Chapter Text
Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.
Seriously? You’re gonna go with that? It’s the Depression and he’s poor, he’s lucky to get oatmeal or porridge or something.
So what am I supposed to say? FREEDOM, it’s the Fourth of July, Independence DAY, LET US THROW OFF THE YOKE OF BRITISH TYRANNY-
Okay, I get it, you don’t have to quote the Revolutionary Monument from Lexington, chill.
That’s very rude considering the circumstances, Peter.
Steve continues examining the inside of his eyelids, wondering why there was a sudden deluge of chatter in his mind. One male, deep enough to be reassuring to a causal listener, but somehow pitched higher in a way that implied constant indignation bordering on affection. The other female, pleasantly low, but also pitched higher, and sounded both energized and exhausted at the same time. Her tone was loving.
The inflections they had, their vocabulary, and their pronunciation were slightly different than what he usually heard, so he supposed these voices were like something from the future.
Steve finally connected the voices to the day.
You’re my future kids, aren’t you?
Hey, Pops the boy, Peter, said.
Yay, it’s your birthday, let’s sing –
No.
The girl let out a frustrated huff. I was gonna sing the national anthem, or maybe “Born in the USA”. Wait, that’s not out yet-
What’s your name? Steve sent before she could go off on a tangent or the two of them got into it again.
Peter Parker.
He knows that already, he was asking for mine, Spiderass. Maria Antonia, but Peter couldn’t – won’t be able to? – pronounce the “ma” when we were – will be? - little, so most of the time I’m Ria.
“REE-uh?” Steve aloud, hoping he got it right.
That or just Ri. Doesn’t matter, you usually just pronounce the whole thing. Or you call me “sweetheart” or “starling” or one of the many numerous terms of endearment in your arsenal.
Steve breathed deeply, trying to avoid crying or something else that would leave him embarrassed. “Peter and Maria,” he said, trying to contain the giddiness welling up inside.
Technically, I should go first, I’m twelve minutes older than him-
Don’t start this again.
You’re twins?
Yup, they sing-songed in harmony.
“Wonderful,” Steve found himself laughing in joy.
“Hey, happy Independence and birthday. Open up.” Bucky was hammering on the door.
“Just a minute,” Steve hadn’t stopped grinning since he had woken up. He pulled the door open to admit a smiling Bucky.
Is that Uncle Bucky? Peter wondered.
He looks so different Maria said, sounding slightly awed.
“What? How is he different?”
More . . . sad.
“Who’re you talking to? Wait,” Bucky sat himself at the kitchen table, kicked his feet up and leaned the chair back on two legs. “Your kids? I always knew you’d have them. How many? Did you name your firstborn after me?”
What would I be named? Jameisa? Jamie? Okay, that’s an okay name. Just not a name for me.
Plus, Bucky would have gotten into a pissing contest with Rhodey over which one they were honoring.
That’s why I was named after Granma, and you were named something random.
“Peter” is a good name! It’s not that common anymore, but we’re not normal-
“Uhh, Maria says she and Peter were not named after any friends.”
Pops, don’t lie.
He’s not lying. He’s reading between the lines.
“Are they little smart mouths? Your kids would be.” Bucky’s face was smiling, but there was a bitter twist to it. When Bucky had woken up on his eighteenth, his mind was just as much of his own as it always had been. Bucky had said it would be fine, that he didn’t really want children, but Steve could tell that Bucky wasn’t happy with having the choice taken from him.
“Maria, sweetheart, you called him ‘Uncle Bucky’. Is he around a lot?”
We live in the same building. He’s always been a big part of our lives. When we were little, Uncle Buck would let Peter braid his hair-
You did it, too!
I did his nails. Stop lying, or I’ll be forced to go get the broom.
Stop threatening to hit me with the broom, that’s fraternal abuse.
Mmmm, I was thinking more along the lines of fratricide. If a spider is climbing on your ceiling, you kill it, not abuse it, Silly Peter.
“You’re gonna big part of my kids’ lives.”
The tenseness of the line of Bucky’s shoulders lessened somewhat. He visibly relaxed. “Well. As happy as I am for you, you need to get it under control. People don’t just go around talking to their kids out loud.”
