I'm on back from my hiatus! Somewhat! Also, just watch the First Avenger and got really inspired. Please tell me its not just me who thinks that Steve Rogers from the live action movies looks a ton like a real life America would.

Enjoy ~

Capulet chan does not own Marvel, Hetalia or any of the characters.

Carter fired three shots, making Steve fling up the vibranium in alarm. They ricocheted off and she smirked.

"Works," she said, before marching off, while Howard Stark and Steve just watched her, open mouthed. Without looking, Steve handed over a piece of paper.

"You said you liked it?"

"Yes."

Steve tested out his shield gingerly. It had been coated in red and blue, with a giant white star in the centre. Perfect. Just as Stark promised, it was light and easy to wield. As an experiment, he rammed a fist into it and winced at the rebound on his hand. The shield remained unharmed and he grinned.

"Oi, kid, get out here!"

He blinked, hurriedly strapped it on, and came out. The sergeant gave him a once over, still wearing his jeans and a plain white shirt while Carter gave him a disapproving sniff from the background, and he sighed.

"Well, its not like he's gonna look any better so, whatever. Rogers, come with me." He turned and walked away, Steve obediently falling into step behind him.

"Sir, what's–"

"I don't care how you did in your rescue mission, but you need to get better. Much better. Especially if you're planning on taking on the Red Skull himself. So, we decided to get you a trainer."

"Sir?" he asked, thoroughly confused now.

"Alfred F. Jones," Carter told him, her voice prim and unemotional. "A sergeant major who has been fighting on the front lines since America first joined the war. He, along with four others of equal rank, have been called over to New York to give you some well needed tips."

The three emerged into a large arena, occupied by a ring, some ginormous weights and targets all around the room, as well as a few officers monitoring. In the corner, Stark shot him a short wave and he held his hand up in reply. No one out of the ordinary was there and the general growled deep in his throat.

"Late. Absolutely typical of that immature-"

"THE HERO IS IN THE BUILDING!"

The roar shook the entire arena and one of the high windows smashed in. Steve burst into life, yanking out his shield and taking a stance, ready to attack anything that landed. He wasn't expecting a blonde kid, about nineteen, to come flying, way out of control, through the smashed window, only to land in the heap of broken glass that had cascaded down with him. The arena was filled with a kind of stupefied silence as a blonde head popped up, hurriedly rearranging the square rimmed glasses balancing on his nose. Steve blinked at the distinct sound of the kid saying; 'note to self; When jumping in through windows, avoid the glass', before the teen burst from the rubble and bounced over to him. He was tall and lean, yet his bright blue eyes had a strange youth and naivety to them that seemed to contradict the aviation jacket he sported.

"Hey General, what's the sitch?" he asked cheerfully, not even bothering to salute. The general simmered before jutting his chin.

"This is the man I wanted you to meet, so mind your manners Jones." The exuberant one turned, beaming, to Steve ,before extending his arm in what was clearly an invitation to shake hands. Steve just stared, mouth slightly open, before pointing down somewhat awkwardly.

"Umm, I'm not sure your arm should look like that." He pointed and the man looked down to see that his lower arm, which should have been aligned with his elbow and jutting out to Steve, was actually pointing the opposite way in what looked like some kind of demented dislocation. He stared at her blankly for a few seconds, before his face went white as a sheet and he began screaming.

"ARGH! HOLY CRAP THAT IS NOT NATURAL! ARTHUR! MY ARM! MY ARM! HELP!"

"Will you shut up?!"

The angry snarl caught Steve by surprise, and he spun around to see another blonde with the most absurdly bushy brows glaring at Jones' freak out. He was perched on a couch tucked in the corner, a book laid out beside him and a distinctly displeased expression on his face. Before Steve could even process the fact that he had managed to miss this newcomer, Jones had bounced over to the couch, holding out his strange arm and began to hysterically whine about it to bushy brows. The man tried to calm Jones down, but the argument escalated to volumes that made all surrounding personal wince, not to mention Steve's much finer hearing was getting a great workout. Finally, the bushy browed man had had enough and slapped Jones soundly across the face. Jones stopped immediately and blinked, in which time, the other took the chance to smash his arm. Steve flinched audibly at the distinct snapping sound as Jones screeched, before hurriedly twisting his arm. It was flinging at unhealthy rates, yet Steve's eyes popped as, slowly, the twirling became more controlled and manageable. Finally, Jones sighed in relief and held out his damaged arm out to Steve, normal once more. Steve's mind barely processed anything other than the fact that his handshake was really strong despite his arm being rather badly dislocated twice in the past minute or so. The general growled.

