The son of Robert and Julie Coulson, Phillip J. "Phil" Coulson was born in Boston, Massachusetts, on July 8, 1964, being an only child. Coulson lost his father at a very young age, and his mother is now deceased as well. After high school, he was recruited right away to SHIELD, eventually becoming a special agent and was taught by his supervising officer Nick Fury alongside John Garrett.
April 1972
For as long as Phil could remember, the idea of death had never really affected him.
He was just a kid; he didn't, and shouldn't, have to worry about it. It always seemed to him the final stage of a person's life and only that. Hearing his mother grieve the loss of one of their neighbors was the closest he'd ever come to attending a funeral.
However, he believed his mother's grief was not as pronounced as the others'. Obviously it had to do with the fact that she was only a mere acquaintance of the man they had buried. He also suspected it was because she had endured so much already.
But Julie grieved late in that night, after her son was sleeping. She saw herself all alone in her bed and reminded the pain and grief of the wife who had just buried her husband. Just like Julie's husband, Robert, their neighbor was also fighting in Vietnam. He was a young man still, happily married with children who loved him. The thought hit her; she didn't want to be the next one to bury her husband.
Her worst fears would be realized only a few short weeks later.
First came the letter with the condolences of a general who had recited many of those before. He had lost a comrade, another soldier. Julie lost her husband, the man she was supposed to grow old with. Phil lost his father, the man he was supposed to outlive for many, many years.
Then came his body. Robert Coulson returned home in a flag covered casket.
That was the first official funeral Phil went to and it changed his view of life completely. Everything about that day was depressing, and dreary. It was completely different from anything he had been through; it was a feeling he couldn't describe. The melancholic atmosphere tore at his young heart from all the black clothes to the tears. He tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, constantly telling himself that he would not cry. He was almost successful. Two men stood up, folded the flag that draped the casket and presented it to Julie. She tried her best not to cry harder and Phil simply looked away.
As they lowered his father's coffin, Phil realized that he would never see him again. Sorrow settled heavily on his thin shoulders, his eyes stung with unshed tears. He could hear his mother sniffling softly beside him, and the cold air seeped through his black coat chilling him to the bone. As the coffin disappeared before their eyes, tears began to course steadily down his cheeks. Julie tried to pull him closer to her, but he shook her off before standing on shaky legs and running to the casket.
He screamed until his lungs burned and sobs racked his small frame. He fell to his knees before the gaping hole, his tears running down his face and dripping off his chin. He felt a gentle grip on his arm, but fought his Uncle as the man brought him back to his mother. Julie hugged her son tightly, rubbing slow circles on his back in an effort to ease the noisy sobs and never ending tears.
Phil buried his face on the crook of his mother's neck, his fingers knotting in the material of her black dress, not wanting to let go of her for even a second. His grip only eased when strength failed him. The boy slowly relaxed in her arms, frail and limp. In return Julie crushed him against her body, steadying him in her embrace.
"I know it's hard on you, Phil," His Uncle began as they entered their home along with other family members, "but I think you should try to get your mind off of everything that's happened. Your cousins will be playing outside, if you want to join them."
Phil flopped down on the couch, "It's okay," he mumbled quietly, his eyes red from crying and his throat feeling scratchy. "I'll stay inside."
His Uncle smiled sadly and stooped down near him, ruffling his hair, "I'm so sorry, little guy."
"Everyone's sorry, I've heard it hundreds of times today," Phil answered as he got up and walked to his bedroom.
The man stood up and looked back at his sister-in-law, telling her, "I tried."
"I know," Julie responded in the same defeated and apathetic tone as her son, "thank you anyway."
When Julie said goodbye to the last guests the sun was sinking low in the west. She hadn't checked on her son the entire time, letting him be alone. She knocked lightly on the door of his bedroom, even though it was unlocked.
"Can I come in?" she asked quietly.
"Sure," Phil replied from the inside.
Julie found her son sitting on his bed, uninterestedly playing with his Captain America action figure. He had stripped off his suit jacket, leaving it at the foot of his bed, he had loosened his tie and his once perfectly combed hair was now messy.
"Next year, the Smithsonian will hold an exhibition commemorating the 30th anniversary of the Captain's disappearance," Phil said, "Dad promised he would take me."
"Sweetheart," Julie breathed.
As she was approaching him, Phil said something that made her step back. "He'll take me there."
"He… he can't – he -" She sighed and looked down, trying not to cry, "Do you want to eat something?"
"No. I'm not hungry." He looked up from his action figure, "Has everybody left?"