He was right. The mental connection that people had with their future children was well known, as most people had it, but it was a rather taboo thing to discuss. The only time most people discussed it was with a potential spouse. Steve knew Bucky well enough, and they trusted each other to say everything, but Steve knew he wouldn’t be able to go around just having discussions with Peter and Maria out loud. Not if he wanted to pull the attention of more bullies. He might go picking fights, but he didn’t like when others started them.
There were many benefits to the mental connection parents had with children. His kids had the benefit of knowing him when he was older. Peter and Maria would be there to help him make the decisions most important to his life; tell him what direction he was supposed to go in. And possibly most important to Steve, help him find their mother.
“I’ll get it together, I just . . . . Can’t I be excited?”
Bucky smiled indulgently. “You can. You’re gonna be a dad. But why can’t you be excited for me?”
“Why?”
“I’m gonna be an uncle.”
Steve nearly had an asthma attack, he was laughing so hard.
Am I ever going to get in? You keep telling me I will, but I’ve applied five times. 4-F every time.
You will get in, Papa. You just need to keep trying.
Okay, but will this date prove anything? When will I meet your mother?
A double sigh. In the almost six years since Steve had woken up to Peter and Maria in his head, as much as he enjoyed getting to know them, they’d yet to say who their mother was, or even give Steve a hint as to when or where they would meet. The only thing they would say was it would be a while.
Steve had been disappointed, but ever since the breakout of the war, he had understood. If he was finally able to join the Army like they said he would, it would be a least a few years in Europe. Then maybe when the Nazis were beaten, he could return home looking for his future wife.
Still, he be tried to be polite to the girl Buck had set him up with. She was pretty, but it was obvious she wasn’t interested.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Howard Stark!”
A dark haired man with clever eyes took the stage and proceeded to fail to demonstrate a flying car. The man was attractive, Steve could tell. The twins had never said anything about Steve’s attraction to both sexes, but right now, both were radiating anger.
Sorry, I don’t-
Don’t worry, Papa. It’s not that. It’s . . . Howard Stark may be a genius, but he’s not a good person.
Maria, always the more vocal of the twins, had a rigid frostiness in her tone that was completely different from her usual warm softness beneath her layer of snark.
What did, or will he, do?
He’s working with the government on the Manhattan Project right now, but as despicable as the outcome of that will be, he’s going to have a son in about thirty years.
Do you know his son?
. . . . Very well. Steve wondered if his future son-in-law would be a Stark. No, not that, definitely not that, but Tony Stark is going to be a very big part of our lives.
So why is Howard so bad?
He doesn’t hear D- Tony’s voice.
That made Steve pause. It was rare when a person had a child and didn’t hear a voice. Usually the parent was so bitter that they had not heard, they either put the kid in an orphanage or neglected the kid. By not hearing a voice, they insured they never knew their children. Their children often went on to not hear voices. It was a vicious cycle.
Hey, Peter cut in, sounding excited. That recruiting center behind you. Go check it out.
Steve turned to see Uncle Sam pointing at him.
Is it time? Am I finally going to get in?
Make sure you talk to Abraham Erskine, and you will.
Steve couldn’t believe that he was actually here. Here, at Camp Leigh. An Army training camp. He had been internally celebrating with Peter and Maria since Erskine had offered his “chance”. The twins had assured him this was how he got in the Army, this was how he got in the War, this “chance” would change everything.
The twins had actually helped him get in. One of the questions they had asked for Erskine’s program was if he had the voices of his children in his head. They hadn’t asked anything else, like names or anything else specific, but whoever was selected was insured survival if they would have children. Steve didn’t know just exactly the project would require him to do, but he wanted to be the one chosen so badly it made his teeth ache.
Just be yourself.
That’s so corny, Ri.
Shut it. Papa, you’re exactly what Erskine is looking for. Just don’t try to be someone you’re not, and you’ll have it.
They kept his spirits up. They politely bad-mouthed Colonel Philips, and not-so-politely bad-mouthed his fellow recruits. When he was kneeled over, panting for breath, Peter would say You can’t give up. What kind of example are you being? You didn’t raise me to give up. When he was lying on his cot with muscles screaming in agony, he focused on Maria’s refrain of We love you. You’re doing so well. We love you. You’re almost done. We love you.