"Kirkland!" the one with the brows looked up. "I trust you more than this guy! Where in God's name are the other three?"

A distinct scoff was sent his way. "If that perverted frog wants to take his time, than by all means, let him sleep in."

He was interrupted by a solid kick in the head and Steve could only wilt in more stunned amazement as a small man, clearly Chinese, landed on the edge of the couch, having performed a kung fu stunt he was pretty sure was only described in old sailors tales of the East.

"You westerners are so immature!" He huffed indignantly. "I am your elder and you should be waiting for me in the mornings!"

"Dude, Yao, chill, you sound like an old man." Jones pouted, earning him his own kick.

"I'm still just as sprightly as any of you youngsters!"

"Yao, this isn't about you," Kirkland replied slowly, in the voice one uses when talking to someone a bit dim. It wasn't appreciated. "It's about the Super Soldier program."

The Chinese man, Yao, shot Steve a skeptical look, before slumping on the lounge beside Kirkland.

"Hmph. Western technologies," he grumbled, like the mere sight of Steve was a literal offense.

"Western technologies are awesome!"

"Excuse me!" Another person appeared, looking incredibly peeved. "But some of us are trying to enjoy zis moment of beautiful tranquillity!"

"You frenchy stupid face!"

"Your insults are so horrible, your compliments would be probably be better to use!"

"Now, now~" The final voice came in, and every single person in the room felt an irresistible urge to shiver. "Fighting doesn't solve anything~ we should all get along~ After all, eventually, we'll all be one with Mother Russia, da?"

A ginormous man, wearing a tan coat and a trailing white scarf, appeared behind the Frenchman, smiling innocently. Steve looked into his eyes and felt fear. Yao snorted.

"Do not say such things during war. People get suspicious."

"ALL OF YOU!" the general finally roared, seeming to have had enough of their antics, "FALL IN LINE! NOW! IF YOU DON'T, I'LL PERSONALLY BE SPEAKING TO THEIR LEADERS OF YOUR COUNTRIES AND YOU WILL ALL BE GROUNDED FOR THE NEXT CENTURY!" Steve blinked.

He blinked again as all five promptly lined up in front of the general, to varying degrees of formality. The general sighed, before turning to Steve.

"Now, business. Captain, I would you like to meet the five ambassadors of the Allied forces. Wang Yao of China," he gestured to the chinese man, who looked him up and down with poorly disguised skepticism, before bowing respectfully, "Ivan Braginsky, from Russia," the huge man smiled at him in a way that made Steve shiver slightly.

"Nice to meet you, da~? I'm sure we'll be good friends."

"Francis Bonnefoy, from France." The blonde pulled his hand out from Kirkland's hair to bow gracefully.

"A delight, monsieur." He spoke easily, the change in the language smooth and graceful.

"Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom," Kirkland removed his hand from Francis' ear to dip his head.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain," he said, his tones much more refined than before. The bow also gave Steve a painfully clear look at a spattering of burn marks around his neck. Finally, the general came to Jones, who was literally shivering from excitement.

"Last but not least, Sergeant Major Alfred F. Jones, American. Refer to him as Sergeant or Alfred; Jones'll just give him a big head. He'll be your personal trainer for the next week. I expect you ready for front line service against Hydra by then." The blonde teen grinned eagerly at him and Steve nervously dipped his head respectfully.

"I hope I prove to be a valuable student, Sergeant." He said.

Alfred grinned and turned to the others.

"Come on guys! Pretty please?"

"No." Arthur denied the sudden and unspecified request right on cue. Alfred pouted.

"Come on, Arthur! Pretty please with burnt scones, butter, jam, and cherries on top." Arthur twitched and Francis leaned over.

"Resist, you know he iz tempting you!" Alfred got on his knees and look up, batting his eyelids. "Pwease?" he begged, voice taking on a slightly babyish tone. Arthur's eye twitched and he growled out 'FINE'.

Yao rolled his eyes and Ivan chuckled. Yet neither seemed inclined to refuse, so Alfred eagerly turned to Captain America.

