Family of Heroes

by muggledad

This story is a recounting of one such melding of realities. It is a story of family, of healing, of love and of adventure. It is how wounded and broken people found each other through horrific events and helped each other heal all the while finding love that would outlast their own lives and through this love, save their entire planet.

3. Arc One, Chapter 2

Arc One: Natalia and Steven, Marvel Universe-1122

Chapter Two

After Midnight, 23 February 1944
Near Krakow, Poland

After they cleared the area, and Germans stopped shooting at them, Romanova caught up to Steve and paced him. Together, they leapt over streams, darted through coppices, and sprinted across open fields. After a half hour, they pulled up simultaneously when they heard a woman's voice call, "Tutaj!"

Romanova had her rifle at her shoulder in a flash while Steve raised his shield. On the other side of the fence that they were running along, a young woman stood forth, a rifle slung on her back, and was beckoning to them.

She called out something else in Polish but Steve only recognized, "Armia Krajowa." That was the name of the Polish underground resistance. Not nearly as famous as the French Underground, the Armia Krajowa was organized, powerful, and nearly 300,000 strong. He'd seen some of their intelligence reports and been impressed with their detail and professionalism. He'd rather forget the report about the camp called Auschwitz that he read with the Colonel and Peggy. Afterwards, was the only time he'd ever seen his good friend, Peggy, cry. For his part, he went to the latrine and promptly threw up. When he returned, the Colonel was already half drunk. It had been a hard night.

Following Romanova as they leapt over the fence, the two of them hurried to meet the Pole. In the darkness, a dozen other armed men resolved themselves. All were looking outward for Germans in pursuit of the two Allies.

"Americans?" the heavily accented Polish woman asked as she gestured to Steve's shield.

"I am," he replied. Gesturing to the redhead at his side, he explained, "Russian."

The Pole narrowed her eyes at the Major. Steve sighed. He had to figure that the Polish people would not forget that when Hitler invaded them from the west in 1939, Stalin had invaded from the east.

"She is with me. Ally." He wasn't trying to speak down to the woman who seemed to be the only one with any English-speaking ability; just trying to ensure that he was clear.

The Pole turned to the surrounding men and had a conversation with a semi-seen person. In rapid fire Polish they came to a conclusion quickly. "Come. We help." When the resistance fighters all started to move away, Steve visually checked with Romanova to see if she was in alignment with his intentions. The operation was concluded, but she was still a senior officer of an allied country. She outranked him.

The redhead's expression was blank and evaluative of the Poles before she turned to Steve. Shrugging as if to say, "What other options do we have?" they followed the resistance into the night.

.oOo.

It took over two hours to cover the same amount of time he and Romanova - what's her first name? – had covered in fifteen minutes moving at full speed. After his third exasperated sigh at the pace, he heard her grouching from behind him.

"It is more…liberating? Yes? To move at full speed, yes?" she asked in an undertone.

He chuckled softly, "Very much so."

They finally reached the outskirts of Krakow. In twos and threes, the Polish resistance silently melted into the night as they returned to their homes. Eventually, Steve and Romanova were left with their translator and two other men: one a big, burly man with a dark beard poking out from his scarf and the other an evidently middle-aged man. He didn't bother hiding his face and based on the hardness of his expression, Steve pegged him for the unit commander.

Slinking through the pre-dawn streets, the five fighters encountered no civilians nor German patrols. Eventually, they reached a run down, decrepit tenement house. The burly man fished in his pocket before producing a key that unlocked the door with a surprisingly loud clank. Ten seconds later, they were all inside.

The older man eyed the Allies while the woman and the burly man went to a set of old trunks on the far wall. "No names. We don't need to know yours, and you don't need to know ours. We will get you out by boat," the older man announced in surprisingly crisp English. He had a touch of a British accent as he continued, "You will go north to Danzig in disguise and meet friends on the docks who will take you into the Baltic…," he paused, evaluating. "Eventually, you will end up in Britain."

The other two returned from their rummaging and handed over clothes to Steve and Romanova. "Change. You will leave in ten minutes. We will burn your uniforms." He narrowed his eyes at Steve's shield and the Russian's submachine gun, "You will have to leave those here. You cannot hide them."

Steve frowned, "Give me a sack and I'll put it in with other rubbish on top and I'll carry them both to the Baltic."

Shaking his head, the older man waved as if to say, "It's your neck," before heading to the door. Without looking back, he left.

