Picking Up the Pieces is actually a 4 part series. Each part can stand alone which is why this is marked complete. However, I will be posting all 4 parts together in this story as chapters so it is easier to find them.

Dedicated to newgrangespirals who flails with me and lets me vent my feels and bounce ideas.

**Side Note: I hate 's formatting and organization, but I crosspost for the sake of readers. If you want to read this in its original (ideal) format or download it, you can find me on Archive of Our Own under the same name (ninasdreams).**

Part 1: Remnant

When the Battle of New York ends, Steve finds himself adrift.

The serum patches him up, grounds crews and armies of volunteers begin clearing the wreckage…life carries on, even if there is some stumbling along the way. And despite their volatile beginnings, the Avengers had formed some fledgling bonds. Tony takes them under his wing (and under his roof) afterward, telling them the invitation is extended indefinitely. In the tower they are safe from prying eyes, able to let go and decompress—to come to grips with just how close the world was to destruction.

The media swarm is relentless throughout. Some scent blood in the water, calling out the government for concealing the truth about aliens, hounding SHIELD and the Avengers over damages (because that's clearly more important than lives saved). But most of the uproar is laser-focused on the band of heroes who'd defended the city. Headlines splash across newspapers and billboards for weeks, websites spawn faster than even JARVIS can track them.

Earth Protected by Heroes and Gods

We Are Defended — Earth's Mightiest Heroes

Who Are Earth's Heroes?

America's Icon, Back From the Dead

The attention is overwhelming. Natasha and Clint melt into the background like the trained assassin's they are and Tony turns on his mega-watt charm to divert attention from Bruce. Steve has neither advantage (though he's definitely gonna ask Nat about blending in sometime). Everywhere he goes they hound him, firing questions like bullets.

"What's it feel like to wake up in the modern world, Captain?"

"How are you adjusting?"

"Can Americans expect to see you out and about?"

"Have you met anyone of note?"

"Will you go back to being America's figurehead?"

"What was it like being frozen for 70 years?"

Steve stops going out.

They can't hide away forever. Clint and Natasha still work for S.H.I.E.L.D., Thor needs to return his brother to Asgard, Tony and Bruce are gearing up to leave New York for awhile ("Bit of a high-stress environment right now, Cap.").

And Steve…Steve has no clue what he's supposed to do from here.

—

The nightmares start a few weeks after the battle.

He's standing in the middle of smoking wreckage. Buildings that once towered in testament to humanity's progress now lie in crumpled heaps, the steel skeletons slanted in a grim new skyline. Everywhere he looks there are bodies. Natasha's fiery hair now dulled by dirt and dust and ash. A scarlet arm is all he can see of Tony, buried beneath rubble. Somewhere in the distance the gnashing screech of the Chitauri echoes.

The sky rains ash.

Steve wakes from that one sweat-soaked and choking on the taste-smell-feel of soot. He races to the bathroom where he stays retching for half an hour.

He doesn't go back to sleep.

—

A woman calls to tell him the Smithsonian Museum is preparing an exhibit about him. He cringes, glad the project manager on the line can't see. It's in honor of your extraordinary war efforts she tells him. Steve doesn't think what he did is any more important than others who fought the war.

He tells her as much.

Not just him, the woman insists cheerfully, completely missing the discomfort that creeps into his voice. The exhibit will include interviews and accounts from and about the Howling Commandos, Peggy Carter, and Howard Stark. She tells him there are plans to include a memorial to Sergeant Barnes.

Steve whispers agreement and hangs up, fighting back the tears welling up. Waking up to the future, to the graves of friends he'd just fought side-by-side with the day before (or so it felt)…it had been jarring and depressing. But they had all lived full lives from what he could tell (it was the first thing he checked once he'd gotten the hang of Google).

All but one.

He can barely hear over the roaring wind as the train races along, heart slamming in his chest as he panics. Reaching, muscles screaming as he pushes his body to inch quickly but carefully forward.

There, almost there.

Stormy eyes stare up at him, wide and bright with terror and he's almost there almost far enough.

"Grab my hand!"

Lungs seize, fingers gripping tightly as he stretches down, reaching—

Metal gives and the only sound is screaming.

Steve slams into wakefulness, scream still issuing from his raw throat.

He cuts the sound off, violently clenching his teeth, but it doesn't help. He can't stop his body from trembling, can't stop the gasping sobs that bubble up and choke him. For a moment it feels like the asthma attacks he got before the serum, his body turning against him and tearing itself apart.

Back then it was Bucky who held Steve through the attacks, Bucky who whispered promises of It's okay, just breathe. Breathe with me, Stevie.

But Bucky is gone, fell to his death in the blink of an eye and Steve doesn't need his eidetic memory...not for this. Bucky's death is seared into his soul, a wound that will bleed and bleed and bleed until the day Steve finally dies.

It's not the first time Steve's cried for his best friend (charred walls in a blitzed London can attest).

It is the first time that he wishes he'd died with him.

—

Fury comes to him a month later.

