Forever Captain: “The Show” - 5. Rebirth
Sep. 25th, 2025 12:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breakinglight11Forever Captain:
“The Show”
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
Summary: Steve’s teenaged great-granddaughter cajoles him into going with her to see Rogers: The Musical. And like any good theater experience, they’ll laugh and they’ll cry.
Previous chapters:
1. Balcony Seats
2. The Overture
3. Kids From Brooklyn
4. So Damn Lucky
Chapter summary: The performance’s showy style may serve some aspects of Steve’s early years of military service— but others, they don’t exactly do justice.
“The Show”
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
Summary: Steve’s teenaged great-granddaughter cajoles him into going with her to see Rogers: The Musical. And like any good theater experience, they’ll laugh and they’ll cry.
Previous chapters:
1. Balcony Seats
2. The Overture
3. Kids From Brooklyn
4. So Damn Lucky
Chapter summary: The performance’s showy style may serve some aspects of Steve’s early years of military service— but others, they don’t exactly do justice.
~~~
5. Rebirth
The next few scenes were impressive in their efficiency. They managed to compress his first few months in the service into just a handful of set pieces, the action conducted along briskly by the songs. Once show-Peggy ushered in the figure of Abraham Erskine, a number launched off in the form of an interrogation, the doctor firing off questions about show-Steve’s intentions in a strong German accent, while the ensemble ushered him through the travails of basic training.
“Do you zhink zhat you’re a hero?”
“I’m just any old slob!”
“Vill you knock the Nazis down to zero?”
”I’m just doing my job!”
Steve had to admit, he was impressed at the guy’s lung capacity, being able to sing while fake-struggling through pushups. Meanwhile show-Peggy circled around the action, commenting on his progress and articulating the changing of her own impressions.
“I hate to say how much I doubted him—
The poor guy was just so small!
But he’s got so much heart and grit in him,
He might as well be ten feet tall!”
It was, he supposed, a lot more straightforward than depicting them actually getting to know each other. At last it all culminated in show-Steve sent into the laboratory with Erskine and Howard Stark while the rest of the ensemble danced and sang around him.
“Project Rebiiiiiiiiiiiirth!
Rebiiiiiiiiiiiirth!
To win a war that’s spreading
Across the eaaaaaaaaarth!”
In a burst of purple fog, a man-sized capsule rose from a trapdoor in the stage.
“Rebiiiiiiiiiiiirth!”
With slow, deliberate ballet steps, show-Steve was led to the tube, where he was promptly shoved inside. Colors flashed in lighting bursts while the dancers pulsed in and out around it.
“Reeeeeebiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirth!”
On the final note, he bust back out— all traces of nerd frailty gone, shirtless and flexing newly revealed muscles oiled to a blinding sheen. The crowd went wild, cheering and hooting at the sight.
Steve’s brow furrowed in mild distaste. “Did they have someone backstage waiting with baby oil?”
Angela was looking about her at the frenzy, eyes wild as if scandalized. “Hey, that’s my granddad you’re leering at!”
He had to hand it to them, they seemed to understand the enormity of the moment for him— even if they chose to express it by means of strobing lights and a smoke machine. Most people thought only of the exterior changes, how he’d gone from a scrawny asthmatic to a heroic edifice. But he remembered most vividly the way it felt in that new body, how even the sensations of being alive had changed. The oxygen in those first full breaths were enough to send him on a high, after twenty-plus years of asthma. Everything was suddenly heightened, from his strength to his senses to the vantage point from which he saw the world. Even the colors seemed more vibrant— he’d gone through all of art school at that point and hadn’t even realized that he might have been partially colorblind.
But of course, best of all he remembered that little moment where Peggy had reached out to tap the newly formed muscles in his abdomen— light as a feather, just for a moment. At the time, he thought it had to be from concern, as if she was afraid he was swaying on his feet. His head had been swimming with the oxygen high, so perhaps he had been. But even if he had dared believe it in the moment, there was no mistaking the gleam that had come into her eye then.
The show gave a small nod to Peggy’s presence, as her character was one of those crowding in around him with show-Erskine and show-Howard Stark. But they were swept away by the gaggle of slick-haired men in suits who rushed up to crow over the wonders of American ingenuity— never mind that the inventor in question was German. They surrounded show-Steve and gushed over him, congratulating him for something other people had accomplished, rubbing their hands together in anticipation of all the use they could make of an army of men just like him.
“It’s our lucky day, kid!” some senator or other said, clapping show-Steve on the shoulder. “You’re gonna win us a war!”
A rumble of laughter rippled through the crowd at the heavy-handed foreshadowing, but Steve couldn’t get into the spirit. Not when he knew what was going to happen next.
He had to admit, he was impressed at how they staged the chase. When the assassin leapt out from the crowd of suited government types, and shot the bullet that took away both Dr. Erskine and Project Rebirth in one fell swoop, he tore out and disappeared just long enough for the scientist to pass away in show-Steve's arms.
