A/N: Hope you all are still enjoying this as much as I am!

After the initial shock of his family's dark secret, Steve had been quiet. To a few of the other Avengers, like Bruce and Natasha, this was even more disturbing than all the crying. At least then they knew he was feeling something and could act accordingly. Now, however, the silence was oppressive with thoughts of what could be going through the Captain's head. They all wanted to check on him, to do something. Anything was better than standing idly by while the world Steve knew came crashing down onto his shoulders, but they knew he needed time to sort through things on his own.

Steve had curled up on his bed, quiet and contemplative. He'd slept for thirteen hours before getting up, disturbed the entire time by awful nightmares that he couldn't wake from. The images were haunting, maddening- coming up on his sanity as a wave that crashed upon a rock at high tide- eating away at it little by little, leaving less and less.

He had looked in the mirror in his room and saw only a ghost image of himself. The face was still right- or seemed to be, aesthetically. The build was still the same. The eyes were still the same baby blue they'd always been, and the hair was still honey blonde. And yet... it wasn't him. The normal face that stared back at him was one that depicted none of the horrible turmoil that was going on inside his mind and body. His brain had twisted the image of himself in the mirror into something dark and grotesque. The face was dull and bovine compared to what it should have looked like with this black knowledge. The eyes were vapid and depressed. His shoulders had slumped in, making him think he looked like Quasimodo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The once perfectly coiffed hair was frizzy and mussed. No expression covered his face, and he wondered if his lips would ever twitch into a smile again. He didn't see a soldier or even a man- he simply saw a monster.

Now, he lay there on his back, looking at the picture of his Momma that he kept at his nightstand, wondering what had happened that had allowed her to keep moving forward. How did she even meet his Daddy if that had happened? Did she not learn from that? He stared at the ceiling, wondering if he'd ever really know the answer, and had finally conceded that perhaps only God knew the answer to this query. He had lain there for another hour, letting his mind drift and wander until he no longer formed a coherent thought. He saw colors come in shapeless blurbs behind his eyelids, and had taken the time to watch them dance and to try and forget- even a little. After a while he'd realized that endeavor was fruitless and decided to give up. He'd lain there a few minutes more, focusing on breathing before turning on his side. He looked at the picture again, and suddenly it had clicked for him. For the first time since finding out, his thoughts went into a more positive place. Momma had moved on, and had kept moving forward because she had a family that had needed her. He had needed her, and she couldn't afford to let him down. She had moved on for him- all her hard work, love, and attention had gone to him.

She loved him. Momma really did love him.

He didn't know where this sudden knowledge had come from- perhaps from God, or maybe somewhere deep inside. He couldn't bring himself to care. He had helped her heal, and that was a privilege. Tears of relief had beelined down his face and for the first time in recent memory, he smiled- a real, genuine smile, not the fake, plastic one he'd put on his face the past few days when his friends had come to see him. He had finally felt happy.

After the relief had finished leaking from his eyes, he'd decided to cautiously open his door. He'd looked around to see that the hall was mercifully clear, and carefully took a step outside. It hadn't been as worrying as he'd have thought it to be. Feeling a bit more confident, he stepped forward again and was able to see the living room where all his friends were. He walked in casually and sat in an armchair, trying to make it seem like nothing. He'd looked up, a bit surprised, to see five faces smiling at him. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He'd hadn't necessarily enjoyed being the center of attention in the forties, but at least it had been a switch from being in the background all the time. His dislike had been somewhat numbed because it had been a refreshing change. Now, all he ever was in this century was a national icon, and the center of attention, and it had finally hit him that he despised being in the spotlight all the time. He was no longer mollified to it. As his friends stared at him now, however, he couldn't bring himself to be angry because of one solid fact that he knew to be true: They cared.

He smiled back at them. It had taken him some time to build his trust in them back to where it was after finding out they'd hidden the alters from his knowledge, but with each day it grew a little more. Now, he realized, it was back to where it once was, and was possibly a little stronger. It was time they'd understood what all the crying and anger and fear of the past few days had been about. Drawing in a breath to steady himself, he launched into the tale of his Momma's darkened past.

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