"Rogers," he heard from his right. Turning to Romanova, who had already taken off her uniform jacket and boots, she asked, "What is your given name?"

"Steven," he replied unthinkingly.

She nodded, "I am Natalia. I think we address each other with our true given names from now on so as to avoid confusion and the slip ups."

Natalia, he thought to himself; rolling the name around in the privacy of his mind. It suits her.

She held up the dark grey dress, indicating to Steve that she was about to change. Her cocked eyebrow reinforced her intention. Blushing, he quickly turned around. Hurriedly, he changed into his grey trousers, dark brown shirt, and long coat. The burly man tossed him an old flat cap that he tugged over his obviously military regulation haircut.

Turning, he saw Natalia wrapping her head in a light blue headscarf, covering her distinctive hair color. "Ready?" he asked her.

She nodded before turning to the other two, "Footwear?" Steve blinked. He'd not even thought of the fact that his combat boots would stick out.

The woman shook her head. "We walk to Danzig. By noon, you feet covered in mud. No one notice."

That made sense. Being the man he was, he extended his hand to the large burly man, "I'm Steven."

The other man regarded him carefully, before shaking his hand. "Jozef." The woman introduced herself as Lena. He doubted these were their real names, but it was good to have a name reference for their companions.

Steve put his shield in the rough woven burlap sack provided by Jozef, stuffed some clothes on top, then added Natalia's PPS-43 before adding quite a bit of food.

Jozef spoke in rapid fire Polish that Lena roughly translated, "We must hurry. Our first stop is in Kielce and is over one hundred kilometers walk. We must be there tomorrow night."

Fifty kilometers a day. Long days, Steve thought to himself.

Natalia nodded, "Lead the way."

.oOo.

23 February 1944
Road leaving Krakow Poland for Kielce

"For how cold it was last night," Steve grumbled under his breath to Natalia, "You'd think there wouldn't be so much mud."

She shook her head, "You Amerikantsy," she gave him a look that was partly amused and partly annoyed. "Are so very pampered. Most of the world lives like this," she gestured to the wide dirt road that was more mud than dirt. They were alone on the road save for their Polish Resistance guides. Jozef and Lena hadn't spoken to them since they'd left the safe house at dawn.

Steve nodded, abashed. "New York isn't a garden spot, but I'll admit that I'm not too used to this." They walked in silence for a minute before he asked, "Is Russia like this?"

She paused a long moment, and when Steve looked to see if he'd offended her, he was surprised to see her expression to be blank. Eventually, she replied, "Many parts of Russia are like this. Stalingrad, Leningrad, Kiev, and of course Moscow, have pavers. Most of the smaller towns are dirt like they are here." She turned to him, "What about the small towns in America?"

He shrugged, "The first time I ever left the New York area was when I joined the Army. I've not traveled much." Glancing over at her considering expression, he asked, "You?"

She shook her head. "I am from the countryside near Stalingrad. There was training in the Ukraine and other places, but…," she trailed off, obviously uncomfortable.

He really wanted to ask about her enhancement, but decided that now was not the time. Instead, he told her, "You know, my parents were both born in Ireland."

"Really?" she replied with interest. "Why did they leave? I have read that Ireland is very beautiful."

He shrugged. Steve had no memories of his father, but his mother had brought his father to life with a vibrancy that only a good storyteller could impart. Smiling to himself, he recalled his mother imitating his father's voice and his thick brogue. "My mother told me that there were no jobs and no opportunity. They thought that they could come to America to live a good life. Have a family." Shaking off the morbid thoughts, he smiled, "My Ma used to tell me that she and Dad were never happier than that day they left Ellis Island. Ma said the lunch they got wasn't worth much, but it was free. She held their landing card; Dad had the luggage." He had a sly look on his face when he added, "Ma made dad carry all the luggage, and apparently he groused about it for weeks afterwards."

Natalia laughed, imagining the situation.

"So, here they are, this young, married, Irish couple in Brooklyn…."

.oOo.

He looked up to the sky, grateful that it was clear. The muddy road had forced them to a parallel track in the woods nearby. It was much better footing, but not easier walking. Jozef and Lena led, while Steve and Natalia followed.

"Let me carry that," she instructed while gesturing at the sack with their meager weapons and supplies.

His gentlemanly riposte was frozen in place at the glare she leveled at him. Chuckling, for he knew when he was overmatched, Rogers replied, "Yes, ma'am."