“Only remember vhy I chose you,
Vhile you’re doink vhat you can…
Zhat’s not as a perfect soldier…
Not as a perfect soldier…
Just as… a good…”
There was a beat of silence, as show-Erskine’s body went limp and his voice faded out. Then, the music rose, and the voices cried out, and both fellow actors and set pieces slid away so that our hero could take off after him. While Show-Steve pelted and huffed, mostly in place center stage, the ensemble ran around him holding fences and ash cans and other stationary objects, creating the illusion that Steve was the one moving.
“Well, that was clever,” Angie murmured. “Don’t you think?”
Steve shrugged. “I suppose. It doesn’t bring back good memories for me.”
“Oh. Of course.” She winced as if that had not occurred to her. At last the assassin reappeared onstage, as if show-Steve had caught up to him. Blows were exchanged, big showy fight choreography that a real assailant would have seen coming a mile away. But when show-Steve finally got his hands on the man and demanded to know who sent him, he reached into his pocket with a flourish and chomped down on a cyanide capsule with a jerk of his whole head. As he stepped away from the now-limp body, the light narrowed down to just around our hero while he looked skyward for the reprise.
“Not as a perfect soldier…
I’d have caught him, if I were a perfect soldier…
I’d have stopped him, if I were a perfect soldier…
I’ve only done the best that I can!
But if I’m not a perfect soldier…
Can I be a good enough man?”
“Did you know him very well?” Angie asked, as the audience burst into applause all around them. “The scientist, Dr…?”
“Erskine. Abraham Erskine. And not very,” he admitted. “Though better than you’d think from this. We talked a few times. He was a brilliant man, and more than that, he used that brilliance for good. He had to leave behind everything he knew to get out of Germany, because he didn’t want his work to become a tool of the Nazis. Took guts— to stand up to your whole country like that. Just to do the right thing.”
He took a deep breath. “And… he believed in me. Before even your grandmother… maybe even before Bucky,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong— Bucky loved me, and knew I wasn’t just some helpless gimpy kid. But Dr. Erskine, he was the first person who thought I could have something more to give.”
Angie gave his hand a squeeze as the clapping died down, and show-Steve was collected by show-Peggy and show-Howard. He turned to them with a look of being lost.
“What now?” he asked, as the slick, downright greasy-looking man they had playing Howard threw an arm around him.
“Brotha,” he said, in a thick Jersey accent for some reason. “Have they got big plans for you.”
As they led him offstage, the strains of the next song were struck up. Big band music, lots of brass and percussion, that, as if in some ingrained Pavlovian response from somewhere deep in his bones, made his shoulders tense with the memory of pre-show jitters. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”
“What?” Angie whispered. “What is it?”
Steve breathed out through his teeth. He’d heard it so many times that he could probably have sung it in his sleep.
“That, my dear,” he grumbled. “Is my theme song.”
~~~
5. Rebirth
The next few scenes were impressive in their efficiency. They managed to compress his first few months in the service into just a handful of set pieces, the action conducted along briskly by the songs. Once show-Peggy ushered in the figure of Abraham Erskine, a number launched off in the form of an interrogation, the doctor firing off questions about show-Steve’s intentions in a strong German accent, while the ensemble ushered him through the travails of basic training.
“Do you zhink zhat you’re a hero?”
“I’m just any old slob!”
“Vill you knock the Nazis down to zero?”
”I’m just doing my job!”
Steve had to admit, he was impressed at the guy’s lung capacity, being able to sing while fake-struggling through pushups. Meanwhile show-Peggy circled around the action, commenting on his progress and articulating the changing of her own impressions.
“I hate to say how much I doubted him—
The poor guy was just so small!
But he’s got so much heart and grit in him,
He might as well be ten feet tall!”
It was, he supposed, a lot more straightforward than depicting them actually getting to know each other. At last it all culminated in show-Steve sent into the laboratory with Erskine and Howard Stark while the rest of the ensemble danced and sang around him.
“Project Rebiiiiiiiiiiiirth!
Rebiiiiiiiiiiiirth!
To win a war that’s spreading
Across the eaaaaaaaaarth!”
In a burst of purple fog, a man-sized capsule rose from a trapdoor in the stage.
“Rebiiiiiiiiiiiirth!”
With slow, deliberate ballet steps, show-Steve was led to the tube, where he was promptly shoved inside. Colors flashed in lighting bursts while the dancers pulsed in and out around it.
“Reeeeeebiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirth!”
On the final note, he bust back out— all traces of nerd frailty gone, shirtless and flexing newly revealed muscles oiled to a blinding sheen. The crowd went wild, cheering and hooting at the sight.
Steve’s brow furrowed in mild distaste. “Did they have someone backstage waiting with baby oil?”
Angela was looking about her at the frenzy, eyes wild as if scandalized. “Hey, that’s my granddad you’re leering at!”
