Excuse Me, I Don't Suppose You Know How To Time Travel?

Chapter 9

Weep Little Lion Man, You're Not As Brave As You Were At The Start

Time stopped. His breath stopped. The world around them might have stopped, but Steve wouldn't have noticed, his eyes instead caught on the face in front of him.

A voice spoke over the coms, but Steve barely heard it - all he could focus on was the rise and fall of the boy's chest, and the unfamiliar yet familiar face. Snow continued to fall around them, landing in hair which curled like Peggy's.

"Captain," Natasha repeated through the coms, her voice urgent. "Are you there?"

Steve ignored the voice, stumbling backwards onto his feet. The shield lay uselessly between them and the boy's eyes followed him, fearful, as he moved away. Seconds passed, the boy's breathing filling the alley - the familiar sound of wheezing accompanying it, and distantly Natasha continued to yell into the comms.

It wasn't possible. The words repeated in his head, echoing alongside the beating of his heart. Surely - surely this had to be another ploy by HYDRA. This boy, this HYDRA agent, couldn't really be... Steve forced his eyes closed, focusing upon the beating of his own heart and carefully not on the child who lay on the ground.

"This is a trick," Steve said, his stomach churning. "I'm not going to fall for this."

Familiar blue eyes locked on his, and the confusion and fear within them felt like a punch to his gut. The boy's shaky breath continued as he took another step backwards, the world around him beginning to fade as he shook his head, closing his eyes again. He felt like he was going to be sick. There was no way the boy in lying on the ground was him, but yet-

The boy's breath ceased suddenly, and his eyes snapped open to stare at the HYDRA agent, whose face had frozen, his eyes locked on the familiar red, white and blue shield which lay on the ground between them. Finally, the boy turned his eyes back to him, but the fear which had been in them before was no longer there. Instead it had been replaced by anger.

"You don't have any right to that shield," the kid - his kid a voice insisted - snapped, struggling to his feet, his voice cracking. "You don't have any right-"

The boy stumbled as he slid on some rubbish, and though Steve placed an arm out - uselessly - to brace him, words caught in his throat. Though the voice in his head continued to scream in protest, another voice, which was only a whisper but grew with every second, had begun to fight it.

Who was he to say what was impossible?

"Cap," Sam's voice asked. "Do you need backup?"

"Kid," Steve finally managed, before he paused, struggling to find more words. The boy's eyes darted towards him, before to the shield which lay on the ground, and towards the empty alleyway. Instintly, Steve moved towards the mouth of the alley, preparing to block the boy's path.

"Harry," he managed, the name heavy in his mouth. The boy's blue eyes flashed towards him, fearful again, as he reached up to the latch on his helmet, his hands shaking. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He knew what the boy was going to a second before he did, throwing his helmet off the same moment that he threw his arms out to the teenager. The boy evaded his grasp as he threw himself to the ground, clutching the shield in his hands as he began to run towards the mouth of the alley. Steve stumbled after him, his legs lead beneath him.

A figure emerged from the shadows, a familiar combination of red and black leaping towards the boy.

"Romanoff!" Steve shouted, stumbling forwards. "Get away from him!"

Confusion flickered over the child's face as Steve moved between the the two, forcing the boy to look into his unmasked face. Something that could be only described as pain covered the boy's face, his lips moving as he silently breathed a word, leaving Steve to feel as if a knife had been plunged into his gut.

"No," the boy said, his voice cracking, shaking his head. "You're dead."

Steve remained silent, staring at the boy's conflicted face. With every twitch of the boy's face, the tension in the air around them. Near him, he heard Romanoff let out a sharp breath of understanding from where she stood hidden in the shadows, but he didn't take his eyes off the boy, reaching a hand forward.

"Harry," Steve began again, but was quickly cut off.

"You're meant to be dead!" the boy shouted, gesturing with the shield towards him. "He is dead! My father is dead!"

Steve took a step forward, but the boy took one back, raising the shield against him defensively. The air around them seemed to tense as the teenager glared at him. The boy opened his mouth to speak again as Natasha leaped from her hiding place, flinging herself towards the boy. His shield rolled towards him as Natasha slammed again into the boy's side, pushing a needle into his thin arm. Steve leapt forward, pushing Natasha away as the boy began to blink, confused.

The boy lasted an admirable amount of time, considering the sedative was meant for a super soldier who was much larger than him. But the effect soon to take effect, his movements becoming increasingly slow, his breathing becoming shallow.

The alleyway was silent as Steve stared at the boy in his arms, watching in awe as the body which only a few minutes ago had been so full of fight succumbed to sleep. Was this how it was meant to feel to hold your child in your arms for the first time? The boy let out a pained whimper, and Steve closed his eyes No, surely it was not meant to be so bruised.

