Marvel: The Villain-Chapter 251 Dance

Frozen solid and stiff as a board, Steve Rogers was hoisted onto a medical gurney as agents scrambled to push him into the Quinjet.

Coulson, accompanied by several medics, boarded the aircraft to personally escort his idol to New York. The remaining agents stayed behind to scour the crashed ship, hoping to scavenge anything of value. By the time the Quinjet touched down at New York’s premier hospital, day had already broken.

The jet descended slowly onto the rooftop helipad, where a swarm of doctors in white coats rushed forward. They hooked him up to a battery of life-support equipment before wheeling him straight into the Intensive Care Unit.

The hospital suite—luxurious enough to rival a five-star hotel—was filled with the nation’s top medical specialists. They monitored Steve’s vitals through advanced machinery, praying that the greatest hero in American history would soon open his eyes. SHIELD had the entire hospital under lockdown; every person entering or leaving was subjected to rigorous security checks. Everyone involved was forced to sign a non-disclosure agreement; not a whisper of this was to leak before the U.S. government was ready to go public.

Compared to Harley, Coulson was clearly the ultimate fanboy.

To witness the Captain’s awakening firsthand, he abandoned his other duties and stood vigil outside the ward, nervously fiddling with a stack of Captain America trading cards. Cap had been his childhood hero, and these cards were a lifelong collection—some of the rarer ones were worth thousands of dollars.

"God, please let him be okay," Coulson whispered, looking down at the card depicting a vibrant, shield-wielding Captain America.

Aside from the medical staff, a parade of high-ranking government officials came to pay their respects. Governors, the Mayor, the Secretary of Defense, Congressmen, and even the President himself made an appearance. After his visit, the President inquired about the long-term plan for the Captain. Upon learning that Nick Fury had delegated the transition to Coulson, the President didn’t press further, simply patting Coulson on the shoulder in encouragement.

The hospital was a revolving door of elites, but Coulson never moved an inch.

Around 10:00 PM, after a full day of waiting without a meal, his prayers were finally answered. Tests showed that Steve’s physical indicators were all normal. His powerful, steady heartbeat left the doctors in awe.

Overjoyed, Coulson asked, "When will he wake up?"

"He’s been medicated," The doctor replied confidently. "Steve should be awake within twenty-four hours."

Relieved, Coulson thanked the staff and immediately ordered his unit to move Steve in secret. SHIELD maintained a facility near the hospital, close to Times Square. To give Steve a "buffer zone" once he woke up, Coulson went to great lengths to have the room specially prepared.

The following afternoon, the sun was shining brightly.

Inside a simple, white-walled room, Steve opened his eyes for the first time in seventy years.

"...A curveball flies past the batter, and the Dodgers tie it up 4-4! The fans know that if he just connects, this game is over..."

The excited voice of a sports announcer filled the air. Steve sat up slowly, his gaze vacant as he surveyed his surroundings. White walls, a single bed, the sound of car horns drifting in from outside, and warm sunlight streaming through the window. Against the wall sat a wooden table holding a small flower and a high-end vintage radio.

The radio was broadcasting a baseball game between the Dodgers and the Phillies.

In the observation room, Coulson stared at the monitors and keyed his comms: "The Captain is awake. Send in the actor."

Creeeak.

The door opened. A beautiful woman wearing a period-accurate blouse, skirt, and wavy hair walked in. "Good morning. Or rather, good afternoon," She said with a warm, professional smile, clutching a clipboard.

"Where am I?" Steve asked, his face expressionless, immune to the charm.

"In a hospital room in New York."

A hospital. Was I rescued? Steve thought.

"Oh my god! The Dodgers won it 8-4! The crowd is going wild! What a game!" The radio blared.

Steve’s brow furrowed. Something was wrong. He had been a baseball fan in his youth—and he had been at that exact game in person.

"Where am I, really?" He asked, his voice now laced with suspicion and a hint of a threat.

The woman gave an awkward laugh. "I don’t follow."

"That game... May 1941... I was there."

The woman’s smile froze. Internally, she cursed Coulson in the monitoring room. Coulson, you idiot. You call yourself a superfan and you can’t even pick the right game?

In the monitor room, Coulson swallowed hard, sweating with embarrassment.

Steve stood up from the bed, his face cold. "I’ll ask one more time. Where is this, and who are you?"

Unable to keep up the charade, the agent secretly pressed a panic button. Two burly agents waiting outside burst in, brandishing stun batons. "Captain, please ca—"

BOOM!

Before they could finish, Steve shoved them aside. His strength was far beyond a normal man’s; a simple push sent the two agents flying through the door, shattering the frame.