"Yes. You didn't even say goodbye to them."
Phil got up and walked past his mother, "I'm going to the garden."
Julie sat on her son's bed and silently cried. Phil played in the backyard and his only company was his Captain America action figure.
June 1972
Phil and his friend Douglas played in the backyard of the Coulson's. The boy of the house was Captain America using the garbage lid as the shield. Douglas was the bad guy, the Red Skull, chasing after him with a slingshot and little pebbles clicking in his shorts' pockets.
"This is your end, Captain," Douglas said with the lowest voice he could muster, preparing to shoot a pebble.
"You wish, Red Skull." Phil replied, one hand on his waist, the other was pointed at his friend, "you'll pay for what you've done."
Doug lowered the slingshot, "Can I be Captain now? Or Bucky?"
"No. If you're the good guy, then who am I supposed to fight?"
"Alright, but if I hit you now, we change roles."
Phil laughed a little and protected himself with the garbage lid, "Like you're gonna hit me in this millennium, Doug."
"Just you wait," the other replied.
The two boys ran in the garden, their giggles filling the air. Douglas made 'bang bang' noises with his mouth, mimicking the firing of a gun. He'd either fail every shot, or Phil would block his attacks effortlessly. Finally, the other boy hit his friend with a pebble right on the shin. Phil grimaced in pain, but carried on running.
"Hey, I hit you!" Douglas shouted, running after his friend.
"No you didn't."
The two exchanged accusations for a while until Douglas gave up. "I'm going home, Phil."
"Why?" the other whined, putting down the lid.
"Because I hit you and you don't want to switch roles with me. I want to be Cap now."
"Ok," Phil said, trying to settle the dispute, "you hit me. But I'm Captain America. He was enhanced and he could survive this."
"A bullet takes you out whether you're super or not. I'm going home," Douglas began pouting, angry, "You always want to be Captain America."
"Fine. Then go home." Phil yelled back at Douglas as he was walking away.
Later on that night, his mother noticed the growing bruise on his leg. When she asked him about it, he told her the truth. Julie couldn't understand her son's fascination with the Captain; she hadn't realized that he meant so much to Phil.
It was Robert who bought his son his first trading card. After that Phil received more trading cards, and then comic books, and his first action figure. Phil adored Captain America not only because he considered him his hero, but also because the action figure was all the young boy had left to remember his father by.
Phil found himself sleepless that night. He walked around the house and found his mother in the living room, the dim light of a lamp exposing her sorrow and tired features. He quietly walked over to her and sat on the couch next to her.
"Can't sleep either?" she asked with a small smile. The boy shook his head. "I was looking at some photos of your father," Julie told him, showing him the photo album that rested on her lap.
"Why are going through his photos? He's dead," he said coldly.
"I know," Julie bit her lip, holding back her tears. "But looking at his photos makes me feel a little better. Makes me feel closer to him."
"Why bother with that? He was an idiot."
"Phillip!" His mother shouted, shocked.
"It's true. He was an idiot. At least Captain America didn't die."
Julie couldn't stop the tears from rushing down her face, "What do you see in that goddamn man that makes him so special? Why do you despise your father so? The great Captain America died too, so why did you chose him as your hero instead of your father?"
"Captain America isn't dead. Not until someone finds his body, he's not dead. But dad? He's there at the cemetery. I saw him being buried and I can go to his grave every day. He's there, dead!" He shouted, tears brimming in his eyes. "He promised me we'd play baseball all summer, he'd take me to Captain's exhibition, we'd build a tree house, go fishing and camping, go to the stadium for a football game. He promised me he'd be here for my birthdays for some many years I'd grow tired of hearing him say that I was getting old. And he came home for my birthday, but he's dead." Phil wiped his tears away with his hand, "He was supposed to be here, alive. He was an idiot. He died. I didn't want dad to be a hero." He sniffled as tears rushed down his cheeks, "I just wanted dad to come home to us, safe and sound."
Phil left the living room with quick strides and tears in his eyes. He fell asleep that night mulling over how much he hated his father.
Julie bitterly wept in the living room, coming to the realization that her son was hurting much more than she thought he was. He didn't mean anything he said, she knew it, but he was so upset it hurt her.
September 1972
Julie was home early. She had been working two shifts to be able to pay the bills and make sure that, when school started, Phil would have everything he needed for a new school year. Her son's classes had started not so long ago, but Julie felt the need to maintain her two jobs: her salary was the only income that supported all of the house's expenses, and she couldn't deny that extra money was handy.