When she slung the sack over her shoulder, Natalia told him, "I appreciate that you do not treat me as a 'weak woman', Steven. That would have been very tiresome." Her eyes twinkled as she added, "I would have had to beat you into submission a few times to have you learn that lesson."

He smiled. They were speaking in low tones, even though their party was alone on the road. There was an intimacy in the moment that caused him to be subdued. Visually alone in the woods except for the flash of blue ahead that was Lena's coat, they could hear nothing aside from the crunching of the snow underfoot. The war was all around them, they were involved in a fairly desperate escape from an occupied and terrorized country, but in this little two-meter bubble of sanity, they were merely Steven and Natalia. "My mother would have my head," he mused. "It's one thing to hold a door for a lady, it's another to be rude and insulting."

"I would have liked to meet your mother," Natalia joked softly. A long moment passed before she added, "I am an orphan. I never knew my own mother."

Steve had known many orphans growing up. The influenza epidemic of 1918 had killed many New Yorkers leaving behind thousands of children of his generation to fend their own way. Nodding, he told her, "The orphanages in New York have a depressingly brisk business as I'm sure they do in Stalingrad."

"The State fed me and trained me, but there was never a mother…or a father."

The word trained sparked his interest, but the evident pain in her voice, the first time she'd been truly vulnerable with him, seemed to prohibit him pressing the point.

He turned to her, but her thoughtful expression had passed and was replaced with her usual neutral countenance. The moment had passed. For now.

.oOo.

They ate while walking. Hard cheese, bread and drinking water from a water skin was their breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Grateful to have three meals, he pressed on without comment. He noticed that, like himself, Natalia ate ravenously. Is her metabolism like mine? he wondered to himself.

The setting sun did not slow their pace. Steve didn't need to ask, but no handheld lights were turned on and no torches were lit. This close to the destroyed facility near Krakow, travelers at night invited questions from the Nazi occupiers; questions they would rather sidestep. The moon just past full helped illuminate their path. The foursome bunched up so as to not be separated, but they continued pressing on to Keilce.

.oOo.

24 February 1944
On the road to Kielce, Poland

"I've always liked sunrises," Natalia murmured as the sun crested the woods in front of them, for the road was bending to the east.

"Why is that?" he asked in the hushed undertone of early morning. All around them was still very dark, but the sky was brilliant with splashes of pink, yellow, and orange.

"Each sunrise brings with it hope. A hope that today will be better than yesterday."

Surprised, he stopped in his trudging through the woods.

Noticing that he stopped, she turned. "Do not be so surprised, Steven. Russians are, in our hearts, romantics."

Nodding his head, he hurried to catch up.

.oOo.

It was mid-day on the second day of travel from Krakow to Kielce that they met up with their first German convoy on the road. An armored car pulled over while the heavy vehicles proceeded southbound toward Krakow. As an officer stepped out of the car, Steve couldn't help but notice the black uniform of the SS along with the distinctive Death's Head on his uniform cap. The prototypical Aryan man eyed the two actual and the two supposed Poles. "Ausweispapiere," he demanded.

The serum that improved Steve to the height of human potential also gave him a photographic memory. Between missions, he'd learned German and French, which is how he knew to dig out his forged identification papers identifying him as Stepan Nowak from Krakow. Looking at the dirt, he handed his papers to the enlisted man who held out his hand.

Freezing, he didn't know if Natalia had identification papers or if they aligned to his. Looking sideways at her, he saw her faux-fumbling in the pocket of her jacket before removing a rumpled paper. She, too, handed hers over. Shortly, the officer took the papers from his man, glanced at them before shoving them at Steve in annoyance.

"Natalia Nowak," she whispered to him as she sidled up to him as if hiding behind him.

Sighing, he realized that "Nowak" was the most common surname in Poland. Of course, false papers would use that name. He slumped his shoulders and tried to project fear and subservience. The Germans wanted the Poles to be under their heels, so that's what he was trying to give them

"Wer ist das mit dir?" the German officer asked Jozef.

Either real or feigned, Jozef, acted as if he didn't understand.

Turning to Steve, the Waffen SS officer repeated his question, with annoyance and agitation now lacing his tone. His hand on his pistol, the German glared at Steve.

With Natalia nearly behind him, Steve whispered, "Ehefrau," claiming the woman as his wife. Gesturing at Lena, he added, "Schwester," claiming her as his sister.

A bit calmer, now that he was being understood, somewhat, the SS officer snarled, "Wo gehst du hin?"

Steve gestured to the north along the road. "Keilce."