He had to hand it to them, they seemed to understand the enormity of the moment for him— even if they chose to express it by means of strobing lights and a smoke machine. Most people thought only of the exterior changes, how he’d gone from a scrawny asthmatic to a heroic edifice. But he remembered most vividly the way it felt in that new body, how even the sensations of being alive had changed. The oxygen in those first full breaths were enough to send him on a high, after twenty-plus years of asthma. Everything was suddenly heightened, from his strength to his senses to the vantage point from which he saw the world. Even the colors seemed more vibrant— he’d gone through all of art school at that point and hadn’t even realized that he might have been partially colorblind.
But of course, best of all he remembered that little moment where Peggy had reached out to tap the newly formed muscles in his abdomen— light as a feather, just for a moment. At the time, he thought it had to be from concern, as if she was afraid he was swaying on his feet. His head had been swimming with the oxygen high, so perhaps he had been. But even if he had dared believe it in the moment, there was no mistaking the gleam that had come into her eye then.
The show gave a small nod to Peggy’s presence, as her character was one of those crowding in around him with show-Erskine and show-Howard Stark. But they were swept away by the gaggle of slick-haired men in suits who rushed up to crow over the wonders of American ingenuity— never mind that the inventor in question was German. They surrounded show-Steve and gushed over him, congratulating him for something other people had accomplished, rubbing their hands together in anticipation of all the use they could make of an army of men just like him.
“It’s our lucky day, kid!” some senator or other said, clapping show-Steve on the shoulder. “You’re gonna win us a war!”
A rumble of laughter rippled through the crowd at the heavy-handed foreshadowing, but Steve couldn’t get into the spirit. Not when he knew what was going to happen next.
He had to admit, he was impressed at how they staged the chase. When the assassin leapt out from the crowd of suited government types, and shot the bullet that took away both Dr. Erskine and Project Rebirth in one fell swoop, he tore out and disappeared just long enough for the scientist to pass away in show-Steve's arms.
“Only remember vhy I chose you,
Vhile you’re doink vhat you can…
Zhat’s not as a perfect soldier…
Not as a perfect soldier…
Just as… a good…”
There was a beat of silence, as show-Erskine’s body went limp and his voice faded out. Then, the music rose, and the voices cried out, and both fellow actors and set pieces slid away so that our hero could take off after him. While Show-Steve pelted and huffed, mostly in place center stage, the ensemble ran around him holding fences and ash cans and other stationary objects, creating the illusion that Steve was the one moving.
“Well, that was clever,” Angie murmured. “Don’t you think?”
Steve shrugged. “I suppose. It doesn’t bring back good memories for me.”
“Oh. Of course.” She winced as if that had not occurred to her. At last the assassin reappeared onstage, as if show-Steve had caught up to him. Blows were exchanged, big showy fight choreography that a real assailant would have seen coming a mile away. But when show-Steve finally got his hands on the man and demanded to know who sent him, he reached into his pocket with a flourish and chomped down on a cyanide capsule with a jerk of his whole head. As he stepped away from the now-limp body, the light narrowed down to just around our hero while he looked skyward for the reprise.
“Not as a perfect soldier…
I’d have caught him, if I were a perfect soldier…
I’d have stopped him, if I were a perfect soldier…
I’ve only done the best that I can!
But if I’m not a perfect soldier…
Can I be a good enough man?”
“Did you know him very well?” Angie asked, as the audience burst into applause all around them. “The scientist, Dr…?”
“Erskine. Abraham Erskine. And not very,” he admitted. “Though better than you’d think from this. We talked a few times. He was a brilliant man, and more than that, he used that brilliance for good. He had to leave behind everything he knew to get out of Germany, because he didn’t want his work to become a tool of the Nazis. Took guts— to stand up to your whole country like that. Just to do the right thing.”
He took a deep breath. “And… he believed in me. Before even your grandmother… maybe even before Bucky,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong— Bucky loved me, and knew I wasn’t just some helpless gimpy kid. But Dr. Erskine, he was the first person who thought I could have something more to give.”
Angie gave his hand a squeeze as the clapping died down, and show-Steve was collected by show-Peggy and show-Howard. He turned to them with a look of being lost.
“What now?” he asked, as the slick, downright greasy-looking man they had playing Howard threw an arm around him.
“Brotha,” he said, in a thick Jersey accent for some reason. “Have they got big plans for you.”
As they led him offstage, the strains of the next song were struck up. Big band music, lots of brass and percussion, that, as if in some ingrained Pavlovian response from somewhere deep in his bones, made his shoulders tense with the memory of pre-show jitters. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”
“What?” Angie whispered. “What is it?”
Steve breathed out through his teeth. He’d heard it so many times that he could probably have sung it in his sleep.
“That, my dear,” he grumbled. “Is my theme song.”
~~~
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Date: 2025-10-02 05:19 pm (UTC)I'm particularly loving this story. It's the best sort of fanfic, well-written and getting into fine details that I've never seen in the comics but which fit perfectly, and leaving me really wanting to see this adapted into canon.