Chapter Text
1943
Steve walked down the sidewalk with his hands buried deep in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold.
The street moved around him in its usual rhythm. A radio crackled from an open storefront, tinny music spilling out onto the pavement. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed too loud. A delivery truck rattled past, leaving the smell of exhaust in its wake.
He kept his head down, eyes tracing the cracks in the concrete as he walked, letting the noise blur together into something distant. People passed him without looking twice, coats brushing his sleeve, everyone headed somewhere that mattered more than whatever he was thinking about.
His thoughts were then interrupted when a woman’s voice cuts through the dark alley on his left— sharp with panic, and Steve turns just in time to see her stumble, a tall man’s hand tangled in the strap of her purse.
“Hey!-“ Rogers got there as fast as he could and held back the thief’s arm to loosen his grip. The strap slips free. She yanks it back to her chest and runs, only looking back once before turning the corner and disappearing into the streets.
But the moment Steve’s head turned back to the person infront of him, a punch landed straight to his face, sending him a few steps back instantly.
“The fuck is your problem?” The man spat out. He had a brute look, he wore a black sleeveless vest, showing off his inimidating tattoos, but he looked nothing more than the average streetfighter.
His eyebrows were furrowed and his voice was loud, he was clearly pissed.
Steve weakly straightened up, wiping the blood from his mouth in a pathetic way but doesn’t run, even though his instincts are already telling him how this usually ends.
“You should stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” The thief says, eyes scanning him like he’s measuring up something fragile. He cracked his knuckles and gave off a creepy grin.
Steve swallows. His heart is going too fast, but his voice stays even.
“Sorry sir, but I don’t just watch things and stay quiet.” A vein definetely popped through the brute’s neck from the blonde’s words. Steve raised his fists up into a fighting stance, His face looked fearless despite the black eye that was forming on his right.
The sight of the moment looked incredibly noble to the point it was ridiculous, the thief felt like he can even hear a stupid heroic theme song playing in the background.
Then a heavy boot landed straight to his abdomen, shutting him down quick. He stumbles down, landing on a few garbage bags. Grunting in pain, he tries to get back up fast— his determination burning through the sting.
“Don’t worry,-“ He paused, coughing up a few times before continuing. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“What are you, some fucking saint?-“ The thief stepped closer and crouched down. He raised his fist up, punching Steve repeatedly, making his head go left and right. His ears rang, the punches stung really bad. Then the man threw one more punch foward with all the force he can to finish the fight.
It stopped.
His arm was grabbed by a hand from behind. Then he got yanked back. He looked over and saw a lean figure wearing a dull green military uniform.
“That’s enough.” Bucky said smoothly. Positioning himself between Steve and the brute.
Steve pants slowly, breath tight in his chest. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and tasted blood. Then he made one more attempt to get up before going limp. Bucky sighed, and now pissed.
He dodged the upcoming attack infront of him, then sidesteps, driving an elbow into the other man’s ribs, sending him staggering back. The man tries another wild swing. Barnes blocked it easily, grabs the collar, and slams him to the wall hard.
The man staggers back, breath ragged, eyes darting. For a second it looks like it might actually be over.
But then his hand disappears into his coat, a shimmer of steel flashes fast. Steve’s eyes widen. “Buck—!”
Bucky was caught off guard, he stepped back a second too late. The knife swung hard and quick into his arm like a whip cracking through the air.
Shit—
Bucky twists on instinct, too late to clear it completely. The fabric of his sleeve tears. Heat flares along his wrist, sudden and shocking, he sucks in a sharp breath as he jerks back.
The man nervously grins in cowardice that he tried to hide, he gripped the handle of the knife tight. “Ya’ll are gonna regret this!”
Bucky glances down once. Red already seeping through the torn sleeve as a drop of sweat rolled down his face from the pain. He looks back up, unimpressed. “That’s cheating.”
He lunges again, slashing wide this time, angry now. Bucky ducks, moves in close, shoves the knife arm aside with his forearm and drives a punch straight into the man’s jaw, then to his gut. Now that he was off-foot, Bucky delivered the final blow into his chin and the man collapsed to the ground.
The sound was dull and final and the thief was knocked out. The soldier stood there a moment, chest rising and falling, then flexes his arm like he’s testing it. “Great,” he mutters to himself.
Steve’s breathing hitched for a moment, then he finally had the energy to get up, gathering all the effort he can to stand, then is his side quickly, taking a look at his arm. “Shit- Are you okay?”
Bucky shrugs it off, tugging at the sleeve to look at the damage. “Nah its fine, had worse.”
Rogers didn’t look convinced. He stared at the torn fabric, looking closely, the slash sliced his forearm all the way down to his wrist and the blood was flowing out fast.
