Kid, tell me what happened: The Sequel

Papas right here bud

Seven-year-old Peter Rogers tossed and turned in his sleep, trying to find the most suitable position that would be of comfort, and would make him stop coughing. After seconds that felt like minutes, he groaned as he tried to sit up.

Suddenly, he felt ill. He had to get up, he had to get his Papa. He had just gotten to the bathroom where he discarded his stomach’s contents. He must have been in there for a long time because his Papa walked in groggily, confused as to why the bathroom light was on. He quickly took a look at the situation and understood.

Within mere seconds he was crouched down next to Peter, gently stroking his hair as Peter continued to empty his aching stomach. Papa spoke gently, carding his digits through his hair, “You’re a real trooper bud, you’re doin’ great.” He kept his words of praise as Peter continued to empty his stomach.

A little bit later, Peter hesitantly pulled away from the toilet, but too far, in case his stomach needed another round. Steve sat on his knees, despite the screaming protest as he wiped the small bits of sick off his face and collar. He planted a gentle kiss on Peter’s sweaty head, offering him a cup of water. He remained calm and kind, “Take three small sips, alright buddy?”

Peter complied, raising the glass, taking as his father had instructed him, three small sips. He slowly lowered the cup to the cold tiled floor, and gently leaned back against the wall. He heavily panted, trying to calm himself down. He murmured, “I’m sorry Papa.”

Papa shook his head, using his thumb and forefinger to wipe away the tears that were racing each other down Peter’s cheeks, “For what bear?” Peter replied as he leaned against Steve’s strong and sturdy shoulder, “For getting sick.” Papa shook his head, giving him a kind smile, “That’s alright bud. We all get sick every now and then.”

To try and lighten the mood, Steve offered, “Bear, you want to hear a story about Papa?” Papa hardly talked about his past, it being private and placed an indescribable ache in it that Steve just couldn’t explain. And Peter didn’t like to make Papa sad, or angry. And besides, Peter knew that when Papa was ready to, or when he wanted to tell him, he would. So when Steve was offering to, Peter quickly seized the moment, nodding his head quickly.

Steve lightly chuckled, sitting cross-legged now, “Easy bud, take it easy on the movements.” For some reason, Peter had loved it when his Papa sat cross-legged. It meant that he usually got to sit on his lap, and Papa would wrap his strong and warm arms around him, keeping him safe and sound. And that’s exactly what his Papa did. Papa gently lifted Peter off his feet, into his lap and leaned against the wall. Just in case Peter needed to get more out of his system. Papa resumed carding his fingers through Peter’s hair, and with his unoccupied hand, wrapped it around his little boy, keeping him warm and safe.

Steve began, “Peter, today I’m Captain America, big and strong, but before, I wasn’t even a fraction of what I was today. I was the skinniest kid in Brooklyn, and my lungs had problems.” Peter inquired, “What kinds of problems Papa?” Steve nodded, continuing, “My lungs weren’t very strong. Sometimes they would stop working and I needed to go to the hospital. I had asthma, really bad asthma. I would get sick a lot, almost every week. Sometimes they joked that I should just live in the hospital because I was there so many times.” Peter watches as his Papa’s eyes shone with the memories of him always being sick in the hospital.

His Papa continued, “And I always felt bad about being sick. I always felt that I was like a burden to my Ma, and to my best friend. But it didn’t bother either of them. If anything, it made me and my Ma really close, she would always take care of me, get me off the bathroom floor in times like these. My best friend, he always stayed by my side, he would constantly cut his classes to stay with me, and to make sure I was alright.” His Papa chuckled wistfully, “Part of it was my fault, I kept picking fights with the biggest, the worst kids. But they were bullies, and I don’t like bullies. Never have, never will. My best friend, Bucky, he would always drag me home, give me an earful about just staying down, but I couldn’t. I had to fight, I always ask myself why. And I always answer the same way, because I have to look out for the little guy. I was the little guy, the kid who was frequently sick, but I had to pay some homage. Somehow, someway.”

Peter nodded intently, as his Papa’s eyes twinkled like stars, how he looked as if he were transported back to the 1940s, where everything was much simpler, much different. His voice carried on steady, “So bear, don’t you ever apologize about being sick alright? Ever. I’ve been sick enough times to know that it’s not fun. Even though it’s not something serious, it’s alright. I’m your Papa, I’m going to take care of you no matter what. Alright?”

Peter nodded as he leaned into his Papa’s chest, knowing that in these arms, he would always be safe and sound.

And that day, those words had carried on in Peter’s head, shaped him to be the person that he was. Those words had shaped him, to put on a mask, and become the hero that the world needed more of. The heroes who handled the large-scale, catastrophic, world-ending problems, were plentiful. But what about the little guys? The police couldn’t save everyone, heck no one could. But no doubt, the world could use more heroes out there.

He remembered when Papa had found out about him being Spiderman. He had expected his Papa to go off, punch a wall, throw a shield, but instead, he had glowed with pride and hugged him tightly. He had said that he was so proud. He had reminded him, “Bud, you know I’ll always be here for you alright?” Peter knew, and they lived their lives together, splitting their days from Avenging to living what was left of the “normal” in their lives.

One night while he was on Patrol, he heard the sound of a trigger too late. He had reached out to move the civilian to the side, but he was too late. He watched as the life died from the man’s eyes, watched as his chest stopped moving.

Peter wanted to scream, he wanted to cry. This man’s blood, his death was on his hands. This was his fault. His fault that an innocent man was dead. What if the man had a family? What if he was married? His parents? His children? A family to grow up without a member isn’t easier said than done.

After he gathered himself together, he headed home. His Papa was on the sofa, leafing through another nostalgic classic. Peter felt the burning tears form in his eyes. He wasted no time in hugging his Papa, sinking into his weight. Right now, he just wanted his Papa, nothing more, nothing less. His Papa slid in the bookmark to his novel and placed it to the side and wrapped his arms around his boy, holding him strong and tight just as he always did, the way Peter always loved it. Peter’s knees buckled and his Papa caught his weight. Peter threw his arms around his Papa’s neck, and sobs escaped from his quivered lips.

Papa wrapped an arm around his boy, and gently ran his fingers through his hair, “Petey, bear, what’s wrong bud?” More sobs escaped his lips. Steve nodded, “Bear, it’s alright, I’m going to help you, just talk to me.” Peter stuttered through sobs, “I, I, couldn’t save him. I, I, wasn’t fast enough.”

Steve looked down at his boy. His boy was only sixteen years old, such a young boy, but such a good one. When he became Spiderman, he felt his heart swell with pride, even more than he thought was possible. He was an Avenger, he knew that at the end of every day, you couldn’t save everyone. You just couldn’t. But it still hurt, the guilt was still felt when someone died on your account, even if it wasn’t necessarily your fault.

Steve stroked Peter gently, “It’s going to be alright bud, Papa’s right here, I’ve got you. It’s alright, I know bear, I know, you can’t save everyone. I know it hurts like heck. I know bud, and I’m so, so sorry.” His grip around Peter tightened, but neither of them minded, Steve was intent of keeping his promise to Peter, no matter what, thick or thin, he was always going to be right there for his little boy.