Without warning, the SS officer slapped Steve across the face. "Idiot! ich weiß das!" Grabbing Steve by the lapel, he shook him, "Warum?"

"Familie," Steve forced himself to whimper which was in complete contradiction to his desire. At that very moment, he wanted to remove the man's head from his shoulders. The armored car training a .30 caliber belt fed machine gun on them along with the squad of troops put paid to the idea. If he had his shield out and ready, Steve had no doubt that he and Natalia could make short work of these Germans. However, the radio antenna jutting up from the vehicle made him stop and reconsider. If he and Natalia were to escape Poland, they had to maintain their covert identities. He wasn't sure if they could take out everyone before a call for help could be broadcast.

Grabbing Steve by the chin, he pulled his face up, "Juden?" Seeing Steve's blue eyes and dirty blond hair, he shook his head. "Nein; abschaum." Shoving Steve into a muddy puddle, he grabbed Natalia by her breast just to add one more indignity to their interaction. "Verlassen!"

Steve stood from the puddle; his nails curled into his palms to keep him from ripping the man's arms from his body. He'd not been so very angry in a very long time. Not only for his own treatment but also for what was done to Natalia.

She played her part, running to his side as the sack with their weapons and food bounced on her back. Reflexively, he took her in his arms as she turned away from the SS officer. He could feel her shaking and Steve was fairly certain that Natalia was not afraid in that moment. He'd no doubt that her rage matched his own.

Hiding her in his arms as they quickly scampered up the road – as any normal husband and wife would do – he took deep breaths to calm himself as the small party clustered together. Huddling with Jozef and Lena as they scurried away, he heard Natalia mutter, "Svinya." He was pretty sure he knew what she meant and agreed wholeheartedly. Risking a glimpse back over his shoulder, he saw that the SS troops had already boarded their vehicle and were moving further south down the road.

They were safe. For now.

.oOo

Keilce was a fair-sized town; nothing on the size of Krakow, but not a hamlet by any means. Jozef and Lena trudged up to a farm on the southern side of town in the late afternoon where Jozef banged on the door thrice.

Steve and Natalia took up screening positions seemingly out of habit. He set their sack down, leaning it on the wall of the house. Eyes scanning, they were ready for anything. Glancing over at her, he wondered if she was as good at hand-to-hand combat as she was with a rifle.

The door opened with a creak on rusty hinges, as an elderly woman stood there. She nodded once before turning into the house, calling out, "Jozef!" The door closed abruptly.

Steve half smiled to himself. Glancing at Natalia, he whispered, "Are all men in Poland named Jozef?"

She half smiled, continuing to scan the area.

Shortly, the door re-opened with another creak revealing a teenaged boy who sported tousled brown hair and was no more than fourteen years old. With a gravity far beyond his years, he nodded to Jozef and Lena who turned and promptly started down the return road to Krakow. The teen motioned with his hand as he led them further up the northbound road, towards Radom.

.oOo.

Radom was a short march for the acknowledged and supposed Super Soldiers; only 80 KM. Fortunately, young Jozef's stamina was up to the pace that Steve and Natalia pushed. They were now projecting the cover of a traveling family. Jozef walked next to Natalia with Steve in front of them both. Traffic on the road was more common now, so they had to be more discreet. This was the main road that led in to Warsaw. Steve and Natalia had agreed they would skirt the capital to the west by traveling through Lodz before pushing north to Danzig. Fortunately, the road was paved. They made much better time than they had on the road to Keilce

Again, they ate while they walked. Jozef pulled a salami-like sausage out of his small pack and with a few deft flicks of his small knife, was sharing his bounty with Steve and Natalia. Jozef smiled as she taught Steve the little bit of Polish that she knew. Occasionally, she'd turn to the teen to verify a pronunciation, but strangely, Jozef would only nod and smile or shake his head. He didn't ever reply with words. When she ran out of Polish words, she moved on to Russian.

In his turn, Steve taught her nuanced American and British English. Her language skills were quite good. He was able to convey idiom and slang so that soon, she could pass for a native New Yorker; nasally accent and all.

They would stop and start various discussions as they came upon other travelers, but they were fortunate in that the few German convoys they encountered passed them by without pause as the 'Polish Family' scurried to the side of the road.

At the intersection of the road into Warsaw going north and the road branching off to the west toward Lodz, a German squad was watching everyone closely. Again, Natalia played her part to perfection in grabbing Jozef and hurrying close to Steve. With his face hidden, he curled his 'family' into his arms as they moved up the road to Lodz.

