Old Soul (Captain America/Steve Rogers)

14

"So this feeling," Dr. Banner says. "The one you have when you travel. It keeps you there."

I nod my head. "Yeah. And it gives me the ability to come back. Without it, I would be stuck, trapped in my head. I would probably go into a coma."

Banner nods, scribbling something down on his notepad. Then, a flipped back a few pages, finding a note he made that must've concerned him. "About the last time you traveled, when you went to the forties; you were thinking about it just before you went."

"Okay," I say, knowing where he was going with this. "Continue."

"So I'm proposing that you think of where you're going before you go," Banner says, making me roll my eyes.

"Genius," I say, sarcasm dripping from my words.

Banner shakes his head. "Not only that." He crosses the room, resting his elbows on the table I sat at. "You were thinking of someone when you traveled, and I won't name who just for the sake of you comfortableness."

I blushed, looking down at my hands to hide it. He was referring to Steve, and I was grateful he didn't specify so.

Banner leans in closer, a successful smile on his face. "I think we've found your anchor. And just to test it, I want you to run an errand for me."

"Okay," I say. "Where do you want me to go?"

Banner smiles, shaking his. "God, do I hate myself for using this; but I think the real question is when do I want you to go."

I roll my eyes, hoping up on the table and reclining. "Fine," I say. "When?"

Banner starts pacing, hitting his pen against the palm of his hand while he thought. "How about the eighteen-hundreds?" he suggests, then with a small smile, "Have you ever been to Texas?"

~

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is how dry my throat is.

"Get up," I hear a rough voice say. "The soldiers are out of clean shirts."

I slowly open my eyes, the edges of my vision dark. I was here. But the question was is if I was in the right place or not.

I see a big, gruff man looking over me, wearing heavy clothing and a scruffy beard. He had baggy overalls on, a floppy farmers hat on his head.

I slowly sit up, rubbing my eyes. "Pardon?" I say, mimicking his southern accent.

"The soldiers, you hear?" the man says. "Trapped in the Alamo."

I run my head, internally groaning. Part of me was happy that I landed in the right place, that Steve was officially my anchor.

But when I first learned about the Texas Revolution, I couldn't help but think how terrible it would be to live in that time period.

I was right.

"I hear," I say, climbing to my feet. I look down, seeing the heavy plaid skirts falling to my ankles. On my feet were boots that were modernly known as combat boots.

"The others are out by the mill," the man says, before stocking away.

I sigh, looking around to try to get my bearings. I was outside, lying on a pallet of blankets under the shade of a tree.

Yep, I was definitely right.

I trudge towards what I believed to be the path leading to the mill, not exactly knowing what to do.

But after walking a little ways down the dirt road, I find a group of women, maybe twelve of them, and at least half of them not any older than sixteen.