They headed out the alley and walked towards their apartment which was luckily nearby. Bucky’s arm was gripped tightly by his other one, putting pressure on the wound.
Steve straightens slowly, he was extremely concerned underneath.
“I was standing on the upper ground, y’now?” He murmered, almost teasingly. The other only rolled his eyes.
A moment later, he looked up and down to the clothes Bucky was wearing.
“New uniform?”
“Yeah, just got back from handling the paperwork.”
He frowned a bit, feeling kind of guilty that a portion of it was now torn and with blood dripping through.
Bucky caught on the look, “My mom will stitch it back, won’t be a problem.” he smiled.
~~~~~~~
1944
…
“Rogers.” he heard a voice.
…
“Rogers.” A bit louder this time. Oh, were they calling me?
Steve snaps out of the memory, he almost forgot he was in a meeting and staring at a long table instead of an alley. Papers were spread out in uneven stacks, corners curling. Someone has left a coffee to go cold near his elbow. A map is pinned to the wall across from him, red lines inked over the east coast.
Colonel Philipps stared at him blankly, as if waiting for an answer. His hands were behind his back, his posture was straight and professional. Peggy and the other members in the room were staring at him as well and it placed him in an awkward corner.
“Uhm-“ He cleared his throat.
“Could you repeat that sir?”
The colonel sighed irritably. Trying to hold in his patience.
“You and your men will advance at dawn. Understood?”
Steve blinked and inhaled for a second before he answered firmly
“Yes sir.”
The meeting moved on. Steve nodded along with everyone else, posture straight, hands folded because that’s what’s expected of him. He’s Captain America, after all. He’s supposed to have his head on straight.
Someone slides a folder across the table toward him. Typed reports. Casualty numbers. Names he doesn’t recognize and some he does, blurred together until they’re just letters on a page. He flips it open, skims, nods again. The motions come easily. Muscle memory. A pen taps once against the tabletop. Somewhere behind him, a radio murmurs low. Laughter drifts in from the hallway and dies just as quickly. Steve’s eyes linger on the map longer than necessary. He traces one of the routes without touching it, following the red line until it drops off the edge of the paper.
“Alright,” Phillips says, clapping his hands once. “The meeting is adjourned.”
The chairs scrape back. The room loosens, people standing, talking over one another, already moving on to the next problem. Someone claps Steve on the shoulder as they pass. Another tells him good work. He manages a smile that feels practiced enough to pass.
He stays seated a second longer than everyone else. Peggy’s gaze lingered on him but she had to get back to work as she was called in for other business.
Steve exhales slowly and stands, gathering the folder under his arm. The meeting room empties around him, the fan still rattling, the map still waiting on the wall. He steps out into the hallway and lets the door swing shut behind him.
He hadn’t gone far when a voice called out, warm and carrying just enough authority to stop him in his tracks.
“Captain America!”
He turned to see a man in uniform, straight-backed, approachable, a lieutenant by the look of his insignia and uniform. Steve gave a crisp salute, and the lieutenant returned it with a nod, a hint of a smile in his eyes.
“Lieutenant,” Steve said, keeping it formal, yet curious.
“Rogers,” the man replied, then relaxed slightly.
“I’m Lieutenant Harper Caldwell. We haven’t met properly, but I wanted to introduce myself.” He offered his hand, firm but friendly. Steve shook it, noting the ease in the man’s posture, the way he seemed almost used to stepping into these moments.
They began walking side by side, shoulders nearly brushing in the narrow corridor. Harper spoke in measured tones, small talk at first— questions about Steve’s unit, comments on the efficiency of the briefing, nothing heavy. Then, casually, almost as if he had been waiting for the right moment, he said,
“I am a friend of Eleanor Barnes.”
Steve’s stride faltered, there was a flicker of something heavy crossing his face, but he let him finish.
“I heard you two were acquainted through James.” Harper said, glancing briefly at him.
Steve’s chest tightened slightly, a sudden weight pressing down. Harper’s next words cut through before he could prepare for them.
“Would you be attending the funeral?”
Steve’s heart dropped for an instant. His steps slowed. He stopped completely, blinking at the lieutenant.
…
“Funeral..?”
…
Harper blinked and paused, his eyes softening slightly. “You didn’t know?”
…
Steve shook his head, voice caught in his throat before he could even form the words.
The lieutenant inhaled, hesitant, as if deciding whether it was his place to be the one to say it. “William and Eleanor got into a car accident two weeks ago,” he said finally, carefully, like the words themselves were fragile.
…
…
…
Steve’s stomach dropped, Two weeks? Two weeks had passed and he hadn’t heard.
“The funeral will be taking place this afternoon,” Harper continued.
