Yet another Avengerkink fill. These things are like M&Ms, you don't just take one.

They're not mine. It's a tragedy of epic proportions.

Mourning the Future

"Shuddup, Cap, I got it."

Steve sat back in the chair, smiling faintly to himself as Laurie waved for the bill. "You gotta let me pay next time, okay?"

Laurie grinned, teeth slipping in his mouth. His face became a collection of soft wrinkles with a pair of clouded, merry eyes. "Yeah, sure thing, Cap."

Steve laughed. "Liar."

"You caught me." The old man carefully counted out the money for the meal and the coffee into the waitress's hand. She smiled at them.

"I think it's so nice of you to bring your grandpa here so often," she said to Steve, her eyelashes lowering coquettishly.

Steve's good mood was abruptly gone. "Thanks for the meal, miss."

The girl smiled a bit wider, before leaving.

"Shouldn't let it get to you, Cap," puffed Laurie as he hoisted himself up by the handles of his walker. "She was a looker too, you're in like Flynn there, old son."

"Yeah right, up until she finds out that I'm older than you," Steve said, putting his hands into his pockets. It was difficult to watch Laurie struggling with the walker, but Steve knew better than to help.

"Get my hat, Cap? Thanks." Laurie placed his dapper hat onto his bald and spotted scalp, and gave the brim a twitch. "Well, maybe it's my night t' get lucky then, huh? Since you such an ol' man and all."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Knock it off."

"Now, I ain't heard that tone of voice from you ever since you started visitin' me," Laurie cackled. "Gotcha good and riled, din't I?"

"Yes, yes, you're very funny," Steve said, with the long-suffering deadpan that stood him in such good stead against Tony Stark. "Drink?"

"Never said no, have I?"

Steve walked carefully behind the old man, watching the ghost of a young one in a helmet snickering at him from across a table, long ago, in the Paris of his memories. "Not yet."

The bar was quiet.

"So what's eating you?" Clint said, flopping down next to Steve.

Steve actually jumped, before he said crossly, "Jeez Louise, a fella used to be able to get at least the illusion of privacy in this city!"

Clint shrugged and nodded to the bartender. "Gimme a beer. Something imported, something with a really crazy name. The one with the most z's in it."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Feeling adventurous?"

Clint snorted. "Not as adventurous as you, Cap. You don't go to bars on your own. You can't get drunk. What the hell are you doing in this dive?"

"He's waiting for the party to arrive, can't you tell?" came a familiar and satisfied voice, and Steve sighed.

"Hi, Tony," he said.

Stark was flanked by Natasha and Bruce, and Thor was hovering over his shoulder. "Wow. Your face is sobering me up. Uh, whaddaya got? Any Grey Goose? No? Well, this is a new experience, I don't think they have a bottle of liquor in here worth more than a hundred bucks."

"Welcome to slumming it, Tony-style," Bruce said, rolling his eyes, and Clint laughed aloud.

"So you guys all tracked me down, huh?" Steve said, and turned back to the bar, leaning his elbows on it heavily. "Well, you wasted your time. So I'm here on my own, drinking even though I can't get drunk. I still got my rights, last time I looked."

"Whoa there, Capsicle, not looking to cramp your style or anything," Tony said, holding up his hands as he dragged a barstool up and sat down. He squinted at the shelves behind the bar. "Whatever, that one, I like the bottle."

"It's red and gold," said Natasha. "Quelle surprise."

The French made Steve's heart clench, as in the vaults of his mind a cheeky young voice sang "Madamoiselle from Armentieres, paaaaaaarrrrlez-vous!" at the top of his lungs, his cocky grin visible even in the smoky, dingy Parisian gin-joint.

"Steve, we're not trying to crowd you," said Clint, surprisingly seriously.

"And believe me, we know about needing personal space," added Bruce wryly.

"You are not yourself, Good Captain," said Thor. "We, your good friends and comrades, have noticed."

Steve looked up. "So this is what, like on those TV shows?"

"You mean an intervention?" Tony said, and smirked. "Ah, no. If there are any interventions to be had, I'm claiming them."

"That can be arranged," Natasha muttered.

"You're quieter than usual, you're not sleeping," Clint began to list.

"You're going through my punching bags like they grow on trees," Tony added.

"You're short-tempered, you avoid everyone," Bruce said, and rubbed the back of his neck. "And yes, I do understand the irony of those words coming out of my mouth... but that's my gig, Cap. Not yours."