Steve was momentarily startled by his own power but quickly bolted. He realized the room was a stage—the walls were nothing but thin wood. In the hallway, he saw dark corridors on both sides. This definitely wasn’t a hospital. Spotting a glimmer of light to the right, he sprinted toward it.

With the plan falling apart, Coulson didn’t dare hesitate. He alerted the base security to intercept the Captain and notified Nick Fury. "Director, the Captain saw through the ruse. He’s out."

"Copy that. I’m moving to intercept," Fury replied.

Fighting his way through, Steve finally burst through the ground floor doors.

He was hit by blinding sunlight, massive crowds, and skyscrapers far more grand than anything from his era. He didn’t realize what had happened yet. Seeing pursuers behind him, he sprinted down the road for several hundred yards until he reached the heart of Times Square.

There, Steve froze.

The smooth, wide streets; the skyscrapers touching the clouds; the endless stream of sleek, modern cars; and the massive, colorful screens hanging from the buildings.

Where was he? Steve felt like he was standing at the crossroads of existence, his face a mask of panic and confusion.

Screech!

Within a minute, several black SUVs screeched to a halt around him. Armed agents surrounded him, holding back a crowd of curious onlookers.

"At ease, soldier!"

Nick Fury stepped out of a vehicle and walked toward him. "I’m sorry about the little show back there, but we needed time to break the news to you."

Steve looked at the one-eyed man and asked, "What news?"

"You’ve been asleep, Cap," Fury explained. "For nearly seventy years."

Steve’s jaw tightened. It was unbelievable, yet everything around him—the technology, the fashion, the sheer scale of the world—confirmed the truth.

After a few minutes of silence, Fury asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

Steve nodded slowly. "I’m fine. It’s just... I had a date."

A man who slept for 70 years still remembers a date? Fury thought. Well, at least his brain is functioning.

"Whatever date that was, the 70-year deadline has passed. It’s getting crowded here; let’s talk in the car."

"Fine."

Recognizing Fury was likely a high-ranking official, Steve decided to trust him for now and climbed into the SUV.

The convoy sped away from Times Square. Sitting in the back, Fury treated Steve like a displaced soul, carefully catching him up on the last seven decades. He covered the Allied victory over Nazi Germany, the Cold War, and the major conflicts of the new century—though Fury was crafty enough to skip over the wars America had lost.

"I’ve given you the broad strokes. You’ll have to digest the detailed history at your own pace. As for whether you want to live a quiet life, return to the military, or join SHIELD... we can discuss that later."

Steve kept his head down, silent.

"We’ve prepared a house for you. Back in your old neighborhood, Brooklyn."

"Thank you."

"So, do you want to go home first?"

"No." Steve looked up. "Even if I’m seventy years late, I have to keep that date."

"Alright," Fury nodded. "What’s her name? I’ll have someone look her up."

"Peggy... Peggy Carter."

"What?" Fury’s expression shifted to one of pure shock at the sudden gossip. "Margaret Elizabeth Peggy Carter?"

"Yes," Steve nodded. "She... she should still be alive."

To find out Captain America and the founder of SHIELD had that kind of history was a bombshell.

Fury went silent for a long moment, then sighed. "Yeah, she’s alive. But she’s not in the best health. She’s in a long-term care ward at the hospital."

Seventy years later, Peggy was a centenarian. Steve had expected as much. He gave a small, sad smile. "Take me to her."

"Fine. To the hospital," Fury told the driver.

They arrived at the hospital and stepped out. Steve paused, noticing a flower shop near the entrance.

"Lend me some money."

Fury generously pulled out twenty dollars. "Make sure you pay me back."

Steve took the cash and bought a bouquet recommended by the shopkeeper.

Peggy’s private room was on the top floor, guarded by both medical staff and SHIELD agents. "Do you want me to go in with you?" Fury asked.

Steve shook his head. He turned the handle and stepped inside.

The room smelled faintly of flowers. A fresh bouquet and several old photographs sat on the nightstand. On the bed lay an elderly woman with snow-white hair and a face lined with deep wrinkles. Steve set the flowers down and sat by the bed. His movements were gentle, but the shift in the room woke her.

She opened her eyes and stared at him, dazed.

Steve smiled softly. "Peggy."

"You... Steve..." Peggy recognized him instantly, her voice trembling with emotion. "You’re alive... you came back..."

"Yeah."

Tears welled in Peggy’s eyes, her voice full of gentle reproach. "Why did you take so long... so long..."

Steve felt a lump in his throat. He took her hand and whispered, "I couldn’t leave my girl behind. She still owes me a dance."

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You can read advance Chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.

pat reon.com/GreenBlue17

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