"Captain," Natasha began, but he ignored her, his eyes still enraptured by the child in his arms.

"Steve," Natasha continued. This time he allowed his eyes to be torn towards his teammate, meeting her worried, conflicted face. "Are you alright?"

He forced himself to nod, the movement shaky. Sympathy crossed his teammate's face. "We need to get back to the others."

Steve nodded, wishing nothing more in that moment to collapse against the alley wall, but instead forced his legs to move. The figure in his arms did not move for the length of the walk, despite the way Steve's breath would occasionally stutter, his arms shaking beneath the inconsequential weight.

"That doesn't look like Barnes," Tony said as they approached the quinjet. The man was leaning, purposely casual, against the quinjet, the Iron Man armour covering him. Sam stood near him, his wings attached to his back.

"It isn't," Steve stated as walked past them.

"Then who is it?" Tony froze as he stepped into the quinjet, the boy's face illuminated by the light. "Fuck, is that a kid?"

Steve remained silent, placing the sleeping teenager in the crib which sat in the corner. Behind him, Natasha followed, pausing as she whispered to Tony and Sam. Despite their attempts to remain quiet, their harsh whispering and cursed echoed through the ship.

"Cap," Natasha said, "It could be a trick."

Undoubtedly, it would be easier if it was a trick. A short time ago, Steve would of had no doubt that the boy was no more than an illusion created by HYDRA. But his best friend had fallen from a speeding train into a gorge, but yet was walking around over sixty years later, looking as if he had barely aged a day. By comparison, the possibility of his kidnapped son reappearing seemed almost reasonable.

Staring at the sleeping boy, a part of Steve almost hoped it was a trick. He was covered in bruises, his face tense even as he slept. It was near impossible for him to connect this sleeping youth to the photos which decorated Peggy's room, and the happy babe which was in them. It was even more difficult to connect this almost teenager with the slight roundness of Peggy's stomach, and the child which he and Peggy had dreamed of raising. Steve reached out towards the boy's face, hoping to move the hair away from his face, but the boy flinched and his hand fell back against his leg.

It was easier to imagine he and Peggy's child dead than to connect him to the hurting youth before him.

Yet he knew those eyes, and that nose, and the chin and the cheekbones and the curls of his hair. He had dreamt of them often enough, whenever he had dreamt of the life he had destroyed when he had crashed into the ice. And if there was even the slightest possibility that the boy was the same one he had left all those years ago, Steve knew he wasn't going to abandon him again.

It had been raining when Peggy had told him that she was pregnant. It had seemed to always be raining in Europe, always enough mud to swallow their entire battalion. Her brown eyes had been blazing, her chin tilted in defiance. Her hands had been grasped over her stomach protectively, but her voice had remained firm as she had uttered her declaration.

That same defiance had been clear upon the boy's face.

"I don't care, Captain, if you want nothing do with this child," she had declared. Despite the iron within her voice, her fingers had begun to tremble, "I plan to keep them, but, at the least, you should know-"

It was at that moment that Steve had rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Peggy as he had swung her around the small tent as they had both begun to laugh, ignoring the tears which ran down each others' face. Finally, he stopped, placing his forehead against hers as they focused on one another's breathing.

"I know it isn't the best time," Peggy had eventually continued, but Steve had cut her off, placing his lips against hers.

"This child," Steve had whispered, a small smile beginning to grown on his face, "Our child is a miracle. We have lost enough to this war. Surely we can have this."

The conversation ran through Steve's mind as he stared at the sleeping boy, watching the doctor draw blood from his arm. This job was undoubtedly under Helen Cho's pay grade, but she didn't comment as she drew blood from unconscious boy. Neither did she ask questions, obviously having drawn her own conclusions from her glances between the boy's and Steve's face, along with his constant hovering.

The other Avengers had insisted upon playing the teenager in a cell that was usually reserved for the Hulk despite his arguments, leaving the sleeping boy looking minuscule in the vast room. After the blood had been drawn Natasha had placed a hand on his arm, gently ushering him away from the child. Cho had cast him a concerned glance as she had left towards the lab, leaving Steve standing, watching his son through tinted glass, his shield clutched to his side.

"Cap," Natasha said, drawing his attention. "I talked to the ex-SHIELD agents. According to them, the boy didn't like them very much - it sounded like he was trying to escape from HYDRA, and thought they were trying to take him back."

Something akin to hope began to blaze at the confirmation. From the little he had seen of the boy he had seemed defensive of Captain America's memory, something which it was unlikely a HYDRA agent would be. Seeing the expression upon his face, Natasha continued.

