A/N- This imagine is based on the song Life on Mars? by David Bowie. Just a little warning: this is has mentions of police brutality and family death in it. If this is likely to have a negative effect on you please do not read on; and remember that my DM's are always open if you need to chat.
You had been a child when you had lost your parents. Well, lost isn't quite the right term, you were a child when they had been taken from you, murdered for the secret they had kept for as long as you had lived, though you hadn't known it at the time.
Nothing would ever erase the fear you had felt when the door had been taken off of its hinges by men in bullet proof vests and face guards. Or the panic when your father had attempted to push you out of the room, before turning back to face the foes, leaving you huddled in the corner as your mother screamed for the men to leave you alone. There had been a sickening bang and her screaming had stopped, replaced by your own yelp as your mother's body hit the ground, blood oozing from the bullet wound in her head. Your father had turned at the sound you had made, his face falling as his eyes found you. "Go," he had yelled it as he moved closer to you, watching you dash into the kitchen and slamming the door to stop the 'bad guys' as you fled into the garden.
You weren't sure how you had managed it, but you had found your way through all of your neighbours gardens and across town, attempting to find some shelter. But soon enough the man had caught up with you again, and as they came closer, the first set of hands landing on your arms, you had crumbled, letting out a shriek of fear. The next thing you knew the hands were gone, and so were the men, replaced by silence in the alley they had managed to corner you into.
Before then you hadn't known that you had powers, though you had soon worked out that it was the main reason you were being hunted, and that your parents must have known, somehow.
You hadn't properly used your powers again until almost a decade later, of course it was handy to be able to lift things someone your size usually wouldn't have been able to, but there was something darker hidden under the surface that you had always avoided. You had never quite understood what it was that you had done to the men who killed your parents, and you were in no rush to find out. In fact, you hadn't used your powers in public until the day Fury had found you. You had been attempting to keep to yourself as you passed through New York, avoiding making eye contact, and keeping your hands deep in your pockets as you hurried through the streets. The movies had always painted the city as beautiful, but you were less than impressed, it was as dirty as any other city, and had an underlying smell of piss lingering throughout.
But as you were crossing the street and yell caught your attention, and you glanced up to see a police officer pull his gun out, screeching at a young man. You winced as you saw the kid shake, holding up his hands in surrender as he dropped the few CD's to the ground, and you picked up the pace across the street to get closer to the confrontation. "Do you have a licence to sell here?" the police officer was in hysterics, repeating the words again and again as he held the gun pointing at the kid. But the boy was too scared to respond, whimpering and shaking with fear as the police officer came closer to him.
"It's in my bag," he yelped suddenly, but the police officer ignored his words, watching as he reached for his backpack on the ground.
"Keep your hands where I can see them," he roared, and the boy flinched, doing as he was told as the police officer stalked closer to him.
You suddenly snapped, "it's in his bag," you growled at the police officer, who risked a quick glance in your direction before continuing on with prior engagement. "Hey," you spat out again, catching his attention properly, "I said it's in his bag," you added, and you watched him glare as he looked you up and down slightly.
"Don't get involved, kid." His gun was still pointing at the kid, and you could see his finger set comfortably on the trigger.
You surged forward, grabbing the somewhat overweight officer by his lapels and shoving him up against the brick of the building beside him. "How about you do your job properly," you growled in his face, feeling his feet kicking as he struggled against you, "and quit torturing random kids." You dropped him to the ground, watching as he scrambled to get to his feet. "Sorry kid," you added, your voice far softer as you glanced back at the boy, now grabbing for his backpack, "you might want to get going before this guy starts some more trouble," you added and he nodded as he took off in a light jog, leaving you scowering down at the man.
"You just assaulted a police officer," he started, tripping over his own words as he finally got back to his feet, staring at you in disbelief.
