Childhood Hero: Return of the Redbird (Captain America Story)

Chapter 1- Snow

HELLO LOVELY PEOPLE!

SO PLEASANT TO SEE YOU ALL AGAIN, AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY MY SEQUEL OF CHILDHOOD HERO AS MUCH AS THE FIRST STORY.

BY THE WAY, IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE FIRST STORY, I SUGGEST YOU DO, OR ELSE NOTHING WILL MAKE SENSE.

CLICK ON MY PROFILE TO SEE IT.

BEFORE I BEGIN, I'D LIKE YOU TO REMEMBER SOMETHING I SAID AT THE END OF THE EPILOGUE ON THE LAST BOOK.

I CAN'T STAND NOT HAVING A HAPPY ENDING.

JUST SO YOU REMEMBER, BECAUSE YOU MIGHT NOT ENTIRELY LIKE WHERE THIS STORY WILL GO.

ANYWAY, ENJOY!

- - -

Childhood Hero: Return of the Redbird

Steve's POV

I open the door to my Brooklyn apartment, having just come back from SHIELD headquarters where I was spending time with Bruce.

The silence welcomes me, enveloping my body as it tries to suffocate me.

I let it. It's been too quiet in here for three months.

It's been over one and a half years since Loki's attack on Manhattan, and we haven't had any large battles since.

I go into the kitchen and grab a microwave meal, piercing the cover with a fork and putting in the heating machine like Zoey taught me.

I've learned many things since I woke up from the ice, mostly because the rest of the team have gotten sick of my clueless-ness.

But Zoey has been so kind and caring, helping me whenever I ask.

A knock on the door persuades me to trudge back through the apartment to the hall.

After undoing the chain, I unlock the door and open it.

Clint stands in the hallway on my floor, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket and his back hunched slightly.

His face is half illuminated by the light from my apartment, shadowed by my form.

"Hey, Steve." He grins slightly.

"Hello," I move so he can step inside, "I'm making dinner, do you want some?"

"TV dinners?" Clint asks and I nod silently, earning a small grin from the trained assassin.

"Awesome." He chuckles, following me into the kitchen.

He watches at the bench as I take my meal out and put his in, pouring them both into bowls and handing him his dinner.

"Curry," He laughs, "My favourite."

We sit on the couch and eat our dinners, the sound of the news on the television in the background.

"How have you been?" I ask.

"Alright." He nods, "You?"

I hesitate, before nodding.

"Good." I mumble.

We sit in silence as we eat the dinners, watching the anchorman tell us about the current events on the news.

"Isn't that Stark?" Clint asks, pointing at our friend who's face is projected onto the screen, holding a press conference.

"He's in rehab," I sigh, "After they stopped that Mandarin fellow, Pepper's finally convinced him to deal with his drinking problem."

"Finally." Clint smiles and looks around the apartment.