He takes Tony's words to heart. He realises now how obvious they seem. He had been so focused on suppressing his angry side that he had all but tried to erase it. He had tried to pretend it didn't exist rather than deal with it.
But he has to deal with it. He can't let things go on the way they have been. For his sake as well as everyone else's.
The only problem is there currently isn't a lot of resources for anger management.
The world is still reeling from Thanos' attack and that makes it difficult to find what he needs. Internet coverage is spotty at best, so he can't google things easily, and FRIDAY has a harder time looking up things that aren't already in her database. Due to his friendship with Sam, he knows more about therapists and group therapies, but again, those are in short supply. Any therapist still practicing has a plethora of patients, and most group therapy circles focus mainly on coping with the Decimation.
He is sure that would be helpful, but it isn't exactly what he needs either. He is stumped for a few days until he comes across Bruce in the living room. He is curled up on the couch, and on his lap is a book with the title Calming the Angry Mind.
He stops up short. He hadn't thought of books—mostly because libraries aren't operational, and he didn't think he had access to self-help books. But of course Bruce of all people would have books on the topic.
Bruce must sense him staring because he looks up. Steve can feel his face flushing red, but he holds Bruce's gaze. He is determined to do this. If he can stand up to an army of aliens, he can get his next words out of his mouth.
"That book…" he actually hadn't planned what he was going to say and he fumbles for his words, his eyes skirting off to Bruce's shoulder. "Do you have...others? Something I could read?"
He is almost ready to choke with embarrassment, but thankfully Bruce doesn't mention it. He does look a little surprised, but he smiles easily, putting him at ease. "I do," he says simply, marking off his page and standing up. "I have a collection in my room actually, if you wanted to take a look?"
Steve nods, stunned, and soon finds himself in Bruce's apartment. He hadn't been inside before but the layout is similar to his own. It is much cozier though. The living room is filled with soft reading chairs, knitted blankets, and plants. At the same time, the kitchen table is littered with research papers and scribbled notes, a laptop sitting open and idling.
Bruce leads him to the bookshelf in the living room and Steve smiles at the large fern sitting nearby. He had no idea Bruce enjoyed plants so much, but the hobby feels fitting.
"Here," Bruce gestures at one of the middle shelves. "Take your pick. You can always come back and borrow more if you want."
Steve doesn't even know where to start. Bruce steps back to give him a little privacy but Steve still feels self-conscious. Bruce is probably wondering why he even wants these books in the first place. As useful as his collection will be, he now knows that Steve is reading it. What will he think of the books he chooses? Had he already noticed he had a temper problem? Would he start noticing it now? How obvious had it been to the rest of the Avengers—?
Bruce's voice cuts into his thoughts before he can spiral any further. "I was trying to see if I could balance with the Other Guy better."
Steve looks back, confused by the abrupt admission, and Bruce shrugs, lifting his own book nonchalantly. "It's pretty obvious to me that he comes out when I'm angry. But in recent years I've noticed there's more to him than that… I was wondering if I don't need to try to suppress him as much anymore. That might have even been making it worse."
Steve opens his mouth, before closing it again, not sure what to say. He looks back at the bookshelf and the dozens of books on emotional regulation. "You got all of these for that?"
Bruce shakes his head and comes closer. "No, I've had these for years, but I think…" He looks thoughtful as he runs his eyes over Steve and then the bookshelf. "I think it took me this long to read them properly."
Steve swallows heavily and shifts, pulling his gaze away. "Got any suggestions for a beginner?"
He nearly grimaces at the question, but Bruce doesn't even blink. He reaches forward and pulls out a book. "Start with this one," he suggests, holding it out. Steve grabs it and is about to thank him and turn away, before Bruce speaks up again. "You know, if you felt like telling me what you find out, it'd probably be helpful with my goal." His mouth quirks up and he shrugs one shoulder. "Sometimes two brains are better than one."
Steve is speechless for several moments, before he manages to reply. "That...sounds good. I'll— I'll keep that in mind."
Bruce smiles and for the first time since Thanos' attack, Steve doesn't find it hard to smile back.
oOo
Reading Bruce's books is weird because he quickly realises that he has been operating under several misconceptions. The first thing he learns is that anger is not inherently a negative emotion. All emotions are neutral, his book says, and he has to take a full five minutes to even fathom the idea.