However, as the mother worked two jobs and the boy spent most of his day at school, the two barely had time to be together. They weren't drifting apart, quite the opposite; they wanted to have more time to be together, but time wasn't playing to their favor. So, as soon as Julie got the chance to leave work early, she took it. She raced home, waiting for her son, preparing him a snack for when he'd arrive.
"Mom?" Phil asked with a frown after seeing her coat and purse on the coat hanger, and noise coming from the kitchen.
"In the kitchen, baby," she called.
He dropped his schoolbag on the couch and made the way to the kitchen, "You're home early."
"I managed to leave earlier today. How did school go?" Julie asked, brushing her son's hair away from his face and placing a loud smooch in one of his cheeks.
"Good. Mr. Louis gave us a big assignment today. He gave everyone in the class a name of a President and we have to do some research on them and then we'll have to come up with an idea for a script and we'll do a play for Christmas."
"Seems like fourth grade will be tough on you." Julie placed a plate with a peanut butter sandwich over the table, "What President did you get?"
"Harry Truman," Phil said taking a seat and giving one big bite on the sandwich. "I'll have to study in the library. We don't have any book here at home that can help me with the research."
"And when are you planning to start working?" Julie promptly asked.
Phil knew exactly why his mother was anxious for his answer; it was not like he had completed third grade with the best marks. He was always an exceptional student, but his father's death had shaken him. Julie could understand, but she couldn't really tolerate the fact that her son was so unmotivated, rebellious, and angry that he almost failed the year.
"As fast as I can." Phil affirmed, "I want to get it done so that I don't have to worry about it anymore. Uhm, and mom?" he crooned, looking down, tracing little circles with his index on the table top, "I was thinking, y'know, if I have a B on this work you could," he scratched the back of his head, looking up at his mother, "I – uh - just sort of – uh - spent all my allowance and uhm, -"
"And you still haven't bought this month's Captain America comic issue," The boy simply smiled shyly, "It's the number 153, am I wrong?"
"Wha- how did you-" Phil was speechless.
"I've been researching too," she grinned, "And just so we clear: I'll give you the comic if you get an A on this work."
"An A?" his eyes widened, but under his mother's unchanged expression, he sighed and nodded, "Fine. I get an A and my comic book."
Julie opened some cabinets as she spoke, "And you know one thing? Since you're so eager to do the work and get it over with, why don't you start now? I need to go grocery shopping and I can leave you at the library. I'll pick up on my way back home."
"Sounds good," he agreed, rubbing his hands together to get rid of any crumbs that he may have stuck to his palms. After munching and swallowing the last bit of sandwich he asked, "Didn't you say that you didn't pay attention to Captain America? How do you know about the issue's number?"
"I didn't, it's true," Julie turned and walked over to her son. "I was a teenager when everybody talked about him in the news, in the streets, everywhere really, but I didn't care much about him. Your dad did, that's why he got you into him, and since he's…" she pursed her lips and exhaled thoroughly, resuming while stroking his hair, "I want you to continue enjoying the things you did even if your dad isn't around. I have no intention whatsoever to replace your father's role or make you forget about the bond you two had. I want to create new memories with you, and for that I've been researching about the things you like, so I can understand you better, so that you can talk to me and know I'll understand you. I'm trying my best to keep close with you, Phil. Now it's only you and me, and I don't mean to lose you. You're all I have left, and I love you so much."
Phil hugged his mother tightly, "I love you too, mom."
December 1972
Julie entered the house to hear Phil's voice mingling with those of Lennon and McCartney, singing "Please Please me", and his whistling as he did the harmonica parts as well. Her smile grew bigger as she walked to the living room to see the record player at the corner of the room and a stack of vinyl records scattered on the floor next to him.
As she walked in, bobbing her head to the song, she met her son lying down on the couch. Phil was reading a comic book as the songs played. By the fireplace, on the floor, was a box filled with the Christmas ornaments.
Phil had gone to the attic to get the ornaments, as his mother told him in that morning that they'd go to buy and decorate the Christmas tree when she'd get home. He thought of saving her the trouble of going to fetch the box. Only it took him longer that he expected as he started rummaging through other boxes.
Two or three weeks before Julie had taken boxes with her husband's belongings to the attic, and had finally gotten rid of his clothes that were still in the wardrobe. She was starting to let go of the physical memories of Robert, trying to get used to a life with him. Phil was also beginning to mourn his father properly; however, he was making the opposite of his mother: as she was discarding of her husband's things, Phil was clinging to them.
