left out the part where Pepper had had to threaten Tony with some very creative things before he agreed. Banner hadn't wanted to impose, but since he looked as if he was going to literally collapse, convincing him to come back to Stark Tower hadn't taken much work at all.

"Oh," Steve felt oddly disappointed that the two men who had slaved for so long to achieve this feat weren't there to celebrate their accomplishment.

"Don't worry," Natasha quickly added as she saw the soldier's expression sadden. "I'm sure Pepper won't be able to keep Tony away for long."

And just like that, the mega-watt grin was back in place because Steve knew Natasha was right. And then, when they got back, he could try to express in words what their accomplishment truly meant to him, even though he had never been that great at public speaking. The Captain America spiel was just learning lines. Speaking from the heart was an entirely different story—a skill he had yet to master. But somehow, he had to try. They had literally given him everything Erskine and Stark Senior had the first time.

The pure joy radiating off the younger man was so infectious, Doctor Wilson found himself smiling as he grabbed a penlight and shone it directly into Steve's eyes. But the soldier didn't care—he willingly put up with the physical examination, allowing himself to be poked and prodded, knowing at the end of it, he was no longer just Steve Rogers, underfed boy who wasn't healthy enough to be drafted; he was once again Captain America, boy from Brooklyn who was making a difference.

Epilogue:

"I need you and your crew at the helipad in thirty," Director Fury snapped over the phone line.

"Can I ask what this is about, sir?" Steve Rogers asked as he began assembling his equipment.

"There's this idiot flying around on a hang glider throwing pumpkin bombs. What does he call himself?" Steve pulled the phone away from his ear as Fury shouted at his agents.

"The Green Goblin, sir," he heard a young agent respond meekly.

"Yes, this Goblin idiot. Think you and your team can handle it?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good."

There was a long pause during which Steve wasn't sure if he should hang up or wait for more orders.

"Captain?" Fury finally spoke up.

"Yes, sir?"

"It's good to have you back."

Then, the line clicked dead and Steve stared at the phone. If he wasn't mistaken, that was a compliment of sorts. Or, as close to a compliment as he was going to get from the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Over the last seven days, Rogers had endured weapons' testing and psychological evaluations—the standard for any operative that had been seriously injured, Clint and Natasha informed him.

During this time, he had been forced to sit out the case to avoid any biases in the evidence or reports but he had learned from Clint, Natasha and Stark that Eldridge had signed a full confession that enumerated the actions of the elderly man, whose name was still unknown; he was not registered in any national system and was found without any sort of identification. The passport he used for airport security had disappeared as well, but the name had been flagged in case any of his associates tried to use it again.

The second hitman, David Webb, was a much more prominent figure, symbolizing just how desperately this group wanted their Package back or Captain America dead. Eldridge's testimony, combined with the statements from the twenty other members of the organization, was more than enough evidence to incriminate the elderly leader and Webb.

Yet, as their pasts were thoroughly analyzed, no connection could be found between any of the suspects and the robot attack that had set this entire debacle in motion—none of them had the expertise or access to materials to achieve such a feat. This realization was not sitting well with Tony who believed coincidences were fewer and farther between than women who refused to sleep with him. After a few days of intense analysis that resulted in…nothing, even Stark had reluctantly stopped searching for the nonexistent link between the two, leaving it up to S.H.I.E.L.D. to continue pursuing all possible leads.

Finally, one grueling week after the reintroduction of the serum, Rogers had been cleared for active duty.

Then, there had been a span of three days where nothing had gone wrong in the entire city of New York. No bank robberies, no attacks from alien planets, no cats stuck in trees: absolutely nothing that required the Avengers' assistance.

Just when Steve was going to go Section Eight from the endless stream of movies and pop culture references he had to endure from Tony, Fury had called for a private meeting.

Which left him standing in an empty office wondering how he going to locate everyone. He assumed Tony and Bruce were somewhere in the Tower but he hadn't seen Romanov, Barton, or Thor since the informal party Pepper had thrown for his reinstatement.

"Find everyone in half an hour. Swell," he muttered to himself as he grabbed his neatly folded suit out of the briefcase he had brought to Stark Tower…Just in case.

"I think I may be able to help you with that, Captain," JARVIS' voice filtered into the room, startling Rogers.

He whirled around and glanced at the ceiling. "Um…that'd be great," he said after a pause.

"What would you like me to say?"

"Meet in the helipad in thirty?" he replied as a question, unsure if that was the response JARVIS was looking for. It was the type of message he usually sent: No frills. Just the facts.

There was a beat of silence. "If I may, sir, every team should have a catchphrase…"

"I don't understand what that means," Steve asked, staring curiously at the ceiling.

"The exact definition is 'a phrase in popular use, serving as a slogan for a group or movement'. For example, 'Hulk Smash' has become the catchphrase for Dr. Banner's alter-ego."

"So you think we need a catchphrase?" Steve clarified.

He could almost hear JARVIS shrugging. "I believe if you do not create one relatively soon, Mr. Stark will. And I do not believe you will be thrilled with the outcome."

Steve shuddered as he thought of Tony deciding the phrase by which their team would come to be known. No, he had to come up with one first.

Unconsciously scrunching up his face, the soldier thought for a long moment. 'All for One and One for All' was the first thing that popped into his mind, but he rejected it since it was already unique to the Three Musketeers. They needed something with 'Avengers' actually in it… Avengers Attack? Avengers Unite?

Then a smile spread slowly across his face.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think about 'Avengers Assemble'?"

The AI repeated the phrase a few times before answering. "Captain Rogers, I do believe you have picked a winner."

And that's the end of Identity Crisis. Thank you to everyone who alerted, favorited, reviewed or just read: your support was absolutely amazing, especially for an author who had never written a multi-chapter Avengers story before.

If you could spare a second, I'd love to know what you thought on your way out.

Until next time,

usa123