Chapter Text
It was Tuesday night, twilight was upon them, outside it was beginning to get cold, but inside they were plenty warm. His dad and he had occupied the same room for the last hour now, his father getting up to turn the lights on (this mostly for his benefit, he knew, Papa was watching TV after all) and Steve was admittedly snooping.
He had been reading comics; ostensibly, he was still reading his comic books, yes, but mostly (for the past twenty minutes), Steve was wondering what his mom was doing.
Laying flat on his stomach, his feet dug into the crevice between the couch cushions, he flicked the page, not really reading the spiraling, bursting text, nor the seeing the clashes of color as his favorite superheroes duked it out. He looked up again, peering out the side window into the little yard that separated their house from the Romanovs.
His mom had gone out grocery shopping two hours before (her lackadaisical style of shopping meant that something was always missing from their chosen recipe) and he’d stayed home because really, what 12 year old wanted to go grocery shopping on a Saturday afternoon with his mom, for god’s sake- but he’d heard her car in the driveway and then… nothing… and he was getting hungry-
“What’s she doing?” his dad asked, from his side of the room.
“Talking,” he said, giving up on his pretenses of reading and rolling off the couch. “But she’s been talking for like… forever now…”
“Maybe she needs rescuing,” his dad suggested. “Some handsome man, to go save her.”
“And I’m sure you mean me-”
“Well, you are younger,” Papa joked. “At least get the groceries from her and I’ll start on supper. You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
“Starving,” he said, pulling on his keds and pushing his way through the front door, jumping the front steps. He trotted through the fallen leaves, enjoying the crunch, the whispers and sighs of the leaves as he walked amongst them (and over them, sorry-), finding his mom leaning on the fence, talking to Mrs. Romanov. The two women looked uncharacteristically serious and for a moment, Steve wondered if he should just head back in. Dad could make them grilled cheeses.
But- they’d seen him. “Steve Rogers,” Mrs. Romanov called. “You’re going to catch your death out here. Where is your jacket?”
He let her caress his face, smiling faintly at her as he took his place next to his mom. “Only going to be out here a minute,” he promised. “Takes longer than that to freeze me.”
“I’m holding up dinner, aren’t I?” she said to Steve’s mom. “Look at the time- it’s already almost dark-”
“Come have dinner with us,” Mom suggested but their neighbor was shaking her head. “He’s not home yet from this last job- I’ll wait for him. We have a lot to prepare. Come for tea tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.” They said their goodbyes, watching as their neighbor tottered back into the house. He was looking at his mom. She looked faintly worried and that wasn’t like her at all. She caught him looking at her and she nudged him. “Will you help me with the groceries?”
“Yeah, Momma.”
“You’re so good, Stevie.”
He was bursting to ask her what it was all about but he kept mum, trailing her down the driveway and ducking into her backseat to grab all the bags- and there were so very many of them (“what did you do, buy out the store, Ma?”) and bustling past her, turning her down when she tried to help. She just laughed at him, slamming the car door shut and darting in front of him to get the back door open. Dad was waiting in the kitchen. “Oh, Christ, Sarah-”
“None of that,” she said, swatting at him. “Steve, I got those cookies you like so much- they’re in here somewhere-”
“What were you talking to Mrs. Romanov about?” he asked, digging through the bags, looking for his prize.
“Bad news.” His mom leaned against the cupboard, a frown marring her beautiful features. “How to tell you this? Her son and daughter-in-law were in a plane crash. They just got the news three days ago.”
He’d just found the box of cookies but he froze now, perched absurdly on the kitchen floor. “They died-?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Shit,” his dad said. That seemed to encompass it. And- “Didn’t they have kids?”
“Two daughters. Anna hasn’t seen any of them in years- her husband had gotten into that fight with Alexei. I don’t even think she’s met the younger girl.”
“What’s going to happen to them?” Suddenly, Steve didn’t feel all that hungry.
His mom seemed to be sizing him up. “They’re coming here. Their grandparents are the only family they have and of course Anna and Nicholas said they would take them. Perhaps you could help, Stevie.” Coming over, she carded her fingers through his hair. “The older daughter is a little younger than you, yes, but she’ll need a friend. Anna says things haven’t been easy for her anyways, these past few years… Will you try to help them?”
“How much younger?”
“Nine or ten years old, I think. I know it’s a weird gap but…”
Possibly three years younger than him? The other boys would make fun of him. Bucky wouldn’t though. He had sisters. Maybe they could be friends with this girl instead of Steve. Still… she was going to need a friend. Both her parents, dead. He looked up at his mom, trying to picture what it would be like if even one of them was gone and found that he couldn’t. Didn’t want to think of it. One moment her parents had been there and the next they’d been gone. “I’ll look out for her,” he vowed. “I’ll take care of them both. Promise, Momma.”
“Oh, Steve, you’re so wonderful,” she said, and his insides glowed.
“Can I have a cookie before dinner?”
“You’d better,” she laughed. “It’s going to be a while. Joey, are you helping me?”
“Of course.” Steve tried to take his cookie (multiple cookies) and leave but his dad seized him around the shoulders, pulling him into a rough and tumble hug. “Keep an eye on the game, bubba. Come get me if they get out of the hole-”
“Papa, let go-”
“Give me a kiss,” his dad implored.
“You’re gross-” But he pecked the man’s cheek and, ducking his chokehold, darted around the table to hug his mom from behind; then he was off, flopping back onto the couch with a little bounce and grabbing his comics. He could hear his parents in the kitchen- Papa was singing- and he glanced at the game. Their team had pulled slightly out of the ditch. Maybe things would turn around.
Reaching up, he yanked the blanket off the back of the couch, pulling it down and rolling himself into a very warm burrito. He sighed happily.