The record player and vinyls weren't the only things he brought down from the attic. Phil wore two dog tags around his neck, his grandfather's and his father's; one wristwatch on each wrist, dad's and granddad's; and he also wore the reading glasses that had once belonged to his grandfather.
Robert, as a young boy, removed the lenses and wore the glasses, as a way to remember his father who had died in the World War II. And now Phil did the same, to have a remembrance of both men.
Julie could only sigh and hope the boy wouldn't sink down and depress. That would be the first Christmas without Robert, or at least, the first Christmas they'd spend alone after his death. The holiday spirit would be very low at the Coulson's house that year.
"Hey there," Julie cheerfully greeted, leaning over the couch's armrest and pressing a kiss on her son's forehead, "You went to dig up rock 'n roll goodies from the attic."
"Yeah. I went to get the Christmas decorations and ended up going through other boxes. Hope you didn't mind me bringing down all of these."
"Of course not," she smiled, checking the stack of records, "You've brought down all the good ones. They'll set a good vibe around the house. We have a lot to do and the music is always nice."
"I know," Phil put down the Captain America comic book and sat up on the couch, "When do we begin?"
The woman snickered and sat down at the couch, "After I get fifteen minutes to rest. Is that ok?"
Phil giggled and snuggled to her, "It's ok."
"Well, this is new," she picked up the comic book and looked at the cover, asking, "Two Captains?"
"One is the real Cap, the other it's William Burnside. He's a fake. He copied Steve in everything and tried to replace him."
"How do you know he's a fake?"
Phil flipped through a few pages, showing her a particular panel, "See? The replica shield shattered when Cap's collided his shield with Burnside's one."
"Oh, I see." Julie chirped, "It makes sense though, Vibranium is a rare and resistant ore."
"You're learning really fast, mom," the boy smiled.
The woman grinned and kissed the top of her son's head, "I have a great teacher."
"Mom?" he softly muttered, his mood sunk down slightly. As she looked down at him after quietly humming, he continued, "You don't mind if I wear dad's stuff, do you?"
"No. Why would I? I put your father's things in the attic because I feel that I'm ready to let go of them, but the reason why they're at the attic is for when you and I miss him, we can go there and find a bit of him. You can pick up everything you, alright?"
He smiled a little and blurted out, "Christmas will be different this year."
"We've made reasonably well it so far. Well," Julie shook her head, trying to get her thoughts somewhere else, "let's buy that tree?"
"Yup, Phil said, getting up straight away and walking to the vinyl player, taking the needle off the record, "And once we're back, I'll help you bake the cinnamon cookies, we'll listen to Elvis Presley and I'll teach you more about Captain America."
"Sounds good to me," Julie smiled and got up.
February 1973
Julie took two days off work to have the chance to take Phil to DC to the Captain America exhibition that the Smithsonian was holding.
"Mom, are you ready?" Phil called by the door, ready to leave.
He wore a light blue T-shirt that had a yellow circle right in the middle of his chest. Contrasting with the yellow circle was portrayed the super soldier in a running pose, shield wielded in his left arm. The words 'Captain America' were written in big block letters, colored in blue, white and red horizontal strips; one of the words was written above and the other below the vintage, comic book-y image of superhero.
"Yes, Phil, I'm ready," the woman sighed, rushing to the door, still putting on her earrings. "We don't have to run this much; the bus won't leave the terminal before it's time, and we still have half an hour to make it to the station."
"Alright, sorry," he puffed and grinned, "but I just don't want us to miss the bus."
It was a long bus ride from Boston to the capital, but Phil was so excited that didn't even take a nap during the ride. His mother, however, nodded off for long minutes. Phil simply smiled when he caught her sleeping and turned his attention to the outside scenery.
He absorbed every detail of city and countryside contrast, he enjoyed following the course of the sun as it traveled from being a shy light on the skyline to a scorching ball of heat up in the sky. Phil wasn't only enthusiastic with the fact that he was going to Captain America's exhibition; he was also excited because he'd spend the weekend with his mother sightseeing DC.
After hopping off the bus, both mother and son picked up their belongings, putting their backpacks on their backs. Julie placed her hand on her son's shoulder as he opened the city map.
"Lead the way to the Smithsonian, Captain."
Phil grinned up at his mother and declared, "The museum seems to be far from here."
"Then we'll take a bus to get there. Let's ask around for information, alright?"
The boy nodded and the two started walking down the street, leisurely, until they came across a bus stop where a woman was standing.