Steve is the last Avenger in the tower besides Tony. The others have gone their separate ways and Tony is packing for Malibu (Steve's pretty sure the man's stalling for his sake). Steve's taken to going for a run around Central Park which was mostly spared major damage.

It's on one of these runs that he finds Fury waiting for him on the steps of the Met. The man sticks out in his solid black get up and eye patch, but the confident (mildly threatening) air he exudes has people steering clear.

Steve slows to a stop as Fury approaches, giving a small nod in greeting. "Director."

"Nice to see you too, Captain. You've been rather difficult to get a hold of since your team was debriefed."

Steve shrugs. "Stark was rather firm about enforcing the 'no contacting S.H.I.E.L.D. unless it's an emergency' rule. Something about even heroes needing a break after preventing an alien invasion."

Fury arches an eyebrow but lets the excuse slide. "I'd like to make you an offer, Rogers, one I think you'll be rather keen on."

"All do respect, sir, the last time you came to me with an 'offer' I ended up stuck in the middle of a sibling rivalry between gods with the continued existence of humanity hanging in the balance."

"As I recall you ended up saving humanity."

"And nearly lost a teammate because S.H.I.E.L.D. considered the population of this city to be an acceptable sacrifice," Steve points out, tensing a bit in remembered panic.

"That nuke was launched on the orders of the World Council," Fury bites out, "not mine. Now are you going to hear me out or shall I take my offer elsewhere."

Steve takes a calming breath and nods.

"Thank you. I want you to take a field position with S.H.I.E.L.D. Specifically I'd like you to lead our top strike team," Fury explains.

Steve frowns. "And what exactly does that entail?"

"Housing, benefits, vacation time, your standard extractions, covert ops…"

"You want me to be a spy?" Steve scoffs.

"Not a spy...a leader. You have an impressive tactical skill set and it would be a shame to let it go to waste. Besides," Fury adds with a knowing smirk, "weren't you the one who wanted to protect and serve?"

"I didn't sign up to play shadow games," Steve responds.

"This is the modern era, Rogers. Everyone, especially our enemies, operates in the shadows."

"I'll think about it."

"You do that," Fury says walking to the black SUV that's pulled up to the curb. "You know how to contact me."

—

It's a conversation a couple days later with Tony that decides him.

They're both up late (Bucky's scream keeps echoing), hot chocolate in hand (Steve's pretty sure Tony's is spiked), and they're sitting side by side on the couch Clint dubbed the crash couch.

"Hot chocolate used to be my favorite," Tony pipes up out of the blue. His voice is heavy with exhaustion (Steve recognizes the haunted look of relentless nightmares in those eyes), but there's a note of fondness too. "My Aunt Peggy, well she wasn't technically my aunt but anyway she used to make it for me when she watched over me while my parents were away doing—"

"Peggy?!" Steve chokes. "Peggy Carter?"

Tony's babbling comes to a halt, eyes comically wide in realization. "Oh, I didn't—I never made the connection before," Tony admits sheepishly. "She didn't talk too much about the war with me, just alluded occasionally to 'friends from the war'. It always made her sad."

Steve doesn't know what to say, has so many questions and yet, is afraid of the answers. He tries for an easy one.

"She and Howard stayed in touch?"

Tony grins. "She helped him found S.H.I.E.L.D. Dad used to say there was no one else he'd rather work with."

And wasn't that Peggy through and through. Brilliant, sharp-tongued, and full of conviction—a woman unwilling to be treated as anything less than equal. Steve feels a swell of pride that she made a name for herself, that the world saw her for the amazing woman she was. He tries to ignore the sharp pain in his chest that comes with knowing he missed it.

"Why-" Steve rasps. Clears his throat. "Why 'Aunt Peggy'?"

Tony shrugs.

"Just what I called her, I guess? I mean she wasn't a blood relative but she was always over when she had time." Tony smiles fondly at some memory. "She was the only one who came to my science fairs as a kid."

Steve wonders why Howard didn't. "What happened?"

Brown eyes darken. "I was in a bad place when my parents' accident happened. I went a bit…off the rails afterward. Drugs, booze, sex…you name it, I probably tried it. By the time Obie-Obadiah snapped me out of it and put me through rehab, Peggy and I had lost touch." Tony's brow furrows. "In retrospect, Obadiah probably had something to do with that."

There's a lot more to that story, but Steve knows it's not his place to pry. He has one particular question but he finds the words jamming in his throat.

Eventually he manages to ask, "Do you know what happened to her?"

Tony shrugs though his eyes are sympathetic. "Last I heard she'd gotten married and had a family. But the last time I actually saw her was at my parents' funeral."

Steve nods, squashing the little spark of hope in his heart that she may still be out there somewhere. Better to accept that she like everyone else—

"I can find out if, you know, if you wanted to know."

And Steve doesn't have it in him to say no.

He gives another mute nod in response and the room falls silent again. They both sit there mulling over the past, the sound of their sipping the only thing to interrupt the quiet.