"Here's my theory: This is more than the whole century dissociation thing," Tony said, and swigged from his bottle. He then pulled a ridiculous face. "Oh, that is nasty, Bruce, you gotta try it."

"Pass," Bruce said, smiling faintly. "I'll order the rest of us beers, sound good?"

"Give it here, Stark," Natasha said. He handed the bottle over, and she immediately poured two or three shots of the strong-smelling stuff into Steve's beer.

"Yeah, this might actually do it too," Tony said, nodding. "I think it could blister paint and dissolve spoons."

"Drink," Natasha commanded.

Steve's hands clenched. "Look, I appreciate the thought, you guys..."

"Oh, here it comes," sighed Tony.

"Ten minutes. You owe me ten bucks," said Clint.

"Ten bucks, what do I care, I could buy this shithole."

"...but you don't need to babysit me," he continued firmly. "I'm a grown man, I don't need my damn hand held."

Clint whistled. "He said damn."

"He is pissed," agreed Tony.

"Steve," Bruce said, his voice soft and low and soothing, somehow cutting through the others' more strident tones. "Tell us what's wrong."

"Why?" he grated, and took a sip of his doctored beer. It was strong stuff, and it made his eyes water.

"We want to help," said Thor simply.

Steve closed his eyes. The young man was at camp in some godforsaken place high in the Austrian Alps. He sipped at the blisteringly hot billy tea, caustic and black as tar and just as thick. "Dunno," he said and shrugged. The eyes were brighter, but just as merry. "Guess I joined cause I just wanted to help. Weren't never famed for my brains."

"Will you let us?" Bruce continued gently. "We really do want to help."

"Steve," said Tony, and it was so unlike him to use Steve's name that his eyes snapped up involuntarily. "C'mon. I'm here. Here. Me. In this expensive Italian suit. This is a big deal, is what I'm saying."

Clint nudged him with a knee. "You're our friend."

Steve swallowed.

"You can tell us," Bruce said, and gave his soft, wry little smile.

He dropped his head, scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hands. "The last one..." he managed.

"Who?"

"Shut up, Tony. Keep going, Steve."

"The last of the 26th," Steve choked out, before pressing his chin as hard as he could against his chest, calling on all his reserves of strength to control himself.

"Oh," said Natasha, a soft little exhalation.

"I'm so sorry," Bruce said, and Thor's hand was a heavy weight against his back, a solid, real thing that Steve could cling to against the memories.

"Was he a good man?" asked Clint, clinking his bottle against Steve's glass and drinking.

Steve laughed, a forced and strangled sound. "He was a pain in my ass," he said. "But yeah. He was a good man. One of the best."

"Was he a good warrior?" Thor asked, and copied Clint in tapping against Steve's glass.

"He was a soldier," Steve said, and rubbed his hand through his hair. No doubt it was a mess, sticking up everywhere. "He complained and drank and sang and fought and marched and complained some more, just like all soldiers. Yeah, he was darned near expert at all of it."

Tony nodded, smiling. "I think I like this guy. What was his name?"

Steve raised his head, closed his eyes again. "Private Laurie Lebowitz."

"To Laurie Lebowitz, then," said Clint, and everyone tipped back their glass (or bottle).

Steve wondered if that awful stuff Tony was drinking had managed to get him drunk after all. He felt a bit light-headed, a bit dizzy. "He was ninety-four," he said.

"That's not bad," Tony said, pointing at him meaningfully. "That's not bad. That's a goal to aim for. I'm gonna try for that."

"Oh for god's sake, Tony, you're likely to die in the next week, the way you behave," said Natasha.

"She called me Tony! She must be drunk," Tony said in a loud voice that was probably meant to be confidential.

"Yeah, It's a pretty good age to get to, I guess," Steve said, and looked down at his young, strong hands, his unblemished skin. "But. I'm older than he was."

There was a short, tense silence.

"Awkward," Tony said.

"You are not helpful," Bruce sighed. "Steve?"

"I just..." Steve gripped the bar, and the wood protested beneath his hands. "When I woke up, it was just so... and then, there was Laurie, someone I remember. Someone I know. He made my life make sense – the before and the after, he joined them together! And he's gone!"

The wood cracked under his palms. Steve breathed out shakily, and muttered, "I'll pay for that."

"Like hell," Tony said bluntly.

"Steve, your life makes sense," said Natasha. "It makes sense. You have and always will be Steve Rogers. Captain America. No matter what."