"It could still be a trap, Steve. Even if he is your son, it could still be a trap. He has been with HYDRA since he was a taken as a baby - it's unlikely he knows anything but them."

Steve carefully didn't look at Natasha, focusing his eyes on the boy. His grip on the shield had tightened as Natasha had spoke, the pressure becoming bruising.

"Steve, I'm not judging the kid. At all," Nat emphasised, and Steve took a second for the words to wash over him, realisation with them, feeling some of the tension leave his body as his grip on the shield relaxed. Of course the Black Widow wasn't going to judge a boy for who had raised him. "We're not going to hurt him, Steve. But you have to be prepared for the possibility that it is a trap."

Steve allowed himself to glance at his friend, before returning his eyes to the sleeping boy. His hair was lighter than Peggy's, hints of blond catching the light. But yet the resemblance to Peggy and to his own parents, to him, was undeniable.

"I know that," Steve said slowly. "I just don't think I care."

He moved his eyes towards her again, desperation painting his words as he spoke. "He knew I was, Nat. Surely that's gotta mean something."

Nat stared at him slowly, her face unreadable but her eyes sympathetic. Before she could respond, the door burst open and Helen Cho walked in, paper in hand, quickly followed by Sam. Steve felt his chest tighten as he stared at the pair, words stuck in his throat. Eventually Natasha broke the silence.

"What were the results?"

"Captain," the doctor said, gesturing for him to sit down on the plastic chair near him. When he made no move towards it, she shook her head, instead holding the papers towards her chest.

"Judging by the DNA, I can say with complete certainty that the boy is genetically your son. His DNA is also a match to the sample we have of Agent Carter's."

She gestured towards the paper, pointing at different markers, but she may as well as been speaking in another language for all he absorbed. Instead, his eyes were locked on the boy - his son - as he stumbled back into the seat.

"And he isn't," Steve struggled, "He isn't a clone or something of the sort?"

"There's nothing to suggest so - his DNA appears to that of an average human. Judging by the amount which his DNA has undergone methylation, I would estimate his body to be around seventy years old." Cho said, glancing at the paper again. "All in all Captain, I believe I can quite certainly say that he is in fact your son."

"Congrats Cap," Sam said from next to him. "It's a boy."

"I think it's a bit late for a baby shower," Steve managed, glancing again at the boy. He was still very much unconscious, completely unaware of the way his existence was shattering Steve's own paradigm, leaving Steve feeling as if he was back in that tent in Europe.

His son was alive. He was a father. That slight bump of Peggy's stomach was alive and he was here.

Despite the bruises, a small smile began to grow on his face.

Harry woke to the sight of a high ceiling, the soft cushioning of a mattress beneath him. The room was entirely silent, his heart pounding as he pulled himself upright to look at the large room around him, entirely a soft shade of grey besides the dark, tinted glass which made one of the walls. The metal door attached to one of the walls was huge, easily double the size of a normal door - clearly this cell was made to hold someone far larger than he.

He struggled to his feet, blinking slightly at the lightheadedness which greeted the movement. His legs wobbled as he took a step forward, fighting through the haze which still clouded his mind. Whatever the redheaded woman had injected him with had been strong. Her attack of him had been simple, and Harry cursed himself for allowing himself to turn his back on one his attackers. Not turning your back on a potential threat was arguably the simplest tactic in a fight, he had known it before he had even before HYDRA had begun training him, back at Hogwarts, and before that at the Dursley's. In most situations, he would have been able to avoid the attack, but facing a man wearing his father's face had rattled him enough to fall for one of the oldest of tricks.

Harry was familiar enough with people changing their face to know that it wasn't impossible for one to do so - he had spent the majority of his living life wearing a face that was not his own. The only question was how HYDRA had managed to achieve it. Magic was out of the question. He would know if HYDRA had discovered magic. The Soldier had used his abilities, his magic, as a reason to why he had to escape HYDRA. If they had managed to harness it, they would have long since been using magic to shape the world in the way that they wanted.

A green light flickered from the furthest wall, and Harry stared at the small fleck - no larger than a fly, before raising his arm in a mockery of a salute towards the camera. He was unsurprised that he was being watched. He had no doubt that behind the glass there were more eyes upon him. The only question was why they were taking so long to confront him. Considering this, Harry took a step closer to the glass, before the metal door slid open and a man - the imposter - walked in.

The face was slightly older than the photos which he had seen of his father, shadows forming underneath the man's eyes, and creases formed between his brows. But even dressed in simple jeans and a t-shirt the man's resemblance to Captain America was undeniable. The imposter froze slightly upon seeing his stare, before closing the door behind him and sitting on the edge of the bed and casting him a reassuring smile.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions," the man said, "If that's alright with you."

Though Harry didn't say anything the man took his silence as confirmation, beginning to speak again.

