#alpha steve

Peter sat in the backseat of the car, staring out the window with his eyes squinted against the harsh morning light. A dull thud had started sounding through his head, but for some reason, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

He wasn’t quite sure what was different about it today. It was the same sun he’d looked at day after day, forever unchanging and eternally uncaring. 

But something was different. 

Maybe it was him, or at least whatever strangeness had started to bubble up within him. He liked to consider himself that was easily content with the flow of life, but recently he couldn’t be more pissed with it. 

The car came to a sudden stop and he clamped his palm over his mouth in a futile effort to combat the sudden nausea. Everything was always too much now, too loud, too bright, too intense. 

The little tree hanging down from the rearview mirror didn’t help. It was supposed to smell like black ice. 

Peter didn’t like to think about black ice too much. Just like he didn’t like to think about himself either nowadays. 

Thinking about the immediate future was simple.

This current immediate future was easy too. They were coming up on a corner, the car would turn, and he would get out. He’d grab his duffel bag, and be as polite as he could manage. 

Then well – that was a different future. 

The turn came up, and he reached down to grip the handles of his bag. This part went as planned at least. 

But then he was staring up at the townhouse in front of him, chewing on the inside of his lip like it would have all the answers. 

He took in a deep breath and thought of his social worker’s email. It came to mind, a clear image of what it looked like the last time he’d read it. 

Internally reciting the instructions, he made his way to the gate. The townhouse was large, looked at least four floors high, and had a bay window on each floor after the first. 

His feet shuffled up the steps infuriatingly slow. 

Now, he let himself think of what kind of impression he would make. His hair had gone unwashed for weeks, there were more than a few stains and a couple of holes on his sweats, and the entirety of his life had been condensed down into a duffel bag with his foster agency’s name printed on the side. 

Without warning, the door was yanked open the second he reached the top of the steps. 

Inside was one of his new alphas. Beard and surprisingly dark hair aside, Peter couldn’t help but compare the man in front of him with the man on the cover of his high school history book. 

“Come on in,” Steve Rogers grunted, leaning to give Peter space. The inside of the townhouse looked even more opulent than the outside had suggested. The ceilings were ridiculously high, there was a glass chandelier hanging above what he guessed was the living room off to his right. He felt like he’d stepped into a magazine cutout – or a housewife’s wet dream. 

Peter was led down the hall and toward another staircase, forcing his eyes to stay glued to the space around him rather than looking directly at the man in front of him. 

They ended up inside the second kitchen Peter noticed, and another alpha was already sitting at the breakfast table. His posture was ramrod straight, palms placed carefully on the table in front of him, and his eyes were locked on Peter. 

At the center of the table was an assortment of food, something Peter expected to see at a conference or business meeting. 

“We wanted to get started with setting some uh,” the first alpha – Captain fucking America – started, “house rules. They’re more an expectations and boundaries sort of thing.” 

Peter nodded, trying to pour his attention into it. He couldn’t afford to forget anything. Though his words sounded scripted like this was the start of a speech he’d tried and mostly failed to memorize. 

“The most important thing is that at least one other person will know where you are, and where you plan on going. Most of these expectations are also expected of Bucky and I. It doesn’t mean you don’t have free reign over where you go. As long as it isn’t something that needs to be cleared by the social worker just let one of us know. If both of us are out, we’ll tell you as much as we can about where we are and how long we’ll be gone.” Here, he paused as if waiting for someone to drop from the ceiling and interject. 

“The second is that we respect each other’s space. Aside from common areas, bedrooms, and private rooms like my office or studio, all need permission to be entered. No one will go into your room or the nursery without permission and we expect the same in return.” 

Peter nodded again, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with doubt. This all sounded too easy, too simple.

But– 

Immediate future first. 

“The last is about self-care. All of the food in any of the refrigerators in a common space is available for you, and we expect you to keep up with any doctor’s appointments or speak out if you need something you have not been provided with. We purchased a few things for you that’ll be in your room but aside from that we’ll give you a credit card to use for anything else  you need.” He paused then, looking around like a wild animal waiting to return to hiding. 

“Do you have any questions?” The words felt forced like Peter was holding a gun to his head or physically dragging them from his throat. 

“What do you want from me?” He asked, then cursed himself. He’d promised that he wouldn’t bring up anything that hadn’t already been brought up. 

But he couldn’t help but think that the alphas wanted more than a housemate. To take a pregnant, orphaned omega home was ridiculous as is. To do it without wanting something in exchange was even crazier. His last foster mother had been an older woman who had too many kids in the house and needed another adult’s hands in the mix. The one before that had wanted–

Peter just needed to know what they wanted from him.