"But how many more times, huh?" Steve's head whipped around to her, his eyes furious. "How many more! Am I gonna walk around in another century, watch them put you in the ground?"

Natasha didn't even blink. "If you do," she said evenly, "I will know that Steve Rogers will always remain himself. And he will remember me."

Steve stared at her, his chest heaving. She held his gaze, and nodded slowly. "I will trust you to remember me. The way you remember him. And them."

"Hear, hear," said Tony. "Only, I'll have my hordes of grief-stricken groupies, so maybe you won't need to do so much of the remembering on my behalf, Cap."

"You'll probably wish you could forget him," murmured Clint in Steve's ear.

Bruce snorted. "Well, if you're seeing in the next century, remember that Thor and I'll probably be there waving sparklers alongside you, Steve," he said, and shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably.

The world shifted.

Steve blinked. "What?"

"Oh, yeah. Didn't think of that," Tony peered over at Bruce. "The Philosopher's Stone is real, it's green, and it's in your pants. How 'bout that, Big Guy? Strutting yet?"

"Shut. Up. Tony," Bruce groaned, ducking his head.

"Never pun again where people can hear you," growled Natasha.

Tony wisely shut up by taking another swig of his foul liquor.

"I often forget how short a human's life truly is," Thor said reflectively, drawing puddles in the condensation from his beer.

"Thor, how old are you?" asked Clint. "Always meant to ask, never quite got around to it."

"I think I am eighteen hundred or so of your Midgardian years," Thor said after a moment's thought. "Asgardians age at a far different rate than you humans with your mayfly lives. And I am a young man yet."

Steve's mouth was a little dry as his stunned eyes drifted from Thor, who nodded solemnly, to Bruce's sheepish face. "You serious?"

"Well, we all know that the bullet didn't take, Cap," Bruce said, the ever-present current of bitterness in his voice.

Steve lunged at him, and grabbed his face. "If you... ever..." he snarled, "do that again..."

Bruce's eyes widened, and he gripped Steve's forearms. "Hey. Hey. Calm down, Steve, I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere. I'm good now, so much better. I'm not alone anymore."

"And we're not going anywhere yet either," added Clint. "Unless of course Fury's hiding my medical results from me, which is entirely possible. So if I'm dying, my final wish is to see you kick his lying ass. Oh, and to go fishing in Iowa. Preferably at the same time."

Natasha carefully took Steve's wrists, and pulled, releasing Bruce's face from Steve's frozen grip. The doctor was watching Steve worriedly as she stroked Steve's forearm lightly, soothingly. "Captain," Natasha said softly, "we're still here. Please don't mourn us before we've gone."

"Well, this got morbid fast," Tony said. "Who's up for some hot life-affirming activity?"

"Shut up, Stark," Steve said absently, shaken and upset and angry and grieving. The pressure of Natasha's hands on his arms, and Thor's hand still on his shoulders...

"Hey," Bruce said, and Steve glanced up. Bruce's outline was a little blurry. "Steve, I promise, okay? I promise. Never again."

Steve blindly caught at Bruce's hand, before reaching out and grabbing Clint's as well. "Good," he rasped. "I'll hold you to that."

"Yeah, well, I'm holding you guys to my Fury-fishing extravanganza," Clint said, and grinned. Steve dredged up a wobbly smile in return.

"Sure thing, Hawkeye," he managed.

"Sure thing, Cap," Laurie said, and grinned.

"Not feeling the love here, guys," Tony complained.

Can't get dry socks here fer love or money, guys!" Laurie complained.

"Shut up Stark, and give the man a hug," said Natasha.

"He's just lost his buddy, have a heart. Give 'im a hug and a drop o' this," said Laurie as the shells fell and the mud spattered over their faces.

"Hugs from Captain America, should make a booth. I'd make another fortune," said Stark easily, slipping an arm around Steve's shoulders. "Look, if it makes any difference, I'm planning to replace every part of me until I'm either Robocop or a head in a jar like in Futurama, okay? I can be the Great and Powerful Oz to your flying monkey."

"Didja see that film? Those colours! Ain't it just like being there!"

"I... understood that reference," Steve said, and smiled around the lump in his throat.

"Hear that? It's the All-Clear, Cap. Time t' get moving." The bright eyes twinkled under the helmet as he lit up a cheroot, his cocky smile forever captured in that moment in Steve's mind.

Bruce squeezed his hand. "We got you, Cap."

He squeezed back. "I know."

Time to get moving. I know, Laurie, I know.

END