"Excuse me, Miss?" Phil moved toward her, "My mother and I want to go to the Smithsonian. What is the bus we have to take?"
"The Smithsonian has ten museums," the young woman smiled as she looked at Phil's shirt, "But I'm guessing you're going to the Captain's exhibition."
"Yes," Julie added, approaching her son, "Phil is one big Captain America fan. Can you help us?"
"The exhibit is in the Air and Space Museum; there's a bus stop right in front of it. There are many buses you can take, oh," the woman gasped, stretching her hand, making a bus stop, "this one works just fine for you two." As the driver opened the door, she peeked inside and told the man, "Drop them off at Independence Avenue, right in front of the Smithsonian's Air and Space Museum."
The driver nodded his head as Julie guided Phil to enter the bus.
"Enjoy the visit, kid," the woman said with a wink.
"Thank you," Julie called to the woman before entering.
As they entered the museum, Phil looked up to the ceiling, mouth opened in awe. He kept calling for his mother's attention, pointing to the planes hanging above their heads. That was when he saw the hanging panel that held the information about Captain America's exhibit.
Julie could have sworn that she had seen her son gasp as the air got caught in his throat, in anticipation. She smiled as he firmed the grasp of his hand on hers upon stepping foot in the exposition. The woman couldn't help but beam as she saw a boy, about the same age as her son, providing a salute as he met Steve Rogers' photo at the entrance.
"A symbol to the nation, a hero to the world," the narrator said. "The story of Captain America is one of honor, duty and sacrifice."
As they walked around, a sense of righteousness, bravery and heroism deepened in Julie; the narrator's voice, the ambience, the dozens of children, that like Phil, idolized Captain America as their hero. Everything around her made her finally understand what her husband and son saw on Captain America: despite the flaws that he had like any ordinary human being, he seemed like an example for everyone to follow. Perhaps his legacy had become a bit idealized and his physique and values were absurdly seen as the pinnacle of human condition, but that didn't take away his sense of heroism, justice and exemplary.
Phil was attracted to that film that was being projected on the wall like a magnet is attracted to another. He read the subtitle that showed up at the bottom: Agent Peggy Carter, SSR; New York, 1953. He sat down to listen to the woman talk. Julie took a seat next to him, watching the admiration shinning in her son's eyes.
"That was a difficult winter." Peggy Carter began, "A blizzard had trapped half our battalion behind the German line. Steve – Captain Rogers – he fought his way through a HYDRA blockade that had pinned our allies down for months. He saved over a thousand men, including the man who would...who would become my husband as it turned out. Even after he died, Steve was still changing my life."
"Mom?" his head turned in the direction of his mother, "Grandpa fought in the World War II, Dad fought in the Vietnam War. How angry would you be if I joined the Army too?"
"I wouldn't be angry, Phil. Not even a bit," Julie smiled weakly, "You're a Coulson man, and all of you have this sense of leadership and patriotism. You're all witty, charismatic, stubborn too, and have this hoarding disorder that drives me insane," Phil giggled, "Don't you laugh, that's a serious issue."
"It's not a disorder. It's a hobby. Have you heard of collecting?"
"Call it whatever you want, it still drives me insane." Julie's smile faded away slightly as she carried on, "You're just like your grandfather and father. There's no way I'll ever be angry with you. Quite the opposite, I'll be so proud of you, Phil, no matter what you choose to be in your life."
"Good," he said, his smile growing, "Because I want to be just like Peggy Carter, a SSR Agent."
"I'd love to have a son who's an Agent," The boy grinned, happy, "but finishing school still comes first. No Agency wants a dumb Agent."
"I'm smart, mom," Phil affirmed, getting up.
"You're a smarty-pants, big difference," Julie joked, ruffling her son's hair. "Where else do we go?"
Phil pulled his mother by the hand, guiding her through every corner of the exhibition, telling her all the details about Captain America's story.
The five different actions mean to represent Coulson's process of coping with his father's death (the five stages of grief and loss: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance)
There's no indication whatsoever of Robert Coulson having fought in the Vietnam War, or of Coulson's grandfather having fought in World War II. I simply assumed them for the purpose of this fanfiction. The only true facts about Coulson and his family are the ones written at the note on the top of the page.
'Tales of Suspense' is the name of the Captain America comic book series.
If you enjoy this, let me know. There are so stories about Coulson's admiration for Captain America, but I think most of them romanticize his appreciation for him.
A big, big thank you to my beta reader AvengerGirl17.