The twins seemed very interested in Peggy, but when Steve pushed them, he was met with silence. Usually they just told him that someone wasn’t right for him, so hopefully they wanted Steve to find out on his own.
When he heard Philips shout “Grenade!” he didn’t think. He just threw himself over it and thought I’m sorry.
He waited a count, two, three, nothing happened. The twins were breathless.
You did it, Papa. Maria sounded so proud.
“Is this a test?” Steve asked, forgetting for a moment not to ask aloud.
Yes. And you passed.
The next twenty-four hours were a blur. The twins were practically jumping with joy. Their excitement was infectious, and helped quell some of Steve’s nervous anxiety. He had been chosen for this serum. He was going to war.
When Erskine asked, “What do your children have to say about the success of the procedure?”, Steve was about to say he didn’t know, but they piped up:
Complete success.
You won’t be like Schmidt, thank the lord.
You’ll actually be able to breathe.
Tell them to be careful of the calibrations on the Vita Ray chamber. They need to make sure they don’t blow the entire electrical infrastructure.
Steve relayed their information, even if he didn’t understand what it all meant. Erskine, though, seemed happy with that information.
The next morning found him back in his old neighborhood. Peggy led him into the secret lab, and the twins were quiet. They were tense, excited, but when Erskine greeted him, they had a sad sort of melancholy about it. But before he could ask what it was about, he found himself being shepherded into a cocoon-like machine. Nurses in starched white uniforms strapped him in, and he had to deal with Maria’s frostiness when Stark appeared. There was a large group of elite middle-aged men containing Colonel Philips, looking both doubtful and bored as they moved into the observation room. Before he knew it, the nurses were loading in the vials of violently blue serum and attaching pads to his chest and arms.
He couldn’t hear Erskine as he narrated the process, especially as the serum was injected. It was searing pain flooding his system; he wanted to curl into a ball, at the same he wanted to run for miles. It was painful not because of the injection, but because of his system felt like it had more energy and power in it than is entre life combined.
Then the Vita Ray chamber was tipping up, sealing him inside. Suddenly there was calm, nothing but Maria’s murmur of It’s okay, you’re okay. It’ll be over soon. I love you.
Erskine tapped lightly on the outside. “Steven? Can you hear me?”
Crack a joke.
“Probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?”
“We will proceed.”
There was blinding light, someone was shouting outside. Pain beyond anything he had ever experienced, his cells were on fire, he wasn’t going to make it. He was screaming. Someone else was screaming, too.
“Steven? Steven!”
“Shut it down!”
“Kill the reactors!”
You can’t quit now.
“No! Don’t! I can do this!”
The stinging intensified until everything was burning. Pops sounded outside. Then there was nothing.
“Mr. Stark!”
The chamber opened with a hiss. Hands were grabbing for him, helping him out, voices raised in excitement.
“How do you feel?” Peggy.
Everything was different. Everything was bigger, longer, thicker, stronger. Everyone was smaller. There were colors he had never seen, and it was no struggle to pull a breath.
“Taller.”
“You look taller.”
You did it, Papa.
Steve allowed himself a smile at Maria’s comment.
Then shots sounded.
“Would you like to serve your country in the most difficult theater of the war?”
“Sir, it would be my honor.”
A collective groan from the twins.
Pops, you didn’t.
What?
When he saw the costume they wanted him to wear, he understood.
“I’ve signed more of these condolence letters that I can remember, but that name sounds familiar. I’m sorry.”
Cold emptiness filled him. Bucky couldn’t be gone. Not like that. It wasn’t possible.
He’s alive. He’s depending on you to rescue him.
Peter’s words steeled him, and he gritted his teeth and stalked off.
Will I be following the rules?
If you do, something’s fucked up, ‘cause my father only follows the rules when it’s convenient.
In there.
“Bucky?”
Ew.
Seeing the blood-colored face of Schmidt, Steve had to agree.
Dugan put down his pint. “If we’re going to do this, we need a name. Something cool, but tough. We’re not gonna call ourselves the Patriots. Sorry, Cap.”
