Chapter Text
Steve’s mother, Sarah, reads Natasha’s favorite story out loud while tailoring the new pink bow that will go on Natasha’s dress. It’s the story of the Princess and the Frog and Steve can’t say that he loves it as much as Natasha because, really, the thought of kissing a frog grosses him out. Natasha leans forward in anticipation when the ‘best part’ comes up; the one where the princess kisses the frog and the frog turns into a handsome prince. Natasha giggles happily and cheers for it to be read again, but Steve just shakes his head in disgust.
Sarah wraps the bow around Natasha’s waist and waves Steve along, telling Natasha that they’d better get going home. Before he’s shooed from the room, though, Steve speaks up.
“I swear that I will never, ever, ever kiss a frog,” he says. “I mean never, ever, ever, never will kiss a frog in this whole wide world. It’s just gross.”
Natasha smiles at him, one of those devious ones where he knows that he’s in big trouble.
“Is that so,” she smirks smoothly. She throws a frog hat over her cat, Clint’s, head. “Well, here’s your prince.”
She picks Clint up and shoves him in Steve’s face.
“No, I will never, ever kiss a frog,” he insists while pushing the poor cat away from him.
Natasha allows him to push her over and she settles on the floor in front of him.
“I know that I would. Why, I would kiss a whole hundred frogs if it meant I could marry a prince and be a princess,” she tells him dreamily. She squeezes Clint tightly, making his hair puff up irritatedly. He flies to the ceiling, allowing Steve’s mom to grab onto him.
“Will you two stop terrorizing this poor cat?” she mutters, snagging the cat from the air.
Just then, Natasha’s father walks in. Natasha rushes up to him to show him her new dress that Sarah had just sewed up for her. She chants ‘daddy, daddy’, and asks him how he likes the new dress.
“You look very pretty, my girl. I wouldn’t expect much less from the greatest seamstress in all of New Orleans,” he tells her happily. He scoops her up in his arms and carries her toward Sarah.
“Daddy, I want that dress!” she informs him, pointing to a book that stands on a pedestal. It’s Sarah’s book full of designs that Natasha likes to sort through sometimes just for fun. “It would make me look pretty, doncha’ think?”
Her father grunts in agreement. “What do you think, Sarah? Can you do it?”
“Of course. Anything for my best costumer,” she replies politely. Sarah offers one more smile to Natasha and her father before grabbing Steve’s hand and guiding him toward Natasha’s bedroom door.
“Let’s go, Steven, your father should be home by now,” she says as she leads him down the hallway. Steve glances over his shoulder at Natasha’s open door. The last thing he hears is the barking of a puppy that Natasha receives from her dad after he tells her he’s done being a ‘pushover’.
* * *
Steve always loves the nights on the trolley with his mother. After a hard day - or fun and playful for him, at least - at work, he and his mom board it. He bounces at his mother's heels as they travel from Natasha’s house to the main street that the trolleys always scale. He watches meticulously - never tiring of the view - as the city lights transform into country skies and smells of home. He’s always fascinated in that childish way that everyone once was and he enjoys every single second of it. He presses his face up against the shimmering glass window that reflects the warm lights that come in contact with it. He smiles in amazement up until the final stop that brings him to his run-down house. They may not be the richest family money-wise, but they are most definitely the richest family where it counts.
Steve steps into the small kitchen where his dad sits at the table, reading the newspaper. He stands as soon as he sees Steve and greets him with a genuine smile. There’s some boiling water on the stove and Steve knows immediately what that means. He throws ingredients in the pot with practiced ease, making some of his famous gumbo. Or, at least, somewhat famous gumbo. The only thing that matters is that his mom and dad like it.
He scoops out a spoonful of the soup and lifts it to his mouth. It’s missing a little something. He picks up some hot sauce and drips in a few drops. He tastes it again. Perfect. He deals out one more spoonful and lifts it to his dad’s mouth, where he contemplates the taste with a furrowed brow. Steve stares up at him in anticipation.
His dad’s frown deepens, and Steve knows that the gumbo isn’t as good as it usually is if his dad doesn’t like it. Before he gets too down on himself for his less-than-superior cooking skills, his dad smiles down at him.
“That is some of the best gumbo that I have ever tasted,” he tells Steve sincerely before gathering him in his arms. “I love it, thanks bud.”
Steve’s dad makes sure that his mother knows just how good the gumbo is, and that a gift like Steve’s cooking deserves to be shared. His dad tells Steve to invite everyone over for dinner. That’s how everyone in his small neighborhood gathers at his house, gobbling down some hot gumbo.
* * *
That night, Steve’s mom and dad sit with him on his bed.
“You see this place?” Steve’s dad asks while pointing to a picture that he holds in his hands. It’s a poster-like thing that has a lively restaurant pasted on the front. A woman holds up a glass of champagne and smiles. “That’ll be us someday, I’ll be serving up my food and we’ll have a restaurant to take care of.”
“Our food,” Steve insists which earns a chuckle from his father.
“You’re right. Our food.”
Steve laughs and crawls across his bed to the window that’s positioned next to it. It shows a clear navy sky with billions of white, twinkling stars.
“Look, there’s a wishing star! If we make a wish, all our dreams will come true!” Steve informs his parents.
“Now, that’s not quite right,” his dad corrects him. “It only helps you a little bit. You have to work to make your dreams come true, and that star there will just help give you a step in the right direction.”
Steve gazes at his dad, wondering how he’d gotten all that knowledge in his big head of his. He smiles and nods confidently at him, knowing exactly what he means.
A calloused hand is placed on Steve’s head, stroking his blond hair lovingly. “You can achieve anything you set your mind to, my boy. You never, ever lose sight of what’s important to you. Never forget that.”
His parents tuck Steve into his bed, nice and warm under his comforter. Before his eyes drift closed, Steve snags the picture of the restaurant that his father left on his nightstand and sits up against his windowsill. “Please, please, please,” he whispers into the night. Then, a frog - a slimy, repulsive frog - croaks just outside his window. That’s all Steve needs to hear before he screams and bursts out of his room.