Anger has always been a demon to him. Anger and drink had turned his father into a monster, and to him, any glimmer of anger in himself had been a red flag.
But the book insists. Anger is not a 'bad' emotion. Dysregulated anger is where things get tricky. But anger, in and of itself, provides us with valuable information. When communicated in an open and regulated way, anger can open up the door for deep healing and authenticity in our relationships.
He had never thought about anger in that way, but his recent conversation with Tony seems to support the theory. He and Tony had been able to talk about their issues without ever raising their voices or throwing things. And unlike when Tony had first come off the ship, this time there had been communication and understanding between the both of them.
The phrase dysregulated anger gets him thinking. Obviously that had been how his father operated, and it had been what he was afraid of finding in himself. The book promises to get into dysregulated anger later, but for now it discusses what information one can actually gain from anger.
Turns out that anger communicates a lot more than he thought.
There is an image in the book, a picture of an iceberg. Most of it is submerged, only the tallest peak breaking the surface of the ocean. The exposed peak is labeled 'Anger', and under the water, the rest of the hidden iceberg is labeled with the various emotions that are also connected.
Anger tends to be easy to see, the book tells him. However, anger is often just the tip of the iceberg. Other emotions may be hidden under the surface.
He reads with growing comprehension the list of other emotions anger covers for. Sad, embarrassed, overwhelmed, guilt, grief, threatened, scared, stress, helplessness, pain… the list goes on, and he has to set the book down and simply think over what he'd read.
He had never thought of anger in such a nuanced way before. Anger had always been bad, end of story. He thinks back to Bruce's statement about the Hulk, how there was more to him than just anger. It makes sense now. The Hulk came out when Bruce felt threatened, or scared, or in pain…
Essentially, the Hulk was protecting Bruce. The problem wasn't that the Hulk existed, but that he was destructive.
He doesn't know how to feel admitting that that could be the case for him too. When thinking about his anger outbursts, a few major incidents come to mind. The time in the Helicarrier when he had fought with Tony, the time he had punched the screen when talking to Zola, and the time when he and Tony had fought again in Siberia.
Previously, whenever he thought about those times, he generally only felt shame at losing control like that. Now, he looks down at the iceberg and remembers how it had felt like a spring was winding up inside him, growing tighter and tighter until it snapped and he sprung free. If all these emotions are actually under the surface, then… it makes sense that eventually they would burst out in dysregulated anger.
He hadn't realised he'd been a smoking time bomb of emotions, but it makes sense now. Back on the Helicarriers he'd been feeling all kinds of grief, pain, and embarrassment. He'd been overwhelmed and stressed, and he hadn't had a good way of dealing with any of that.
The same is probably true for all the other times he had lost his temper. His chest squeezes and he has to breathe in quickly, his eyes prickling as he realises that there is actually a reason behind his actions beyond some dark predisposition inherited from his father.
This is...actually fixable. He can learn to do better. He doesn't have to be so afraid of himself anymore.
oOo
Despite how on board he is about learning how to deal with his temper, it still takes him a while to finish the book. Try as he might, reading it somehow feels...intimidating. It is draining to read it, and every chapter he reads sends him down a new path of realisation. It is useful, but it is also tiring.
A week or so in, frustrated by his lack of progress, he decides to bite the bullet and ask Bruce if he ever had the same problem. It feels distinctly strange bringing up the subject since he is so used to either avoiding his issues, or pretending they don't affect him. For a long time he had worked under the assumption that he couldn't show his weaknesses or sharp edges to the Avengers. He was their leader, and being Captain America came with certain expectations.
Now though, things feel different. They had all gone through an unparalleled tragedy. No one expects him to be alright, and if he tried to pretend to be so, they would know he was lying.
He brings it up in the evening the next time he and Bruce are alone in the dining room. "Do you ever have a hard time…" he shifts on the island stool. "...reading the books that are supposed to help you?"
Bruce pauses in putting away the last of the food and looks at him thoughtfully. "Sometimes," he says. He adjusts his glasses and focuses back on the food before continuing. "When I was in school… I found it was often easier to make sense of dense papers after discussing them with other students. Maybe…" he glances up. "Maybe that would help here too."
It takes Steve a second to catch on to what he is suggesting. As much as he had already reached out to Bruce, the level of openness he is suggesting is a step beyond that. He doesn't think he had ever talked with someone about his issues like this. Not even with Bucky. He hadn't had the words for it then.