“I’m fucked in the head,” the other alpha’s words were said so quietly Peter almost had to strain to hear, “so’s he, and having you around is supposed to help with that. You’re a prescription. Not a fucking toy.” 

Peter nodded, digging his short nails into his palms. 

In a sudden burst of movement Bucky – Steve had called him – pushed himself from the table and stomped toward the hallway off to their left. 

Steve rubbed a hand over his tired face, one of the only movements he’d made since they sat down. 

“We’re all here to help each other, Peter. We all have something to gain and not much to lose. Come, I’ll give you the tour.” 

As they walked around the gigantic house, Peter couldn’t help but think that those were some of the only genuine words he’d heard said aloud in a long, long, time. 

The only issue with them was that he had an entire world to lose.

~~~~

As Peter lay in bed, completely showered for the first time in what felt like years, he rested a hand on the lowest part of his torso. 

The skin under his hand had grown taught, and he had more stretch marks than he could count if he tried.

He didn’t break his rule yet, didn’t dare ponder the what-ifs or let the tentative bit of hope that had bubbled up in his chest surge forward. 

But he put his hand over his baby, and let himself dream that the tiny thing inside of him would be happy one day. 

A small, barely there tap against his hand was his answer. 

~~~~

Time passed oddly in the gigantic townhouse. It felt like the weeks he’d been there were months. The living room window had a perfect view of Prospect Park, and Peter couldn’t help but stare at it – he had no real memories tied to the park, but it still made him feel nostalgic for someone whose visage had started going hazy at the edges. 

Peter had forced himself to be content with sitting in the surprisingly small backyard, but he itched to go out into real nature. 

One morning, after a particularly vivid nightmare, he dressed himself in the lightest outfit he owned and cautiously approached Bucky. 

They hadn’t spoken much aside from pleasantries. Steve always asked him to join them for dinner, so they’d mostly ask each other some variation of “Can you pass me that.” 

Steve hadn’t been much better, but he would at least pretend holding a conversation with Peter was pleasant. 

Bucky, well on the days that Peter saw him, he’d be sitting stock still, looking either at nothing or everything at once. 

“Can I–” Normally, if someone had that look in their eye, Peter would try to make some noise to tell them he was in the room. 

Bucky always knew where he was. 

“Is it okay if I go to the park for a bit?” He finished, wringing his fingers in the hem of his shirt. He never had to tell anyone about therapy or doctor’s appointments. Steve always bought it up at some point either that day or the night before, and he was always sent off and picked up in a taxi they ordered. 

Bucky missed his next inhale, clenched the fingers of his metal hand, then nodded. 

Peter nodded as well, itching to flee but worried Bucky would have something to say and he’d miss it. 

The alpha tapped his index finger against his knee three times before taking in a slow breath through his mouth. 

“Here,” he grunted at last, then pulled a wad of twenties from his pocket and held them in Peter’s direction. 

A protest formed on the tip of his tongue, but it died down quickly and he took the bills with a muttered thanks. 

He didn’t bring anything with him, so laying on an unoccupied spot of grass wasn’t as comfortable as he thought it’d be. 

Around him, the park was filled with sounds that reminded him of another life. Children were laughing and squealing, a group of teenagers was comforting a sobbing beta girl, and dogs roamed the area.

Head tilted back, he decided that the sun looked different again. It didn’t hurt his eyes this time. 

He lay there until he heard the ice cream truck not far from him. There wasn’t much of a line yet, and he got up to wait behind a few nannies. 

It was the first craving that he’d really had – the first that he’d actually listened to. 

He even got sprinkles. 

