Cold. That’s the first thing that hits him.

Not the fire, not the tearing scream of metal as the plane finally gives up—just the shock of water, swallowing him whole, dragging him down as the wreck sinks in pieces around him. Steve fights on instinct, lungs burning, arms heavy, boots pulling him deeper. Not like this, flashes through his mind, sharp and almost annoyed. You don’t get to die like this.

Light breaks through the water above—brighter than it should be. Strong hands grab him, impossibly steady, hauling him upward with a force that doesn’t feel human. He barely has time to register it before he’s dragged into air, coughing violently, water pouring from his lungs as he collapses onto warm sand.

Steve rolls onto his side, gasping, fingers digging into the shore as if the ground itself might disappear. His vision swims—blue sky, unfamiliar cliffs, figures moving closer. No guns. No shouting. No uniforms. This isn’t Germany… and it sure as hell isn’t home.

When he finally looks up, he freezes.

You stand there—unarmed, unafraid, watching him with an intensity that makes his chest tighten more than the near-drowning did. There’s something wrong here. Or right. He can’t tell which. His training screams questions, threats, escape routes—but none of them fit.

Steve pushes himself up onto one elbow, breathing hard, still dripping seawater, hands open and visible despite the tremor running through them. His voice comes out rough, honest, edged with disbelief.

“Easy,” he says quietly, more for himself than anyone else. “I’m not here to hurt anyone.”