But he does have the words for it now. And he's never going to get anywhere if he shies away from any hint of vulnerability.
Still, his mouth is dry as he nods. "Okay."
The word is strained, but Bruce flashes him a small smile before sealing the last of the containers. He turns away to put them in the fridge and doesn't look back as he speaks up. "I remember the book you're reading. What part did you get to?"
Somehow, Steve hadn't been expecting to start talking right now, but at the same time, he is glad Bruce had brought it up immediately. Given time, he probably would have talked himself out of the agreement before actually utilising it.
He breathes in and thinks back to the latest chapter he had read. "The section was 'Repressing Anger and its Repercussions."
Bruce chuckles and turns back, taking off his glasses to wipe them. "Ah yes, I remember that. At the time I was doing all I could to keep the Other Guy contained, and I thought the book was off its rocker when it was trying to tell me I shouldn't bottle things up."
Steve sits up, his eyes widening. "That's exactly what I thought!" he exclaims, waving a hand. "I always thought I needed to keep from expressing anger at all. I never even thought about 'healthy ways' of doing it." He makes air quotes around the two words before settling down a little. "But I guess it makes sense too. The book says that repressing it doesn't make it go away…"
"It just stores it for later," Bruce finishes, nodding. "That's what I used to do, with the Other Guy. But that made him harder to control. While I was gone—before Thanos—I was on a planet where he was out much longer than usual. He was still him, but he wasn't out of control because he wasn't reacting to weeks worth of rage all at once."
Steve nods. He has heard a little about Bruce's time in space, but it is interesting hearing how it had changed his perspective. He glances down at the island countertop and traces a random pattern with his finger, thinking about some other things the book had said.
Not only could repressing anger make outbursts worse, but it could also internalise them. His mind flashes back to his breakdown after he had found out about Hydra and Bucky. At the time, he had been proud because he hadn't broken anything, or screamed and flown into a rage… His eyes drift down to his hands, and he remembers how his nails had dug into his palms until he'd bled.
That is also not okay, according to the book. Instead he needs other, healthier ways of dealing with his emotions.
"Did it help?" he asks Bruce. "Learning not to repress it?"
Bruce meets his eyes and smiles. "Well, we're still working on it," he taps the side of his head. "But let's just say that if Loki were ever to blow up the ground under me again, I wouldn't have to be shot out of the ship."
Steve's mouth crooks up and he pulls back, wiping his hand on his jeans. "Well, I guess I should get started then."
oOo
His next few weeks are spent slowly sifting through his range of 'coping mechanisms', as the book calls it, and deciding which ones are healthy and which ones need to go.
To his surprise, he does have a few healthy ones under his belt. Exercise is recommended to help cool off during an angry phase, and he had unconsciously picked up on that one on his own. There was a reason he met Sam on a run, and there was a reason he and Tony had argued while he was chopping wood.
At the same time, he decides that his sessions with the punching bags aren't beneficial. While it is exercise, and it does tire him out, it doesn't channel his emotions so much as it fuels them. Hitting things is something he specifically wants to avoid, so hitting punching bags has to go.
That doesn't leave him with a lot to work with. FRIDAY informs him that some internet forums suggest ripping paper, or buying and breaking cheap plates, but the book cautions against this. Steve tends to agree. Breaking dishes, even in an intentionally therapeutic way, cuts too close to home, and he doesn't want to train himself to need some kind of aggressive release to calm down.
Instead he takes up a different suggestion.
'Vent art' is exactly what it sounds like, using drawing as a way to express emotions in a safe and controlled way. He had used to do this as a child—even if he hadn't realised it at the time. Growing up he had created comics full of superheroes rescuing children from monsters, or kids themselves fighting off hordes of beasts.
The sketches had been messy, but expressed his deepest desire—to be protected, and to have some control over his life.
Nowadays, he doesn't draw as much. He hadn't realised the lack until now, and he feels the loss keenly. Drawing had been such an important part of his life, and he had let it slip away as a side-effect of trying to bury any and all 'negative' feelings he had.
For a long time he doesn't know what to draw.