"How did you escape?"

Harry's eyes narrowed into a glare, pointedly not looking at the man, before the man sighed, pulling a photo from his pocket and offering it to him. Seconds passed in which the limb remain out stretched before he allowed himself to look at the photo, his heart jumping within his chest at the sight of the men in it.

"Did this man help you to escape?" the imposter asked, the photo still descending in midair. The image contained two men, both dressed in military uniform. The first man was clearly his father, the iconic shield strapped to his back. The other man however, despite the shorter hair and smile upon his face, was clearly the Soldier.

"Do you know who this man is?"

When Harry didn't answer, the man continued, "His name was - is - James Barnes. Bucky. He was my best friend. You were named after him."

The realisation hit Harry like a wave, shock understanding flooding through him. The boggart, back at Hogwarts, transforming from a man with a metal arm to one with a smile upon his face who had looked oddly familiar. The Soldier's words, Jesus Christ Stevie, what have I done? from all those years ago repeated in his head, along with the photographs which had accompanied Captain America in many of the books he had read. Though the hair was longer and greasier, and he was lacking the smile which had been featured in the history books, the truth was undeniable.

The Soldier was Bucky Barnes.

He was my best friend. Harry turned his eyes towards the man who offered him a smile, ignoring the way that Harry tensed.

"My name's Steve Rogers," the man said, offering him a hand. Anger rolled in his stomach as he stared at the offered limb, before casting the man a disbelieving stare. Harry had known this was coming, and had been bracing himself for the declaration, and yet he felt his limbs begin to tremble slightly, either from anger or fear.

"I know this is hard to believe-"

"My dad's dead," Harry cut him off, "He died sacrificing himself to stop you and the rest of HYDRA. You have no bloody right to act like you're him!"

The man's familiar blue eyes stared at him, and Harry felt his stomach lurch at the pain within in them - true emotion, something which was so absent from many of the other HYDRA agents eyes. Resisting the urge to shake his head, Harry curled his hands into fists. There was no way that the man before him was his dad.

"I'm sorry, Harry," the man said, "But I'm not a HYDRA agent - I really am Steve Rogers."

"Do you know about the organisation SHIELD?" The man waited a second for an answer, before realising that he wasn't going to get one and continued. "It was an organisation Howard Stark and Peggy - your mum - helped to found. They - SHIELD - found me a few years ago in the ice. The super soldier serum meant that I survived. Harry, I really am..."

Though he didn't voice the words, the words your father echoed through the empty room nevertheless. Harry felt himself tense, his fingernails curling into the skin of his hand. The man moved slightly closer and instinctually he flinched away, ignoring the pained expression which covered the man's face.

"I'm part of a team now, we're currently trying to destroy HYDRA. We're called the Avengers."

Harry flinched at the word, his mind repeating the words which the Soldier - Barnes - had told him. Find the avengers - the Avengers.

"Harry, you need to trust me," the man said, the man's voice cracking as he uttered a 'please'. Harry felt his eyes to move to him off their own accord, meeting the man's own identical anguished pair.

For the first time, Harry allowed himself to really look at the man, staring at the all too familiar face. He had seen those eyes in the mirror, and he had seen the face in dozens of photos and books of Captain America. But the tears which which were growing in the man's eyes, and the anguished, but perhaps hopeful, expression the man wore were not the result of history books. Unbidden, the words the Soldier - James Barnes - had told him before he had told him to run rattled in his head, you just need to trust them, and Harry felt his resolution crumble.

"You're really him."

Despite Harry's admission, his acceptance, that the man in front of him was his father Harry felt nothing but numb, his body beginning to tremble despite his attempts to remain calm. He had accepted that he would never meet is father when he had discovered that the man was Captain America, but despite that he was in front of him. Relief washed over the man's face, jerking forward as if to embrace before he froze, Captain America instead offering him an awkward smile. Harry felt the ridiculous urge to laugh.

His father was alive, James Barnes was the Soldier, and he was in 2015.

"Harry, I promise, I'm not going to leave you again," Captain America - his dad - said, offering him a hand. "You're stuck with me to the end of the line now, kid."

To that one person who said that I hadn't updated since last year. That is true. However considering this year started a few days ago I feel like that makes it seem much longer than it really is. However, it was a long time, and we did finally get here! I have updated, and they have met. Properly.

As per usual, thank you all for continuing to read this despite the amount of time between updates! You have no idea how much joy it brings me to know that people are enjoying this. And if you'd take a second to review, or offer any advice, I'd really appreciate it. I'm hoping that the next update won't be too far away, as I have been flat out for the last while, but I'm on a bit of a reprieve at the moment.

Title from Mumford and Son's Little Lion.