"And you think anyone will believe you? A 'kid' like me taking a big ol' man like you off of his feet?" you chuckled slightly, "you haven't got a chance." He was still staring in disbelief as the smile faded from your lips, "if you tell anyone what happened hear I will know, and I don't take too kindly to snitches."You were gone before he could say another word, hurrying away and down a couple of side streets until you found a crowd to blend into.
That night there had been a knock on the door of your motel room, and you had sat in silence as you waited for whoever it was to leave. But the knocks kept coming and you just grew more and more frustrated, venturing closer to the door as quietly as you could and glancing through the peep hole. The man outside seemed rather calm, despite the long waiting time, his face showing no hint of annoyance. The eyepatch was somewhat inticing, something that you remembered from somewhere, but you kept the door closed.
"Who are you?" you said it loud enough that he couldn't miss it, and you watched as a small smile came to his lips.
"Hello Y/N, my name is Nick Fury, and I'm here to talk to you about a job oppurtunity." Those words had changed your life, you had stopped running from an invisible enemy and settled within Stark tower, with something that resembled an early attempt at a family.
You would sit with your colleages on the large plush sofas, talking for hours on end, but you had managed to avoid your childhood for the most part, and had never even dared mention your parents to any of them. It was still a sore spot for you, and likely always would be, and you weren't ready to show them your more vulnerbal side just yet. And yet, you never ran out of conversation, silly mundane stuff and work talk mostly, but you were always talking. It was nice to have somewhere to be coming back to each night, to have people that cared if you didn't come home.
"Hey," you uttered as you made your way into the sitting room in your pyjamas, padding across the cold tiled floor as quickly as you could to avoid the cold spreading into your bare feet.
Steve glanced up as you came into the room, dropping his book into his lap and sending you a small smile. "Hey," he answered you softly, "what's up?"
Usually, at this point in the evening, you would have retired to your bedroom, and you wouldn't be seen until the next morning, but something was different. "Couldn't sleep," you told him, mustering up a small smile as you sat at the other end of the sofa, tucking your feet under your butt as you got comfy.
"I usually find, when I can't sleep, that there is always something on my mind." He was smiling, but somehow he still didn't look happy, and you watched his face in confusion, "so what's on your mind, Kiddo?"
You shrugged slightly, "nothing's on my mind, I'm just not tired." Steve nodded as though he understood, but released a small chuckle as you stiffled a yawn only a moment later.
"It'll do you good to talk about it," he told you, folding the page in his book to mark his place and putting it down on the coffee table to give you his full attention. "We all have to talk about stuff, it's better to do it when it's just me rather than the whole group."
You nodded, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you turned yourself to face him properly. You took a deep breath before speaking. "Tomorrow it's the anniversary of my parents dying." He remained silent as he watched you, giving you a small nod to keep you talking. "I can never sleep the night before, I've never been able to."
He nodded again, though he let out a slight sigh this time. "I wish I had some advice for you, but I do the same thing on the anniversary of the day I saw Bucky die." You frowned slightly, and he gave you a soft smile, "I believed that he was dead for a long time, and watching that happen to him will never leave me, even if he is still fighting fit."
"I saw my mum die," you mumbled, so quietly that for a moment you thought he may not have heard you, and then you felt his hand land on your arm, and you remember the Super Soldier Serum. "She was shot in the head," you added, a little louder, "I didn't see what happened to my dad, but the news guys were saying that he was shot too."
"How old were you?" the question caught you off guard for a moment, and you ran through your life in a matter of seconds, before your eyesbrows furrowed.
"I was twelve," you told him softly, sniffling as you attempted to calm yourself, "it will have been ten years ago tomorrow."
Steve remained silent for a moment, "no kid should have to go through that," he uttered softly and you nodded, both falling silent for a while as you just stared into nothingness. "I'm happy to stay up with you tonight if you want," he told you quietly and you gave him a soft smile.
"Thank you," you muttered, your eyes filling with tears as the realisation hit you. Someone cared now, someone cared that you were still mourning, cared that you wouldn't be able to sleep, cared that you would spend the night torturing yourself over every little detail of that day. And this time, you weren't alone.
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