He sits with a blank page open in front of him and frowns at his sketchbook. His pencil taps restlessly on the table and he huffs. His usual drawing style doesn't feel like it fits with his goal. Drawing careful portraits or comics doesn't quite...grasp what he needs. He bites his lip and thinks back to his younger self, the child he had been, the soldier he had started as, the monster he had been afraid of…
His hand moves and he starts sketching. It is a simple figure, the lines loose and undefined. He doesn't give it a face. He barely gives it more than a vague human shape. It needs to be simple. He doesn't want to get caught up in the details. What he needs is a way to express the emotions—how it had felt tip-toeing around his father's rage, and then his fear of his own power and aggression after the serum.
He looks down, and the sketchy figure is surrounded by a dense mass of scribbled black lines. They cut through it and shove the figure in the background, like everything about it is overshadowed by the tangle of emotion around it.
He breathes out and closes the sketchbook.
oOo
It takes him a long time to try going to one of the therapy circles. He had initially avoided it because he thought it wasn't as relevant to what he was focusing on. But now that he knows anger roots from all sorts of different emotions, he has less of an excuse.
(It also doesn't help that he learns that anger is part of the grieving process. The group might be focused on grief and the aftermath of the Decimation, but processing anger will also be a part of that.)
He sits in the back row, keeping his head down and his shoulders hunched. He doesn't want to be recognised and he doesn't want to impose his presence. He just wants to listen.
It feels eerily similar to the session he had seen Sam run. People share different difficulties they've been having—anything from trouble sleeping, to stress about financial issues, to the pain of helping children grieve missing relatives.
It isn't until the end that he hears something that makes him look up.
"Faith was throwing a temper tantrum because we couldn't eat her favourite food," a woman speaks up from the third row, her face haggard. "The grocery stores are so limited now, and most things are rationed. She wanted ice cream, and that was simply impossible. She made a scene in the store, and I…" she rubs her hand over her face. "I shouted at her. I just yelled at her in the middle of the aisle and said we wouldn't be getting anything if she kept that up." She sighs, looking down. "That only made her cry harder, and I felt so guilty, especially with the looks people were giving me."
Up front, the facilitator nods. "Outbursts like that are probably familiar to a lot of parents," she says, glancing around the room of nodding heads. "Children are feeling the same frustrations and pain that we are, and they don't have the skills to handle it."
She looks back to the woman. "We're at the end of our rope too," she says gently. "Some days, we'll slip up. When that happens, we need to accept what we did, make amends if we can, and then try to keep it from happening again."
She glances around the group. "Anyone have some suggestions for how to keep yourself emotionally balanced so you can respond to something like this?"
Responses trickle in here and there. One woman recounts how she breathes and counts for as long as she needs until her first impulse reaction subsides. A young man talks about how he taught his niece quirky dance moves to help them both 'get the jitters out'. An older woman shows a power pose she uses to help center herself, and the facilitator herself talks about taking a step back and not taking other's emotions personally.
"It's easy to take offence to outbursts, or to be hurt or frustrated by them," she says. "But an outburst is almost always more than just about something you happened to do. It is like a soda can shaken all day. You just happened to pull the tab. By taking a step back and trying not to take getting soaked personally, you might be able to recognise everything that led up to that moment, and respond with more empathy and understanding."
The time when Tony had come home and ranted at him, shoving his nano-casing into his hand comes to mind, and Steve realises she's right. That moment had been an accumulation of years of pain, and fresh, horrible failure. Tony had lashed out, and he... had been able to take a step back and remain calm.
For someone who had lived his life worrying he had no control over himself, the realisation is a startling one.
oOo
"I'm beginning to think I don't have the same type of anger problem as I thought," he admits to Bruce a few days later.
Bruce looks intrigued from his spot on his couch and Steve busies himself scanning the books on his shelf—even though his mind is predominantly elsewhere. He hasn't actually explained to Bruce why he is so interested in anger management. Before, he had assumed his temper was obvious to the other Avengers, but now he is beginning to think differently. Yes, he can lose control of himself, but it isn't a regular thing. It is not an everyday battle like it had been with his father.
"I'm learning some new 'coping skills'," he continues, tracing his fingers blindly over the spine of a book. "But I'm also learning I don't… need them? As much as I thought I would?" He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "The books talk a lot about how to direct violent or aggressive urges in healthier ways but… I don't really have those urges the same way I thought I did. I mean, I do, sometimes. But...I don't feel the need to yell, or break stuff, or argue all the time. Just...sometimes."
He trails off and Bruce lets them sit for a moment before he speaks up. "So why did you want to read the books?"