"He looked for you, ya know," Tony mumbles after a few minutes. Steve glances over at him, watching warily as he swirls the contents of his mug absentmindedly. He's learned pretty quickly that Howard is a touchy subject with Tony, so he's surprised Tony is the one initiating such a conversation.

"Howard?" He remembers Coulson mentioning it on the trip to the Helicarrier, but the way Tony winces minutely distracts him.

"Yeah, he uh, he spent a lot of his time when he wasn't working going on expeditions to find the Valkyrie. Always wanted to go with him but Dad said no every time. Didn't want to be distracted." Tony gets this far off look, as if he's no longer speaking to Steve. "I used to think maybe, if I was more like Captain America, I might actually have a shot at holding his attention like that."

And that…that's the final straw really.

Since the moment he woke barely three months ago, nothing has made sense and it just seems like everything hurts. Weeks of needles and poking and prodding and answering "Yes, I feel fine" and "No it's not, but I'll adjust" to get released from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s barrage of doctors and psychiatrists. Steve's not fine though. There's nothing fine about walking the streets he used to know as sure as he knew his own name, only to find that everything's gone and changed or disappeared altogether.

He's a soldier returned from war to find that life moved ahead without him and now he's just a stranger in a strange land, scrabbling for purchase.

He wakes each morning to the knowledge that everyone he's ever known has lived and died while he just existed. The Avengers have helped to dull some of that ache, but they're all broken souls and bonds forged in the heat of battle don't translate to intimate trust and easy companionship overnight. The overwhelming attention of the media isn't helping, a constant presence clawing at the shreds of his sanity.

Steve can't stay in New York, not right now. Knows by the tightness in his chest and the clench in his heart that staying in this city with all its ghosts will break him.

Looking at Tony now, processing this new knowledge about Howard…Steve just, can't.

He can't fathom how the man who helped him cross enemy territory to save his probably dead best friend, who wrapped him in an uncharacteristic hug after he'd returned with Zola but without Bucky, who'd been right there with Peggy and the rest of the Commandos picking up the pieces and forcing Steve to take one step after the other until the desperate need to obliterate HYDRA overrode his grief—

How could that same Howard have turned around and become a man who could break something so fundamental in his own brilliant son with years of neglect?

It's just one letdown too many.

"I'm gonna take Fury up on his offer."

Tony stops in the middle of whatever he's been saying. He opens his mouth to object and Steve cuts him off.

"I can't-" his breath hitches. "I can't stay here right now. I just…"

He lets the word trail off, unable to articulate the suffocating feeling that becomes more and more intense each day. Tony stays silent, eyes searching Steve's face for whatever it is that sharp mind needs to know in this situation. He must find something in Steve's strained features because he sighs and slumps further into the couch cushions.

"Aright, Cap. Do what you gotta do." Tony rubs the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. "You don't need my approval anyway."

Steve feels a weight lift at Tony's understanding. "You're a good man, Tony."

Tony gives him a small tight smile. "Just don't let yourself get caught up in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s game, alright? Their record isn't exactly spotless."

Steve smiles.

"Yeah, okay."

They finish their drinks in comfortable silence.

—

Steve leaves three days later.

He's stopped by Tony on his way out the door. Tony fidgets awkwardly in place, uncharacteristically silent. He opens his mouth, stops, closes it again. Steve can't help but find it amusing and a bit endearing.

"Spit it out, Tony."

That seems to give the genius an extra push. "I uh…I looked up, well JARVIS looked up some stuff about Aunt Peggy."

He hands Steve a black folder with the Stark logo emblazoned on the front. Steve feels his heart skip a beat as he opens it.

"Funnily enough she's right in DC," Tony barrels on, "a place called Ingleside." Steve is still in shock processing, and Tony grows awkward at the lack of response. "I just, um, look I'm really not that good with this kind of thing but I thought you should know. You don't have to if you don't—"

Steve pulls him into a tight embrace, duffel bag forgotten by the door. "Thank you," he croaks, struggling to hold back a wave of emotion.

"Yeah…anytime."

When Steve gathers himself and releases him, Tony clears his throat nods. "Remember, saving the world is great and all but don't let S.H.I.E.L.D. turn you into one of their mindless drones. I'd hate to have to come over and knock some sense back into that super soldier skull of yours."

Steve laughs and reaches for his bag, folder cradled close to his chest.

"Noted."

He steps into the elevator with his meager belongings, surprised to find he'll miss the tower and its resident genius.

"Don't forget," Tony calls as he presses the button for the lobby, "mi casa es su casa."

The doors slide shut on Steve's grateful nod.

When he walks out onto the shockingly paparazzi-free streets, he takes one last glance at the buildings still standing tall around him, proof of the city's resilience.

For once the ache of not belonging, of being directionless in the modern world, is not so immediate. Avengers tower and its occupants aren't home, not yet, and the ache of his lost friends (the ghost of Bucky that haunts Brooklyn's streets) hasn't lessened any.

Steve isn't fine, not by a long shot. But for once, things may be getting better.