And it was the best ice cream he’d ever fucking tasted. 

~~~~

His nightmares grew less frequent, but somehow worse at the same time. 

Instead of just dreaming of those nights, the memories twisted in on themselves and turned against him.

May, instead of shouting futile reassurances cursed and blamed him. Uncle Ben’s dead body turned its head one final time to spit vitriol. 

Peter stayed in bed those days, scared to close his eyes but unprepared to face the small world outside his door. 

One night one car crash melded with another, faces and seasons blended together, and Peter woke himself up screaming.

His stomach was rolling, his heart was racing, and all he wanted was for everything to stop. 

And god part of him wished he could stop.

“Hey Peter,” he heard from the other side of his door. 

He didn’t answer, his skin was too tight, and he was choking down screams that were begging to be set free. His body hurt in ways it hadn’t in months. 

He was scared that if he looked down at his legs he’d see sharp white bone instead of skin. 

Even if he could speak he didn’t know what he’d say. 

“I don’t know what you dreamed about,” Steve continued, “but I know that it’s only the bad ones that make me scream like that. And sometimes it helps to know that there’s someone on the other side of it hoping for you to pull through.”

Peter choked on his next sob, hating how much he felt like the little kid he’d been when he got the news of the first crash. 

Hating how much he wanted his mom.

“Can I open the door, Peter?” 

He nodded, hating how much he wanted more. He wanted a fucking hug but his skin was too tight, the space was the only place in the house that didn’t smell like alphas, he couldn’t let them see him– 

“Yeah,” he said when he realized Steve wouldn’t see his nod. 

And the alpha was right there, looking patient and with such a genuinely kind expression that Peter wanted to rip his face off. 

Steve had been so cagey, so unsure, but a crying omega would make anyone feel pity. 

And how Peter hated pity. 

He had enough for himself. 

But fuck did he want a hug. 

“I don’t have to come in, I can stay right here.” Peter really wanted to rip his face off now, because that sounded so perfect that Peter could barely comprehend it. 

“Bucky was a bit– he was kinda slutty when he felt like it. So well, one time between us wanting to stuff our faces full of hot dogs and him wanting to impress a girl we had to hitch a ride back from Coney Island on an ice cream truck.” 

Peter’s sobs stilled as he focused on Steve’s calm, level voice. 

“The jerk barely even won the stuffed animal for her. He spent, god, probably sixty bucks in today’s money trying to win that thing.” 

Steve sat down against the wall opposite the door and opened his mouth to either continue the story or start another one. 

Bucky came into Peter’s view and placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You can’t just make me look bad. Now I gotta tell him about how we spent a bunch of money on food for you to waste it hurling after we rode the cyclone.” He got comfortable leaning against Steve’s side, eyes fixed intently on Peter. 

“Ever rode the cyclone?” Peter shook his head, but Bucky plowed on nonetheless, painting a vivid image of the rollercoaster’s first opening day. 

They told him stories of swing dancing, late-night talks on fire escapes, running away from gay bars when the cops got called, and so many more that Peter tried to commit to memory. They talked and talked, and eventually, Peter felt his eyes shut. 

His dreams were of good memories that time.

He dreamt of his mom’s hugs.

~~~~

Wandering around the townhouse seemed like a pointless venture. He’d already seen most of it, but it looked different. 

At this time of night, the dark hallways made the ceilings look higher, the space so vast that it was intimidating. He had an indescribable restlessness within him though, and he couldn’t bring himself to go back to his room. 

Bucky and Steve had been gone for days, on some mission that they couldn’t tell him about. All he’d been told was that they were in Russia – and according to Steve, even that was too much information. 

Frustrated, he slumped over the kitchen island, debating the merits of going out for a walk.

The oven clock glared at him, and he contented himself with groaning into his arms. 

Peter was tired, restless, and – 

He kind of wanted Chinese food. 

Decision made, he reached for his phone, hoping futilely that there would be a Chinese restaurant open. 

Once he found one, he keyed in their regular order accidentally. Peter froze once he realized, then cursed and ordered it anyway. They were supposed to be home soon, and he could always make his way through the leftovers if– 

Too far. 

Peter didn’t want to think about when they’d come back to the townhouse, or what shape they’d be in. 

They hadn’t gone on a mission in the entire time he’d been staying with them. The most they’d done was go to work meetings and even those were infrequent.

He occupied himself with a book, sitting in the window seat after finally turning some lights on. 

It was a book on the rise and fall of political structures in Eastern Europe – something Peter would have never imagined himself being willing to read. Oddly enough, it was interesting, just not enough to occupy his mind. 

His thoughts continued to wander, no matter how much he tried to stop them. He wound up pressing his palms to his eyes and taking as slow breaths as he could. 

When his phone buzzed with the delivery notification, he slowly made his way down the stairs. His body hurt, and his knee throbbed so hard Peter could feel it reverberate up and down his leg. 

On days like this, he walked with a small limp. Since his center of gravity had shifted, he felt like he had no way to comfortably compensate for the aching leg. It was an odd sensation that made him want to drag his leg behind him rather than put weight on it. 

He heard the sound of the door open as he approached the bottom of the steps and froze, fear flashing through his body. 

Bucky came into view first, dressed like – like a fucking spy straight from an action movie – holding two over-filled bags of food. 