The question is posed without prejudice but Steve has to fight to keep his shoulders from hunching. He swallows, his tongue tacky. "I've...had some outbursts. You probably remember the one between me and Tony on the Helicarriers." He looks back long enough to see Bruce nod before he focuses back on the books. "I thought those times were...evidence of something deeper inside me. And maybe they were, but not in the way I thought."
He presses his lips together, contemplating whether he is going to say this next part. He had told Tony, and it had felt like a shock and a relief all at once. Bruce is waiting patiently for him to speak and he breathes in, his throat feeling tight as he tries to force out his next sentence. His hand trembles minutely and he presses his fingertips to the shelf, trying to stabilise himself.
"My dad was…" he swallows down a lump in his throat and shakes his head, "abusive." That is a word he is prepared to use now, even though it makes his stomach feel tight and his chest feel hollow. That word makes it completely clear how wrong his father was to act the way he had, but admitting that still makes him want to cringe away.
"He was drunk a lot," he continues before Bruce can say anything. "Would get physical and verbal with me and my Ma." He rubs a finger along the grain of the shelf, no longer even pretending to look at the books. "She always said he changed after goin' to war, and I always wanted to be nothing like him."
He finally glances back at Bruce and shrugs, trying not to let on how shaky his hands are. "I tried to just keep it in, but that didn't really work, and sometimes I'd lose it, and feel like I was going down the same road he was."
He drops his eyes to the floor and focuses on breathing. Breathing exercises are a favourite in his books and in the therapy circles. He still isn't sure how helpful it is for him personally, but it does give him something to focus on besides the confession he'd just given.
The sound of Bruce shifting on the couch is loud in the silence, but his voice is soft. "I'm sorry you had to go through that." He pauses for a brief moment before speaking again. "My dad was like that too."
Steve's eyes jump up in shock, and Bruce gives him a thin smile, his eyes not meeting his as his thumbs twiddle in his lap. "He thought I was going to grow up as some monster—something about an experiment he did when my mom was pregnant. He was a scientist, before he became an alcoholic. And, well, anything abnormal about me was a problem, and he wasn't above trying to beat it out of me."
Steve stays silent, his eyes on Bruce. He hadn't thought much of his family life, but he hadn't realised it was so similar to his own. He is suddenly struck by the fact that seemingly all the Avengers had grown up with some sort of dysfunction. It is as sad as it is unfair.
Bruce's eyes glance off to the windows and his voice remains soft and straightforward. "When the Other Guy happened…" His hands flex in his lap and he sighs. "I used to think it was his premonitions coming true. I did have a monster in me, and I was dangerous."
Of course, Steve thinks, his heart breaking for Bruce. He calls him 'the Other Guy'. As though the Hulk is this other, darker side of him.
Bruce breathes in and meets his eyes, a steely resolve in his face. "But I've stopped thinking about it that way. The Other Guy might feed off of my strong emotions, but he isn't inherently evil. He's protected me and others more times than I can count. How I deal with him is a choice, and that is what determines where I stand."
Steve has to blink back a wetness in his eyes and he glances at the floor, swallowing hard. That is more or less the conclusion he had been coming to, and it means a lot to hear it from someone who had been following the same journey as him.
He lets out a shaky breath and hears Bruce get up. He looks as Bruce offers him a small, sad smile, before reaching for a book on the second shelf.
"If your anger stems from the same place as mine...then this might help," he says softly as he holds out the book. Steve looks at the title and admits that he is probably right. The Body Keeps the Score, it reads. Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma.
oOo
Sam would probably roll his eyes knowingly, but reading the trauma book makes a lot of sense. Turns out, things like childhood abuse and going to war are traumatising, and a lot of his issues are literal symptoms of that.
The book is written by a doctor who had been a forerunner in researching PTSD in its infancy, and he discusses his patients and what he had learned and grown to understand observing their responses to past trauma.
Almost all had in some way been trapped or immobilized, unable to take action to stave off the inevitable, the book reads. Their fight/flight response had been thwarted, and the result was either extreme agitation or collapse.
The phrase hits him like a train, and for a moment he is back in his room, frozen in his bed as he listens to Pa stumble into the house late at night. He prays he'll just go to bed—or pass out on the couch. As long as he doesn't accidentally come into the wrong room—
His eyes are filled with tears and he has to put the book down for the rest of the day when he comes back to the present. The revelation is overwhelming, but long overdue. He can't stop thinking about it now that he realises it, and he thinks of more things—the stress of war, crashing and freezing in the plane, his helplessness waking up—that makes it clear to him just how much had actually happened to him.