…
“Today?” The word escaped him like a whisper, and the hallway seemed to tilt slightly, narrowing around him. Today
Harper nodded, his gaze steady. “Their daughters wished me to tell you that you’d come.”
Steve’s head felt too heavy, thoughts colliding and spinning. It didn’t feel real. How could it be? He could still the warm sound of their voices despite not seeing them in over 3 months, he remembers it like it was just yesterday, And now he was being asked to go to their funeral.
Harper waited patiently for his response.
…
“I-..”
What do I say?
…
“I’ll be there, thank you.” He said in a composed tone, before quickly turning back to storm off to the opposite direction.
“Excuse me.”
He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed quiet, needed walls that wouldn’t look at him like they knew. A small room, a chair, the door closing behind him. That was enough.
And then it all rushed in. Eleanor’s hands smoothing his hair when he was younger, telling him to stay for dinner because he was too thin again. William’s voice, calm and steady, pretending not to notice when Steve lingered too long because he didn’t want to go back to an empty apartment. They hadn’t had to take him in after his parents died, but they did anyway, never making it feel like charity, never making him feel like a burden.
~~~~~~~~~
1924
He was still a little kid at the time his father died. Bucky saw Steve standing alone in the rain as the cops dragged a lifeless body out of his house. And Bucky brought Steve home with him.
He remembered sitting on the edge of the couch, feet not quite touching the floor, shoulders hunched forward as he tried to keep himself quiet. His eyes were red and swollen, nose running, chest hitching no matter how hard he tried to slow his breathing.
“Hey,” she said gently, tipping her head to catch his eye. “Come here, Stevie.” When he hesitated, she didn’t push. She just opened her arms and waited.
“Daddy is gone-..” He sniffled.
He leaned into her, fists twisting in the fabric of her cardigan as the tears finally spilled over. His shoulders shook, breath coming out in uneven pulls. Eleanor wrapped one arm around him and used the other to rub slow circles into his back, steady and patient.
“I know,” she said quietly, more than once. “I know it hurts.”
She just stayed there, letting him cry until it tired him out, until his breathing evened and his grip loosened.
When he finally pulled back, she wiped his face with her thumb and gave him a small, sad smile. “You’re always welcome here,” she told him. “Any time you need us.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Three months.
That was how long it had been since he’d last seen them. Three months of excuses, of putting it off, of telling himself he’d go tomorrow, next week, when the guilt wasn’t sitting so heavy in his chest. How could he look them in the eye when their son had followed him, always followed him, and paid the price for it? He’d replayed that moment over and over, wondering if there was something he could’ve done differently, something he’d missed, some way he could’ve pulled Bucky back.
He’d been working himself up to it, finally. Planning the visit in his head. What he’d say. How he’d apologize without saying the words out loud. And now there was no door left to knock on.
The realization landed slow and brutal. They were gone. While he was still gathering courage, still telling himself there’d be time.
He hadn’t gone to the funeral they held for Bucky. He hadn’t been able to. Standing there, facing the empty space where his best friend should’ve been—it felt like too much, like admitting something he wasn’t ready to carry.
Steve took a deep breathe and got up from where he sat, he wouldn’t be doing the same thing again. He walked out the empty room to get cleaned up.
~~~~~~~~~~
He prepared himself as best he could, hands moving on habit while his mind kept drifting elsewhere. The suit felt wrong on him, it was too neat and too clean. It’s Howard’s, technically. And it was expensive enough that running across half the city in it felt like a bad idea, even if he could make the distance. He just didn’t want to arrive wrinkled and breathless, like he hadn’t taken it seriously.
Harper had mentioned the address in passing, and it was miles away. Too far to walk in time. Steve had stood there afterward, turning the problem over and over, realizing how little it mattered that he was Captain America when something as simple as getting across the city still felt impossible. He never really learned to drive. Everyone he knew was busy. Harper headed out an hour ago and was long gone. He remembered Dugan had been around that morning, but by now he could’ve been anywhere.
He was straightening his tie for the third time when Peggy stepped into the room, stopping short when she saw him.
She paused. Looking at the random suit. “Where are you heading? The meeting’s about to start.”
Steve hesitated. “I— have something I need to take care of.”
He let the silence stretch, weighing the words, the ask, whether it was fair to put her in that position.
“Could you…- would it be possible for you to drive me to Locksburg Street, Agent Carter?”
Peggy studied him for a moment. “Captain, you do realize this meeting covers the infiltration plan,” she said carefully. “Your presence is expected.”
“I know.” He swallowed.
“If the colonel—“
“Peggy… it’s.. Bucky’s parents.”
