This story has also been posted on A03, under my own account with the same username

Steve weighs 98 pounds.

Acknowledging this struggle is something he's had to confront time and time again.

The art school he applied to turned him down because they thought he had food allergies that the cafeteria couldn't accommodate for. They didn't even ask him. They just assumed; they turned him down in an instant.

He had spent years trying to get into that art school.

When he was turned down from art school, he tried out for the army. He passed the intellect and weaponry tests with flying colors. In fact, he was the youngest person to have ever made a perfect score in both areas. The administration had been baffled, and proud. They were stunned. Steve had thought he made it in for sure.

But he failed the physical. The testers thought he was disabled. The administration carried–actually carried– him in their arms down the front stairs of the army base because they feared he was too weak to walk down in his own. They turned him down.

But it wasn't like Steve couldn't provide for himself. He could. Steve held a job at an automobile repair shop, as a way to financially support himself and his mother before he leaves for college.

That is, if he ever does leave for college. There were only two months left of high school, and he would have to leave soon. But his post-high school choices turned him down, both art school and the army. He had no other options. He was running out of hope.

And it was all because he was too small.

Steve's weight affected his social life too. He could barely function at his job. He was the perfect size to get beneath cars to tweak on their parts from underneath, sure. That got him extra tips, which was good. However, most of the time he was too small to pick up tools. He couldn't even change a flat tire without feeling dizzy and getting vertigo.

The only reason he was hired was because his boss was also his best friend, Bucky.

Bucky was only two years older than Steve, but he was a good head taller than him in height and more than double Steve's weight. The muscles along his hairy arms were as thick as Steve's nimble thighs. (Steve knows, because they've measured this.) The difference in their proportions was so immense that Bucky could hold Steve over his head like a dumbbell without breaking a sweat. (Again, they've tested this.)

To think that they were the same size back in grade school was ludicrous. But it was true.

It's not like Steve hasn't tried methods to counteract his struggle with his size, because he has. He's tried everything he could.

For one thing, he currently eats twice as much as he used to eat, wolfing down four heavyset meals a day composed of high protein and fatty meats. He often finds himself eating until he's bloated and feels like throwing up. A few times, he actually has. But as Steve's portions grow larger and fattier, his wealth shrinks punier and poorer. He and his mother have been on the lower end of the income-scale for as long as Steve can remember; and his constant binging of their food supply is doing their already insignificant bank account no good.

He once heard his mother secretly crying to herself late at night. He wanted to approach her, to comfort her, but then he saw what she held in her shaking hands. She was crying over his grocery bill. He slipped back into the bedroom and locked the door. He hid under blanket sheets and ate marshmallow cereal from the box until it was empty.

In another effort to put on weight, Steve tried working out. A few times a week, he tags along with Bucky and his friends and heads to the local gym.

Bucky and the other boys can lift twice as much as Steve can. Hell, even the girls lift more than him. And everyone outruns him on the treadmills; Steve finds that he can't run for five minutes straight before feeling woozy.

Once Steve tried going to the gym on his own, without the others to distract him and make him feel worse about himself. But he didn't go far. He had only made it to the front desk when the receptionist asked him, "Are you here for the middle school swim tryouts?"

He doesn't go anywhere on his own anymore. Not the gym, not the grocery store, work, bus stops, or anywhere really. He was a small man in a big world, a world too big for him. Fuck it, he was barely a man to begin with. He had the body of a child.

So it didn't come as a surprise to him when one day at school, he was called into the counselor's office.

Nick Fury was a heavyset man with dark skin and an even darker gaze. He has such a sharp gaze, he could cut through steel with just his one eye (the other was secured behind an eye patch.) Steve was very surprised the man was able to get a job as a high school counselor, since nothing about him was comforting at all.

"Sit down, Mr. Rogers," Fury ordered without raising his gaze from the computer screen on his desk.

Steve obeyed, gulping slightly at the sharp tone of the man's voice. But he did as he was told, sitting down on the chair and folding his tiny hands together in his lap.

"Am I in trouble?" Steve asked.

"No, Rogers," Fury said. He eased away from the computer and rested his hands under his chin as he looked Steve in the eye, expression fierce and blank as ever, "How's life at home, son?"

Don't call me 'son' is what Steve wanted to say.

"Fine," he answered.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Financially?"

"Pardon?" Steve retorted, though he understood quite well what the counselor was asking.

"I mean, what is your mother's job?"

"She's a kindergarten teacher. I have a job too, auto repair."

"That's what I feared," Fury sighed. He went back to the computer, typed in some things and then signed a paper on his desk. He handed Steve a pen and tapped the bottom of the same paper, "Sign here please."

"What is it?"

"I gave you a direction."

"Sir, with all due respect–"

"-Sign the paper, Rogers."

Steve bit the inside of his cheek, becoming tense, "Dr. Fury, my mama taught me to not sign anything without reading it first. A bad decision like that could lose everything."

"Well, your mama's a wonderful woman, I know her well, you know. But if you look here," he pointed to another paragraph on the form, "she's already signed."

Steve's eyes widened, "What?"

He grabbed the paper with both hands and scanned the text, desperately, trying to find out what the form was to begin with. His mother would never sign anything without his consent. She would never do anything behind his back. So this form–what the hell was it?

Steve felt his stomach roll over inside his gut when he read the title: Scholarship Admission Consensus.

"A scholarship?" Steve repeated, heart beginning to flutter quickly with excitement, "I made it into college after all?"

"Rogers–"

Steve stood up from the chair so quickly that it topped over behind him. He held the paper in his hands like a trophy, high above his head. He could feel the excitement coursing through his veins, quickly, instantly, "Oh. Oh my god, Dr. Fury, thank you, thank you so much. You-You don't know how much this means to me. This is such a good opportunity, I–"

"Rogers–"

"No, I mean it, Dr. Fury, this is good for me. I promise I'll do my best, I won't let you down–"

"Steve, you're not listening to me–"

"I'll do my best, I promise–"

"Rogers. You did not make it to college!"

And thus the adrenaline rushing through Steve's body slowed and the dopamine stopped working its magic. He lowered his hands with the paper, "Hm?"

"That's not a scholarship for college, it's for another school."

"Another..." Steve panted, "Another school?

"A private school. One that can help you with your condition."

"...my condition?"

The counseling director went on, "Your mother couldn't afford admission, so she contacted us."

Steve looked back to the paper. That's when he saw what school he was being enrolled into: The Institute for Premature Sufferers of Eating Disorders.

Steve didn't say anything.

But Fury has quite the script to say, "It's a good school, Steve. It's right for you. You'll be surrounded by students who are going through the same thing that you are. It would be so much better for you there."

He waited for Steve to respond; he didn't.

"It's a boarding school. You'll be staying there for the next two months, until school ends. It's also a recovery centre. There will be doctors and staff there who will be able to treat you while you learn."

Dr. Fury waited.

Steve spoke, "You convinced mama to send me?"

"Actually, it was your mother's idea."

…

"Rogers?"

…

"Steve?"

"May I please be excused?"

The intensity in Dr. Fury's gaze diminished. He appeared softer, naturally, like he was pitying Steve. He eased back in his seat, "Uh, yes. Yes, of course. Do you, uh, do you need a hall pass?"

"No, I'm okay," Steve said as he rose from the chair and left the office without looking back. Really, he was. He was okay. Why didn't anyone see that?