It is also clear that he hadn't actually processed most of the trauma in his life. It all helps explain why he had been so afraid of being angry, and where some of that anger comes from.
Learning that a lot of it had been a trauma response after being triggered doesn't excuse his behaviour, but it does help explain it, and it helps him forgive himself for it. Now that he knows better what the problem is, he can actually start finding solutions for it.
The last third of the book is therapy focused, and he reads through that while continuing with some of the things he had already found for himself. He continues drawing in the simplified style, focusing on the emotions and allowing himself to acknowledge how he'd felt in the past.
He had spent so long trying to suppress how helpless and hurt he had been as a child, and then when he was older he had tried to suppress his 'negative' feelings because he was afraid that if he wasn't 'fine' he would end up like Joe.
The whole thing had led to a tangled, toxic mess that had felt like it was eating him up inside. He draws that, the red and black scribbles inside the hunched figure managing to reflect the exact swirl of nauseous stress he had lived with almost unconsciously for too long.
oOo
He is drawing the next time he sees Tony too. He hadn't been expecting him and had been sitting in the living room, his feet propped up on the coffee table with his sketchbook balanced on his knees. He had just finished the conclusion in the trauma book, and he was drawing to unwind.
The sound of the elevator surprises him, and he looks up to see Tony come through. They both stop to stare at each other. They haven't really spoken since the last time and while Steve feels more comfortable with himself and more stable, he isn't sure if Tony is on the same page.
After a few seconds of silence, Tony pushes his shoulders back and makes his way towards him. "Hey," he says simply, and Steve nods at him. Tony jams his hands into his pockets. "I was popping in to find Bruce."
Steve fumbles for something to say, not wanting to come off on the wrong foot for this first conversation. Tony shifts and his eyes drop down to the book on the coffee table. It feels like the word 'trauma' in the title is bigger than usual and a blush starts to make its way onto Steve's cheeks. He swallows and tries to work past it. Tony already knows why he would be reading a book like that, and its presence proves to Tony that he'd been doing what he promised to do.
Maybe that is what he should talk about. "I took your advice," he says, nodding towards the book. "Bruce has a lot of books like that actually. They… they've been good."
Tony's eyes flick up to meet his and he rolls his shoulders, his hands still in his pockets. He glances back at the book, a thoughtful look on his face. "Really..?" he licks his lips and rocks back on his heels. "Might have to take him up on that then."
Steve blinks in surprise, before smiling. He hadn't thought about how Tony could benefit from the things he'd read, but now that he thinks about it, he can see a lot of the same signs he'd seen in himself in Tony.
"I'm sure he'll let you borrow them if you ask," he reassures. Tony nods briskly before leaving to go find Bruce. Steve can only smile though. It had been a small step, but he and Tony had had a civil conversation for the first time in a long time.
He looks down at his drawing and finishes off the last few details. It feels extra appropriate given his recent conversation. A figure kneels on the white page. Like in one of his previous pictures, sharp, dark scribbles cover the page, but this time, the figure holds a pencil, and it is drawing the lines itself.
It reflects what he had learned from his books. The anger is still there, but it is expressed, it is given a place in a safe environment, and in doing so, he allows himself to move on from the original trauma that had sparked the feeling.
He knows it will still take a lot more time and work before the scribbles become lighter and the bite of his past doesn't feel as strong. But he is hopeful now, because he knows it is possible, and he knows he has control over it—something he hadn't realise for a long time.
Epilogue
When Tony and Pepper announce that they are pregnant, it starts to make sense why Tony had been particularly interested in talking to Bruce and doing the same kind of self-help that Steve had been doing. Steve has to admire his courage. He imagines it would take a lot of hope and determination to decide to have a child after the Decimation—and to do so after being raised the way he knows Tony had been is especially significant.
It is clear to him that Tony intends to be the exact opposite kind of father than either of them knew. When he goes to return Bruce's book, the shelf is missing several of the usual collection, and he slots his in carefully, hoping that Tony will read it too one day.
He himself had never felt confident in having children. For a long time before the serum he hadn't been the ideal partner, so he had more or less decided he didn't mind not raising a family. His mother wasn't there to want grandchildren, and he knew any child of his would live in much the same poverty as he had.