"Is it just me," she murmured to him in Russian, "Or do you also want to stop hiding?"

Steve nodded fiercely. "I know that we could easily kill any of the units that we've encountered."

She sighed in frustration, "But that would bring down the entire German occupation force on us."

Nodding, he whispered, "Da."

.oOo.

When they stopped for the night, Natalia led the way off the road to a small clearing in the woods. "It ought to be safe to have a fire, don't you think?" he asked her.

She considered before replying, "Da. We are just a family traveling. Correct?" He hurried off to gather wood, while she moved to check on the already sleeping Jozef. She stood over him for a long moment, a faint smile on his lips. Despite his perpetual silence the teen projected kindness and good humor. He always had a smile for his companions; except when Germans were near. Bending over, she straightened out his cheap, homespun blanket so that it covered him better.

Steve arrived and smiled at the scene. Natalia was hard as nails; an excellent soldier. At the same time, she had a great sense of humor, and - it seemed – a maternal instinct of a sort. "He's a good kid," he observed as he stacked the double armful of fallen wood he collected.

"He is," she replied, not acknowledging her fondness for the teen. Steve started the small fire close to Jozef, leaving only a small area between a tree and a small shrub for himself and Natalia.

"I'll just sit over there," he gestured to the other side of Jozef when it became clear that he'd have to snuggle with the redhead to occupy a space next to the fire.

"Do not be stupid, Steven. Please," she gestured next to her, "sit."

Nimbly, he stepped over both Jozef and the small fire to sit beside her. Before he sat, he took his blanket and draped it over the slightly snoring Jozef. Apparently, the young Pole had wormed his way into both of their affections.

She wrapped her blanket around both of their shoulders as he tossed another fallen branch on the fire. "Tell me about Russia," he asked. "Is it as huge as the stories make it out to be?"

Her expression took on a wistful cast in the flickering firelight, "There is no better word in Russian than prostor to describe the Rodina. Did you know that the Motherland covers over 17 million square kilometers?" She turned to him, her face just inches away as the light from the flames danced across her face.

"Prostor is a Russian word that means so much to us. It means free and completely unrestricted space. We Russians have a special relationship with the land. We've become accustomed to huge distances and see them as an inalienable part of our landscape; as proof of our own might and strength. Not even Napoleon could subjugate us. It is said that Mother Russia herself swallowed the invading French." She was silent as she mused for a moment, sliding closer to Steve as the wind began to pick up. He pulled their shared blanket closer about them as they huddled in front of the fire.

"The Russian soul loves prostor, Steven, and thousands of songs and poems about the Rodina's boundless open spaces are evidence of this. It matters not if you were born on the streets of Leningrad or a farm in Siberia. The concept of prostor is deeply embedded in our national character.

"Remember, we are a very romantic people," she shrugged when she noticed him staring at her.

"It sounds as if you love your country," he observed quietly, with no trace of teasing or mockery. There was a long moment of quiet between them as he added another piece of wood to the fire.

"Da," she replied while closing her eyes and leaning on his shoulder. "Dobroy nochi, Steven."

He lay his cheek on her head as he wrapped his left arm around her shoulders. "Dobroy nochi, Natalia," he whispered.

1. I own nothing. Recommendation for this chapter is Hi by Natascha Romanoff. Great fic, check it out

2. Steve and Natalia's path to Danzig:
Krakow to Keilce 100 KM x2 days

3. The Waffen SS (armed division of the SS) committed atrocities uncounted in the Second World War. Poland felt the brunt of their sadism as these rabid Nazis considered ethnic Poles to be subhuman. To be a Polish Jew was nearly an immediate death sentence in the field. Catholics (the majority of Poland) were slaughtered by the hundreds of thousands during the occupation.

4. Translations courtesy of Google Translate

Russian Translations
Da = yes
Yebena mat = Holy Shit
Udovletvoryat = good/satisfactory
Toropit'sya = Hurry
Nyet = No
Svinya = Swine
Dobroy nochi = Goodnight

Polish Translations
Tutaj = over here

German Translations
Ausweispapiere = Identification Papers
Wer ist das mit di? = Who is this with you?
Ehefrau = Wife
Schwester = Sister
Wo gehst du hin = Where are you going
Idiot! ich weiß das = Idiot! I know that
Warum = Why
Juden = Jew
Nein, abschaum = No, just scum
Verlassen = Leave