“No offense taken.”
Morita bit his lip. “I always thought ‘Commando’ was a cool term. Something with that?”
Captain America and his Howling Commandoes.
They do make a lot of noise.
“The Howling Commandoes?” Steve offered.
The whoop that went up told him the name was accepted.
So it went. They moved around on missions, tracing Hydra’s whereabouts. Sometimes the twins helped, giving him information he didn’t have or reminding him of certain things he had forgotten or overlooked. War was terrible, but it was also fun. He’d never had this much fun.
But he was ready to go home. The persistent ache that attacked when he heard his children’s voices, he wanted it gone. As much as it comforted him to have them in his head, he wanted to see them. Hold them. He had been taught so much by them. He now wanted to teach them just as well.
It was spring, and he was hopeful. The end was in sight. The war was wrapping up. The Nazis were crumbling, and Hydra was getting more and more desperate. Soon he could go home, find his wife, and finally have the twins in his arms.
The Alps were still freezing as they waited for Zola’s train to approach.
“Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island?”
“Yeah, and I threw up?”
Remember this moment, Papa.
What about it?
Don’t give up on him.
“Why?” Steve asked through a nose full of snot. “He’s dead.”
Papa, it’s very complicated-
“Don’t give me that!” he found himself shouting. He never yelled at Maria. “Either he’s dead, or he’s dying in the mountains. Tell me something I can use.”
We can’t.
“Then don’t say anything.”
It was painful, almost as painful as the sight of Bucky falling, falling, and Steve was helpless. Maria, so soft but with a core of steel and skin like iron, pulling away, Peter following. They couldn’t leave, but put themselves at the back of his mind, the only thing he could feel was hurt from his daughter and anger from his son.
“Don’t go.” He was sobbing. “You’re all I have.”
Peter’s tone was colder than the Alps. But I thought Bucky’s all you’ve ever had.
“No!” he was screaming. They were everything, everything to him.
I get it, why care about your future as long as-
Peter, that’s enough.
Maria, pain still emanating from her, cautious, allowed her warmth back in. Steve was sobbing, now in relief. He didn’t like the cold.
“What do I do now?”
What you always do. Avenge him.
There were icicles forming in his eyelashes as the thin, atmospheric air hit him in the face. Had he not had the serum, his would be suffocating from lack of oxygen.
He fiddled with the radio. “This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?”
Morita was on the other end. “Captain Rogers, what is your-“
Peggy cut in. “Steve is that you? Are you alright?”
“Peggy! Schmidt’s dead.”
“What about the plane?”
Snow was in his eyes. “That’s a little bit tougher to explain.”
“Give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing site.”
“There’s not gonna be a safe landing, but I can try and force it down.”
“I’ll get Howard on the line. He’ll know what to do.”
“There’s not enough time. This thing’s moving too fast and it’s headed for New York.”
The ocean peaked out from under the clouds. The expanses of blue and white were beautiful. Unforgiving. Inevitable.
You have to.
“I gotta put her in the water.”
“Please don’t do this; we have time we’ll work it out.”
“Right now I’m in the middle of nowhere. If I wait a lot longer a lot of people are gonna die.”
Will I still get you both?
It’s the only way you will.
“Peggy, this is my choice.”
He tried to imagine, for the millionth time, Peter and Maria’s faces. They would both have brown hair, hers rich curls like chocolate, his lighter, more like honey. Maria’s eyes vibrant blue like the Tesseract thing, Peter’s the color of whiskey. Little children smiling, running, giving him hugs and kisses, holding his hand.
He maneuvered the controls so the nose of the plane was pointing down.
“Peggy.”
“I’m here.”
“I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.”
“Alright. . . . A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”
“You got it.”
“Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood?”
“You know, I still don’t know how to dance.”
“I’ll show you how, just be there.”
“We’ll have the band play something slow. I wouldn’t want to step on your feet.”
The last word was lost in a wave of static.
“I’m not going to make that date, am I?”
Ice formed in his lungs, he felt his heart slow.
Blearily, he thought I’m sorry.
It’ll be over soon.
Papa, we love you.