After the serum he had had to think over that decision. He was now a much more attractive and desirable man, but he still wasn't sure about children. The USO tour made it clear that he wasn't comfortable around them. Captain America was supposed to smile and kiss baby's cheeks, but he always stressed about breaking them.
He is sure there are still awkward pictures of him posing with babies buried in the archives somewhere. It wasn't until he looked back over his time as a soldier that he realised how little he had sought out kids. It was always the other Commandos or Bucky that entertained the children they came across. Kids were often interested in him and his shield, and while he tried to indulge them, he felt off-balance and self-conscious.
He realises now that he was afraid of hurting them. He was in a new body, fighting in a bloody war, and he was terrified of failing to live up to the standards he had given himself.
But now he knows there isn't some hidden demon inside him that is going to force him into a blind rage. He understands where his feelings come from, and he knows how to handle them—and if he were to slip up like he had in the past, he knows how to handle that too.
That still doesn't prepare him for when Tony and Pepper's daughter is born.
They come by the Avengers Compound a few weeks afterwards with her bundled up in blankets. Her arrival is like a breath of fresh air for all of them. Thor emerges from his room and Steve can actually sit nearby because he doesn't smell like beer. He is in clean clothes and he brushes back his shaggy hair, smiling a little as he watches her grip his finger.
Natasha still has heavy bags under her eyes, but her shoulders relax as she cradles the baby. She talks in a quiet voice of when she had done this with Clint's children and she and Pepper discuss how Morgan had been eating and sleeping.
Bruce chimes in with a few observations gleaned during his time as a medical student, and then as a doctor in hiding. Steve doesn't know much about the modern medical side of things, but he sits and smiles as Bruce gets his turn to hold Morgan and comments on her healthy weight and colouring.
And then Tony picks her up and turns to him. "You want a turn?" he offers, and Steve's mouth drops open. He freezes up without meaning to. He hasn't held a baby in so long, and he had never let himself be comfortable with them. The idea of holding one, especially Tony's daughter feels—
Tony catches his eye and nods at him, and Steve breathes in. "You'll have to direct my hands," he manages, his head spinning with shock and elation.
Tony comes closer and leans down, carefully guiding his arms into the proper shape to support the head and body before stepping away. For a second Steve sits straight, barely breathing, staring down at the little life in his arms. She is so small. She barely weighs anything at all—no matter what Bruce claims—and it is hard to believe she is even real, let alone in his arms.
She squirms a little and her eyes flutter open, a grey-blue like many newborns. "Oh wow," he breathes and sinks into the couch. He can't stop staring at her. She is so warm, yet so small and so alive.
"I know," Tony says quietly, sitting on an armchair across from him, a knowing look in his eye. "It gets to ya, doesn't it?"
Steve nods mutely, his throat swollen with inexpressible feeling.
"You know..."
Steve keeps his eyes on Morgan as Tony speaks up again. "We named her after Pepper's uncle, but I was looking up the meaning of the name the other day, and I found something interesting."
Steve glances up and Tony flashes him a smile. "It's a Welsh name. It has a few different meanings, including Welsh water spirits. But it also came from the word meaning 'sea', as in 'sea protector', 'sea defender', sailor, or...captain."
Steve's eyes widen and his lips part speechlessly. Tony's eyes are warm when he meets them. A lump of tears rises in his throat and it is all he can do to keep from balling in the middle of the room. Two years ago, he never would have seen himself here. Even six months ago the world had seemed bleak and hopeless.
But now, here he is, sitting and holding Morgan.
Bruce comes to his rescue. "That's a good name," he says softly.
Steve can only nod. "Yeah," he whispers.
That night, he adds a new picture to his sketchbook.
The figure is drawn with smoother lines than ever before. Gone are the dark scribbles and harsh lines he'd done previously. Instead it walks with its face lifted in joy. All around it, swirls of colour burst forth. Every colour of the rainbow spirals on the page, the whole spectrum of emotions twisting free and happy.
Steve smiles as he finishes and puts it away.
The end.
AN: I hope you liked the final chapter! I enjoyed showing Steve's healing and growing understanding of himself.
The first book from Bruce that he reads isn't a real one, but the The Body Keeps the Score one is real and very good!
I can't embed images on FFN, but if you're interested in seeing the pictures Steve drew you can search this fic on ao3!