"Alright. It's a pleasure to formally meet you, Captain America, also known as Steven Rogers, best friend of James 'Bucky' Barnes, born . . ." Steve just blinked in stunned amazement as the blonde before him promptly recounted his entire life in extreme detail, from every fight and mistake to the name of his first pet.

"That was . . ."

"Awesome, right man?" Alfred replied, flashing him a thumbs up. "Just trust me, man, I know you really well."

"Obviously."

"So," Alfred's eyes sparkled, "how much can you bench press?"

~()~

The following week was one of the most alarming and horrifying Steve ever faced. The first challenge was accepting that a nineteen year old could lift up an entire table covered with heavy machinery with a single arm and no additional effort, even after Yao decided to jump on top and hitch a ride, existed without being physically altered. The next was enduring his training.

It went from tag, to Frisbee, to sparring and marksmanship. Alfred was also a killer marksman. The third day was eventful as the tall Russian decided to join them and he and Steve went at it for several hours. He was still recovering from knowing a man, who used a seemingly ordinary faucet pipe as a weapon, defeated him without much effort. Besides, Ivan wasn't the only one. Periodically, the other three would wander in, generally messing up the place and not letting any work get done.

Alfred himself was cuckoo. He laughed like a maniac, took nothing seriously, and was annoyingly perky.

Sometimes, someone singing the national anthem joyfully at the top of their lungs, while you're bench pressing five times your body weight about one hundred times, really starts to grate on the nerves.

Despite this, Steve could feel the change. He moved faster, controlled his strength better, and his shield met every single mark. When he finally managed to land Alfred flat on his back, the day before he left for his first mission, the two had just paused for a moment, before Alfred's face had busted out that mega watt smiled and he'd jumped on Steve exuberantly.

Yet, finally the day of departure came and Steve was surprised to see Alfred and the other four in the hangar. Seeing the captain, the teen had ambled over cheerfully.

"So, off now, Cap'n?"

"Yes . . .you?"

"Yeah, me and the others got called back to the front lines. Hydra might be a big deal, but ol' Hitler ain't letting up easily. And it's for duty."

"No." Alfred had blinked.

"It's for America." They had stood there, silent, before a proud smile wound its way onto Alfred's face and he had embraced Steve right then and there. Just before he left, he called out farewell.

"After this war has been won," he had called across the hangar, "let's go share a drink sometime!"

"Sounds good!" Steve had yelled back, barely noticing the lightly envious look the general sent him.

"What?"

"You can tell, can't you?" He blinked before nodding.

"That teen . . . there's something special about him."

"Yeah."

The general grinned. "He's one of a kind."

Seventy Years Later

Steve Rogers sat in the back of a café, deep in New York. Over his coffee, he peered around, eyes slightly cross eyed at the vibrant colours surrounding him. Fury had suggested trying out the present world, but quite honestly, it was a daunting task.

"This seat taken?"

"Err, no, it isn't," he answered immediately, before looking up. His eyes widened and his voice trailed off. A boy, nineteen with blonde messy hair, a cow slick and square rimmed glasses grinned down at him, still sporting an old WWII bomber jacket, before sliding into his seat. Alfred tilted his head down.

"Captain."

"Sergeant," Steve replied, too stunned to do anything else. A waiter came and sat a coffee in front of Alfred and he took an appreciative sip.

"Excuse me, I'm slightly confused . . ."

"We made a deal, right?" the teen replied cheerfully, setting down the cup. "After the war, we'd share a drink."

Steve blinked, and felt tears begin to well in his eyes.

"Thank you, by the way." He looked up to see Alfred smiling at him. It wasn't the normal overly cheesy grin, but it felt much more heartfelt.

"Your actions during the war were incredible. I could never have asked that from one of my people, yet you were willing."

"Your people?" Steve echoed and Alfred nodded.

"Yours as well. The time has changed but," he pointed to himself and grinned, "I've stayed the same, haven't I?"

Before Steve could receive a reply, Alfred leaned in towards him.

"And I'll always be willing to work with my Captain."

It came to Steve. Just like that. He didn't even shout or react, merely cocked his head as Alfred finished his drink and got up, tossing the waiter a tip.

"See you around, Cap'n." he called lightly. Steve blinked, and finished his own cup.

"See you around . . . America."

Aww . . . I love fluffy things, hehehe.

Hope you all liked it! :D