She blinked, surprise flickering across her face before it softened into something gentler, understanding settling in without another question. She knew how much James meant to him, so she sighed in defeat.
“I’ll give you a ride.” She muttered, grabbing the keys from her pockets. She went out the room and Steve followed with her.
~~~~~~~~~~
They arrived earlier than expected. The street was still settling into itself, too calm for what the day was meant to hold. Peggy pulled over and turned to him.
“I’ll try to handle the meeting” she said, “But expect the General giving you a good beating when you come back.”
Steve nodded, the words sticking for a second before he found them. “Thank you, Peg.”
She gave him a small, reassuring look before driving off, leaving him there with his thoughts.
Inside, everything was arranged simply. Clean lines, careful touches. Nothing excessive, It felt like them. Steve took it in slowly, the unfamiliar faces blurring together as quiet murmurs filled the space.
Then his gaze caught on someone he knew.
It was Rebecca.
Steve didn’t realize he’d stopped walking until his feet finally caught up with him.
Rebecca stood a little apart from the others, hands folded tight in front of her, shoulders drawn in like she was bracing against something heavier than the room. She looked older than the last time he’d seen her. She quieter, somehow—but unmistakably Barnes. The same line of the jaw. The same steadiness that tried, and failed, to hide how much hurt sat underneath.
For a second, Steve considered turning away and letting her have this moment without him stepping into it like an open wound.
But she noticed him anyway, before he even found the nerve to step forward.
Her expression changed— It looked slight but it was a completely new vibe. She excused herself out of the conversation she was having and walked over, stopping in front of him.
“You came,” she said.
Steve nodded. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
She looked at him for a moment, then past him, toward the rows of chairs and the muted arrangements. When she spoke again, it was softer. But it carried weight.
“Where were you?” She asked, her tone was steady and calm.
The question pressed in on his chest all the same.
“I couldn’t bring myself to come sooner,” he admitted. “I should have. I know that.”
Rebecca’s lips pressed together. She folded her arms, not defensively— more like she was holding herself together.
“They asked about you,” she said quietly. “A lot.” She hesitated. “Especially Mom.”
“I didn’t mean to stay away,” he said. “I just… didn’t know how to face them after Bucky.”
She met his eyes then. There was anger there, yes—but it was tired, worn down by grief.
“It hurt,” she said. “When you didn’t show up. It felt like we lost you too.. When James died and his funeral was held, Dad was going to make you a pallbearer.”
Steve’s breath caught.
“I’m sorry,” Steve said. And this time, it wasn’t rushed or panicked. It was steady. “I should’ve been here,“
Rebecca stared at him for a moment before exhaling slowly. “Well- atleast you’re here now..”
She then pucnhed the side of his arm lightly, like she would used to do when they were kids. She then gestured a sad smile before walking away.
The phrase was supposed to be reassuring, but it left Steve in utter shambles. He frowned as he looked down on the floor.
Rebecca was never the calm type. She was always hot-headed and pointed it out when others did her wrong. Steve thought she would scream at him— or punch him harder or—
…
But she was calm. And that was the most upset she ever was.
Steve promised himself that he would make it up to her someday and repay what he owed. He promised.
~~~~~~~~~~
The crowd thinned the way fog does when the sun finally reaches it, slowly and without ceremony. Voices softened, shoes brushed over gravel, and one by one people stepped back, leaving the space in front of the caskets wide open.
That was when Steve saw her.
Rebecca had collapsed forward, hands pressed flat against the wood as if she could hold it in place by force alone. Her grief came apart all at once— breath hitching, shoulders shaking, words tumbling out broken and useless between sobs.
“Please..- please- ” she choked, her voice splintering as her fingers curled tighter. “Don’t take them yet.”
It sounded less like a plea and more like disbelief, like her mind was still refusing to catch up with what her eyes were seeing.
Janet reached her first, slipping an arm around her shoulders, murmuring low and steady even as her own tears fell freely. Maria followed, hands closing gently around Rebecca’s wrists, coaxing rather than pulling, though it took effort all the same. Rebecca resisted, shaking her head, clinging until there was nothing left in her but exhaustion.
When her grip finally gave, she crumpled into them, sobbing openly now, her face pressed into Janet’s shoulder while Maria held her close, jaw tight, eyes shining. The three of them stood tangled together, grief passing between them like a current, each one trying to be strong for the others and failing anyway.
Steve stayed where he was.
He knew that look. He had seen it years ago in a cramped Brooklyn apartment, in the quiet aftermath of bad news, when the Barnes family had closed ranks around one another and somehow found room for him too. Back then, they had been the steady ones. The ones who held.
Now there was nothing he could do but watch as the earth waited patiently nearby, ready to claim what little it hadn’t already taken.