“Hi, doll.” 

~~~~

Peter didn’t particularly enjoy going to the doctor’s office. His OBGYN was a fairly kind alpha woman, with streaks of grey spread throughout her long black hair. 

She had her moments, would be fairly kind to him one appointment then condescending another. It didn’t help that he’d been seeing her for regular checkups since he presented. 

Dr. Garcia was one of the only people still in his life who had met May and Ben. 

And she insisted on meeting Bucky and Steve. 

The two alphas looked comical, sitting in the small plastic chairs of the sonogram room. Bucky looked as haunted as he ever did, but somehow his frantic energy looked more excited than it did frightened. 

Steve wasn’t even pretending to be stoic, squeezing Bucky’s metal hand and smiling as broadly as Peter had ever seen him. 

Peter didn’t get it. 

Sure, they spoke more now than they had before, and sometimes Steve and he cooked together, or Bucky and he would lay in the grass in the park together, or– 

Fuck

Peter blinked the thoughts away, refusing to entertain the idea that he was starting to become friends with them or worse – 

“So,” Dr. Garcia started, slathering Peter’s belly in gel, “before I spoil it, I want to hear if we have any guesses.” 

Peter sighed, then looked back at the alpha pair. Steve was shaking his head and Bucky was staring intently at the sonogram screen. It wasn’t his first chance at learning his baby’s gender. The first opportunity came weeks ago when other genetic testing was done. 

He’d said no, he wasn’t sure why he’d said yes this time. 

“I say girl.”

“Let’s see if mother’s intuition is right,” she put the doppler on his belly, moved it around a bit, then paused. 

She fiddled with the machine with her free hand, and the heartbeat sounded in the otherwise quiet room. 

The doctor muttered something, moving the doppler this way and that before pausing. 

“What is it?” Steve piped up. 

“No,” Peter interjected before the doctor could answer. 

“I’m so sorry Peter, I have no clue how we missed this.” She pressed the doppler against the front of his stomach, “Everyone meet Baby A, a beautiful little girl,” She shifted around to nearly his rib cage, “And Baby B, a handsome little boy.” 

Baby B was almost completely hidden behind his sister, and they could barely see his silhouette.

“Baby A looks perfectly healthy, but I want to bump up your next appointment so we can try and get a better look at B. This changes your due date a bit too. I’d put you closer to twenty than twenty-four weeks now.”

Her cleanup was fast and brusque, and she handed Peter the pictures she’d printed without another word. 

“That was fun,” Peter announced when she left, wiping away at his stomach. It made sense, in a way. His stomach was a bit too big for only six months, and he never quite felt movement in the same spot at once. 

They left the doctor’s office, Steve still clutching Bucky’s hand. 

“We’re gonna need a lot of diapers,” he mused when they reached the car. 

Peter froze, “Well, not too much stuff. Not until they’re born.” He felt guilty about how much money they’d already spent on him, but this wasn’t about the money. 

His parents didn’t believe in buying too many things for the baby, and he was always taught that it could bring bad luck. He didn’t hold onto many superstitions anymore but couldn’t bear the thought of bringing more bad luck down on himself. 

“It’s bad luck to put up the crib too soon,” Bucky added. 

“Between the three of us, our luck is already pretty bad. The least we can do is avoid bringing in any more.”

Peter laughed a rough and ugly sound. It was like Steve had read his mind. 

“Chinese or Mexican?” He asked. Dinner was an easier thing to think about right now, with so many people walking around and doing double takes at Steve’s face. 

“Chinese and picnic?” Bucky offered. 

Steve called to put in the order once they’d settled into the car. Peter never felt right about being in cars anymore. They always made him uneasy and put him on edge. For months he’d refused to entertain the idea of getting into one and had insisted on walking or taking the train wherever he went. 

For whatever reason, longer car rides were easier. Maybe it was because he needed a way to justify them. 

He hadn’t driven much with Steve or Bucky in the driver’s seat. It was rare that they’d all go somewhere that they couldn’t walk to. 

Peter couldn’t stop thinking about how excited they’d been, how eager they seemed even now. It was a quiet joy, one that Peter might have missed if he hadn’t gotten used to how muted their emotions almost always were. 

It distracted him from the car ride, and he let himself think of the future – if only for the moment. 

They’d be good for the babies. Bucky would take them to the park and Steve would be calm while they raged and screamed at night. 

Peter didn’t know how he’d be. He hoped he could grow accustomed to the sleeplessness and prayed that he could smile at them. 

He was terrified of the worst, that ACS would deem him and the home unfit, that he’d fuck up and get kicked out of the house, and anything in between.

Peter didn’t want to think about it too hard this time. 

He was having twins. A year ago, he would have laughed at the idea. 

He still wanted to laugh at the idea, wanted to pretend that it wasn’t real. If he tried hard enough, he could almost convince himself that he’d wake up in the morning in his twin sized bed at the apartment he’d shared with Ben and May. He could almost pretend he was still dancing, still practicing for a future that wasn’t his anymore.